#SMELL HIS COLOGNE AND WATCH HIM SMOKE CIGARETTES WHILE HE MAKES INTENSE EYE CONTACT

[thedogeveryonehates]

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[lexiconomine]

summer lovin’ - billy hargrove

summary: despite nancy’s best attempts, you poke and prod until you score a date with the talk of the town word count: 6,771 pairing: billy x reader warnings: explicit language, sex, oral sex, cigarette use (only by Billy), excessive pet name use notes: reupload bc I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED the entire text block trying to edit the tags :( I hope this finds its way back into people’s sights o o f anyway I hope y’all enjoy pt2!

It’s not that you don’t know how to swim, or even that you aren’t a good swimmer. In fact, you were one of the best on your high school team back home. But your mission here wasn’t just to swim a couple of laps. No, it was to scope out this new guy in town that everyone and their mother are always talking about. The one you’d only ever had an up-close interaction with one other time.

He was right in front of you in the line to the drugstore counter, buying a pack of Marlboro Reds and a bottle of Coke. The smell of his cologne highly overpowered any memory you have of that day, but you’re able to recall noticing his curls and the low drawl of his voice. You’d not made eye contact with him until he turned around to leave, and he flashed you a sly smirk as he gave you a painfully slow once-over. You watched as he walked out the door, doing the same for him.

And in that one small interaction, you felt as if any effort you took to breathe afterward were futile.

“I’m telling you right now, you do not wanna get involved with that,” Nancy protested to you once before when you brought him up that same day, combing through her permed hair in front of her vanity. “I’ve never even interacted with him and even I know he’s had sex with half the girls in your class.”

“Uh-huh…”

“He was literally there for less than a year.”

You decided to hold any response you had. A short moment of silence passed before Nancy started up again, a gentler tone than the one she held in her previous statements.

“It’s just… you miss a lot when you leave right before Hawkins goes to shit.”

At this point, during peak summer season, you still don’t know what it is, exactly, that drew you so strongly toward Billy Hargrove; but you’re really not sure whether or not you want to find out. You know it’s not the obvious fact that he’s a huge flirt to even the fact that he is so gorgeous in every way imaginable. Perhaps it’s the way all of your childhood friends who had stayed behind keep telling you to stay away, that he’s nothing but trouble; and hearing that over and over began to make you realize that you want to be the judge of that.

And maybe that’s way you’re making it a point to send the most intense gaze his way every time you locked eyes during his scans. You’re trying so hard to provoke him. It’s a notion, a siren’s call to him, which you can tell he’s acknowledging by the that he slides his tongue along his bottom lip, the slightest hint of a smile forming, before placing his whistle between his teeth and repeating his scan.

Now that you can tell you’ve gotten his attention, you slide your sunglasses back onto your face to continue watching him more discreetly, lying back against the lounge chair. You notice a subtle pause in Billy’s movement, and you let the feeling of triumph wash over you as he begins to climb down from his lifeguard stand.

Hook.

You watch as he makes his way over to you, quite nonchalantly and with an arrogant air.

“Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but uh,” he starts up the moment he gets within your vicinity, “something tells me you’re here for more than just a tan.”

You swing your legs over to one side so that you can sit up facing him, looking up and meeting his gaze. Amused, you decide to entertain. “And so what if I am?”

“Well, that’d really be a shame, sweetheart. ‘Cause I’m stuck here ’til six.” Billy grows a flirty smile, the very one that you’d been warned about by just about every girl she knew from Hawkins High.

Line.

“I got time,” is the snarky response you had been waiting to say to him, confident that two can play at this game he loves to play.

It seems as if Billy is taken aback to this, letting loose a soft chuckle as his eyebrows cock upward, lower lip catching between his teeth to help suppress the laugh. God, those lips.

“Alright,” he nods, seemingly impressed that you decided to match the energy he exuded. His smile has the ability to make anyone weak at the knees. He crouches down to your eye level and leans in close—so close that you can feel the tension between the two of you thicken the moment his lips just barely graze your ear. It is at this moment that he speaks into your ear, low and gruff. “Hope you brought somethin’ pretty for me.”

…And sinker.

And with a wink, he straightens himself up, turns around, and begins making his next round of the pool deck.

Despite the apparent disappointed glares you can feel radiating from Nancy and Jonathan, you hoist yourself up from your seat with a cheeky smile, setting all your unwettables down in your wake. They can think whatever it is that they’re thinking. You can already tell that you are very likely to experience a fun night. They should be happy that you’re meeting new people instead of lounging around in the Wheeler basement eating all their food and sleeping the day away until Nancy returns from work (which, spoiler alert, most of the time she doesn’t).

“I have a date,” you taunt before making your way to one of the pool lanes and diving in headfirst to swim a couple of laps.

*****

“You know, it’s not too late to bail,” Nancy coaxes at a low volume with the mentality that somehow she was saving her best friend from corruption. However, this statement is only met with a scoff followed by a light giggle.

“Relax, Nance. I’m a big girl who can take care of herself. Swear it.”

Right on cue, you and Nancy both stuck your pinkies out and interlaced them, holding them that way for a beat.

“Please call if you need me to come get you.”

“Will do, boss.”

With that, you parted ways, and you watch as Nancy plops down into the passenger’s seat of Jonathan’s car. As they drive away, a low whistle creeps up behind you.

“Got a hot date?”

You turn on your heel to find Billy leant up against the wall, curls looking gorgeous as ever and his low-buttoned top being the cherry on top of the cake that is this beautiful specimen. Placing your hands on your hips and shifting all your weight to your left leg, you flash him a teasing smile. “Well, wouldn’t you like to know?”

Billy reaches into the pocket of his denim jacket and pulls out a Marlboro cigarette along with his zippo lighter. As he saunters over to you, his sticks the cig in his mouth and lights it, taking a light puff from it to get the tobacco burning.

“What do you say we ditch ‘im, huh?” He suggests, playing into the typical good girl with bad boy situation where he steals the innocent you from your high school sweetheart and shows you what a good time really is. Taking a long drag from his cigarette, he continues after he removes it and holds it between his pointer and middle finger, light clouds forming around his mouth and dissipating after less than a second. “Why don’t I show show you how a real man’s suppose to treat a doll like yourself.”

The smile on your face turns into something soft and sultry as you step toward him, closing the gap between the two of you. You press your chest up against his warm body, fingers barely grazing over his waistline. Watching as his tongue pokes out to glide along his lips, you speak, smooth and coy. “I’d like a movie.”

The rugged blonde raises his free hand up to you face, takes a stray strand of your hair, and tucks it behind your ear, leaving an excited burning sensation along your cheek. “Movie it is.”

Taking another drag from his cigarette, Billy begins to lead the way to his car, sliding his right arm around your waist to allow himself a firm grasp on your hip and using his left to smoke his cig. As you reach his car, he crosses in front of you to open the passenger door, allowing you to sit. You mutter a quick word of thanks before he shuts the door for you and enters himself. Once the car is started, there’s a brief moment where he eyes you once more and smiles to himself as he turns his attention ahead of him, murmuring, “So fuckin’ pretty.”

The car ride is casual, the both of you making nice small talk and flirting every couple of minutes. Compliments are exchanged, laughs are had; it is so much more comfortable than she expected. There’s much less pressure. But once you arrive at the mall, it seems as if date mode has officially turned on. Billy insists on paying for your tickets and popcorn because “What kind of date is this if I let you pay for your own things?” It is surprisingly very gentlemanly of him.

During the movie, though, is when it gets interesting. You’d both decided to watch the horror film that had just come out (for the plot, of course); and Billy wastes no time draping his arm around your shoulders, subconsciously toying with the ends of your hair while you watched on. About halfway through the in, though, the movie soon becomes background noise to the low chatters and whispers between you two.

“Not gonna lie, this movie could be nice if I wasn’t so distracted,” Billy begins, leaning his head closer to you so that you’re able to hear his words. Once he brings his head back to its previous position, you mirror his gesture to speak.

“Lemme guess, my fault?” You tease, feeling like you already know his tricks before he even uses them. The young man beside you lets out a light snort of laughter, nodding as if to indicate he’d been figured out. Although you already have an inkling of his next move, by God, was it fun to play along. “How so?”

Billy turns his head to look at the side your face, adjusting his body so that he can comfortably do so. You meet his gaze once you notice that he’d started to shift a bit, admiring how he still manages to look so good even in the shallow lighting coming from the movie screen. Darting out his tongue to wet his lips, he tested you, “You really wanna know, princess?”

“Try me.”

A small, flirty grin creeps onto his face, and he opens his mouth so as to speak, but his mouth looks like it’s moved before his brain. He takes a breath in and reveals himself. “To be completely honest with you, I’ve been thinkin’ about kissing you all day.”

Your breath immediately catches in your throat. You’re quite surprised to hear those words come out of that mouth. In a way, you consider weighing your options, thinking back to all the trouble Nancy said it would cause you.

On the one hand, you very well might end up just being another notch on his belt. You could give in and give him everything you have to give and then end up nothing but a one night stand to him, which, you keep in mind, you’re fully prepared for. Prepared for the looks from the Hawkins girls who dream of being in your shoes every time you go to the mall, the pool, the arcade, for the entirety of what’s left of this summer. Prepared for all of that and not even so much as a bat of an eyelash from Billy.

On the other hand, you could follow what all of your logical reasoning is currently telling you and not entertain this any more than a couple of kisses, leaving him with possibly the bluest of balls for the night. It would definitely save you the trouble of giving an essence of you to someone who would forget all about it come sunrise.

Of course, you know now is not the time to play coy after all that effort you’d put into getting where you currently sit at this moment; so instead of retreating to the safer option (because let’s face it, Billy Hargrove is a dangerous endeavor), you decide to say the words you know your entire being wants you to say.

“Why don’t you, then?”

“Yeah?” He purrs in response with that smile as he leans in toward you, connecting his lips to yours with a hunger you had not yet known before this. Your head spins when he reaches a hand up to caress the nape of your neck, slowly running it up to cup your cheek as if you are the most delicate thing in the world. His touch makes the most pleasant chills run down your neck and spine. You soon begin to feel lightheaded, like he’s taking your very essence with this one longing kiss that he leads like a waltz. It’s all too much.

You can clearly hear Nancy’s voice in your head scolding you a million times and then some, and you already know that this is the last thing you should be doing and she just doesn’t ever want to see you get hurt; but you can’t help but acknowledge how good it feels to be rebelling against her constant advising for once. Especially when Billy is right here, kissing you so sensually with such skill and finesse. Especially when the scent of him is currently etching itself into your brain as he slides his tongue into your mouth, warm and smooth. You let yourself surrender to your fantasies and follow in suit, your own tongue slowly circling his in a way that pulls a low-pitched moan from the back of his throat.

You feel like you’re going crazy with just this taste of him.

It feels like it’s almost immediately then that you have to force yourself away, him following the ghost of your movement before realizing you’d already gone. You lean into his ear, much like he had this afternoon, inhaling the mixture of his hairspray and cologne and traces of cigarette smoke. And in that moment, you’re fully aware that this might be the point of no return when you breathe into his ear, “Take me to your car.”

Somehow, someway, something clicks inside of the boy beside you because in an instant, he’s reaching for your hand, pulling you from the seat as he makes a beeline headed straight for the exit. You follow in suit, the both of you practically speeding up to a moderate jog. You reach the car within two or three minutes, yanking your respective doors open and slamming them without an ounce of a fuck given if they fall straight off the car.

The amount of lust in the air around you and him is almost paralyzing as your lips reconnected after what felt like an eternity. Hands quickly travel to places they’d been dying to be on for hours on end, resting so perfectly on every and any curve and edge they land on. You feel like you can lose yourself in him, the heat in the car building up with the sounds of his moans and his growls. You had never fit so well with anybody else.

Billy’s hand sneaks up your back, and his fingers entangle themselves into your hair, gathering a portion of it for him to grab onto. Almost immediately, you begin making haste of unbuttoning his shirt. He surprisingly begins to pull away from you, holding you at bay with the fistful of hair he’d obtained.

“Easy, kitten,” he coos, tracing his thumb along your lower lip with his free hand. He knows exactly what you want by the way you look at him with such longing and desire, but he’s got other plans. “Pretty little thing like you shouldn’t have to be in such a rush.”

The needy groan you let out elicits a sultry chuckle from him, the boy who has you wrapped around the tip of his little pinky finger. He yanks onto your hair, jerking your head back as he buries himself into your neck and the smell of you. The way he’s trailing slow, sloppy kisses down your neck and to your shoulder has you growing more and more fervid. Sex has got to be a legitimate talent because this boy has got it.

“Smells so fuckin’ nice,” he mumbles into your skin, deeply inhaling your scent. He then pulls away all too soon, leaving you feeling cold and filled to the brim with pent up energy; but he presses an eager kiss to your lips and lingers for just a moment, licking at your upper lip with a sigh that held the burden of a million different hormones coursing through his veins. He knows that he wants you so badly it hurts.

However, as much as he would love to rip all of your clothes off and defile you in the back of his Camaro (and as much as you want him to), you sense that he’s holding back some when he starts the engine and begins to drive away from the mall.

You straighten yourself, tucking your blouse back into the waistband of your jeans and fastening your seatbelt. As Billy drives, you note the way his jaw clenches and his grip on the steering wheel tightens every so often. “Everything okay, Billy?”

“Yep,” he answers nonchalantly, as if he isn’t currently sporting the demeanor of an agitated wild animal.

“Did I do something?”

“Yes, you did.”

“Oh.”

There’s a short pause between the two of you, the first real silence that is present all night. That is, until Billy speaks again. 

“So that’s why I’m taking you to bed with me.”

Oh.

Somewhat of an awkward silence takes place for a couple of seconds, and he soon comes to the realization that maybe he should have asked you that instead of declared it. Unbeknownst to him, you actually don’t mind his assertiveness. After all, although you aren’t necessarily expecting your date to end on a rated-R note, you certainly aren’t opposed to the idea.

“Unless you don’t want to,” he starts up again, “I can just take you back to Nancy’s instead.”

“No,” you refuse, shaking your head to match your verbal expression. Sure, it might be growing late and Nancy might be waiting for you to return, but you don’t care. The absolute last thing you want to do right now is leave. “I want to.”

As much as the blonde tries to hide it, you can see a smile forming onto his face. “Okay then. My place it is.”

Sporting a smile of your own, you study the structure of Billy’s profile with the help of whatever light sources decide to become available to illuminate his face. For the remainder of the car ride to his house, you watch his face as he drives, as he mouths the words to the songs on the radio, as he concentrates hard on the dark backroad. Every so often, he meets your gaze for just a split second and teases you, saying things like, “Eyes on the road, creepy lady.”

“Are you sure it’ll be fine for me to be here?” You question as Billy pulls up to his home. You really don’t want to bring him any trouble. It’s quite ironic.

“Should be fine, sugar,” he reassures, leaning back in his seat to look at you. “My folks are always asleep by this time, so just make sure not to make too much noise.”

You give him a playful scoff, lightly swatting at his shoulder as he laughs at your reaction. After unbuckling your seatbelt, you open the car door. “Billy Hargrove, you are unbelievable,” you snort as you bring yourself outside of the vehicle, walking ahead of him and planting yourself right at the front door to wait.

He fumbles with his keys for a minute and jams one into the lock, turning it so that a click is audible, signifying access inside. With a light pat on your ass, he urges you to step in before him so that he can shuffle in right behind you. “In you go, doll,” he says, stifling a laugh at the tiny yelp of surprise you let out, earning himself a playful glare in response.

Shutting the door and locking it behind him, Billy then leads you to his room, which smells heavily of cigarette smoke and musky cologne—much like an extension of him. You plop yourself down on the edge of his bed, watching him as he shuts the bedroom door, locks it, and saunters over to his stereo.

“Now,” he prompts, pressing the power button to play his usual rock music at a moderately low volume. With a playful smile, he leans over you, and, using as little effort as possible from his fingers, pushes you so that you fall back onto the mattress before he crawls on top of her. “Where were we?”

“I think I can give you a refresher,” you giggle in response before wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him in toward you to kiss him with every single bit of lust you can ever think to give to him. You resist every invasive urge to laugh when it seems like Billy is surprised beyond belief that you’d make such a bold move. He groans low as you claw at his jacket to get it off of him.

You feel hands plant themselves on your waist, feeling your curves as they travel up to pull your blouse out of your jeans. At the same time, you make your second attempt at unbuttoning his shirt, which he lets you do this time. In a matter of moments, Billy is already half naked and ready to give you anything you want.

“Someone’s a little hasty,” he teases, nipping at your lip before sliding your entire body up on his mattress toward the pillows. He grabs a fistful of fabric from your shirt, proceeding to pull your blouse up your torso as you giggle.

In the swiftest beat, he takes your top off over your head and unhooks your bras as he latches himself onto your neck, sucking harshly at the smooth skin. Once he tosses your garments to the side, he pulls back to look you over, causing your ears to burn and your cheeks to become freckled with pink.

“Oh, I love these,” he marvels, reaching down to cup your breasts and glided his thumbs over the nipples, eliciting a pleased groan from you. He slowly circles his thumbs atop the sensitive nubs, his tongue running along the perimeter of his lower lip in growing desire. As he presses a kiss onto the soft skin in his hands, he muses, “Fuckin’ amazing tits.”

He is so vulgar, and you love it so much.

After taking in the sight of your bare chest, he leans down to place kisses up and down your sternum and on your breasts, continuing to play with your nipples until you begin to squirm from his touch. Soon, he lets his hands travel down your abdomen to begin undoing your jeans.

“Let me taste you, baby girl. I bet you taste so good,” he whispers against your skin, so quiet and intimate. You’re surprised that you just barely heard it. The words that are leaving his mouth almost sound desperate, but you’d never thought he had ever had to beg for anything from anyone. From his mouth, a couple of needy pants can be heard as he looks up to face you, eyes pleading and aching to please you. “Please let me make you feel good.”

This is definitely a first for you. Never in your life had you ever had someone begging to please you; in fact, you often found yourself lucky if any of your partners would even consider returning the favor.

You find yourself wondering just how good Billy is at giving head, so much so that you can’t help but nod your head and breathe out, “Okay.”

Billy lets out a satisfied and eager moan as he immediately pulls the zipper of your jeans down and practically rips them off in one fell swoop. He then hooks his thumbs into the sides of your panties, admiring the color and texture of them. “These all for me, sweetheart?” He hums playfully before sliding them off carelessly.

Once you’re completely naked, he whistles, “Look at that… So pretty and wet.” He can’t help but stare, and it leads you to try to break the silence of your slight embarrassment.

“Like what you see?” You ask, resting your arms above your head to make your figure seem more appealing.

“Like it? I love it, kitten.”

The words that leave Billy’s mouth make you feel less self-conscious about this whole thing, makes you feel more able to let yourself just be in the moment. And this is such a great moment to be in.

At first, Billy teases you, scooting onto his stomach and making himself comfortable below your waist before planting slow kisses onto your inner thighs as he holds your legs apart with those calloused hands of his. Your body begins to quiver and twitch with anticipation, and you wish that he would just get on with it and stop playing his games. But, of course, he just has to make it memorable for you.

Soon enough, you can feel your body react on its own, your back arching in pleasure when, finally, he flattens his tongue and licks a long, slow strip all the way up your pussy. “Fuck,” you gasp, which pulls a short laugh from the face between your legs.

His tongue circles slowly all the way around the general area of your cunt, moaning lavishly at the taste of you before he flicks the tip of his tongue over that small collection of nerves that had been itching for attention all night. Just that one movement from him is enough to send you beyond the moon and all the way back.

You completely adore the feeling of his tongue licking you up and down, his strong hands holding onto you like you were a rare delicacy; and by God, he was about to indulge you.

The majority of his attention goes straight toward rubbing and circling his tongue so expertly on your clit, occasionally sticking it out all the way to lap up your taste, chuckling or moaning every time you swear or moan or gasp in pleasure. At one point, he pulls away for a fraction of a second and spits downward, letting a short stream of saliva run down your pussy before licking it back up in such a messy manner. You feel so dirty in the best way possible as you rock your hips against his tongue and beg him to make you come.

Billy lies his tongue flat onto your clit, following the lead you end up taking and finding the utmost of pleasure in the fact that you’re essentially getting yourself off on just a small part from his entire body. After a moment, however, he grows desperate to taste your sweet release, gripping you harshly by your hips and holding your waist down to the mattress as he once again takes the reins.

“Oh fuck, just like that,” you pant, gripping the edges of his pillow so hard that you swear your knuckles are turning white. At this moment, you’re beginning to see stars from how good he’s making you feel. “God, Billy, I’m getting so close.”

He hums in acknowledgement to your statement, taking it as a cue to continue doing what he feels he could do forever.

It feels like he’s composing the most complicated music onto your pleading body, his tongue doing wonders on you as he continues to eat you as if his life depends on it. You can feel your body growing more erratic by the second, tension building inside of you, and you don’t know how much longer you’re going to last. It seems that Billy is more than ready to push you right over the edge.

“Coming—,” is all you manage to push past the knot that forms in your throat, choking on your own breath as one of the most powerful orgasms you’ve ever had takes over you. You try your absolute hardest to not make too loud of noises, which results in squeals and choked moans as Billy licks up every last drop of you, slow and steady.

You pant slowly as he finally detaches himself from you, using his forearm to wipe his mouth and chin clean. A smug smirk forms on his face as he kisses his way up your body back to your lips, pressing a quick kiss onto them. “You taste absolutely incredible, gorgeous.”

All you can do is stare, awe stricken and lightheaded. You try to say something meaningful and worth something in this moment, but all you can get out of your mouth is, “You’re fucking fantastic.”

“I know.” “I take it back.”

Billy laughs, kissing you again because he just can’t bother to do anything else. You return the kiss, cupping his cheek in your hand. This one is a gentler kiss. A sweeter one. You like it, but you hope that doesn’t mean it’s over already.

Pulling away, you hesitate, but spoke nonetheless, “Do you have…”

As you trail off, he manages to catch on to what you’re hinting at, leaving you with no need to finish your sentence.

“Of course, sweet face,” he replies with the same smoothness and charm that landed the both of you in this very situation. He reaches over to open the drawer on his bedside table and pulls out a half empty box of Trojan brand condoms, pulling one out and setting the box back down on the table. As you watch him, he meets your gaze once more, making you feel more naked than nude when he gives you yet another look over.

“God, you’re so fuckin’ perfect,” he sighs, leaning down and crashing his lips back onto yours. You can taste yourself on his tongue; and out of all the times you’d kissed him tonight, this was by far the least put-together state you’d witnessed him in. But, of course, he snaps back into that old charm of his after he parts from you with a small nip of your lip and you wonder for a moment just how many women he’s said that to. Then, he gives you the same lusty look he’d shot your way many times before at the community pool as he removes his jeans and underwear, tore open the condom wrapper, and finally says the words:

“I’m gonna fuck the living shit outta you.”

That sentence alone makes you whine. Still riding from your previous orgasm, you press your thighs together to allow yourself some friction—any friction—as Billy slides the condom so skillfully onto his cock.

“No, no, none of that, princess,” he tuts, spreading your legs apart again to completely open you up to him. He pauses for a moment, marveling at the sight of you practically begging him to fuck you just by the furrow of your brow and your subtle pout. You swear you see him about to drool. “You don’t have to do a thing, pretty girl.”

With that, he slides his cock into your pussy so agonizingly slow as he growls in pure bliss, a flithy smile growing onto his face at the sound of the lewd moan that leaves your lips. You find yourself completely relishing in the feeling of connecting to Billy in a way many girls can only dream of. “Fuck, you like that baby?”

You can only manage to nod your head in response through all the fogginess in your head. Once he is all the way inside of you, he begins to pull out at the same pace, repeating the motion over and over again.

“Billy, please,” you plead, the tempo at which his hips grind against your pelvis and buries himself deep inside of you driving you completely mad. You almost want to cry out of pure frustration from the way he’s teasing you. You just want more of him, anything he’s willing to give you.

The young devil leans down onto his elbows for support so that he’s almost face to face with you, and you can feet his breath right on your cheek. Even the tone he holds in the way he responds is enough to make you lose your mind and the fucker knows it. “Please, what?”

And you can barely think straight with the way he’s working you, with his hands caressing your hips to guide you onto his cock. The way he moves seems like clockwork, a second nature to him, teasing you so well with his sinful hips and immaculate touch.

Between your whines and stifled moans, you reach a hand up to caress his face again, making eye contact with him no matter how hard it might be to keep concentrated. Your other hand joins, both of them now moving back to entangle your fingers into the smooth curls of his mullet. Soft and desperate, you beg, “Please fuck me harder.”

Billy lets out a tantalizing laugh. “That’s just what I like to hear.”

You can’t help but to let out a yelp of pleasure that is just a touch too loud as he picks up the pace of his hips. He immediately clamps a hand down over your mouth, shushing you in a way you never knew you could find sexy at all as he begins to slam his cock into you at a quicker pace.

“You want us to get caught, huh? Want my dad to barge in and find me buried deep in you while you just take it?” He presses, panting in between his words as he tries not to give into the ecstasy of being inside of you too much. “God, this pussy is fucking heavenly.”

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you focus on the wonderful feeling of Billy stretching out your pristine, tight little pussy. You begin to feel like you could ascend above the clouds right into heaven. He lets go of your mouth, replacing his hand with his mouth as his hips hold their steady rhythm. This kiss is sloppy and messy, the both of you moaning into each other’s mouths while they bite and nip at each other.

Billy then rips his face away from yours, panting as he looks at your face. Sweat drips from his forehead down the side of his face, but he doesn’t falter. You start to think he has the stamina of an olympic athlete.

He slows after a while, compensating for it by grinding into you as deep as he possibly can. The room fills with the smell of sex and the sound of your pants mixing together with his. It is after a moment that you begin to feel a touch too selfish.

“Do you want me to do anything?” You offer, brushing away the strands of hair that are sticking to his forehead from his sweat. Pouting subtly, you continue. “I want to make you feel good, too.”

He shakes his head before pressing a kiss onto your forehead, insisting that he’s fine. ���I’m almost there, kitten,” he reassures, biting down onto his lower lip hard to hold back some of his pants. Then, taking a deep breath, he returns to his previous speed to get himself off. Gasping in surprise, you hook your arms under his to plant your hands onto his sweaty back, feeling his muscles contract as he moves.

His broad figure looms over you, and you dig your nails into his skin, scratching to make up for all the moans and screams you want to let out so that he knows just how good he’s making you feel.

“I’m gonna come, baby girl,” he pants, trying his best to hold back from completely wrecking you like he actually wants to.

Just from hearing that statement, you let out an eager moan as your hands scramble to grab onto his face, pulling it down to your own to plant the hungriest kiss you’d ever given anyone. When you break the kiss, you hug his head atop of your shoulder, pleading into his ear in the sweetest tone Billy had ever heard in his life, “Come inside of me.”

With those words, Billy lets out a strained groan of Bure bliss and ecstasy right into your ear as he spills himself into the condom. He soon slows the pace of his hips, body twitching ever so slightly as he rides out the remainder of his orgasm.

“Shit,” he sighs, letting out a final deep breath as he pulls his cock out of you and plops down beside you, occupying whatever space was left on the bed. You follow his lead when he starts to slide under the covers. “I need a smoke.”

You giggle and reach over to the floor beside where you lie in bed, pulling his Marlboro box and lighter from his jacket and rolling onto your other side to hand them to him. He smiles slightly as he pulls a cigarette from the box and puts it in his mouth, dangling it in his lips in front of you and letting you light in before he takes his first drag from it. He then offers you a smoke from his cigarette, taking it between two fingers from his mouth, to which you reject, simply saying, “I don’t smoke.”

He simply shrugs before exhaling the smoke toward the ceiling as you set the box and lighter down on his bedside table. You turn back to find his looking right at you, admiring the features on your face.

“What?” You breathe, a shy smile on your face as you rest your head onto his pillow.

“Say you’ll come out with me again,” he requests, supporting himself by the elbow of his free arm to look down at you as he continued to smoke on his cigarette. You don’t even realize that the face you pull in response reads as confused and just a bit shocked. “I’m serious. I’ll take you someplace nice, like dinner or the beach or some shit.”

“Is the infamous Billy Hargrove asking me on a second date?” You tease with a playful gasp, knowing that part of his reputation included never going out with the same girl twice. Obviously, you hadn’t prepared for this possibility when you did your introspective option-weighing at the movie theatre.

He scoffs, unable to stop the laugh that leaves the back of his throat. “Fuck you.”

You watch as he takes another long drag from his cigarette, and you shuffle onto your stomach to make yourself comfortable, scooting closer to the edge of the bed to allow him more space. Peeking up at him through your eyelashes, you question, “You know I’m going back to Vegas after the summer’s over, right?”

All Billy does is shrug, not seeming to mind. “Doesn’t mean we can’t have a bit of fun with the time we got left.”

A soft hum leaves your mouth as you watch him finish off his cigarette and toss the butt into his trash. Surely another date with him wouldn’t be so bad. “Sounds like a plan,” you give in, letting yourself enjoy the possibility of having a summer where you don’t have to wait around for Nancy all day every day.

Billy smiles in triumph, leaning down to press a kiss onto your lips. You smile a bit, too, into the kiss, the sealer of the best night of your entire summer. So far, at least. When he pulls away from you, he strokes your cheek with the knuckle of his pointer finger, noting the way you almost lean into his touch and the warmth of his hand.

“Billy?”

“Yes, princess?”

“Please do not leave that condom on your dick.”

[notsugarandspice]

Spin for Me (Chapter 3)

Spin for me, I'll let my bruises do the talking. If you close your eyes, I'll disappear, but maybe not tonight. You're too good for this world, I won't save you.

Pairings: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier

Warnings: Angst, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, Psychological Trauma

Previous chapters on ao3.

 There’s nothing but a nauseating dull pain when Richie wakes up the morning after his twenty-first birthday. His throat feels dry and bitter, the stale taste of alcohol and puke lingering on the walls of the esophagus. It’s a combination vile enough to send him running towards the toilet. The clear liquid hitting the water isn’t that astounding - anything that wanted to come out did so last night. Memories are a black haze, occasionally filled with snippets of the evening. Blue thong between tanned cheeks. Pink on brown. Stanley’s guffawing face. The green and red of street lights as they drove down Pine Tree Drive. His tears hitting the bottom of the tub. Plunk. Plunk. Stanley was long gone.

Richie doesn’t know how long he stays there, nausea slowly subsiding from the coolness of the toilet seat. He flushes lazily after several minutes, unable to stare into the repercussions of his own mistakes. He doesn’t get up right away, afraid that any movement would instantly trigger another vomiting fit. He thinks of how to go about the events of last night. How to talk to his friends about the importance of boundaries. How to tell his boyfriend that they just don’t work anymore.

His head eventually slowly lifts up as if on its own accord, his stomach producing terrifying sounds that can only mean hunger, but the last thing Richie wants is anything in his mouth. He pushes himself up from the toilet and stands in front of the sink, contemplating surging forward and smashing his head in the mirror. When has life gone to complete and utter shit?

Richie looks up, meeting the eyes of the ghost reflection of himself staring back. His skin is sickly pale, with a tint of purple green that people typically associate with things like mono, except he’s perfectly healthy. There are several broken blood vessels around the brown irises. The dark circles under his eyes have a deep red forming from constant insomnia and overwhelming stress. Last night was the first time he slept more than five hours in the past three years.

The acne on the hollows of his cheeks has gone into overdrive, feeding on lack of hydration. Richie bends down and splashes his face with cold water, rubbing it with amplified intensity. He opens the mirror to pull out one of Stan’s prescription scrubs and makes work of the tiny stinging beads, focusing on his cheeks. He’s supposed to leave in on for five minutes, but Richie decides to wash it off right away instead, caring very little about the long-term effects. He brushes his teeth quickly and spits out without rinsing, clinging to the relief that spearmint brings in lieu of a bitter taste in the back of his throat.

Richie walks to the dresser, rubbing his abdomen absentmindedly. He hasn’t eaten well in weeks, and it shows - his stomach isn’t just flat anymore, it falls in from lack of nutrition. He picks the red t-shirt with a little pocket on the right side, spraying a large amount of cologne all around, trying to avoid showering as long as possible. Someone undressed him the night before, and he feels fresh nausea hit the back of his tongue from the image of Stanley kissing his thighs after pulling the jeans off. He doesn’t know if it even happened, it might just be a recurring memory.

Pulling on a pair of old jeans he stumbles into the hallway, zipping up on his way to the kitchen. Richie just notices a fresh smell of coffee that clings to the entirety of the living room area. He rounds the corner to the kitchen and sees Stan sitting on the breakfast table, folded newspaper in hand. The ominous domesticity almost makes him vomit again.

Stanley lifts a finger motioning not to be disturbed, and Richie rolls his eyes. As if I wanted to fucking talk to you. He opens the fridge door, ignoring the pancakes resting on the large white plate, butter melted on top. He knows his boyfriend’s schemes through and back: he does some shit-fucked move, fucks up their night, and then apologizes with greasy breakfast and a blow job. Neither seems appealing to Richie, and he ignores the food, pulling out the milk carton to pour on top of his coffee.

He sits down next to Stan on the table downing half of the mug in one go. His boyfriend doesn’t even bat an eyelash, engulfed in another boring political article, sipping black coffee from the smallest mug in their kitchen. Richie wants to throw it against the wall.

“You going to say anything?”

Stan finally lifts his eyes, a very disinterested expression on his face. “What do you want me to say, babe?”

“Don’t call me that.” He knows I hate it. Why does he insist on doing things that make my skin crawl?

“I don’t have time for arguments if that’s what you’re here for.” Stanley’s eyes shift back to the article.

Richie’s entire body fills with rage so powerful he has to dig unkempt nails inside the heels of his hands. He’s done. Done, done, done, done. Done feeling like he doesn’t deserve better. Done being with someone who wants a submissive servant for a partner. He doesn’t want anything to do with this relationship anymore. It doesn’t just make him unhappy - he is downright miserable.

Richie grabs onto the newspaper and gets up from the chair, throwing it on the floor. Stan’s expression barely changes, and he looks back at his boyfriend with an amused leer as if he expected this to happen.

“I’m fucking done, do you hear me, Stan? I’m done with this shit!” Richie knows he probably looks like a stubborn child but his throat feels tight and tears are stinging his eyes. This has to happen. This SHOULD’VE happened a while ago.

“You say that every time. And every single time you come back.” Stan leans into his own palm, probably waiting for another outburst.

“I mean it this time. I’m not sticking around. You need someone who’s going to keep up with your shit and crawl around you like a dying puppy. I’m not doing that anymore.” Richie’s voice is cracking, disturbing sounds of his suppressed sobbing filling the small apartment.

“Look, why don’t you go have a walk, and we talk later? How does that sound?” Son of a bitch.

Richie puts his hand on the table, leaning towards Stanley’s face close to get the message across. “I. Said. I’m. Leaving. Got it?” His voice is ice cold. He shivers from it himself.

Richie turns around on his heel, his head pulsating from receding anger and relief that’s shooting through every inch of his skin. He’s done something that was in the works for a while. He did this. For himself. By himself. I don’t need him and his controlling fucking words, and his manipulative ass sitting on my breakfast table every morning. Fuck this.

He goes back to the bedroom to retrieve a jean jacket and put on his most worn leather boots. There are no sounds coming from the kitchen, the only noise is Richie’s heavy breathing and the shuffling of jeans. Since the car he usually drives is Stanley’s, he decides to take a taxi instead, devoid of a specific destination. He puts his hands into the pockets of the jacket, feeling for the wallet and cigarettes. The pack is there, completely empty, but not the other item. Richie furrows his brows and then closes his eyes in realization, an image of a dollar bill on top of the black glossy bar passing through the blackout haze.

Richie sighs heavily and strolls towards the front door in haste. He doesn’t even look at Stanley, but he can feel the judgmental eyes on him, causing his hands to shake on the doorknob. The smell of fresh coffee is soon replaced with the scent of a moldy carpet in the hallway, and Richie smiles.

Eddie feels awkward. He never feels awkward. The fingers holding the cigarette are shaking, ash falling down in his lap. The pressure with which he presses the breaks is irregular, and both he and the passenger are flung forward at every red light. But he doesn’t hear the man complain as they drive around in silence, smoking, smooth rock music coming through the old speakers of the Toyota.

He’s never had anyone in this car before. It was his ma’s. He can’t afford a new one, and it fell into his hands after Sonia’s death, along with the house and anything else she owned. He sold the house a month later, and the rest of her belongings were sent to his aunt who he never held contact with. What do you mean, Eddie? Sonia would never touch you that way. Baby, she probably wanted to make sure you don’t have a disease. You know how the fags in your town are. He wants to vomit.

Eddie eventually pulls over to the bar on Collins Ave, parking in two spaces to make sure that nobody scratches the doors of the car. He can’t afford to patch it up. He looks over to the man in the passenger seat, taking a moment to observe him briefly. He sees somewhat a reflection of his own exhaustion on the other’s face. Brown-eyes’ hair is greasy, sticking to the top of his head, there are slight burns on his cheeks that Eddie recognizes as the acne medication. When their eyes meet, Eddie’s heart clenches at the raw misery and pain reflected in the dark chocolate. He knows that look. It watches him in the mirror every morning.

Look at this, Eddie, you found another victim. Why don’t you hit him? Hit him now and see if he runs. Maybe the pain won’t scare him. Maybe it will take him longer than the other. Maybe he even likes it.

His eyes start burning with approaching tears and Eddie steps out of the seat, quickly rubbing his eyes with the sleeve of the jacket. He hears the door creak and knows that the man got out of the car but he can’t lift his head from the crook of the elbow, afraid of his own mind.

“Hey, you okay?” asks the man quietly, and his voice is very close, Eddie guesses he’s standing right in front of him.

He finally lifts his head and squints a little, even though the stranger is conveniently obscuring the smoldering October sun, hanging mid-sky. The temperature rarely ever drops below eighty here. Eddie smiles in response to the warm voice, and he doesn’t want to feel as safe as he does. He doesn’t deserve to be safe.

“Yeah... um, I’m good.” Brown-eyes smiles, sunlight framing the thick black hair, and Eddie can’t help but want to know everything about him, against better judgment. I thought I’d never see you again. I thought you’d be nothing but a daydream.

Eddie starts walking towards the glass door of the bar, and there’s a typical jingly noise when he opens it, signifying their entrance. The whole place reeks of cheap whiskey and tobacco but it reminds Eddie of the club, and he instantly relaxes. It’s not sickly sterile. I hate sickly sterile.

They walk towards the orangey oak bar, taking a seat right in the middle. It’s too early in the day for anyone else to be here but Mike used to work at this joint, and it makes Eddie feel sheltered.

A bartender is in the back, and Eddie leans over the counter, grabbing a random tequila bottle. He makes a ‘that’ll do’ expression upon reading the label and leans downward again, snatching two shot glasses between his fingers. The man sits quietly next to him, looking over the small wooden pieces hanging on top of the bar top with beach paintings on them. He seems genuinely interested, and Eddie smiles at the smallest glint of shine in the other’s eyes. Eddie thinks he deserves to smile more.

“You okay with this?” Eddie pushes a full shot towards the man. His expression seems unreadable at first, something dark flashing in front of his eyes but then it’s gone, and he downs the tequila in one go.

“Yup,” says the man, popping the last letter and smiling wider than Eddie has ever seen. Eddie’s heart jumps straight to the back of his throat.

He downs his own shot, feeling the dull warmth spread somewhere in the middle of the chest. He sighs in relief and instantly refills them.

“So, are you going to tell me what you were doing there yesterday?”

The man seems taken aback for a second, confusion crossing over his features and then his mouth becomes an understanding ‘O’.

“My friends wanted me to have fun, I guess. I’m not a club person at all. Everyone thinks so, but I’m not.” Eddie just now notices how young the other’s voice is. His looks scream thirty, but his innocence is all teen. But Eddie knows how unforgiving outer layers can be. You’d know all about it, won’t you, Eddie?

He clears his throat to respond, pushing the lump further down. “Why did you let them?”

“What?” asks brown-eyes, downing another shot.

“Drag you there. You don’t seem like someone who can be taken anywhere against his will.” Eddie’s eyes trailed up and down the man’s body quickly.

Brown-eyes laughs and Eddie honest-to-god wants to jump him right there. “Looks can be deceiving. I’m tall, but I weigh practically nothing. All bones.”

“Bones are heavy.”

The man grins and pushes the shot glass towards Eddie. He notices how long and bony the other’s fingers are. Eddie feels goosebumps cover his forearm. “Are you a nurse by day?”

Eddie snorts, filling the shots again. “Definitely. I’m all about helping the needy.”

There’s a long stretch of silence, and Eddie turns to see what caused a delayed response. The man sits there and just stares, searching all over Eddie’s face, then looking lower. Eddie feels his knee twitch as the stranger’s eyes get stuck on the hole there.

He nervously pushes the shot in the other’s direction but the man doesn’t move, fingers tapping against the bar in contemplation. “Gonna tell me your name?”

Eddie can’t help but smile. And he wants to, really does but he also wants nothing more than to protect this wonderful, young man from himself.

“Not yet. Why don’t you tell me about that boyfriend of yours.”

The man’s face contorts, and Eddie sees the jaw clench irritably. He wants to say that he regrets saying it but everything about last night intrigues him. Everything about you. I want it all.

“How did you know?” asks the stranger, downing another shot with an empty void in his eyes.

“He seemed like he didn’t want to let you out of his sight.”

“Yeah, he suffers from those tendencies,” says the man and his voice is strained and final, but Eddie wants to hear anything and everything. Press, press, press.

“Tendencies?”

Brown-eyes pauses for a second as if composing himself. “Manipulative.” He doesn’t elaborate, and Eddie decides to give him a break. He’s never too afraid to ask a personal question but the last thing he wants is to make this man uncomfortable.

The guy is sitting in complete silence, shoulders slouched and face staring at the empty shot glass and Eddie is about to ask if he stepped over the line when the bartender enters the room. Eddie instantly recognizes him, along with the distinct reek of a drunk man. Polly has always been like that - careless and generally very bad at his job.

Eddie quickly realizes something and is about to stop the bartender from talking, but it’s a losing battle with someone drunk at eight in the morning. “Polly-“

“Eddie! What a fuckin’ riot! Can’t believe you’re here this early in the day. Aren’t ya a night owl?” screams the bartender, leaning on the counter right in front of them.

Eddie hasn’t blushed in years, but he must be now - he feels his entire body burning. He’s secretly hoping that the man didn’t catch the name and turns his head carefully. The guy’s face is nothing short of pure fascination: mouth open, eyes wide and black eyebrows raised almost to the hairline. Eddie’s face drops into his hands.

“Fuck me sideways! I know your name now!” Eddie laughs into his hands and looks back at the man who is still grinning, cheeks flushed and eyes a little glassy. Shit, you’re gorgeous.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait a second. How come you have a client this young?” asks Polly, looking over the man darkly. Eddie suddenly wants to shield brown-eyes from view.

“He’s not a client, P.” Eddie really doesn’t want to elaborate on the implications of that word. He already senses confusion coming from the stranger.

Before the conversation gets out of hand, he pulls out a stack of cash and smacks two worn twenties on the counter. He nods towards the door and starts walking, waving goodbye to Polly. Polly works a lot with clients too. But he also doesn’t use protection, so Eddie hurries out in case the stranger is more inebriated than he looks.

Brown-eyes follows Eddie, and they both end up leaning on the car, lighting the last pair of menthol sticks that make the suffocating humidity somewhat manageable. Eddie stands in silence, simply enjoying the other’s company. He is pleasantly buzzed, feeling even more so when the nicotine spreads itself through his darkened lungs. Thoughts of his father come rushing back, and Eddie feels another episode of choking fear of death come back. But he’s not even sure he’d mind it. Dying. He’s inflicted so much pain, enough so that if hell and heaven were real, Eddie knows where he’d end up.

He feels eyes on him, and he turns to look at brown-eyes. There is some color on his face now, on both of their faces, and it makes for a nice change. Eddie doesn’t feel so empty anymore. The stranger is smiling smugly, and it makes the soles of Eddie’s feet tingle. He doesn’t want this to end. I don’t want to let you go, but I have to. I know I have to. I’m like a sleeping volcano. And you’re Pompeii.

“Hey, so I was thinking-“

“You do that a lot,” says Eddie giving the man a wink. He feels a smile tugging the corners of his mouth, and there’s something beating the inside of his stomach. It’s all too unfamiliar.

Brown-eyes laughs and Eddie’s eyes water instantly from the gratifying sound. “Right that. It’s unhealthy, I think. Nothing good happens when I do.”

“Same here.” Eddie smiles warmly, the muscles of his cheeks already used to the novelty of sensation.

“Are you hungry? There’s a nice Mexican place next to my office. We could eat there. Should open at nine.”

Eddie wants to ask him about the job. And why in the fucking hell a guy like him, with charisma and heart of gold works a stuffy 9-5. But getting to know him more might cause Eddie to get attached. And that absolutely cannot happen. No, Eddie, attachment leads to commitment and we all know you can’t do that. You can’t even commit to the same cigarette brand. Piece of fucking shit.

Eddie swallows the malevolent voice down and forces a smile. “I actually have a lot to do. I can drop you off home if you want.” Fuck. No. Bad idea, Eddie. You can’t know where he lives. Come pounding on his door begging to be loved. You can’t be loved. Piece of fucking shit.

“Oh… Okay. Um… Sure.” The disappointment in the man’s voice is as clear as the bright blue sky above them. Eddie suddenly feels the stifling heat approaching midday slowly but surely, and he wants to get indoors. The alcohol is making him sweat, so he finishes the cigarette, throwing it close to the storm drain without stopping. He takes off the jacket, feeling the tingling of burning UV light on his forearms. Brown-eyes is watching him, cigarette long gone, his hands in the pockets of dark jeans. Eddie wants to take them off right there in the parking lot. Take his skin off as you go. You’re good at hurting people.

Eddie blinks back another rising hysteria and leans on the car in front of the man, stepping closer. He can smell the unmistakable sticky sweat that’s not entirely unpleasant, a scent of strong, cheap liquor and expensive cologne. Smell of a man. It makes Eddie’s mouth water.

“Are you going to tell me your name?” He shouldn't ask, really shouldn’t. But he wants to know everything. God, everything.

The stranger smiles nervously, his eyes darting between Eddie’s eyes and lips. Eddie feels the tension resonate in his groin like a shockwave. It’s an avid reminder of how long it’s been since he’s been with someone he wanted.

“I guess you’d have to make me a promise that I’ll see you again.” Eddie’s hand involuntarily goes to the man’s chest, and it rests there, feeling a speedy heartbeat. It matches the punching of his own ribcage perfectly. It’s terrifying. There’s an intake of breath and Eddie is afraid to look at the other’s mouth. He might lose it.

“Sure,” he answers and puts the hand away. It feels cold and empty now.

He gets into the driver’s side and starts the car after a couple of tries. Brown-eyes gets in almost a minute later. Eddie wouldn’t blame him if he just walked away.

The man guides them back to his place, pointing the long bony finger in the direction of the correct turns and exits. Eddie’s eyes linger on those limbs longer than appropriate, and the stranger probably notices. A sweet strawberry redness covers his cheeks charmingly, and Eddie wants to press his lips to the color. They finally pull up to a five-story apartment building in a good neighborhood. Eddie saw a crowd of girls on the street corner so he might be wrong. The man gets out instantly and leans on the open window.

“I’m not going to live here anymore. Gotta find a place to crash. Can I see you some other time?” There is an alarming amount of hope in his voice that makes Eddie’s chest tight.

“Your boyfriend wouldn’t mind you hanging out with me?” Eddie wants to be closer. He doesn’t even care about the boyfriend.

“Nada. Kinda useless to ask for someone’s permission when you’re not theirs anymore.” The man nods towards the building and Eddie connects the dots. He said it as if he’s some sort of property.

Eddie’s palms are sweating where they’re clasped in front of him, and he wants to hold the stranger’s cold ones. Brown-eyes straightens and fishes for something in the pocket of his jeans. He takes out a business card and reaches it out for Eddie to take.

RICHARD TOZIER

Sales Associate

(305)676-9988 ext. 667

Eddie smiles at the name, something pounding the inside of his tightened throat. The logo of some nonsensical company is on the back, and so is the address of the office. It’s too much and too little information all at once. Eddie leans over to the passenger seat and waves the card in front of him, smiling.

“Thanks.” Richard, Richard, Richard, Richard. Rich.

“Okay, well, I’m not gonna lie. I don’t ever sit at my desk, but I’m gonna now. Please call.” Rich slaps a palm on top of the car and strolls to the main door. He bends down to wave before he goes in and Eddie starts driving several minutes later, tears slowly rolling down his face.

Three months will pass until he sees Richard Tozier again.

[yeoldontknow]

Midnight Summer

Author’s Note: rainbow!pcy has messed me up in all the ways a person can be messed up, and so this had to happen. he is now my 80s daydream boyfriend. Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader (oc; female) Creative Content Contributors: @gingersaysjump for this INCREDIBLY stunning moodboard <3 oh my LORD Genre: shameless smut Rating: NC-17 Warning: explicit language; explicit sex Word Count: 4,053

Los Angeles in the summer is oppressive, almost aggressive in the way it clings to your skin and presses on you, making you feel like you’re forced to swallow its wetness whole. You always hated it, the way it slithers down your back in a drop of sweat, steals the moisture from your mouth and makes you thirsty; aching to be touched, yet untouched in the warmth. The only place you can feel any sort of reprieve is the Manhattan Beach Pier, one long expanse of wood and sea breeze removed from the neon of the city. Here, the metal railing cools your hot skin and your tongue tastes the sea, hair ruffling in the wind as your body starts to relax. Here, you let yourself be unmade - just a little. You relax into yourself and your tight dress. Here, summer doesn’t seem so violent or so long.

And here is where you met him.

You thought he was too bright for such a dark space, tresses a rainbow of pastel nonchalance and lips pink from the heat. His long fingers toyed with a lighter, but you saw no cigarette, the absent minded action turning it into a firework. For a while, he didn’t notice you staring at him. For a long while, you didn’t know why you kept looking. It was rude and intrusive, the pier a place of quiet reflection and peace - defined as such by you. But you couldn’t look away, not from him. There was a hardness in his bones that seemed contradictory to the brightness of his person, settling in his clenched jaw and furrowed brow. He was a paradox of playfulness and adult abjection, and he was beautiful.

And when he looked at you, when he finally turned his eyes to yours, you didn’t feel breathless or speechless merely awash with the overwhelming sensation of finding something you’d been waiting for.

‘Something to say?’ he asked, voice deep and tongue teasing his bottom lip.

You could suck that lip, you thought, suck it and make it bleed between your teeth.

‘No,’ was your calm reply, and, for that evening, it was enough.

Until it wasn’t.

You met like that for weeks, standing at the edge of the pier separate, but together. On the second night, he told you his name, saying I’m Chanyeol to the sky without looking at you or really needing a response. You told him your own and he simply nodded, the action so minute you would have missed it had you blinked. On the fifth night, he told you not to trust him, though you’re not sure why. You said you didn’t and that you wouldn’t, and he seemed pleased with this answer, turning to look at you and smiling for the first time. It felt like your heart had learned how to bloom and burst.

Slowly, naturally, your bodies gravitated towards one another, inching closer along the railing over a period of days in which you found it harder and harder to be apart. Eventually, you stood shoulder to shoulder, not really feeling the need to say anything just luxuriating in the nearness of him. The smell of his cologne was carried on the breeze, mixing with the salt of the air and putting him in your mouth before you could truly taste him. It was a heady combination, the kind that made your synapses short circuit and your thighs clench in anticipation or desire, and it made you want to pull at him.

‘I’m going to kiss you,’ he said calmly, breaking the silence and sending the words into the crashing waves.

He really wasn’t asking your permission, and you assumed he could feel that he didn’t need it. You could smell him in the air and likely the same was for him, two halves of the same fucked up whole aching to burn out together.

‘Good,’ was really all you could manage.

When your lips touched, you were surprised such a hard thing could feel so soft. He moved against you like he already knew you, and you could taste the cocaine on his teeth as your tongue moved against his, turning him into a contact high. He hummed into the kiss, sending a vibration through your chest that rumbled deep into your core, making you wet and desperate to be close. Your hands were needy, but so were his, and you found it odd that you wanted to be pressed so tightly against him. You kept people at an arm’s length in the July heat, flesh too hot and wired to crave the touch of a stranger, but he was different. Chanyeol’s blood ran cold, you assumed, his skin cool to the touch and made you feel refreshed wherever his hands traced. Cupping your ass and your breasts, creeping up into your neck, he was the chill you’d been seeking throughout all your summers.

Now it is August, and, now, you can feel September looming around you, feeling the crisp air of autumn long before the start making the hair on your arms stand at attention. Chanyeol is driving you somewhere, he didn’t say where, just suggested leaving the city behind in favor of each other’s company. It’s normal for him to do this, Chanyeol finding the proximity of people in the city something of a burden and you finding people to simply be too loud. It’s normal for him to take you, drive you out of the city somewhere quiet, somewhere far up the coast where you can fuck or talk without feeling the obligation of being who LA made you to be.

He’s reckless with his speed, one hand on the wheel and the other draped over the door as he whisks you up the Hollywood Hills. With every press of his foot to the gas, the car seems to moan in appreciation, his lips parting to release a sigh at the noise - as though he were about to transcend ecstasy. Tonight, he is gold and pink, a neon smear in the wind as he speeds along the highway, and tonight you are hungry.

When he drives, there is a carefree sort of authority to his features, an ease of control as he handles the car the way he handles your body: with power and knowledge and affection. Chanyeol isn’t soft for many things, doesn’t lose the tension in his shoulders unless he’s sure the thing he surrenders to will bring him pleasure. Chanyeol isn’t soft for many things, but he’s soft for a drive and he’s soft for you. It’s this knowledge that fills you with a yearning so whole and complete that you find yourself grinding your hips into the black leather of your seat, exposed knees tensing as the cool night air runs along your skin.

Watching him, it’s easy to lose yourself in the sight. Your hand falls between your thighs as if on instinct, and he seems to notice from his peripheral, moving to look at you with relaxed eyes and a smirk that lets you know he wants you too. He reaches one hand over to your cheek, cradling it gently as he watches the road, before bringing his thumb to your bottom lip, gingerly tugging at it to relish the plumpness. You suck his finger into your mouth, biting weakly at the tip and stroking it with your tongue, giggling at the way his eyes flutter as he releases a low groan.

Pulling his thumb from your mouth, he drops his hand to the apex of your thighs, moving yours away and hiking the skirt of your dress up past your hips. Not wasting any time, he shifts your underwear to the side and strokes one finger along your slit.

‘You’re fucking wet,’ he growls, turning to look at you with wide eyes.

Removing his hand from your body, he turns back to the road and slides his finger into his mouth, humming in pleasure. The telltale curl to his upper lip forms, and you moan in delight.

He licks his lips, and smiles. ‘Sweet.’

Chanyeol doesn’t touch you again after that, leaving you in an intense state of longing. He makes it a point to not look at you, instead keeping his eyes on the road as he runs his fingers over his lips, but you can feel the heat radiating from his body even through air. There’s a phantom limb ghosting over your slit and thighs, where his hands once were, and your body is tingling as though being touched by a ghost. Biting down on your lip, you close your eyes and sigh as you try to make the memory last, to bring the feeling back to life.

Your body is a live wire, chest instinctively lifting from your seat and mouth going dry in anticipation. Part of you thinks you should be shocked by the control he has over your body, how just one brief touch of his fingers can tilt you, leave you on edge and make you into a ravenous, lustful thing, something wholly unlike the way you normally surrender to pleasure. But another part of you, a different, bolder part of you, knows that he had control from the start. He had control because you let him, you let him and you wanted him, and now your body reacts to the thing it calls mine.

Chanyeol pulls the car off the road at the top of a hill, a vantage point overlooking the city surrounded by trees and only a few streetlights. It’s dark here, secluded enough to feel the warm hands of privacy dance along your skin, and open enough to be dangerous, risky. Up and out of the city, you can almost see past the smog and the smoke, free from the scent of piss and exhaust, and can finally see Los Angeles as a city of stars the way the rest of the world does.

He rests his head against the seat and looks at you, eyes blown wide and lips set in a seductive pout. You know he means to reach for you, you can see the bulge in his trousers simply begging to be touched, and the way his fingers twitch in expectation of skin against skin. You know he means to reach for you, but you slide out of the car and away from his hold before he can move.

Beneath the echo of the door slam, you can hear his dissatisfied whine as you walk towards the edge of the view barrier, hips swaying purposefully to tease him. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you lean over the concrete with a small smile, taking in the scenery and the night sky. Real stars are a wish, a memory of vacations with your family up north, where the city pollution doesn’t reach so high and the sky is free and wild and alive. You settle for this, though. Settle for the ownership of the city, for the way the height and the distance makes it seem like you could hold LA in the palm of your hand; the way this view makes you feel like a queen and Chanyeol your king.

He steps behind you, hands reaching for and stroking at your hips, clutching the flesh of your body with force as he presses his chest against your back. For a moment you stay this way, basking in the warmth of one another, feeling a sort of dominance course through your body as you think on how this city and this night is yours, commanded by your own choice and whim. Chanyeol’s hot breath cascades down your neck, spreading out over your shoulders and sending a heat to your core that makes your thighs clench. He seems to sense this, chuckling to himself as he leans to take your earlobe between his teeth.

Turning in his arms, you pull back to admire all the colours of him, the way he is every shade of beauty, every shade of love and lust and the image of summer you always wanted but could never find. In these soft moments, these moments of quiet and comfort, he becomes something young and something precious. In one summer, you’ve tasted cocaine on his tongue and watched him fight brutally against the rules of conformity and expectation. In one summer, you’ve learned he’s wrong for you in all the ways society deems him to be so: too cold, too uneducated, too cruel in his outlook on life. But, in one summer, you’ve learned he’s the most perfect thing you’ve ever held between your hands and now, with the summer breeze disappearing with each passing day, you start to see him as you should have from the start: a refraction of light, something impermanent and impossible to keep.

This only makes you wrap your arms around his neck, hold him close and tight, pressing your lips against his in an almost painful act of heartbreaking need. He’s tangible now, and yours, grasping at your body like he’s trying to mould himself into you; merge into your bones to keep you with him, united down to the marrow. When he kisses you this time, it’s like fire. He’s a straight shot of whiskey and you’re burning with the taste. On edge for too long, he wants all of you and you want all of him, teeth and tongue fighting against one another for dominance. Usually, he’s slow. Usually, he takes his time and likes to tease you, only touching you once you’re begging for him, whimpering beneath the weight of how badly you want him. Tonight, he kisses you like he wants to go to war, wants to claim your body and mark you as his, always, to own you the way you own the night.

Pulling your mouth from his, you move down his jaw, nipping gently at the bone, down towards his neck where you latch onto your favourite tendon. Chanyeol stills, moaning at the way your tongue licks at his skin as your teeth latch down while you suck. His fingers become furious things, needy things, moving to grip your ass as he pulls your hips to his. He’s hard and hungry, mouth agape and sighing into the pleasure, and the sheer noise of him almost becomes too much for you to bear. Rhythmically grinding into you, his hands move up your back, splayed wide aching to feel all of you at once, until they reach your neck to fist in your hair. He tugs your head back and rests his forehead against yours, panting into your mouth to share your breath.

‘Can I fuck you here?’

He asks for permission for this and only this, voice taut and dry like always. He asks permission for this one thing because, even though he knows he doesn't need to, knows that for him the only word you have is yes, every new location is a test of your boundaries, an expansion of territory as you fuck your way through the world.

‘Yes.’

Turning your bodies, he walks you slowly back until your thighs hit his Mercedes 450, and he bends you down until your back rests on the hood. Foreheads still touching and his eyes searching you, remembering you in some way, his hands graze all the pieces of you they can touch as he settles between your thighs. Your breasts, hears from his hands penetrating the fabric of your dress and bra; your hips, held tightly to the point of bruising, giving you marks to wear with pride; the skin of your thighs and the backs of your knees as he parts your legs wide, this especially making you arch up against him.

He's turned you into a sensitive thing, goosebumps raising on your flesh wherever he was and no longer is, and you clutch at him, squeezes his shoulder blades to remind yourself you are here and alive and his.

Finally his fingers glide along your thigh, where you want him the most, and you tilt your head back as you hiss from the contact. You observe the sky as he sucks lighlty at your throat, enjoying the black and the feel of him all around you. One long digit strokes you, teasing you for entrance, and you look down to find him studying you with a smile.

‘Right now,’ he says, lowly, ‘I can’t not touch you.’

At this, he slides his finger into you, watching the way your expression morphed into one of extreme pleasure. He moves in you with an exactness born of someone who took the time to learn you, observed your face, your sounds, the flush of your chest, until he learned all the ways to unmake you with ease. He moves in you with precise thrusts, adding a second finger as his thumb circles over your clit, and you cry out, laughing immediately after as you echo amongst the trees.

Fingers stretching you, he takes to licking your exposed collarbones, teasing it between his teeth to mark it. You want to kiss him, leave your marks on his as well, but you know this is about you. Already you feel each other slipping away, summer coming to an end and with it the fire that binds you, and Chanyeol is possessive, unable to give things away once he gets attached. And so you don't turn this into your standard affair, mouths covering every inch of skin, instead letting him worship you because he wants to. He wants to and he does.

Eventually though, you find clenching your walls around his fingers isn't enough. You need more of him, have never truly had your fill of him, and so you reach between your bodies to find his belt. You fumble with it, fingers shaking as he executes a rather deep thrust of his fingers while flicking your clit, until it comes undone.

He pulls away from you to help, and you let your body relax against the car, still trembling from holding yourself up to undress him. This was always your favourite part, watching him languidly remove clothes to reveal himself to you. You consider it a great unwrapping, a removal of the things he uses to fight his way through the world, revealing his skin and bones and hardness, and making himself vulnerable only for you.

As he rolls a condom over his length, you can feel the heat from his gaze as he takes in your figure. You know you're his favourite thing, at least for right now. You're his favourite thing and he makes it known in all the ways girls of your youth would find to be simply not enough.

The way his tongue comes to wet his lips, mouth dry from the sight of you. The way he hardly moves, standing still in front of you, refusing to hide himself away and giving the totality of his soul to you. The way he doesn’t really blink, only lets his eyes flutter briefly, unable to look away from you and arrested by the sight. The way his breathing seems to become little more than a quake, heart thundering in his chest at the thrill of having you and tasting you and surrendering only to you. It’s hard to think how these things couldn’t be enough for someone. They aren’t words and,because they aren’t words, they matter more. They are things a person can’t hide or fake. They are real. He is real, and these things are what instill a small spark of hope in your chest that he won’t wither from your reach past the season.

Unable to be away from you any longer, Chanyeol lowers himself to your body and lets his lips hover just above yours. Taking hold of your knees, he wraps your legs around his waist and enters you slowly, gliding in little by little giving you time to adjust with each slight move of his hips. You sigh at the feel of completeness, the way he fills you in ways you didn’t think possible, ways you didn’t know you needed, and he takes the opportunity to kiss you, first with his soul and then with his mouth.

After several seconds of this seductive stillness, your walls clench around him, desperate to move against him, and you take his face between your hands. Heart full as he closes his eyes and rubs his nose against yours only slightly, you whisper to him.

‘I need you to move.’

And he does.

He slides in and out of you, setting a punishing rhythm that seems almost contradictory to the softness he has for you, but this you know is the only way he knows how to fuck you. Hard. Purposeful. Deep. This is how he loves, with bruises and sweat stains on the pain of his car. With low grunts, keening whines, and your nails digging into his back so hard you draw blood. The force of his hips meeting yours makes the car beneath you shake, jutting back and forth in time with his thrusts.

All around you is Chanyeol. His car, his body, his hands, his scent. He possesses you completely and you let him, arching up into him at the thought of giving yourself over to him, now and for always.

One of his hands slides between you, finding you clit and rubbing circles into you, just how he knows you like. Again, this pleasure isn't about him. It's about you. He wants you to come first and around him, hard enough for him to gag at the feeling of you squeezing him dry. He wants you gasping, splayed out on his car too tired to move because he doesn't wish it to be so and because removing yourself from his hold would cause you both an unbearable amount of hurt.

The coil inside your stomach builds, the base of your spine starting to twist with each thrust of his hips, and you watch him bite his lips. He gets deeper and deeper every time, making sure you feel him inside you even when he isn’t. Making sure you feel him even when he’s apart from you, aching for him to be with you again. Your hands reach for his neck, fondling the his sweat soaked hair, and he groans at the way you tease him, at the way your fingers stroke at his scalp the way he strokes the very core of you.

‘I won’t last,’ you whimper, relaxing back against the car to stare at the sky.

Invigorated by your words, he increases his speed, thrusts harder and faster than before, his fingers on your clit no longer lazy but calculated in their desire to feel you trembling beneath him.

‘Eyes on me, baby. Eyes on me when you come.’

And so you do.

The tension in your body reaches its peak at his words, raising your legs higher against him and your back off the car. You look right into him, into his eyes and into all the things he hides from the world as you shudder, violently, around him in waves that shake your soul from your body. He takes it from you, takes all of it from you, with greedy thrusts that become sloppy in the wake of your orgasm. You ride your high, quivering in his hands as he comes with a vulnerable moan, a moan that is loud and vocal and wholly unlike him as he submits to the all encompassing feel of you.

You lay together for a long while, unable to move and unable to speak. His fingers touch all the places they couldn’t reach before: you hair, your ears, your neck. You do the same to him, stroking his ears and admiring the way he looks so like a boy in his post coitus bliss. Sparks from your orgasm still linger in your vision as you regard him with a fond smile, and the very notion of this makes your heart stop.

He’s given you everything you ever wanted. An escape, a reason to enjoy the season, a reason to release yourself to something unexpected and new and brilliant. And tonight, he’s given you the stars.

He’s given you the stars.