#bambiwrites

He knows it’s wrong, they both know it’s wrong, but there’s something about how quick and dirty and unspoken it is that leaves a burning need in Dennis’ chest — specifically when he makes the right call in Trauma 2 that saves a patient’s life under Robby’s watch.

He still gets a little shaky with adrenaline when that happens, so before his next patient he slips into the break room to lean against the counter with a steadying little breath, closing his eyes to focus on slowing his racing heart before allowing a tiny smile to grace his face. He did it.

He hears the door open and close, doesn’t need to open his eyes to know who it is, not when he feels a warm and tall body suddenly pressing against his back. Robby can’t wear cologne at work, he doesn’t even know if Robby wears any at all, but Dennis still knows the scent of him, especially this close.

“Good call, Whitaker,” Robby murmurs, his voice so soft and deep, so full of pride it makes Dennis melt a little. Or a lot.

But, the hands on his waist make his cheeks turn pink, especially when they squeeze the small of it before sliding up, hot palms pressing through his scrubs like a brand, the touch so quick yet lingering as Robby grabs both of his pecs in his hands and gives them a slow squeeze.

Dennis swallows down a moan, his throat thick and slow, keeping his eyes closed as he feels those hands slide down, back to his waist, squeezing his hips, leaving a trail of warmth and pride before Robby’s grabbing his ass, digging his fingertips into the fatty muscle there with both hands.

“You did so good,” Robby hums his praise, his lips brushing Dennis’ ear, makes heat pool low in his gut as Robby reaches one hand around, cups his dick and balls and squeezes both, like he can’t help it.

Dennis breathes out slow, the sound bordering on a whine, wanting to press back against Robby—

But, as always, it’s over before Dennis wants it to be. Those large hands are suddenly gone and then Robby is, too, slipping out of the break room with the softest click of the door.

Dennis opens his eyes, the want in his body throbbing so hard that his eyes line with tears, still feeling the warm trails those hands had made across his body as he wonders if Robby is torturing him on purpose. Maybe he’ll never know.

teaser for my first fic inspired by cope :3

you two started talking during a super rough time for you and the attachment gets rough. he's just here for a good time and the occasional fuck but you're falling in love. it's not like anyone can blame you but then again its downright pathetic how you act about him.

eventually he catches on to how infatuated you are and it becomes a games. how far are you willing to go with embarrassing yourself before its too far? he doesn't go straight to being mean, it's small stuff at first like the occasional comment on seeing other people. he'd tell you about an upcoming date and it'll send you straight into shock. it hurts to hear that word, a heavy sinking feeling settling into your chest the minute it leaves his lips. date. you two hadn't been on a date in god knows how long. every time you see each other its just for hooking up or maybe a chill hangout. why weren't you good enough for that kind of effort?

It’s like looking at the sun. Or the flash of a camera. Maybe even the sunlight rippling off of the lake.

Either way, he can’t find the words to describe exactly how Billy makes him feel.

The flash of anger in those blue eyes, the way his canines show when he smiles just big enough, the freckles on his nose bunching together as he scrunches his face in disgust, the way his tongue runs over his teeth, the way his laugh sounds in Steve’s car, the sleepy murmur of his voice in Steve’s ear late at night, the heaviness of his limbs as they’re thrown across Steve’s body.

It’s like he’s drowning when Billy’s around.

Which is ironic, he supposes, as he thinks of those red swim shorts that come out from June to August.

And yet, when he’s gasping for air when Billy’s kissing him, he doesn’t want to be helped, or saved, or anything.

He holds his breath and closes his eyes, feels the tightness of his chest as Billy pecks at his lips and holds him close, mumbling something dirty-sweet into his ear as he grabs Steve’s ass, like he always does.

His chest has been tight and full for so long, he’s used to being short of breath, but he’s breathless when he hears Billy mumble something new.

“I think,” the blond whispers into his ear, so low that Steve can barely hear him over the buzz of nothing, “I love you.”

He feels like his ribcage is cracked, suddenly. His eyes are wide and his heart is beating quick, not fast.

Billy pulls back just enough to look him in the eye, a vulnerability there that’s poorly hidden under his usual bravado as he huffs, “And you better love me, too, or I’ll beat your ass.”

He laughs. He can’t help it. It’s startled out of him, his eyes are wet as he grins and shakes his head in amused disbelief, which makes Billy eye him.

“I love you, too,” Steve whispers, pulling the blond close.

It’s not obvious from the entrance, but Family Video has a curtained-off 18+ section in the corner of the store.

It isn’t looked at a lot because most people are prudes in Hawkins, in Steve’s opinion.

He’s usually chasing curious kids out of there more often than he’s helping someone rent out whatever porn gets them off while they’re desperately avoiding eye contact with him.

Not that he wants to look at them.

But, what he does want to look at is the security camera footage on the computer, specifically of that section, especially when Billy Hargrove is perusing the shelves.

Keith’s told him about the handful of times he’d had to threaten to call the cops on guys who try to jerk off in the small room, and he hasn’t caught anyone yet, and Steve’s kept a mindful watch on it.

Like now, when he’s watching Billy adjust his dick through his jeans and his hand lingers there for a moment too long. Steve tells himself that he’s only watching so he knows when to…to…

In the grainy footage, he can see Billy take a tape off one of the shelves and his hand is rubbing the length of his cock through the denim, slow and steady, so obvious.

He and Billy are…friendly. Enough. There’s a tension that’s always been there, since that night they first met at Tina’s, but now it’s like a pot threatening to boil over.

Licking his lips, he wonders if Billy makes a habit of this — of jerking off in public.

Of being watched as he does it.

He’s, for once, glad that Robin called in sick and he’s the only one working. Maybe that’s why Billy’s being so ballsy.

No pun intended.

His mouth goes dry as he leans into the computer screen, watching as Billy begins to unzip his pants, his hand disappearing into it despite how tight they are.

Holy shit.

He can feel himself chubbing up in his jeans as he watches Billy pull out his dick and spit into his palm before wrapping it around his cock again, giving it a couple slow strokes as he picks up another tape and flips it over to look at the images on the back.

Billy’s gotta know, right? The camera isn’t exactly subtle, sitting in the top corner of the tiny room.

He’s only a couple feet away, around the corner.

He hears Billy’s poorly concealed moan and it makes him go hot all over.

His heart races in his chest as he watches Billy tilt his head back, his hand moving up and down his cock at a steady pace now, his eyes closed as he gets lost in the pleasure.

His stomach flips as he watches Billy’s eyes open, half-lidded, and then he winks at the camera.

At Steve.

His cock jumps in his jeans and okay, that’s it.

He stops the camera and rushes to the door, locking it and flipping the sign to ‘CLOSED’ before heading straight to the curtain around the corner, pushing it aside and walking in.

Which is hard for Steve, because he has the urge to casually touch Billy whenever they’re alone or in familiar company. He wants to hold Billy’s hand, grab his waist to pull him in for a hug, just hold him.

But Billy shies away every time, for the first while. When he’s feeling brave, he’ll give Steve a kiss, which delights Steve to no end. It’s more of a peck than a kiss, but Steve accepts it with a grin, treasuring the way Billy’s cheeks go pink as he pulls away and leaves the room.

Before Starcourt, they couldn’t keep their hands off each other.

It’s funny how different it all is now.

Except, it’s not funny at all.

But, Steve has to laugh or he’ll cry.

About six months after it, Billy asks to sleep over. His kisses are lingering, he sits right next to Steve on the couch and lets their knees bump and touch. He’s in control and Steve makes sure that Billy knows that, always.

He’s got the patience of a goddamn saint, Robin tells him.

But, does he? He’s impatient. Selfish. He wants to grab Billy and pull him close and kiss him with tongue and just feel their skin pressed together again.

He doesn’t, because he loves Billy more than his own urges and desires, and he supposes to other people who don’t live in his brain would see him as patient.

Not coveting what he already has.

Because Billy was hurt, he was stripped of everything, left broken and used and Steve’s been helping him pick up the pieces.

Just like Billy helps him, in the ways that he can.

Which is this, tonight — their first sleepover in almost seven months.

He makes himself a pathetic little bed on the floor, ready to give Billy his entire bed, but his boyfriend frowns when he sees it and asks, in a soft and lonely voice, “You’re not sleeping with me?”

“No! I mean, yes — I can, if you want?” Steve breathes out in a rush, his eyes wide, hopeful.

Billy nods, his blue eyes just that, blue — in every sense.

Steve bends down and scoops up his pillow and blanket from the floor, tossing them onto the bed before climbing in, careful to be still as Billy climbs in, too.

They’re not sharing a blanket, which is fine, because Billy kicks it off in the middle of the night. He used to, anyway. Steve wonders if that’s changed, too.

Once they’re settled down, facing each other, Steve stuffs his hands under his pillow and gives Billy a smile, “Comfy?”

“Yeah,” he mumbles, although his brows are pinched in thought, or maybe conflict.

“What?” Steve hums.

Billy’s mouth moves, unsure, before he mumbles, “I…I want to ask you…something.”

Anxiety swirls in Steve’s stomach but he nods anyway, “Anything.”

“It’s hard for me to ask,” Billy whispers, avoiding Steve’s gaze now, instead looking down at the blankets between them, “I just…I know it’s been hard, for us, lately.”

Steve won’t deny that. “Mhm,” he hums gently, nodding, encouraging.

It’s like pulling teeth to get Billy to say what he truly wants, but Steve would wait the rest of his life for him to utter one word.

“I want you to…touch me, a little,” Billy finally whispers after a minute or two, his eyes glancing at Steve’s and he looks so vulnerable like this.

Steve can’t deny the hope that fills his chest, soothing his anxiety, but he pushes it down as he nods, “Yeah, honey, I can do that for you…”

Tears well up in those blue eyes and Steve wants to hold him, but he won’t, not until Billy tells him to.

“It’s…it’s so stupid,” Billy breathes out, wiping at his eyes, “It’s just…this thing my mom used to do, she’d…run her fingertips down my back, or my arm, slowly and…it would make me so tired, and it felt so good, like I was safe and…” his voice breaks a little, his tears slipping down his temple, “You make me feel safe, so…so…”

“Yeah,” Steve nods, almost in awe as he stares at Billy, “Yeah, and no, that is not stupid, okay? I’d love to do that for you, I want you to feel safe with me, I’m so glad that you do…”

Billy gives him the smallest smile, something thankful and honest, unable to trust his voice anymore.

“You want to start where? Your arm?” Steve suggests softly, patiently, and his breath catches in his throat as Billy nods and reaches over, resting his forearm between them on the bed.

Slowly, Steve moves his hand until he’s got his fingertips hovering over Billy’s wrist, glancing at him again as he asks, “Ready?”

Billy nods and Steve gently flutters his fingertips down the length of Billy’s forearm, from wrist to elbow, before pausing and checking his boyfriend’s face.

Billy’s nodding again so Steve repeats it, slowly and gently, and after a minute, he sees Billy relax.

Like, actually relax. His eyelids get heavier, his jaw isn’t clenched, his brow isn’t furrowed.

And, honestly, it’s making Steve relax, too.

He isn’t sure how long he does it for, but he watches Billy fall asleep, looking the most peaceful he’s ever had in months.

Because of him.

Steve feels his eyes burn at the realization, swallowing around the lump in his throat as he gently tickles Billy’s forearm, watching his boyfriend fall asleep to his touch for the first time in a long time.

He forces himself to keep doing it until his arm and shoulder are screaming at him, almost locked up from keeping that position for so long, but it’s beyond worth it in his opinion.

Billy's basically asleep now, his anxiety and worry gone thanks to the joint they'd shared, his eyes closed and breathing even as he dozes.

Here, Steve admires him, freely. Bloodshot eyes and his thoughts slow as molasses, he traces the edge of Billy's mouth, so sharp and defined.

He thinks about how Billy kisses him with it, yells at Max to get out of his room when they want to be alone, smiles at him when they're driving too fast down Main Street.

The freckles are dotted next, across the bridge of Billy's nose and scattered across his cheekbones, a couple on his eyelids. He traces the scar going through Billy's eyebrow, remembering the story of how Billy's surfboard had caused it, how it reminded him of home.

He flicks the little golden curl on his boyfriend's forehead, smiling as it bounces back into place.

"Mm," Billy hums under him, half asleep.

Affection swoops in, wraps around Steve's heart, squeezing it so hard that he swears it'll stop dead. Instead, it makes his eyes fall to Billy's mouth again.

"Can I kiss you?" he mumbles, shy.

Billy doesn't reply, only gently pouts his lips.

It's enough for Steve to lean down and press his lips to Billy's, his eyes falling shut as he does, feeling that little moustache tickle his lip. He pecks it once, twice - he loses count.

Billy turns his head, like he always does whenever he wants Steve to kiss his neck, so he presses his lips to that sharp jaw and brushes the tip of his nose against it, too. Nuzzling him.

He kisses down to Billy's pulse, resting his lips there, breathing him in.

And Billy kinda loves it, knows Steve’s past that point whenever he feels a hand on his lower back or if Steve’s petting his chest and looking at him with those big doe eyes, seeing how they trail down his face before landing on his lips

He loves how easy Steve is like this, lets Billy coax his mouth open with his tongue, quietly moaning into his mouth and needing to be close, as close as he can by pressing their bodies together, hoping they’ll melt into one

And it’s always Billy that Steve is after, never anyone else, feeling slim fingers slip between his own before pulling him away from the party and to somewhere a bit more private

It’s great until Billy begins to crave it when he’s sober, wishing Steve would rub his stomach while they cuddle up to watch a movie instead of sitting on the opposite end of the couch, wishing for a lingering kiss at the door when he has to leave instead of a wave goodbye, wishing to feel Steve hold the top of his hand and rub his thumb along his knuckles when they study together

He'd watched Steve toss back shot after shot after his girl had left the party, clearly trying to suppress whatever emotion he was feeling, and Billy knew better than to approach him, and yet...

Knowing better doesn't always mean doing better, does it? Especially when he's drunk.

He blames it on that when he fists the front of the pretty boy's shirt and Steve falls forward with the smallest little tug, his eyelids so heavy as their gazes meet, his lips parted just enough that Billy needs to kiss him.

But, he doesn't. Not yet.

Instead, he offers to take Steve home, and to his surprise, Steve accepts.

He doesn't live far. They climb into Billy's car and Steve's scrunching his nose at the heavy scent of cigarettes and cologne and the loud music that's suddenly playing. He looks so cute, Billy wants to eat him.

But, he doesn't. Instead, he smirks and drives just fast enough to make Steve nervous.

When they arrive to what might be the biggest house in Hawkins, it looks like no one is home. He watches Steve stumble out of the car and laughs at him, gets out and circles the car to help him up from the driveway as Steve whines and brushes the dirt from his palms, leaning all of his weight against Billy as they make their way to the front door.

It's a real nice place, Billy thinks, as he helps Steve up to his room. The guy's room has the ugliest wallpaper he's ever seen, though, and he's about to say that but Steve’s heavy-limbed, so drunk, and Billy’s no better at this point, so when Steve’s knees suddenly give out and he’s kneeling at Billy’s feet, his flushed cheek pressed to the front of Billy’s jeans with his big doe eyes staring up at him, Billy's too slow to stop it.

He leans back against the bedroom door and hears it click shut with the motion, tucking his chin and staring down at the pretty boy at his feet. Steve's mumbling something under his breath, sighing heavily as he rubs his cheekbone along the denim, and Billy feels his cock stir.

There's a moment of silence, where Billy's staring down at Steve's thick hair and Steve's stopped mumbling so he can tilt his chin up and look at him again, their gazes once again locked.

That whole thing about not doing better echos in the back of his mind as he lifts his hand from his side and presses his thumb against the line of Steve’s lips, tugging his lower lip down, wondering if Steve will push off of him and tell him to get out but no, instead he feels his stomach flip when Steve’s tongue presses against the pad of his thumb, drawing it into his mouth quietly, their gaze never breaking.

He feels Steve give the smallest little suck and Billy fucking moans.