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They didn’t go on the date straight after their reunion. Bill got halfway to the florist, turned to Stan, and said “I’m r-r-really fucking hungover.”
So they rescheduled for a few days after.
He turned up to Stan’s dorm room, knocking on the door confidently (how he managed for that to come across Stan wasn’t sure), and when it swung open he casually leaned against the frame.
“Hey, suh-s-sexy,” he grinned, and Stan couldn’t help but notice the flowers in his hand. They were waved in front of his face when he didn’t provide a response, and he decided it was best to take them rather than squeak out an awkward greeting. The rest of the losers were tangled together on Richie’s bed, and the silence was so great you could hear the slow crunching of the doritos in their mouths. Bill didn’t seem fazed, instead waving at them all and then focusing all of his attention on the boy in front of him. “Ready?”
Stan inhaled the comforting scent of the sunflowers and nodded. It was odd, him acting so shy, when everyone in the room was aware of what he and Bill got up to. He could practically feel their smug faces imprinted on his back - he so badly wanted to snap at them, but the gaze locked on him calmed him down.
Bill held out his arm and quirked an eyebrow. “C’mon, th-then.” He radiated heat and sensuality despite him only making a gentlemanly gesture. When Stan linked their arms, he allowed himself to press close to his sturdy figure and ignored the childish oooh s coming from Richie and Beverly.
“You luh-huh-ook amazing,” Bill whispered.
Maybe Stan spent a lot more time in front of the mirror this morning; showering for ten minutes longer than usual, stealing Beverly’s mousse to use in his hair and shyly asking her to make sure he was using the right amount. Maybe he even wore his tightest trousers, which, as said by Richie, “make your ass look tasty!”.
“I look the same as always,” he whispered back.
“Well, I uh-o-obviously haven’t been sp-spending enough t-t-time with you to realise. We sh-should fix that.” As Bill leaned over him to shut the door (done on purpose, as Stan inhaled his aftershave and couldn’t help but be even more attracted to him), Richie trilled “have him home by midnight, loverboy!”
This bit was obviously rehearsed, as there was a dramatic pause before Ben frowned and said “wait, Richie, that makes no sense,” with Eddie nodding alongside him seriously.
“And why is that?” Mike chimed in.
“Bill’s the one that needs to be home at midnight, isn’t that right, Cinderella?” Beverly cackled, and that made them fall over each other laughing.
Bill was good-natured enough to flip them off and cut off their laughter by closing the door in their faces. “Muh-Maybe it’s b-b-best I haven’t met them uh-uh-until now.”
“Probably. Where are you taking me?” Stan asked, his stomach in knots as he contemplated how he would feel if Bill responded with “my room.”
“That d-d-diner, remember?”
He responded with a (slightly disappointed) “oh”, something that Bill didn’t miss, but decided not to comment on.
Apparently it was only a five minute walk, as it wasn’t too far off campus, but Stan enjoyed the journey. Eventually Bill’s arm had wrapped around his waist, and whenever he went to speak it wouldn’t be in a normal register, no, he’d tuck Stan’s curls behind his ear and whisper to him, and even an innocent comment like “that’s a cute dog” made him swallow heavily and shiver. He couldn’t help but notice the jealous stares directed his way from fellow students, no matter what the gender, and he revelled in it. Unfortunately, he was always someone to be hidden, as he had a penchant for closeted, internalised homophobia-loving jocks, but Bill was unashamed of the affection he was showering him in.
The date location was the complete opposite of what Stan expected Bill to be into. The cursive sign was illuminated by a neon red and proclaimed itself to be The Salt and Pepper Diner. That made Stan laugh for some reason, but he couldn’t place why.
“C’mon, the muh-muh-milkshakes w-will melt,” Bill said, linking their hands and walking faster. His touch was warm and reassuring, hopefully a sign of the good things to come. As they got closer to the bright sign, the crimson light washed over Bill, and Stan couldn’t help but smile everytime he would look over his shoulder and grin. He wasn’t sure what this was yet, Bill hadn’t defined it and he hadn’t asked, but seeing that grin every day, having him behind his dorm room door every time he heard a knock - that wouldn’t be a bad thing at all. It was difficult to keep up with him as the bouquet of flowers was huge - the petals brushed his nose as he walked, and Bill laughed every time he sneezed (he laughed a lot).
Of course, Bill refused to let Stan open the door like a normal person, and instead he ran to the entrance to open it for him, bowing exaggeratedly before he rolled his eyes and stepped through.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Ruh-Ridiculously adorable?”
Stan snorted and breathed a sigh of relief as he realised they were sliding into a booth rather than Bill pulling out a chair for him.
“What’s next, are we going to share a menu?” He asked while picking one up from the other side of the table. The text offered full breakfast platters, stacks of pancakes, but Stan’s eyes scanned over the flavour options for milkshakes.
“I’m not that ch-ch-cheesy. What are y-you having?”
“Mint choc chip.”
Bill grimaced. “That’s gross.”
“What are you having?”
“...Vanilla.”
Stan’s laughter was so loud he had to bite his fist after a few customers heads whipped around. “So I can’t have mint choc chip, but you expect me not to laugh at vanilla ?”
Bill coughed and sat up a little straighter. Stan got the feeling he’d set himself up. He watched as he leaned forward, table digging into his stomach as he looked up at Stan and said in a low voice -
“Y’know, you wuh-huh-won’t be laughing when you r-realise that’s the only p-p-part of me that’s vanilla.”
It should’ve been attractive, really. Bill’s breath was minty fresh, his eyes were the brightest blue, and his lips were twisted into a confident smirk.
But it was just so ridiculous.
For the second time since they sat in the diner, Stan laughed in his face. As he giggled and twisted in his seat, Bill was looking at him confusedly. “What?”
“Bill, that was terrible. ”
“That u-usually works!” He protested - he was genuinely bewildered. Before he could squeeze in another teasing remark, the world decided to give Bill a break as a waitress came over to take their order.
“I’ll have a mint choc chip milkshake. What are you having, Bill?” Stan asked innocently.
“V-Vanilla.” He mumbled.
“What was that? I don’t think our waitress - Caitlin - heard you.”
“ Vanilla. ” He said a little louder.
Their server smiled and wrote it down, unaware of Bill’s very obvious blush and slumped shoulders paired with Stan’s laughter. “Coming right up.”
“Thanks,” Stan said appreciatively before turning his head back.
“I think you’ll have to pay for our milkshakes because of that stupid line.”
Bill frowned. “I was guh-guh-going to anyway.”
Stan stopped short at his honesty and looked at the scuffed tabletop. “Well. That’s nice.” He coughed awkwardly.
When their milkshakes arrived, Bill winked at Caitlin as he took his off of the tray - then only a second after he looked at Stan sheepishly. “Force of habit?”
He raised an eyebrow and sucked some shake up his straw. “I’m sure.”
They sat in silence for a while, their knees bumping together occasionally (Bill had weirdly long legs). Stan couldn’t help but notice that Bill locked eyes with him whenever he took a sip; and that he licked his lips every time.
It was irritatingly attractive.
“So,” he said, desperate to break the tension created by an ice cream concoction, “why here? Why this diner?”
Bill thought for a second, hesitated, then relaxed on his side of the booth. “It’s comfortable. I used to take my brother to this kinda place.”
The phrase used to made Stan feel queasy. Eddie said he visited his brother all the time, right?
Bill sensed his confused expression, and made a waving motion with his hand. “Georgie’s okay. Now.”
The casual gesture was far too fake, and Stan knew he had to tread carefully. He saw that Bill was drinking his shake rather than elaborating.
“What do you mean?” He asked softly.
There was a lack of eye contact and fidgeting, Bill and was instead removing his hat in order to run his hands through his hair anxiously.
“Around th-th-three years a-ago, when I guh-huh-got my offer t-t-to come here, muh...my mom and dad w-w-wanted to take me o-out to celebrate. And Georgie wanted tuh-to go out of t-t-town to this pluh-pl-place that had the b-b-best pancakes-” Bill laughed awkwardly “- so we had to take the car.”
Stan reached his hand out to grab Bill’s, stopping his nervous reflexes. It seemed to ground him, enough to continue, anyway.
“We- I was b-being stupid, and beat Georgie t-t-to his favourite suh-s-seat in the back. But that’s what bruh-huh-others do, y’know? So he didn’t f-f-fight it.”
He let Bill pause, let him scan the diner and grip his hand a little too tight, pretended he didn’t notice his stutter worsening.
“It w-w-was kinda random, suh-suh-so we left late. Around 8pm.”
Stan suspected that he knew the exact time, but he didn’t push it.
“I think- I think mom’s h-h-headlights weren’t br-br-bright enough, dad m-mentioned it a few days before, s-s-so when we turned a c-corner, she couldn’t really see the...the...she d-didn’t notice-”
He paused, and Stan really didn’t want to hear the end of the sentence.
“Mom didn’t have a ch-ch-chance to notice the t-t-truck. It went into Georgie’s s-side, which should’ve b-b-been my side, but I was s-suh-such an asshole I c-couldn’t let my eh-eh-eleven year old b-brother sit where he wanted to.”
“But you didn’t know.”
That was left ignored.
“I think it was m-m-my fault.” Bill whispered. “I pulled huh-h-hard to get him out, and that must’ve fucked up his arm e-even more, and maybe if I l-l-let the medics help him out, maybe he st-still would’ve had his fucking arm, Stan.”
Maybe, maybe, maybe. His knuckles were turning white as he gripped the table, as he spat out those self-deprecating words.
“They couldn’t s-save it. It was crushed, mangled, so bluh-bloody I was gagging on the scent of it.”
“Bill, you don’t have to-”
“No!” He said a little too loudly. “No.”
The feeling of Bill’s regret was suffocating him, and he hadn’t even experienced half of what he had.
“He had to adjust. I didn’t want to l-l-leave his side. So I didn’t. The suh-s-summer before I left to come h-here, I spent all my time with him. Abandoned m-m-my friends. I missed them sometimes, but,” Bill swallowed thickly, “I only had t-to take one look at the eh-eh-empty space where his arm sh-sh-should’ve been and I forgot.”
I thought t-th-those few months w-would be enough, and he seemed a l-lot better when I left. I still called him every night.” The sounds of cutlery scraping against plates and chatter reminded Stan of the atmosphere they should be submerged in, but his stupid question ruined everything.
“But mom c-c-came on the phone one time, told muh-m-me that he’d been h-having night terrors, and wouldn’t g-g-go near her or dad, he’d just scream Billy, Billy, I want Billy. So they moved so th-they were only ten minutes away from campus. It was a big step.”
“But parents do anything for their kids, right?”
Stan thought of his mom and dad, working hard so they could pay as much of his tuition as possible without scholarships, telling him we want you to work as little as possible, Stanley, you need to focus on your education.
“They wouldn’t do the same for me.” Bill said blankly.
Stan’s brow furrowed. From what he’d seen of Bill, he was a bit arrogant, flirty, sure, but never cruel. He never seemed the sort to be dismissive of his family - so why didn’t he receive the same love as Georgie?
Bill sniffed and wiped his nose before swirling his straw around in the glass, once again not looking Stan in the eye. “I don’t think they’ve f-f-forgiven me. We huh-h-hardly talk. It’s like I don’t know them a-anymore.”
He couldn’t comprehend having that sort of relationship with his parents. Birdwatching with his dad every Sunday was a thing of the past, something for pre-college Stan, as well as baking with his mom every Thursday. Being without their family routine was jarring, sometimes.
“Eh-Eddie. He g-gets it.”
He didn’t have to say anything else; everyone knew about Sonia and her overbearing nature. “I don’t know wuh-w-which one of u-us has it worse.”
Eddie was slowly breaking away from the hold she had on him, and unfortunately he was just another boy with family problems. “I can’t not love her,” he would sigh. “But I can’t let my whole life revolve around a medicine cabinet.”
Stan got the feeling that the same didn’t apply to Bill. He looked utterly devastated, uncomfortably saying any sentence that remotely concerned his parents. Their words still affected him. When he spoke of Georgie, however, every word was soft and affectionate, chosen carefully so he could articulate his love as best as possible.
The date wasn’t meant to go like this, Bill squeezing his hand so hard it was numb, him whispering apologies and Stan waving them away, but it was strangely wonderful all the same. After around half an hour of murmured conversation about nothing, like childhood pets and their favourite colour, Bill wiped his eyes and straightened up. The look he shot Stan was brighter than before, and when he smiled it was sincere - almost the same as it was at the start of the night.
“So, you taking me anywhere else?” He asked, trying to make it sound as suggestive as possible.
Stan hoped the answer was no. Empty flirting wasn’t enough, he wanted something to come of it.
He could actually see the cogs turning in Bill’s mind, saw his initial reaction (a flirtatious grin), which changed to something akin to panic. Stan wondered if he’d been wrong this whole time, that he’d somehow mistook this for more than it actually was. No, he wasn’t that stupid.
“D’you w-w-wanna go for a walk?” Bill blurted out.
“Uh. Sure?”
He put $20 on the table next to their empty glasses before Stan could even get out his wallet. Maybe he could sneak the money into his back pocket, or something.
Bill opened the door for him again, but when Stan actually responded by curtseying, his laughter bounced around the room, then into the night air. It made his heart leap in his throat to think that he caused that after what Bill had just confessed to him.
It was dark out by now, and there wasn’t as many people milling about. Bill took his hand in a loose grip, and they swung between them as they walked. He seemed content, but was blabbering - Stan realised that they weren’t going anywhere in particular, and annoyingly, they were walking further and further away from campus.
“So this g-guh-huy was tr-trying to tell me I c-couldn’t shotgun five b-b-beers in two minutes, which is bullshit, and h-he was just asking for me to t-t-take his ten dollars without thinking, and I...That doesn’t muh-muh-matter. Hey, there’s a c-convenience store. D’you like slushies?” He was talking a mile a minute while switching topics and making a move to get closer to the store, already fishing change out of his pocket.
Stan stopped, so it meant he had to, too.
“Bill.” He said. “What are you doing?”
The light illuminating his face was green, this time. He looked nervous. “I. I don’t know.”
Bill’s body was half-facing the building, but his head was twisted around so he could look at him. Stan could see his adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he tried to elaborate on what exactly he didn’t know.
“You don’t have to talk,” Stan said, letting go of Bill’s hand so he could pull him in the shirt, “but you can do something else.”
They were chest-to-chest, and if he pressed any closer, he’d probably be able to feel his heartbeat. Stan let go of his shirt, smoothing out the creases before his hand crept up on to his shoulder, giving him the leverage to become tall enough so he could whisper in Bill’s ear;
“You can take me back to yours.”
Stan wondered if Bill had been putting this off for an actual reason, as if he was nervous. But that couldn’t be right - he’d been flirting with him all day, before the conversation about Georgie, and those desperate few minutes in a stranger’s bedroom a few days before left him weak in the knees, surely he knew that. He watched as Bill fumbled with the lock on the door, hands trembling as he explained that Eddie wouldn’t be coming back tonight, he’s forced to visit his mom every two weeks at least, it’ll just be them. To test the waters, Stan stepped back, just enough so Bill’s mumbling was quieter. He hummed absentmindedly to placate him as he let his hand cup his ass gently, squeezing every now and then - with each abrupt change in pressure, Bill’s hand shook even more, his breath came in short gasps, the stutter that usually disappeared when he was flirting came back with astounding force.
It was frustrating that he had to get on his tiptoes to murmur “what’s up, Cinderella?” in his ear, but the shiver he received in response made it worth it.
“N-Nothing, I juh-huh-ust c-can’t get this fucking d-d-door open,” Bill whispered, rocking back into Stan’s touch.
As his gaze flickered to the door knob, he laughed. “Maybe you should try actually turning it to the side rather than pulling on it.” His lips came closer to Bill’s face, and he was practically breathing down his neck. “The fact that you’re not good with your hands doesn’t give me much hope for later.” Instead of letting the sentence linger, he punctuated it by letting his teeth graze the surface of Bill’s skin.
There was electricity in the air, something he’d created, but it was ruined when they both fell into the doorway (the shock of Stan’s touch made him grip the handle tightly, just enough for it to open). Bill was laughing awkwardly, but Stan didn’t want to mess around anymore. He’d obviously made an effort to look good on their first date, as what he could see of his hair (under that stupid snapback ) was gelled back, his shirt was pressed perfectly with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and as many buttons were undone as possible before it could be classified as public indecency. There had barely even been a mention of the word dick, not even sex, but Bill looked utterly fucked out and flustered. However, he was completely unashamed of his obvious hard on, the outline of it emphasised due to how tight his jeans were. Stan’s mouth watered. He needed that in him right fucking now.
Nothing was being said as they exchanged heated stares - every breath was too loud, every twitch noticeable. Just as Bill went to open his mouth, Stan interrupted by stepping forward.
“Let me see something,” he said, lifting his hat off of his head. It was the one he’d been wearing when they first met (Stan didn’t want to be too hopeful, but it seemed romantic, like it had been done on purpose). He twirled it in his hands before flipping it upside down and peering at the clumsy handwriting, pointing at it like Bill had done days before.
“ Big Bill . Is that legit, or another one of your bullshit lines?”
There was a lot of throat clearing before Stan got an answer. Even then, it wasn’t much. “I...I…”
Pitying him, Stan placed the hat back on his head and kissed the corner of his mouth before placing a hand on his chest. “I’ve had enough of you telling me where to go. It’s time for me to take the lead, don’t you think?” The feeling of control was delicious, and the thrum of Bill’s pounding heart under his fingertips made him even more confident.
He got another brief response. “Y-Y-Yeah.”
Stan nodded and pushed on his chest, forcing him to stumble backwards, backwards, backwards, until the back of his thighs made contact with the bedframe. He didn’t give Bill the chance to steady himself, instead giving him a final push so his body made contact with the mattress.
The element of surprise was his best friend - Bill was sturdy and tall, so he most likely wouldn’t have been able to do that under regular circumstances. However, in this moment Stan realised Bill would do whatever he told him to. He looked down at him sprawled on the bed and noticed he was staring at him as if he was the epitome of sex, his eyes filled with lust and his mouth wide open. It was satisfying to see Bill so needy for him, it was a role reversal from what happened before, Stan leaning into his touch and whining into his ear. His cock was throbbing in his trousers and straining against the zipper as he planted his thighs on either side of Bill, sitting just right so they were pressed against each other in the best way possible.
Bill didn’t speak, was barely breathing, actually - his hands were fisting the bedsheets and he was moving his hips ever so subtly. Usually Stan would be incredibly self-conscious about his body, he thought himself skinny, birdlike, but the way Bill looked at him? It gave him enough courage to play with the hem of his shirt teasingly, lift it up just enough for a sliver of his skin to be exposed. Bill’s eyes screamed please, please, please , and Stan was happy to oblige.
“Should I take this off?” He murmured, running his hands over his stomach and biting his lip, looking down at him with doe eyes.
His attention was taken off of the resounding nod he received as he ran his eyes over the boy underneath him.
Bill’s mouth was glistening and obscenely wet from running his tongue over it countless times. Somehow from all the commotion his hat was halfway off of his head, his hair sticking up in many directions and abandoning the gel. He could practically see Bill’s skin turn a mottled red as he pulled his shirt up further and further, taking it off after a few minutes of teasing.
Despite this rush of confidence, there was a preparation for Bill’s disgusted face. Stan had his eyes squeezed shut, breathing as steadily as possible and waiting for the reaction.
“Stan,” he said, “can I tuh-huh-ouch?”
His eyes flew open. “You want to?”
Bill’s hands hovered very closely. “Pl-Please.”
Stan nodded hesitantly and jumped slightly at the light caresses - it was like he was studying him, saving the images for later. This felt far too intimate than what he anticipated, but feeling as if he was being worshipped was wonderful. Their hands met as Stan invited Bill to explore even more, and words spilled out of his mouth before he could stop them.
“Did you think I wasn’t watching you when we were out? That I didn’t want you to fuck me there and then? All I was picturing was you inside me, and from what I can see- feel, ” Stan corrected, grinding down onto Bill’s boner, “I won’t be let down.”
Bill held onto the waistband of Stan’s trousers as he whimpered, “I won’t l-l-let you duh-down, sweetheart, p-please, let me show y-you.”
Oh. That was interesting.
Stan was aware that the boy underneath him wasn’t the one in control here, but the way he reacted when he complimented him was astounding - it was as if his bravado had disappeared completely.
“I know you won’t,” he soothed, running his hands through his already wrecked hair, “but I want to get ready first.” With a quick kiss on his forehead, he rolled off of Bill and laid on the bed - when doing so, his partner turned on his side to get a better look. He was already bare-chested, so he began to work on his trousers. So far Stan had gotten the most pleasure out of watching Bill squirm, so he ran his hands over his stomach, worked them up to his throat before squeezing, not enough to take the breath out of him, but enough to make Bill gasp at the sight.
“If you really wanna please me, that’s something I like. I’m sure we’ll have enough time for you to figure out the rest.”
Despite Stan not asking it of him, Bill wasn’t touching himself. Instead he was watching his every move. In a way, Stan wanted the guy from the party back, someone who could order him around and soothe him simultaneously. At the same time, being in charge, having so much influence over someone, it was like magic. He’d never felt more attractive. While he was contemplating this, he ran his hands through his hair and tugged at the ends before finally going under the waistband of his trousers teasingly. His back arched off of the bed from the first brush of his hand against his dick.
“Look at what you’ve done, Bill,” Stan breathed, unable to stand it after only a few seconds. “Look how ready I am for you.” He unbuttoned and pulled down his zipper hastily, shucking off his trousers and revealing his underwear. The way Bill groaned at the sight made him laugh, spurred him on.
Without thinking, without feeling the need to tease, Stan let his cock spring free and threw what little clothing he had left onto the floor. Bill hadn’t even taken off his shoes yet.
He began by wrapping his hand around the base, pumping up and down at an excruciatingly slow pace and thumbing the tip on every stroke. It wasn’t hard to notice that Bill was laid on his stomach, now, grinding against the sheets and biting his fist. Stan was too wrapped up in his own pleasure to realise that with every thrust into the mattress Bill was edging closer, so close that soon enough his mouth was only millimetres away from where he needed it to be.
He took the opportunity to lick the tip lightly when Stan’s hand was firmly wrapped around the base of his cock, squeezing a little tighter than he should to stave off the need he felt pooling in his stomach. Just from that minor action alone Stan’s hips bucked up involuntarily, giving Bill a small amount of power back. The licking continued, never enough to give Stan any relief, but enough that there was no request to stop.
“Do you have condoms and lube?” Stan asked, whimpering when Bill licked a stripe up his dick. The entire world was a foggy haze in that moment, but he could faintly hear shoes dropping to the floor, a belt being unbuckled.
Bill bit Stan’s hip and let his mouth wander while palming himself through his jeans. “Top drawer.”
He was somehow too close already, so Stan fisted his hands in Bill’s hair and pulled him back. Bill tried to chase after the movement and get back to what he craved so badly, the soft moans and pants he was causing. The sight of this desperation almost made Stan give in, but he remembered that this wasn’t how he wanted to come, no, he didn’t want a quick fuck like they were going to have at the party. He wanted this to last, and he wanted it to be good.
“No, no,” he said, “get on your back, okay? I’ll take care of it.”
Bill’s shirt was hanging off of his shoulders and his jeans were unbuttoned as he scrambled backwards, waiting as Stan looked through the top drawer (he tried his best to ignore his own trembling hands, and that Bill had a lot of supplies - this happened frequently.)
They were back to their original position after a few minutes; Stan straddling Bill, but he was now completely naked, and Bill was, well - he was somehow even more disheveled than before.
Stan grabbed the bottle of lube, hands still shaking, and squirted a heavy amount on his fingers. With other partners this was a necessity - but in this instance, Stan also wanted it to be a spectacle. He steadied himself and lifted his hips so he was hovering over the stunned boy underneath him. His fingers easily slid in, just two to begin with, and Stan welcomed the intrusion. The small gasp that came from his lips was followed by a loud “ fuck ” from Bill. He rocked back on his fingers experimentally, finding a good rhythm and trying to relax, ignoring the fact that he was being stared at like he was an angel come to life.
“Stan,” he said, “l-let me.”
“No,” he responded, jerking when he crooked his fingers just right. Damp curls were clinging to his forehead as he tried to keep himself upright, his legs trembling and his lips sore from the teeth piercing them. Bill’s hands wandered all over his thighs, he squeezed them and went as high as he dared. He was strong enough to grab Stan and flip them over, they both knew it, but instead he continued to stare, leaving Stan to it. The slick, wet sound of his fingers alongside the lube dripping out of him was the only thing filling the silence.
“How about three, now?”
It hadn’t been long, but after their encounter at the party, Stan had spent a lot ( a lot ) of his free time during the day fingering himself and jerking off roughly, working his way up to four fingers and moaning Bill’s name before his orgasm washed over him. There was always the worry of Richie walking in and discovering him, but the need to come ever since he’d felt Bill all over his body was intense. When thinking about it, he even liked the idea of being caught. Fuck, what was this guy doing to him?
Bill’s hands moved from Stan’s body to his own as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt, rolling his hips as he did so in order to get as much relief as possible. “I cuh-huh-an’t do th-this forever, baby, pl-please,” he whined, “I wanna m-make you feel good.”
His desperation, once again, made Stan so eager to give in, but instead he added another finger, fucking himself faster and faster, bouncing on them, even. The angle was awkward enough already, but he leaned down so he could press Bill’s lips against his own. At first it was just panting into each other’s mouths - but when Stan hit a sweet spot and couldn’t help gasping Bill’s name, it gave the other the opportunity to slip his tongue inside. Their noses were squashed together and Stan’s arm ached as he continued to fuck himself; yet he’d never felt so good. Bill was obviously using his best moves, they were predictable, really - looking up at him from underneath his lashes, biting Stan’s lip before he pulled away from a kiss, but the whole routine was diminished through his needy gasps every time Stan so much as brushed against his clothed dick.
This was a game. His entire body was telling him it was notenoughnotenoughnotenough , but he faked the moans ever so slightly, forced his fingers to go deeper, stretching his hole as wide as possible so he could be filled up without much resistance.
Stan pretended the brief touches he was receiving didn’t make him feel like his body was on fire, like snakes were writhing underneath his skin, that he wasn’t so sensitive that he could come from his mouth on his dick alone.
“I want you to be inside me so bad, Bill.”
“I do too, I-”
“So?”
Bill was silent.
“You gonna fuck me, pretty boy?”
Stan pretended he wasn’t ecstatic when Bill nodded enthusiastically, instead maintaining his cool exterior and removing his fingers from himself slowly, biting his lip and using the pain to prevent himself from chasing the sensation.
The weight was removed from Bill’s lower half from Stan rolling off of him and crawling up to the top of the bed. He laid back, waiting for something he hadn’t allowed so far - for him to take the lead. It was almost comical watching Bill scramble to pull off his clothes, but also impressive (how he managed to do it within 30 seconds, Stan will never know). After a few awkward seconds of the condom being put on, they were finally getting somewhere - Bill was hanging over him, his hair brushing against his temple.
The blunt press of Bill’s cock against his asshole made Stan want to cry with relief. He was doing this to himself, the teasing, but his partner’s reactions were just too good. Instead of allowing himself the sensation, Stan didn’t let Bill push in all the way just yet. He allowed the tip to rub back and forth against his entrance, and the awkward noises due to the lubed condom should’ve been making them both laugh, but it was covered by Bill’s soft pleas and Stan’s heavy breathing. All of a sudden the desire became too much, and Stan whispered “Bill’, and that was all they needed. He sunk in inch by inch, and every second was torture. The fullness was overwhelming but he still needed more, so he wrapped his legs around Bill’s waist and pulled, just enough for him to be completely inside.
“Go. Now. ” He moaned, and Bill obeyed without hesitation. In hindsight, he probably should’ve worked himself up to four fingers, because the burn was noticeable, making him twist his hips to adjust to the feeling. His partner was probably aware of that, as each thrust was slow and careful, causing Stan to grip Bill’s arm hard from frustration. Being treated as fragile was something he’d had to deal with with every guy he’d been with, they’d assumed he was weak and should be treated as such.
Not this time.
“Too slow,” Stan mumbled, “more, baby.” In the corner of his vision he could just about make out Bill’s eyes widening, him licking his lips as he rocked his hips back and forth. He could most definitely feel him placing his hands on the headboard, gripping it so hard the wood creaked. Stan brought his hands to his face, stroking his thumb across his cheek. “I want to look at you.” He could barely finish his sentence before Bill did exactly as he was told, locking eyes with him and thrusting forward with much less regard for being gentle. It took the breath out of him, Bill’s dick filling him up so good and the sensation of being pounded into the mattress leaving him to only be able to communicate in ah s and oh s. Stan noticed Bill was biting his lip so hard he was drawing blood, and, taking a risk, he swiped his thumb over the wound before placing it in his mouth, sucking for a few seconds and scanning over his awed expression.
“You d-d-don’t know wh-what you’re doing t-to me Stan, you-” Stan clenched around his cock and cut off his sentence while fisting his hands in Bill’s hair; the need for leverage, something constant to hold onto was insane. It felt as if the pleasure was coming in never ending waves - the sensation of finally being treated as if he wasn’t breakable, and instead being fucked roughly without a patronising “are you sure?” beforehand.
Bill hadn’t calmed down, if anything he was going faster, shifting Stan up the bed so his head was hitting against the board (the students in the next room were going to kill them). His hands had stopped gripping the wood and were on Stan’s hips - he couldn’t wait for the inevitable bruises he could run his hands over long after they were done.
At first the nonsensical talk was too quiet for him to hear. After a few minutes of each drag of Bill’s cock making him hiss, it became clearer.
“Baby, a-a-am I buh-being good? I want t-th-this to be so g-good for you.” He whimpered, barely audible over the sound of skin slapping against skin.
Stan was in awe.
“Oh, my sweet boy. Of course you are, you’re perfect, Bill.” His thighs remained tightly wrapped around Bill’s waist, pulling him down as far as possible whenever he thought for a second that he was slowing down.
With every thrust upwards Stan slammed downwards, tears forming in his eyes, the friction of the scratchy, cheap sheets making his back raw. He took in his partner’s wrecked state, and he knew he was close. Bill’s hips were stuttering and his thrusts were becoming sloppy rather than rough and calculated.
“ Stan, Stan, Stan, fuck- ”
“ It’s okay, come for me, you’re so good -”
Bill bit down on Stan’s shoulder hard as he shuddered and came, his grip on Stan’s hips somehow becoming even stronger. The babbling from earlier was reduced to him chanting his partner’s name, and as he rode it out Stan rubbed his hands up and down Bill’s sides, whispering soothing phrases such as “you did so well”, and “I’ve got you.” They remained like that for a while, just holding on to each other, until Stan mumbled “this is gross ,” and grimaced at the feeling of being empty as Bill pulled out.
He couldn’t help but notice that he was still hard as Bill walked towards him after putting the condom in the trash. Sighing, he went to wrap his hand around his cock, but paused when he heard a “wait.”
Bill was climbing on the bed again and encouraging Stan to sit up so his back was pressed against the wall. It only took Bill’s hand wrapped around his dick, a few sloppy kisses and whispered encouragements for his orgasm to hit him. As he leaned into Bill’s touch, he was only able to catch the end of his sentences -
...so pretty, get to see you like this, thankyou…
-
- but they made him blush nevertheless.
Bill pressed their sweaty foreheads together and smiled, joining their hands.
“Okay?”
Stan hummed and kissed his nose. “I will be when I’m-” he frowned at the mess on his stomach, “clean.”
“Check the t-t-top drawer again.”
He didn’t feel like moving much, so he blindly grabbed the handle and rummaged around before landing on what Bill obviously wanted him to find.
“You really do think of everything, don’t you?” He snorted, holding the packet of wipes.
Bill was grinning as he pulled on a pair of boxer shorts and began to disappear under the sheets.
“P-People tend not to want to leave th-th-this bed, so I make it easier fuh-f-for them.”
His smile somehow got even wider when Stan rolled his eyes and muttered, “fucking hell.” Although he was exasperated at falling into another one of his traps, Bill’s open arms were pretty tempting, and he’d cleared his schedule just in case this happened, so it’s not like he had anywhere to be. Making assumptions was tiring, so he didn’t wait for verbal permission, and instead tossed the packet on the floor before getting under the sheets with Bill. He moved backwards so they both would fit on the already tiny bed - Stan still had to practically lay on top of him no matter what.
Once they had managed to get comfortable (after a lot of swearing, and Bill laughing at Stan), he had his head resting on his chest as hands were running through his hair.
“Fuck, Eh-Eh-Eddie’s gonna k-kill me.”
Stan made a questioning noise.
“We got cum o-on the sheets.”
“And? You can wash them.”
Bill mumbled something.
“Huh?”
“He...He does my l-l-laundry for me.”
Surely, he could...
“Can you not. Do that?”
“...No.”
“ Wow .”
He felt bad, really, but it was just too easy to laugh at Bill sometimes. As his shoulders shook, his partner buried his head in the pillow, saying something about “too much detergent” and “really soapy.”
The laughter subsided, but Stan could still feel the heat radiating from Bill’s skin as he pressed kisses into his neck. His mouth drifted from there up to his lips; the exchanges were soft and sleepy rather than intense.
“Do you wanna stay over?” Bill asked as he wrapped his arms around Stan’s waist. It was an obvious yes , considering he was naked and in his bed with no intention of moving, but he was being asked as if a rejection would be the reply.
Stan was already half asleep and pressing closer when he mumbled, ”as long as you don’t snore.”
The last thing he heard before he shut his eyes for the night was Bill’s soft laughter, and the last thing he felt was a kiss being pressed into his hair.