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The silence that follows is worse than the initial slam that punctuates his mother's exit. Billy's standing shock-still at the top of the staircase, eyes wide and breath increasing exponentially, little huffs that come quicker and quicker even though it feels like hardly any of the oxygen he’s taking in is actually reaching his lungs. He opens his mouth, wants to say, what, or why, but mostly Dad — but his father shakes his head, just the once, before Billy can manage to say any of it, his expression tight and closed off, a tempest brewing in his eyes.
He leaves the room without saying anything, returning to the den as if it were any other Wednesday and his wife hadn't nearly sprinted down the stairs past their only child with two bags clasped tight in her hands, stomping out the front door without so much as a goodbye to either of them.
Billy turns on his heel and does the same, hears his mother’s voice inside his head saying like father, like son in the same tone she had a million times before as he steps back into his bedroom and closes the door far quieter than she had, walks right up to his window and slips out of it as easy as breathing.
Stu's got the window open before Billy even reaches the sill. By the time Billy's got his feet on Stu's bedroom floor, Stu's already back in the chair he's positioned not a foot away from the small television perched on the corner of his desk, fingers mashing the buttons of the controller he’s got held tight in his grip.
"Hey man," Stu says in greeting, eyes locked to the flashing screen. "Since when do you sneak out on a school night? Usually your mom has your balls in a goddamn vice."
Billy's breath stutters in his throat. He realizes that he should be crying in this type of situation, big fat drops sliding down his cheeks, nose leaking.He isn’t. Instead his breath is coming in rapid little gasps, quiet and shuddering, like he’s crying without any of the mess. Maybe this is what all those nerds were talking about when they were whining about panic attacks. Stu glances over his shoulder at Billy. Billy’s ears catch the laugh that stutters out of Stu’s throat before he manages to choke it off. "Holy shit." Billy's eyes flick up and catch with Stu’s; he can see the exact moment that the shock of seeing Billy losing his shit has worn off and it's actually registering for Stu that Billy's shown up at his place with lost shit. "Fuck."
It encapsulates everything that Billy's feeling into one succinct phrase. A choked laugh bubbles its way out of his own throat. "Fuck," he agrees, and once he's said it he can't seem to stop. Each breath draws through his lips around the word, the length of time required to say it an equal representation of the duration for which his lungs remain constricted before they're inflating again, the process restarted.
Stu practically falls from his chair and takes a few steps before he freezes, gangly arms awkwardly hanging half-raised at his sides. He'd finally broken six feet earlier that year, not long after either of their birthdays back in January, a full head taller than Billy and failing to show any sign that he'll stop growing anytime soon. When Billy steps forward and into him, his hair easily clears the bottom of Stu's chin, his nose digging into the hollow of Stu’s throat.
The arms that wrap themselves around Billy's back are tentative, fingers feather-light across his shoulder blades. Billy's lips catch and drag against the thin skin stretched tight across the jut of Stu’s bony clavicles when he says, "Tighter." Stu shakes in a way that Billy can feel from the bottom of his feet all the way up to the sharpness of Stu's chin suddenly digging into the top of Billy's head, but he does as Billy asks, arms so long that Stu's practically hugging himself, string-bean biceps pushing their chests together where they cross across the top of Billy’s spine. Any higher and Billy would practically be strangled.
"Tighter," Billy says again, his new mantra, over and over until he can tell that the entire wealth of Stu's strength is being exerted, such as it is. He feels as if he can hardly take in any oxygen at all and it's with that thought that his breath finally begins to slow, that his mind finally shows signs that it'll stop racing.
The reverberation of Stu's heartbeat hammers against Billy's cheek, rapid yet still slower than Billy's own. Billy focuses on it to the point where it's the only thing left in his head.
"Um." Stu slowly starts to walk them towards his bed in the corner of the room. Billy is careful to take tiny steps between Stu's legs where they’re awkwardly bent to allow him to walk around Billy’s body, Billy unwilling to allow even a centimeters separation from between them. When Stu rotates them so that he can sit on the edge of his mattress Billy has to topple awkwardly for second before finally settling on his hip in a diagonal lean, fingers dug deep into Stu's shoulders from behind, clinging.
Stu's hold on him no longer feels the same. Billy begins to experience that wash of fear rising up through him again and he panics, shifting his pelvis so that his weight is thrown backward onto the mattress. He drags Stu down with him, landing with a bounce that has the air forced back out of his lungs when Stu's weight settles overtop his chest, heavier than Billy ever suspected him of being.
It's exactly what he needs to clear his mind for good this time. He brings both his legs up and clamps his thighs against Stu's hips, uses his left hand to grab his right forearm at the center of Stu's back, effectively locking them together, inhaling as deep as he can against the weight of Stu's body and feeling peace finally start to settle within him.
"Fuck," Stu says. Billy starts, realizing that somewhere along the way he'd closed his eyes. He opens them and drags his face along the length of Stu's neck to look up at his face, sees that Stu's staring resolutely at the wall with a frown on his face.
"Wha—" Speaking has Billy’s chest pushing up against Stu's, raises Stu just enough so that his pelvis shifts down and it's then that Billy notices that Stu's dick is hard and pressed tight against the seam of Billy's jeans, the cradle of his hips held snug to Billy's backside. Billy feels like himself again as he says, "Didn't realize this was a coming-of-age kinda scene," to break the tension.
"Fuck you," Stu spits, face red. "The fuck you know about coming-of-age shit with scenes like this, huh?"
Billy turns and presses his mouth back into the concave hollow of Stu's throat, feeling a rush of control returning to him as he licks his lips and allows his mouth to make a wet oval against Stu's skin. "Oh, loads."
Stu humps against him once and then freezes. Billy's shocked at how such a small motion sends shivers up his spine, wants it to happen again. "You get like this for all the boys?" Billy presses, a vicious edge to his words. "Or am I special?"
"Seriously man, fuck you." Stu moves to rise up off of Billy. Billy clings all the tighter. "You came in here all freaked out and shit, okay?"
"What, seeing people fucked up gets you off? That's some kinda fetish there, Stu."
Stu's words stumble together as he rushes to defend himself. "Fuck, no. It's just that, like, you come in here practically fucking crying and then you stop when I hold you? Who the fuck does that?! What the fuck am I supposed to do with that!?"
"Pop a boner, apparently," Billy mutters as he shifts down and grinds his ass further into Stu's lap. He can practically taste the breathy moan that stutters out of Stu's throat from where his lips are still lingering against Stu's neck.
Stu moves with an intent this time, and Billy doesn't have the strength to hold him in place.
He doesn't go far, shifts enough so that his knees hang over the bed and their faces are level, which means that his dick is no longer pressed to Billy's ass but Billy's dick is now a thick line pressed against the seam of his zipper, poking into the barely-there muscle of Stu's abdominals. Their eyes are locked as Stu says, "You're gonna have bruises, man. You had me hold you really hard."
"Shit." Billy grinds up, breathes out hotly through his nose.
"You like me bruising you?" Stu's whispering into the small amount of space between their faces.
Billy wishes that they were pressed tight again, that there was no space between their faces at all. "You like bruising me?"
It's awkward when their lips meet, Billy only ever having kissed girls shorter and smaller than him, quick, frigid, closed-mouth presses while both parties were firmly vertical, usually involving a closet and friends on the opposite side of a door. It hits them that every kiss he's ever had prior to this has been with Stu not even a few feet away. Something about it comforts him, makes him open his mouth and draw Stu's bottom lip between his own like he's seen people do in the movies, clenches fistfuls of Stu's shirt so he can haul him up and hopefully feel the thick line of his dick again.
Stu's hands come up and cradle either side of Billy's face, the L-curve of his thumb and forefinger long enough to hook perfectly at the bend of Billy’s jaw. His fingers slip under Billy's chin when Billy tilts his head back to kiss him deeper, rutting up against Stu's stomach and then pressing down into his lap, body confused as to which sensation it prefers: his dick on Stu or Stu's on his.
It's like he's been struck by lightning when Stu runs his thumbs gently down the length of his throat, that same feather-light touch that he'd used when Billy'd first stumbled into his chest. Billy's eyelids flutter and the same desire that hit him then strikes to him now.
"Tighter."
Stu hangs off of him at school like he always has, something he's done since they were in diapers, except now when his arm wraps around Billy's waist and settles at Billy’s side there's a mottled purple constellation hidden underneath Billy's shirt that Stu put there, a mirror of his hand; when Stu dives his head between Billy's legs and lifts him onto his shoulders the place where Billy's jean-covered thigh brushes Stu's ear is a sickly yellow in the exact shape of Stu's mouth when opened at its widest.
It's like they're playing a game that nobody but them knows exists.
Eventually people find out that his mom's bailed on him, ran off to God knows where for God knows why, something about the tragedy of it all in combination the lingering aftereffects of puberty has all the girls in his class flocking to comfort him.
By the end of the month he's got a girlfriend, good-girl Sidney Prescott who his mom would have approved of without even a second worth of hesitation.
He settles on her for exactly that reason. He is the most perfect boyfriend that she could ask for: it's a rare occurrence that she's up for open-mouthed kissing, and he never presses for it. Over-the-clothes stuff is completely off the table, anything beyond that practically so far from conceivable that it might as well have only existed long ago in a galaxy far, far away, and Billy agrees to it all without a single conversation.
Billy's patient and understanding, more so than anyone would ever expect him to be.
She's the only girl he could be with, the only one who doesn't want anything from him.
He's getting it from Stu at least once a day now, the both of them so obvious that Billy knew it was only a matter of time before someone clued in, which was the other reason for Sidney. Now even if people start to suspect, he’s got a handy dandy alibi.
Nevermind that probably wouldn't have anything left to give up to Sidney even if she begged him for it. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.
Explaining this to Stu feels like something just barely grazing betrayal, even though they haven't put a name to what they're doing, what they have. They’re essentially just as they'd been before, except that he knows what Stu looks like when he comes now, knows what Stu's fingers and teeth feel like when they're pressing into his skin.
"She's totally a frigid bitch, man," Billy says, sprawled out on Stu's bed and tossing a football into the air, just shy of hitting the ceiling. He wants to perfect his spiral pass before they start playing Flag in PE again. "She doesn't even know it but she should be sucking your dick in thanks, 'cause without you there's no way I'd put up with this Ice Queen shit."
Stu's sat in the chair at his desk across the room, knee jiggling up and down while Stu stares at the floor and picks at the pilled fabric of his sweats.
Billy keeps on rambling. "She's like an investment piece, you know? Eventually she'll crack and I'll be there to get first dibs, ‘cause she’ll feel all guilty and shit for makin’ me wait." His eyes track Stu as he rises from his chair and fists his hands at his sides.
Blood flashes hot and sharp in his mouth when Stu slaps him across the face and then punches him in the stomach, red spilling up past his lips. It's instinct to curl in on himself, protect his middle, but Stu beats him to it, jumping onto the bed and sitting on Billy's guts where they're still smarting, makes the pain surge up again.
"I know all about investment pieces." Stu spits a little as he speaks, silva raining down on Billy’s face while Stu’s goes all closed off and pinched. Billy's never seen him like this before. It's got him hard enough to pound nails, the knowledge that he's got this much sway over Stu's emotions, especially with something as meaningless as words. "And I've got a secret for you,” Stu continues. “You're mine."
Billy's quiet when Stu shifts and stands up on his knees, hands reaching between them to undo Billy's fly. "I could tell even back when we were kids that you'd be a good cocksucker, before I even knew what cocksucking was." He has Billy's pants and underwear down in one swift yank, leaving them tangled and bunched at the boney peaks of his ankles. "And boy was I right. You suck cock so good that you don't even choke on it, but damn if you don't find a way to get me to choke you anyway."
"You gonna make me choke on your cock, Stu?" His voice is steadier than he feels. His face no longer smarts from where Stu smacked him, is more a concentration of heat that he welcomes, that he wants more of.
Rather than answer, Stu stuffs three of his fingers into Billy's mouth, stretching them wide so that Billy is forced to open his lips wide around them. "You'd like it too much," Stu surmises. "I feel like it's time for me to collect my dividends." He pulls his fingers from Billy's mouth and reaches down to slip two of them between Billy's legs,up inside of him, straight down until his palm fits against the curve of Billy's ass. He does it all so quickly and so smooth that Billy never really has a chance to react, his body so shocked by the suddenness of it all that it doesn't clinch up in any sort of reaction until Billy's fingers are all the way inside, too much mass inside too small a space. The pain of it has stars shooting up behind his eyes.
"Question is," Stu continues, his fingers curling, "do I stick it in you however I want, with my hand crushing that pretty little neck of yours? Or do I slide it in all nice and gentle, like virgins are supposed to get treated?"
"Stu." Billy's never sounded more like either of their fathers.
"Billy," Stu parrots his tone, smile spread across his face so wide that his gums are showing. "It sounds to me like you're making a real shit investment there, since it’s really starting to look like I'm the only one who can give you what you want, huh? I got you all trained just the way I like."
"Who's to say I didn't train you?"
Stu slips his fingers out of Billy and stuffs them both into his own mouth, using his free hand to shove down his sweats. Billy wants to be disgusted but can't bring himself to even try to hide the rapturous look that overtakes his face at Stu wanting him like this, the only other person in the entire damn world who seems able to want the same things that Billy does.
Billy watches in a trance as Stu uses his rewetted hand to jack himself off, slicking his dick with his own spit before settling back between Billy's legs.
Stu comes just as the head of his dick barely breaches the inside of Billy’s rim.
He lasts longer the second time, come slicking the way of his entry, buried deep inside with one of his hands pressed hard against the side of Billy's face, holding Billy's face hard to the mattress, the other spasming against his throat, cutting off Billy's air supply to the same rhythm of Stu's orgasm.
Casey completely blindsides him.
Stu's smug when he tells Billy that he's gotten himself a girlfriend too. Billy tries to quell the rage swelling inside himself by assuming it's a similar arrangement to what he's got going on with Sidney, but that sentiment flies out the window when Stu's voice sing-songs Casey Becker into the phone’s receiver.
Pissant hadn't even had the guts to tell Billy to his face. The fact that this is happening to him over the phone is a whole other of insult. At least Billy had told Stu to his face, taken his lashes like a man.
"Is there a term for being a cocktease to a girl?" Stu wonders, sounding oblivious to Billy's rage, though Billy's sure that he's playing at being ignorant. "Because that's the con I'm pulling on our dear Casey. She's practically gagging for it but I won't give it up. We watch slasher shit together and that's it. I'm hoping that she'll crack and let me do the same shit to her that I do to you, just so she can get laid. Wouldn't that be something?"
"I'll fucking kill you." Billy's gripping the phone so tight that the worn plastic starts to creak and groan. "Piss me off, Stu, fuckin' do it."
"Uh oh." Stu doesn't sound repentant in the least. The part of Billy that recognizes he's being played like a goddamn fiddle wonders if Stu's jerking off to this. It wouldn't surprise him. "Why do I get the feeling that I wouldn't like you when you're angry, huh, Hulk?"
The line drops and Billy is so enraged that he punches a hole through his bedrooms wall, drywall and plaster caught inside the split skin of his knuckles. The sting of it, the pain, leaves him hard. He yells at the top of his lungs, uncaring of the neighbors but grateful that his father isn't home.
He's fingering himself, bloodied hand angrily jerking his cock when Stu's head peaks into Billy’s window. Billy doesn't move an inch, slows his pace and stares the entire five minutes it takes for Stu to worm his too-long fingers into the slight gap of the window and shove it open from the outside.
When Stu tries to crawl into bed with him, Billy kicks him to the floor, turns his face away from Stu's gentle I'm sorry's and half-laughed I'm an asshole's, but doesn't put up a fuss when Stu's hand takes over in jerking Billy off.
He palms Stu's head, fingers digging into his scalp, and drags Stu down between his thighs, stuffing his cock into Stu's mouth without a shred of grace or sympathy until it's nice and slick, and then Billy drags Stu up and has him sit on his cock and bounce in Billy's lap until Billy's sated, the anger finally drained from his bones.
The only time Billy feels as if he isn't expirencing a low-level, simmering rage is when he's with alone Stu.
Sometimes Billy finds himself just staring at him when they're all hanging out as a group, bitter and jealous that Stu's making other people laugh, that they're allowed to share Stu's gaze. It's mostly directed at Casey, but he finds the hate in his heart bleeding over into his usual apathy for Sidney more and more with each passing day, angry that she puts up with the bare-minimum he deems to grant her, wanting her out of his life as much as he like Casey to be gone from Stu's.
Roman's revelation about his father’s affair couldn't have come at a better time. It's an outlet, a chance to fix the moment that his life went wrong and correct the course that it's currently veering towards: more unwanted Prescott women threatening to drag down his life; another slut threatening to steal the person that means most to him.
Roman says to find someone who he can control, a stooge that Billy can pin everything on should the plan go south, but what Billy hears is to find someone who'd never betray him, who'd die for him, who'd kill for him, who'd go on and live with him once what needs to be done is done and they're free from the boring, John Hughes genre that people in this godforsaken town seem content to be stuck with but couldn't be farther from what he and Stu deserve.
They're arthouse, experimental; a snuff film that makes you question everything you've ever felt in your life, because have you ever really felt at all if there wasn't pain involved, if you wouldn't do anything, everything for that person?
The ‘someone’ who springs to Billy’s mind at Roman’s description is hardly a shock.
Stu doesn't even blink when Billy tells him what his father did, what Sidney's mother did, what Billy himself needs to do to make it all right.
He kisses Billy slow and deep to calm him down, rolls his eyes at Billy's plan to solve all their problems in one fell swoop. Billy's always loved movies, but Stu's the horror expert, not him.
"You ever read that Duncan book?" Stu asks, tugging on Billy's bangs with his thumb and forefinger, big grin starting its spread across his face. "I Know What You Did Last Summer? Swear to God, it'd make an epic slasher film." He kisses Billy, drops his hand down to Billy's lap and laughs at the erection he finds. "See, sometimes you gotta have the catalyst happen off-screen, and then start when people least expect it, right? Mama Prescott goes bye-bye and people think it's a one-time standalone with her as the star, but what they won't know, until that oh-so-solemn anniversary, is that she was really setting up the universe for a sequel starring yours truly." He wags a finger between the two of them, his other hand continuing to massage Billy's lap. "How's that sound, babe?"
Billy can't think of a more surefire box office hit.