I’m nice, shitheads. So fucking nice you wouldn’t believe.
[is it his fault? that Steve Harrington brings out his inner peacock? no.
that throat, though. the bob, the lingering smell of blood. Billy’s hand reaches for Steve’s hip, the other untangling from Eddie’s to lift, thumb brushing oh so gently over the almost-healed wound. he imagines Eddie was real sweet about it, all tongue and apologetic spit. the way Billy had been that first time.
he wets his lips, carefully pulls Steve close by his hips, leans up to nose against that throat, lips hovering over the punctures before he hums, low, and tugs the collar on the opposite side, and moved, pressing lips and tongue against the unmarred skin, numbing. Steve Harrington still smells good: like fresh soap, like orange juice and sunshine. He smells like guilty arousal and pure, unaffected affection, and Billy wants it, very suddenly, on him. just for a moment. he’s thorough, the way he had been for Eddie. makes sure that pulse is racing, knows it’s more in fear from Steve than it had been with Eddie. there’s something in that too, that his groaning a little before he sinks his teeth down.
Steve tastes - he tastes like the purest kind of person. so untainted by the same hate as Jason; so full of lifelifelife. it’s the kind of thing you could get addicted to, has Billy clutching tighter, moaning against the gush on his tongue, has him wanting to bite every other part of Steve that’s been unmarked. it’s dangerous, hypocritical.]
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2022-08-10 09:52 am (UTC)[is it his fault? that Steve Harrington brings out his inner peacock? no.
that throat, though. the bob, the lingering smell of blood. Billy’s hand reaches for Steve’s hip, the other untangling from Eddie’s to lift, thumb brushing oh so gently over the almost-healed wound. he imagines Eddie was real sweet about it, all tongue and apologetic spit. the way Billy had been that first time.
he wets his lips, carefully pulls Steve close by his hips, leans up to nose against that throat, lips hovering over the punctures before he hums, low, and tugs the collar on the opposite side, and moved, pressing lips and tongue against the unmarred skin, numbing. Steve Harrington still smells good: like fresh soap, like orange juice and sunshine. He smells like guilty arousal and pure, unaffected affection, and Billy wants it, very suddenly, on him. just for a moment. he’s thorough, the way he had been for Eddie. makes sure that pulse is racing, knows it’s more in fear from Steve than it had been with Eddie. there’s something in that too, that his groaning a little before he sinks his teeth down.
Steve tastes - he tastes like the purest kind of person. so untainted by the same hate as Jason; so full of lifelifelife. it’s the kind of thing you could get addicted to, has Billy clutching tighter, moaning against the gush on his tongue, has him wanting to bite every other part of Steve that’s been unmarked. it’s dangerous, hypocritical.]