otherbitches | IC Inbox [ RUBI ]

[ It's interesting, these data points, and when Billy's brain isn't being assaulted by trauma and bad stimulus, he can be shrewd. Analytical. Some of the words stick, words like pain, control, humiliation. Billy had felt humiliated. And part of that had made him come like a rocket, and another part made him feel like fucking shit for weeks.

His eyes narrow a little at slap. He doesn't like the idea of Jem getting slapped. He doesn't know about himself, if he'd like it. But he would probably tell Eddie it's fine, because it feels horrible trying to talk about this shit, all the little pieces, embarrassing and strange. He'd either tell Eddie it was fine, or he'd break his fingers.

Eddie's fingers close in his hair again. Billy's eyes close, just for a moment. He likes it. It's obvious.

When he opens them, he still looks ornery. Frustrated and even flustered to be having this conversation when he has Eddie's dick in his hand. ]

I wanted you to. I told you to. I came, didn't I? [ He's repeating himself, but it bears repeating. Then he grinds his teeth, and tries to explain: ] I didn't like that you— I didn't know what you were thinking, seeing me like that. So it made me think for you and... think about what a dickbag you could have been back home, if you knew that about me. You could've had a field day. [ And Billy's reputation couldn't have survived it; he's not sure he could've either, not if it got around, left Hawkins and wormed into some adult's ear, gotten back to his dad. On top of that, things had been different between them then, in January, and Eddie had been mean.

Eddie isn't a random Rubean at a festival or a void touched from space who doesn't get why Billy bucks sometimes with the gay shit. Eddie's from Hawkins, Indiana, and Billy knows how Eddie could think. ]

( there's plenty to learn from what Billy doesn't say; from the narrowing of his eyes, the way he almost presses back into Eddie's hand as he tightens his grip.

they're really shit at talking to each other or maybe it's that they're both still learning each other's language.

Billy speaks and Eddie thinks he's right on the money, actually. because Eddie could fucking laugh at the suggestion that he thinks any of that shit -- that he could have had a field day; that the usual Hawkins bullshit runs through his head when he looks at anyone after hears of getting beaten down by a small town's expectations. or lack-there-of. Junior was a fucked up good for nothing, like his dad -- the town freak, there to corrupt their sons and daughters. he could laugh at the idea that anyone would listen to him over Billy if he made any accusations.

he doesn't laugh. not this time, just looks at Billy with furrowed brows for a moment and tries to understand instead of assuming. it helps his dick calm down a little in Billy's palm. )

Okay. That's--- ( he bites his lip, wishes he could spin a ring on one of his fingers or pull at his own curls as he thinks. he tries to put himself in Billy's shoes, thinks he'd have freaked out worse. ) I wouldn't have had a field day, man, but I get it. What could have happened if someone got wind of it back home.

( what could have happened to Billy, to him. he gets it because it's exactly why he didn't advertise, didn't look to scratch any sort of itch within Hawkins proper. )

But I'm not-- and I hope I can prove this if I haven't -- I'm not that kind of guy. I'm never going to give you actual shit for what you're into. No outside the bedroom. While we're fucking? Sure. But that's not what I actually think of you outside of like... end scene.

[ Billy's never been any good at this this, putting into words how he feels, what he thinks. The cost always felt too great, and even now, he's still frowning, trying to sort through it. ]

You could've, [ he says firmly. He believes it.

He's not sure he believes Eddie's not going to be a cunt about it. At some point. Billy probably would, if he got mad enough. Hell, he has gotten mad enough, whenever Eddie'd bring up his tits, he'd bring up him bending over for it first. Because Billy's a fucking dick, and he assumes Eddie could be too.

But maybe he wouldn't be. ] You say all that, but. [ A beat. ] You were a real dick after.

[ And he knows Eddie was fucking... mind controlled or whatever, but the hurt's still there. The worry's still there. That's the problem, at it's most simple. That Billy's feelings were hurt. ]

I could have, sure, but I'm more about mutual benefit. ( if Eddie's honest, he probably would have blackmailed Billy into them regularly fucking if anything; an outlet and a need met that would have been tricky otherwise. less spent on gas money too.

the frown remains and Eddie nearly winces; Billy has a point. ) Yeah. That was... was intentional for the whole Slender m.o. going on. Skipping the aftercare was and will always be a cardinal sin.

How about a deal? Moving forward? So you have something to hold me to? ( he tilts his head. he can't undo the past, as much as he really fucking wants to, and a deal feels more up their alley than him making a promise that Billy probably won't believe. )

[ Now that’s a thought. It feels pretty inconceivable, imagining a Hawkins where he gets any of this. Eddie’s cock in his hand, cum down his throat, pressed down, fucked out, doing it in return. ]

What kind of deal? [ Asked with his eyes still narrowed. Eddie’s right. A deal’s better than a promise. ]

I don’t skip the after part, you tell me when you don’t like shit. We keep doing the part you liked, but if I fuck up on my side of things you can tell me to fuck off for good and I’ll fuck off. ( he doesn’t actually want to fuck off for good, not anymore, but it puts the power in Billy’s hands so Eddie puts it on the table. offering to keep working on it directly feels like it’ll spook the pound puppy he’s trying to befriend.

he still has his hands in Billy’s hair, is still watching him careful and intent like he’ll flee even though that grip on his dick isn’t loosening. )

I don't need you to like— spoon me. [ Big talk. And possibly a lie. In the heat of the moment, wrecked and spent, he'd probably allow anything. And back then, in that moment, he would have allowed the spooning, a warm washcloth, praise cooed against his sweaty neck. ] Just don't be a cunt afterward.

[ But that... works. He's still frustrated, at the mere idea of being perceived as needy. But: ] Deal.

[ And with that, his palm squeezes Eddie's dick again, pumping the softened cock back to life before his mouth closes on the head. ]

Deal. And--- fuck -- you know what aftercare is, man. I know you do. ( Eddie ends up hissing, the words melting into a groan as Billy starts to bring his cock back into the conversation. or Eddie out of the conversation and back into the moment.

Billy's mouth is a blessing and a curse; currently sinfully sweet as he licks, teases, and sucks at Eddie's cockhead. he groans, hips staying still but the hand in Billy's hair tightening around the locks and giving him a push down.

he's just as done talking about it for now too, would rather reap the benefits of what comes after. )

[ Does he know what aftercare is? Sure, but he never would have called it that before. Wouldn't have performed much of it before, either, not back home when he never really gave a shit about any of the girls he was fucking. But he knows enough now, knows he likes the kissing, the warm rags washing away sweat and spend. He even likes the spooning, doing it or having it be done. But that's not aftercare, that's just not being a cunt.

His tongue licks, flicks, mouth closing and sucking sweetly on the tip of Eddie's cock. He sinks down further, further, until Eddie's cock is bumping against the back of his throat and Billy can taste him, smell him, focus on all of this instead of all of that— the feelings bullshit. ]

( if Billy were to voice any of that, Eddie would roll his eyes and take a deep breath. since the blonde doesn't, Eddie only hisses, ) Brat.

( it's fond, though, because Billy's attention is all on his cock and Eddie's doing his best to not fuck his throat the moment he feels his cockhead against the soft, warm muscles twitching around him. Billy's good with his mouth; Eddie tells him as much as he rocks his hips up and tightens his grip in his hair, ) You're lucky you've got such a good mouth on you, baby. Or we'd keep talking.

[ Eddie calls him a brat and Billy sucks hard, a quick, harsh suction punctuated by his teeth gently pressing against the root of Eddie's dick. Billy thinks at him: ] You're lucky you've got such a nice dick.

[ He takes his time, focuses on Eddie's dick, eye lids fluttering closed when he breathes and lets the head settle further against the back of his throat, in his throat. It's a unique kind of worship, of seeking comfort. He sucks Eddie's dick like it's an apology, like it's the only thing he wants to be doing. He sucks Eddie's dick until Eddie's straining, thighs tense, and he's surprised when he's eased off, when Eddie says what he wants.

It says a lot about Billy, about who he's become here, that he's surprised. But he gets it; presses his spit-slick mouth to Eddie's and kisses him while he fingers him open with spit and oil. The first time he fucked Eddie, he was mad with bloodlust and had him bent over against a tree. He doesn't now, gets both hands on Eddie's thighs and holds him open while Billy nudges the head of his dick against his hole.

He presses in slow, eyes still half-lidded and cock drunk from holding Eddie in his throat. He folds over him when he's fully sheathed, mumbles in a raspy voice against his neck, ] I love— this. I love this.

Edited 2024-06-17 21:06 (UTC)

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