“Do you think he likes men?” he asks, jogging to keep up with Robin as she heads back towards the elevator. 

“Of course he likes guys,” she says, jamming the button. “Even I can tell that from across the street.”

“But how can you tell?” Steve asks pathetically. He wants to be prepared in case he ever runs into this guy, perhaps at the supermarket across the street or the coffee place three doors down. If he gets the chance to flirt, he wants to know that he should take it. 

Robin just fixes him with a glare as the doors glide open. “Because I can,” she says and steps inside. And after a beat, Steve has no choice but to follow her. 

Unloading the van sucks, but probably not as much as paying for an extra day if they return it late. He has to have Nancy pick them up from the depot because Robin never got her license and couldn’t follow him in her car. 

“Success?” Nancy asks, as they climb, dirty and exhausted in the back of her air-conditioned car. 

“Steve’s moved in,” Robin says, glaring at Steve until he does up her seat-belt for her. “But I hurt my shoulder hauling boxes.” Nancy flicks her eyes up to Steve through the rear-view mirror. 

“It was cheaper hiring a van,” he says pathetically. He wants to go back to his apartment and climb into the shower before falling into bed for several days. Except he doesn’t have that luxury because he starts work the day after tomorrow. And his dad had made it very clear - Steve would get no privileges by being his son. The only thing that was going to make it at all bearable was that Steve had decided to move out - there’s no way he’s dealing with his dad at home and at work. 

“We might not have run behind if Steve hadn’t found so many excuses to stare at the hot guy in the building next door,” Robin grumbles. She bumps Steve’s knee with her own. “You owe me Chinese.”

“And me,” Nancy chimes in, signalling for her turn. “I deserve an egg roll at least for coming to get you guys.”

“If certain people could drive, we could have brought my car,” Steve points out. Robin just beams sweetly at him. 

“I’m broke,” she reminds him. “Which is why you owe me dinner.”

She also spent all day hauling boxes so Steve buys her dinner. Nancy stays to steal an egg roll as promised, and half of the chow-mein before disappearing out of the door. Robin eats half of her body weight in shrimp and rice and then falls asleep on his new couch. Steve covers her with a blanket and goes into his room, because he should probably make his bed before he actually wants to get in it. He makes the mistake of pausing at the window.

The guy is naked. 

Okay, shirtless. And stretching. Yoga by the look of it, and Steve stops dead to stare at him as he moves smoothly through the positions, stretching long limbs with tight, taut muscles. If he’d looked good earlier, he’s even more gorgeous with all of that golden, perfect skin on show. 

Steve yanks his curtains closed, face flushing furiously. 

Fuuuuuuuuuck. 

<hr> 

The guy does yoga most afternoons, to Steve’s immense frustration. Sometimes he’s shirtless. Sometimes he does it in the sluttiest tank top Steve’s ever seen. On a particularly hot day he wore booty shorts and did downward facing dog right in Steve’s face. 

Unpacking is slow. Steve hates it, and after work the last thing he feels like doing is digging through boxes of his possessions with the intent of tidying them away. But bit by bit, it gets done and his apartment starts to look a little more put together. 

“How is it?” Robin asks one afternoon, her number popping up on his phone the moment he gets in from work. He wonders if she knows his schedule down to the minute or if she secretly installed cameras when he was trying to set up the TV. 

“It’s fine,” he says, struggling to loosen his tie one handed. Working for his dad isn’t what he’d intended on doing with his life but it pays well and the work isn’t awful. He’s good with people, always has been. And he could have gotten a better apartment if he’d taken his parents offer of help but he still has a small smidgen of respect, hence why he’s living next to an alley and two floors above a takeaway. Weirdly enough, his dad seems to respect the decision too. “I prefer high school when my afternoons were spent lounging around the pool, but I’ve been told that’s not really a valid life choice.”

“You could,” she says, sounding bemused. “But yeah, people might start to judge.”

“This way has memos and bills, it’s not preferable,” Steve says bluntly, digging a can out of the fridge and wandering through to his room. It’s not quite summer yet but the days are already starting to soften with that haze of sunshine and the smell of mown grass in the air. “But there are doughnuts in the break-room on Fridays so it’s not totally…”

Steve abruptly drops the can, where it rolls away under the bed. Steve doesn’t notice, because he’s busy pressing his back against the wall, heart pounding furiously. 

“Steve?” Robin says, sounding alarmed. “Steve, what’s going on?”

Steve pokes his head out, peering around the dark blue curtains he got on sale. But it’s still there across the way, like a gloriously tan vision of Steve’s best wet dreams. 

“Ro, he’s in a towel!” Steve hisses furiously. He’s still leering - he actually can’t seem to stop, as his hot neighbor wanders around his room wearing nothing more than a white towel slung around his waist. “Shit, Ro, what do I do?”

“Get a piece of paper,” Robin says, sounding less than enthused now that she knows Steve isn’t dying. “Write ‘do you want to bone?’ in Sharpie and see where it goes from there.”

“Ha ha,” Steve says dryly. His neighbor seems to have no idea that Steve’s even there, pulling clothes from his closet without a care in the world. He only ever seems to close his blinds at night, which might be justified. He overlooks an alley after all, and the only one with any chance of seeing into his apartment is Steve. 

“Steve?” Robin says, her voice cutting through Steve’s haze like a knife. “You okay? Is it good?”

Steve feels like snorting. He’s seen male models look worse than this guy. 

His dark blonde curls are damp, spiraling down his shoulders and softening his face. The towel is clinging on for dear life, a few stray droplets trickling down his belly and into his happy trail, a soft layer of golden hair visible just above the white cotton. His legs are equally spectacular, long and well-defined, and go on for miles…or that might be the deceptively small towel that brushes the top of his thighs. And when he turns, even from here, Steve can tell that his eyes are a brilliant, bright shade of blue. 

He shaves, Steve notices. Everywhere except…and his eyes drift down again to the bulge under the towel. 

That honestly looks like the best present to unwrap that Steve can think of.

“Steve,” Robin says sharply, her voice breaking him out of the spell. “If you’re sporting a chub right now, I am hanging up. I cannot talk to you when you have an erection.”

“We have weird conversations,” Steve says distantly. But she’s not wrong. Even the faintest glimpse of this guy these days has Steve ready to go. “I should go.”

“Yeah,” Robin says pointedly and not entirely without disgust. “Go take a cold shower.”

“I’m not going to do that,” Steve replies bluntly, fingers tangling in the curtains. He’s going to watch for as long as he dares and then close the curtains so he can furiously jerk off, picturing what it might be like to yank the towel away and suck him into his mouth. 

“Ew,” Robin says and true to her word, hangs up. Steve stays where he is, lobbing his phone at the bed. Just in case he’s tempted to take pictures. As much as he’d like to have something to stare at, that’s probably even worse voyeurism that he’s already participated in. And also probably a felony. 

He presses a hand against his aching cock, palming himself through his trousers to take the edge off. But to his disappointment, his neighbor collects a few items of clothes and disappears again. 

Deflated, Steve collects the soda can, dropping down onto his bed. Maybe next time he should vet his neighbors before moving in. Maybe check for gorgeous half-naked men with exhibitionist issues before signing the rental agreement. 

On the plus side, Steve hasn’t needed porn since he moved in here. 

He should shower, Steve thinks miserably. Jerk off under the spray and pretend the hot guy is in there with him. He pulls on the tab, still hopefully watching the window.

Just to make a point, the can - fresh from being dropped and taking a journey along Steve’s bedroom floor - neatly explodes in his face. 

<hr>

The ensuing heatwave only makes things worse. 

His neighbor begins wearing as little as possible, frequently going shirtless and wearing those tiny little booty shorts again. Steve would wonder where he got them, because they’re bright pink, but they look so fucking amazing on that ass he almost doesn’t care. 

Steve’s almost dying in his suit and tie but his dad doesn’t do casual Fridays so Steve just has to suffer unless he’s in the air-conditioned office, or until he can stagger home and change into something lighter. 

Day after day, Steve pulls on some shorts in his room and hopefully watches the window for his neighbor. 

He should feel a little bit bad about stalking this guy. But - even more pathetically - the brief glimpses that Steve gets are the best part of his day. Even if Steve never gets to actually meet his neighbor, there’s something uplifting about just seeing him. 

He’s not sure what his neighbor does for a living, but at a guess, it’s probably shift work. Some days, the guy is there doing yoga when Steve gets home from work. Sometimes, it’s not until it’s dark when the bedroom light turns on and he stumbles in the door. It’s not like Steve’s predictable routine, day in, day out. 

But that’s the only thing - well, pretty much the only thing - he hasn’t been able to suss out about this guy. 

He’s a surfer; obvious enough by the surf board and wetsuit that occasionally grace the floor space. He does yoga and Pilates, and clearly likes cars, cooking and travel, judging by the books on his shelf. He can keep houseplants alive and has the largest CD collection that Steve has ever seen. Occasionally music drifts across the open windows, old music, new music, and every single song is great. There are photos but none of them ever look like they could be his family, except for a red-haired girl that makes faces at the camera in a way that so obviously screams ‘younger sister.’ 

It’s becoming a bit of a problem. How adorable he looks in the mornings, golden curls all matted and wild, how he moonwalks across the floor to music, the way the sunlight hits his lashes. Steve’s swiftly finding himself less in lust and more in the overwhelming grip of a crush. 

On one of the hottest days of the year, Steve stumbles through the door just before the sun begins to dip. He’d gone out with Robin to the local Italian place, partly because they made really awesome pasta and partly because they have air-conditioning. His shitty building doesn’t have it, something he should have considered before moving in. But then again, if he’d prioritized amenities rather than cheaper rent, he’d never get to see his neighbor suck on an ice cream. 

He stands under a cold shower for as long as he dares, pulling on a t-shirt and boxers. He stops to tug open his window, trying to let a little cooler air in. Sometimes this backfires with the street noise but Steve would rather sleep a little with a breeze rather than stay awake because he’s dripping in sweat. 

He needs to buy more fans, he thinks, just as movement in the dim room across the alley catches his eye. 

His neighbor is in bed. 

He’s alone, thank God, and clearly shirtless in the heat. There’s a fan in the corner of the room, providing a little relief. It lifts the curls falling down the guy’s face, the rest of his hair pulled up into a loose bun at the base of his neck. Steve’s never seen him wear his hair like that before and it looks incredible. It shows off his cheekbones, highlights his long neck. Steve stares at his closed eyes, the long lashes visible even from here. 

But then the guy moves, rolling over and dragging half of the sheet with him. A long, lean back becomes visible - not new to Steve but a welcome sight, nonetheless - as does something else. 

Steve stares at the guy’s bare ass, firm and plump and as tanned as the rest of him. There’s a brief moment where he wonders how that happens - does he sunbathe naked on the roof? - before it’s gone, swallowed by an intense desire to take that soft flesh in his hands, knead it and tease it apart to see the pink hole that’s hidden beneath. 

Steve’s never wanted to bite someone’s ass so badly before in his life.

Steve strips off and climbs into bed but even after he’s spilled over his fingers, he still doesn't sleep. 

<hr>

Steve has begun jerking off almost religiously. These days all it takes is a glimpse of his neighbor and he’s half-hard. There’s not a lot he can do about it - it would be easy enough to go get laid but he knows it’s a pathetic substitution deep down. He doesn’t even know the guy’s name and yet he haunts Steve’s every waking moment. 

He doesn’t tell anyone and the flicker of shame almost makes the sharp tug of want even worse. He knows that it’s wrong and he can’t bear the idea of stopping. 

But all of a sudden, a few days go by without the appearance of his neighbor and Steve starts lingering by the window each night before he draws the curtains, waiting and hoping. But the light never turns on across the way and Steve goes to bed disappointed. 

Steve gets home on Monday evening, tired and curt from an unpleasant day at the office. Stepping through his front door only reminds him that he needs to take out the trash, find himself dinner and clean up all before he goes to bed and this starts all over again. Even worse, it’s still a hot and sticky summer’s day, and this does nothing to improve his mood. 

Tugging at his tie, suddenly desperate to be free of it, Steve steps into his bedroom. He might have a pizza in the freezer that he can shove in the oven. He’s in no mood to make an effort tonight. He begins unbuttoning his shirt, and only just remembers that his curtains are open when he turns around. 

His neighbor has returned. 

He’s lying on the bed again, still golden, still beautiful. His chest is bare, smooth and toned, with the faintest glimmer of sweat against his skin. His hair is loose against the pillow, the softness of his curls suggesting that his hair has only recently been washed. Steve drinks him in, appreciating every small detail from the leather bracelet around one thick wrist, to the purple nail polish on his toes. 

This time, his neighbor isn’t asleep. 

And unlike last time, there’s no sheet covering his lower half. 

There’s also no mistaking the large purple dildo he’s currently fucking himself with. 

For a moment he wonders if he fell asleep on the couch when he’d stumbled in through the door. This has to be one of the many fantasies he’s had since he moved in, filthy images flicking across his mind while his hand works quickly under the sheets. But he blinks, once and then again, and the image stays. 

Oh fuck, he shouldn’t be watching this. But there’s almost no way he can pull his eyes away from where the long piece of silicone slides in and out, vanishing somewhere just out of Steve’s eye-line. And God, does he want to see how this guy takes that thick cock in his hole, how slicked up and open he is. 

He’s enjoying himself, plush lips open in tiny gasps that Steve currently can’t hear. The other hand is stroking his cock, in a smooth, deft motion, with a little twist over the head each time. Steve doesn’t know what to watch - the fat, leaking dick or the hand pushing the dildo inside himself over and over. If the angle were slightly different, Steve knows what he’d prefer. 

There’s a bottle of lube thrown casually on the sheets, a pair of sweats dropped hastily onto the floor. Steve wonders what caused this apparent frenzied need to be fucked, how he might have rushed to his room and pulled the silicone cock and lubricant from the drawer. Shit. Did Steve miss much of this? Did he come in just after the careful preparation, how his neighbor fucked himself with his fingers first? Or does he take that cock so often, he didn’t need much, merely playing with his hole first before he slicked up the dildo?

There’s the faint sound of a moan that carries across the street between their open windows and Steve almost reels, unsure his legs are able to support his weight. He’s never heard the guy’s voice before and now that he has, it’s all too easy to imagine how he might moan for Steve. 

It’s the worst sensation in the world, being so close to something that he desperately wants. Because they’re mere feet away, divided by an alley and an open drop, and Steve can see every detail but not touch. The tanned wrist re-positions the dildo, angling it in deep, and it must hit just right because there’s another, much louder moan that reaches Steve’s ears. The guy braces his feet against the bed, quickening his pace until he’s fucking himself in rough, quick strokes, almost a match to the hand still working his cock. He must be close, teeth biting down on his plump bottom lip as he works himself to orgasm. 

Steve can’t wait. He drops to his knees, shoving his trousers and boxers down over his thighs and taking himself in hand. There’s a sharp pulse of adrenaline in his blood, that he’s doing this so openly and without any shame or guilt. But he can’t wait and he doesn’t want to close his curtains. Anyone in his position would do the same when faced with a vision like that. 

It doesn’t take long, the first curl of his fingers around his dick like a balm and from there it’s all too easy to jerk himself, firmly and just a little too roughly. He shoves his clothing down a little more to reach behind himself, circling his hole with a dry finger. It doesn’t matter because it’s just enough, imaging his neighbor lying on his bed, preparing himself with one lubed finger, then maybe two. All before he slicks up the dildo and spreads his legs wide to take it. He’d look the same taking Steve’s dick, stretched out and begging for it. 

It doesn’t take long to bring himself to the edge, pressing the pad of his finger against his hole. Steve only just stifles his cry to avoid being heard through the open window but he still whimpers as he comes across his bedroom floor and his fingers in thick, white spurts. 

The guilt settles in almost immediately, with Steve still crouched on the floor, flushed and dripping onto the hardwood floor. He slumps down against the wall and futilely wipes his hand on his shorts. He needs a shower and fresh clothes, but what he wants is to look out of the window again and see if that guy has come. What his face looks like. If he pushes the dildo in deep. How he looks with come splattered against his belly. 

Steve wriggles out of his ruined clothes, dropping them into a pile before adding his shirt to it. For a moment, he considers standing up, giving the guy a taste of his own medicine. But the impulse fades away as quickly as it’s come and Steve sheepishly crawls across his bedroom floor out of sight so he can get to the shower unseen. 

<hr>

Coffee’s pretty much a necessity these days. 

Steve’s never really been kept awake by a neighbour much before. Yeah, when he was in a frat, things were different - one guy played drums and didn’t seem to keep to normal hours, not to mention Jason kept bringing girls back and having obnoxiously loud sex. Not good sex, judging by the girls’ faces the next morning but still, a rattling headboard is still something of a bad sleep aid. 

But this is different. Steve closes his eyes and the last thing he wants to do is sleep when the images that appear behind his eyes are all the same.

He’s seen the guy since but thankfully, not in similar, compromised positions. As fucking incredible as that day was, and God knows he’s never come so hard by himself before, he’s not sure he can cope with a repeat performance. 

He’s started keeping his curtains closed out of a sheer need for survival. He has to do things like eat and work and not jerk off constantly because even a glimpse of the guy’s arms are enough to get him hard. 

Robin’s started to grow concerned and that’s even without Steve telling her the whole truth. If he told her everything…she’d probably slap a ‘predator’ sticker on him and throw him into lava. Which at this point, he’s pretty sure he deserves. 

“Cappuccino, please,” someone says from behind him and Steve politely shuffles along the counter out of his way. It’s not packed in here today, the lull of a Thursday afternoon, and only a few stragglers are hunched over tables nursing coffee while scrolling their phones. 

“It’ll be a moment,” the barista says, pointing a thumb at a machine that’s hissing furiously behind her. “Let me just sort that out, I think there’s a blockage.”

“No problem,” the guy says easily, resting a long, tanned arm on the counter top, casually twirling a loyalty card between his fingers. He must come in here a lot, because Steve’s just moved in and he keeps forgetting to sign up. 

There’s a very familiar leather bracelet wrapped around his wrist and Steve’s stomach drops as he stares at the thick black leather, the tiny beads sewn onto the end. He knows that fucking bracelet. He’s seen that fucking bracelet, has seen it around a wrist as it worked a fat cock into a tight and greedy hole. 

When he turns, his hot neighbor is mere inches behind him, hair pulled up into a messy bun, and wearing yet another tank top. The board shorts and flip flops make it even worse because he looks like an asshole surfer and it’s fucking hot. 

Steven. Do not get a fucking erection in public. 

But when shouting this loudly in his mind doesn’t work, Steve resorts to digging his fingernails deep into the flesh of his arm. 

“Sorry, did you want cream on that?” the barista asks, smiling sweetly at Steve. This predictably doesn’t help. 

Yes, I need a lot of it, I want it all over me, I want it in my mouth, in my fucking hair, in my…

Steve swallows weakly. It’s a terrible reminder that he still hasn’t seen that guy come. 

“Yeah, thanks,” he mutters and pretends to not notice his neighbor watching him. 

“Hey,” the guy says, as the barista turns away and begins to work the newly fixed coffee machine. “Haven’t seen you in here before.”

“I just moved in,” Steve says, pointing down the block towards his apartment. “Uh, Flat 3C. Number 40?”

“I live in the building next door,” the guy says, as though it isn’t the bane and joy of Steve’s entire existence rolled into one. “I’m Billy.”

“Steve,” Steve says. Billy. He’s played a lot of names over in his mind the past few weeks but Billy’s never been one of them. It suits him. Short. Boyish. Probably good to moan in bed. 

“Steve,” Billy says, rolling the name over on his tongue. Steve gets harder at the way he says it, good and slow, like he’s tasting it. “Not seen you here before, Steve. And as Carla here will tell you, I’m always here.” Steve’s stomach curdles unpleasantly as Billy grins at the barista. To her credit, she just rolls her eyes. 

“Don’t listen to him,” she advises Steve warmly. “He only likes me for my coffee.”

“She’s the only good one here, cherish her,” Billy says, tapping his nose. “Everyone else always burns the milk…so, you new to the area? Or are you about to tell me that you moved from three blocks over and if that’s the case, I may look like an idiot.”

“No, I’m new,” Steve says, and wonders why he managed all four years of high school being the smoothest, funniest guy ever when it came to talking to girls. It would be just his luck that he finds a guy he really likes and has all the charm of an old sock. “I mean, I lived with my folks before.”

“Cool,” Billy says, leaning casually on the counter. Steve follows the curves of him with his eyes, all of the way from his jaw to the sleek lines of his neck and the firm ripples of his arms. “I know all of the great places to eat, if you’re interested. Or bars, if you like bars.”

“I eat,” Steve says, pulling his attention back to Billy’s words, rather than just staring at his bottom lip. “I go to bars. I don’t really know what’s around here.”

“Great,” Billy says smoothly. He has an earring dangling from one ear - how has Steve never noticed that before? - which somehow makes him even hotter. “We should go out sometime. What do you like?”

“I…” Steve says, and turns his head. He half feels as though he needs to be pinched. God, he wishes Robin were here. She’d be able to tell him if it’s a come on or if Billy’s just being nice. “Pretty much everything. Anything that’s not Chinese takeaway though. I’ve eaten a lot of that since I arrived.”

“No egg rolls,” Billy agrees, and fuck, his grin up close has Steve weak at the knees. It’s a little bit lopsided, a little bit cocky, like Billy knows just how charming he is. “You free tonight?”

“I am…free,” Steve says hesitantly. Shit. What if Billy takes him out to a bar to meet women? What if Billy suddenly produces a girlfriend, or boyfriend, someone stunning and who knows right away that Steve has a stupidly huge crush on Billy? Staring across the alley is one thing, but getting involved in his life is another. 

But Billy’s expression has morphed from bright and flirty to something else. His smile has dropped at Steve’s obvious discomfort, a flicker of wariness in his bright blue eyes. 

“I mean, if you don’t want to…” he says and Steve feels his gut drop a little. 

“I do!” he says hurriedly. The last thing he wants to do is have Billy go back to being a distant neighbor, now with the added bonus of constantly reminding Steve that he fucked it up every time he sees him. “I just…I don’t know whether you mean a date or…” His voice trails off when he sees Billy’s face. Great. Maybe Billy was just being nice after all. 

“You can’t be serious,” Billy says in a low voice, drumming his fingers furiously on the counter top. “What gave you the idea that it wouldn’t be a date?”

The barista is almost definitely eavesdropping and Steve feels a little bit like sinking into the floor. But Billy just keeps standing there, waiting, like he’s expecting Steve to get it. 

“I fucked myself on a dildo in front of you, why didn’t you make a move?!” Billy hisses, but clearly not in a low enough voice. The red-headed barista abruptly drops the bottle of syrup and she flushes a deep pink as she scrambles to get it. It’s almost distracting enough for Steve to not understand the implications right away. 

“Wait, you did that on purpose?” Steve squeaks. Billy just stares at him in disbelief. 

“You didn’t know?” he asks, sweeping a hand through his wild mane of hair. “Fucking hell…it’s been weeks, Steve.”

“I just thought you were really bad at closing your blinds,” Steve mutters in embarrassment. Fuck, he could have been having mind-blowing sex with this guy already, instead of feeling like the worst creeper in existence.

“No,” Billy says bluntly. The barista seems to be lost behind the counter, apparently hiding at waist level. “Only when a gorgeous guy moves in over the way and I want to get his attention.”

“Oh,” Steve says weakly. Billy just shakes his head, and he might look exasperated but there’s the faintest smile tugging at his lips. 

“Okay, let’s try this again,” he says and holds out a hand. “I’m Billy. I’m your neighbor. I think you’re hot and I’m free for dinner this evening.”

“Steve,” Steve says, pressing his palm into Billy’s. He may be a slow learner but he’s not that slow on the uptake. “I’m apparently kind of an idiot. Do you like Italian?”

“Fuck, yeah,” Billy says, and fucking rubs his thumb over Steve’s. Steve just stares at him, unable to stop the sharp shock of arousal that dances across his skin and down to his belly. Billy just watches him, his thumb making deep, gentle circles into Steve’s skin. 

“Want to have a go holding the dildo?” Billy asks in a low voice, running his tongue along his plush bottom lip. Steve considers the implications and short circuits. 

“I don’t really need coffee, do you?” he asks, because the barista seems to have abandoned them entirely and he suddenly has a need for something else entirely in his mouth.