Billyβs one loud asshole.
Heβs always making one kind of noise or another, always moving, either blaring his music, or singing, or dancing, or just. Talking to the damn TV.
For Steve, whoβs used to drifting through his empty house like heβs haunting it, Billyβs noise is a beautiful thing.
Billyβs justβ alive. Warm and bright and thrumming with energy, spinning through the room like a shooting star, leaving sparks on Steveβs skin every time they touch.
Steve leaves the light on in every room in the house so he feels less alone, Billy lights every room he occupies like the morning sun streaming through the windows.
And when he laughs, itβs. Itβs like fire crackling in the fireplace, warm and intimate and feeling like home. Every time.
Billy doesnβt seem to know that, though.
For all his enthusiasm, sometimes heβll catch Steve watching and justβ stop. His smile dims, and he looks down, and he shuffles in place, just a little, before he puts on a big smile, a little too sharp, and changes tracks.
He saunters close to Steve, puts his hands on Steveβs hips, cages him in against the counter.
βYou like what you see, pretty boy?β His voice is like rolling thunder, coming from deep in his chest to reach into Steveβs and wrap his heart in a fist.
βYou know I do,β Steve matches his tone, leans in closer to wrap his arms around Billyβs waist.
Billy nudges his nose against Steveβs, teasing him with an almost kiss, a brush of lips. Itβs why he doesnβt see it coming when Steve dips him, arms secure around him, and plants a big, exaggerated kiss on his mouth.
βWhat- Steve, what the hell?β Billyβs laughing again, a musical, bright sound, and thatβs all Steve wanted to see.
βYou tell me, sunshine, whatβs it look like?β
Steve turns the volume of the radio back up, gets the music bouncing off the kitchen tiles. With one hand still grasped in Billyβs, he puts a hand on his waist and pulls him into a slow dance.
βSteve, we canβt slow dance to Ratt,β Billy complains, but the smile on his face is big and beautiful, teeth glinting, tongue peeking out. They shuffle side to side slowly, completely off-sync with the song.
βI donβt know man, looks like weβre doing it,β Steve says, and it gets Billy laughing again. Steve watches his head tilt back, his lips stretch, plump and wide, his throat bob with joy. βBut we can dance faster if you want!β
Without warning, he spins Billy away, making him slide on his socks, and on the spin back he catches himself on Steveβs chest, still snickering.
βWhatβs up with you?β
βNothing,β Steve says, placing his hands back on Billyβs waist. βI just really like you.β
And as much as Billyβs answering grin is sharp and sexy, the pink on his cheeks is telling.
βHow much do you like me?β
βHmβ¦ I like you more than I like basketball.β
βBasketball?β Billy raises his eyebrows. βIβm not feeling the love thereβ¦β
βI do! I like you more than the Beamer,β Steve says, and Billy looks interested. βI like you more than hairspray!β
Billy gasps, βNot hairspray!β
βI do!β Steve half-yells, both of them caught in fits of giggles. βI do. I really like you,β He adds more softly, just to watch Billy turn pink again. He cups his cheek in his hand just to feel how warm it is.
βYouβre a sap, Harrington,β Billy says, but his voice is low and intimate, crackling fire in the hearth.
Steve shrugs. Doesnβt deny it.
He kisses Billy instead, takes a sip of all that warmth, takes it between his lips, lets it burn him to his core.
Itβs like Steveβs been sleeping this whole time, and Billyβs the dawn that woke him up. Beautiful, blinding, burning. The least Steve can do is stoke his fire.
every time anti bullshit shows up on my dash, I write Steve loving on Billy | VI
