Work Text:
Billy wishes he hadn’t quit smoking.
“Oh my god, I’m gonna have to get divorced, Billy. Divorced. Not even my parents got divorced and they hate each other.” Steve cries, tearing at his hair.
It’s been ten minutes of this. Steve sitting on Billy’s couch, fly undone, shirt off, wringing his hands after realizing his marriage to Nancy Wheeler is dead. Has been dead. For a while.
Steve and Nancy haven’t kissed in, like, three months. Billy has been all over Steve for, like, a year and a half and three days.
Their marriage is six feet under.
Billy nods when Steve asks, seemingly the popcorn ceiling of Billy’s apartment, which one of them gets the dog? He’d stopped listening for a few minutes in the middle to get a beer from the fridge and check his phone. He hasn’t quite tuned back in all the way.
He’d thought Steve knew this already. Somewhere between Billy blowing him that first night pretending that’s what two dudes just do and Steve not bothering to go home first after work before coming over to Billy’s to fuck him, you’d think he’d catch on.
Billy had thought Steve was being weirdly chill about cheating on his wife for the guy who’s the definition of a Romantic.
Billy plugs his phone in, puts it on the counter. Loses his boxers. Goes over to Steve. Stands in front of him and watches Steve work himself into a full on anxiety attack while he slowly downs the rest of his beer in a few swallows. He’s no Keg King anymore.
He sets the bottle on the coaster on the coffee table - condensation ruins cherry and Billy didn’t sand this thing smooth to ruin it with beer rings - and pushes Steve’s shoulders back, straddles him. Sits himself right on Steve’s thighs.
“I’m gonna have an ex-wife, Billy.” Steve tells him, wide eyed and freaking out because he’s just realized putting his dick inside Billy is fucking and not - like Billy had phrased it - doing your buddy a favor.
“Yeah, you are.” Billy says. Reaches into Steve’s pants. Works him till he’s hard and then shimmies himself up and onto that about-to-be-a-divorcé cock.
Steve’s hands grip at his hips on instinct. Both of them let out a long sigh, Steve’s a little higher pitched than normal. Billy uses Steve’s shoulders to push himself up and then down. He should’ve gotten more lube. Or maybe just told Steve to shut up and gotten him to lick him wet again.
But Billy played a part in ruining the guy’s marriage. So. He can be nice for today.
“We’re having sex, Billy.” Steve says, watching in awe how his own dick disappears inside of Billy, biting his bottom lip fat and pretty pink.
“We are, baby.” Billy kisses him. Steve hums and his hips jerk up and they get into the rhythm that’s totally worth all the nights Billy worried this time Steve would tell him no or this is the last time or I love her, I can’t anymore.
“I like you.” Steve tells him. He’s the world’s dumbest thirty-five year old. Billy’s heart still skips a beat, the loser.
“I like you too, knucklehead.”
“I mean, I really like you.”
“Right back at ya.”
“Like, I love you, Billy. I’m in love with you.”
“Jesus christ, Steve.”
“And I’m gonna get divorced and do the right thing and - ah!” Steve’s head knocks back against the couch when Billy grinds down, swiveling his hips in these really, wonderful, tingles shoot up his spine circles. Steve pants out. “She-she can have the house. Not the dog, though.”
“Good, ugly ass house anyways. Fuck ranch-style.” Billy says and licks behind Steve’s ear, gives his lobe a little nip. Steve squirms, fingers pinching at his skin telling Billy he’s close, nipping at Billy’s orgasm’s heels. “I do like that dog.”
“He’s so cute, shit.” Steve wraps his arms around Billy’s back, mouths wet and with teeth at Billy’s collarbone. “Can we move in?”
Billy kisses Steve’s cheek, feels his stubble on his lips and swoons at the idea of being able to have this every day. To be able to see Steve every day.
He hides his face in Steve’s neck when he feels his throat start to tighten, his eyes start to get wet.
“Duh.” Billy says, muffled and unbearably happy.