#spree-inspired

He knows every creaky spot in the hallway and living room like the back of his hand, memorized over the years. Sneaking to the front door is easy, but he holds his breath the entire way, listening for the sound of his father getting out of bed.

Billy only allows himself to take a deep breath once the front door is shut quietly behind him. It’s dark and quiet and eerie. 

Billy only allows himself to take a deep breath once the front door is shut quietly behind him. It’s dark and quiet and eerie. 

Then, he’s rushing across the lawn with his suitcase, listening to the sound of his Converse on the concrete and his heavy breaths as he gets further and further away from his dad and his abuse and everything he’s ever known.

He works up a bit of a sweat by the time he slows down to a walk, eyes brimming with tears as he stops on the corner of a street blocks away and hiccups out a small sob.

There’s nowhere to go. No one to run to. He couldn’t find his mom even if he tried, Neil made sure of that. None of his friends would be able to let him stay. They had no idea what Billy went through at home because he never told them. It was always better to suffer in silence, in his case.

With no mother, a father who would eventually give up on him, and no friends or relatives to contact - Billy’s all alone and unloved and the realization is a long time coming and it’s finally here.

The thoughts are racing through his mind so quickly that he doesn’t see the taxi pull up next to him until a voice asks, “Need a ride?”

Billy jumps, eyes wide, and sighs a breath of relief when he sees that it’s not his dad.

And honestly? Being in a cab is better than out on the street. He’s got enough cash to get him anywhere he wants to go.

“Yeah, sure,” Billy clears his throat before opening the back door and climbing in, setting his luggage on the ground as he settles in his seat. Looking at the rear view mirror, he sees big brown doe eyes staring back at him in the yellow light of the street lamp, unwavering.

And for a moment, there’s nothing said, there’s no movement, just the idling car and Billy’s bated breath.

Anxious, he snaps quietly, “Can we get a move on?”

The driver smiles, Billy can see the way his eyes crinkle, and he asks in a strangely chipper voice, “Where to?”

Again, Billy doesn’t know. “Um,” he furrows his brows, wracking his brain for something until he manages, “Can you take me to...the beach?”

“The beach? Sure,” the driver hums, staring at Billy again for a moment too long. The guy hasn’t even blinked, Billy’s sure, and he squirms a little in his seat when the silence drags on - then the car is in gear and they’re making their way down the street.

The driver looks away for only a second before he’s glancing back at Billy again, striking up an unwanted conversation, “So, why the beach?”

Sick of that stare, Billy looks out the window and focuses on the street passing him by, muttering, “Why do you care?”

“Just curious,” the driver hums, his tone easy and laidback, “It’s the middle of the night and you have a suitcase - most people are wanting to go to the airport, but not you, no. You wanna go to the beach.”

He supposes that it does seem odd. But, still. Fuck this nosey cab driver, he thinks as he glances at the rear view mirror again.

“Are you meeting someone there?” The driver continues, his voice low and curious, still fucking staring at Billy every chance he gets. Every red light, every stop sign, every quiet moment on the road.

Before he can even answer, the guy continues, “You’re a romantic, aren’t you? I can tell. You have the eyes.”

What?

“What?” Billy balks, brows furrowing in disbelief.

“Mhm,” the driver nods, as if he’s got it all figured out, “I bet you’re meeting someone at the beach, right? Maybe running away together?”

This can’t be real. He’s asleep in his bed and having a weird dream. His dad will be banging at his door any moment now, telling him to get his lazy ass out of bed.

“Sorry,” the guy laughs quietly, the sound making Billy’s skin crawl a little, like there’s something hidden just under the surface, “My bad, man. I just get so swept up in my own fantasies sometimes, y’know? Maybe I’m just…projecting or whatever.”

“Yeah…” Billy mutters, looking out of the window again, uncomfortable.

The driver must catch on to that because he says quietly, in a sad little voice that actually makes Billy feel bad for finding him creepy, “I’m sorry. Really.”

“Dude, it’s whatever,” Billy replies, furrowing his brows a little.

“Steve.”

He flicks his gaze over to the mirror, finds those brown eyes looking at him again and says, “What?”

“My name,” Steve smiles, “It’s Steve. Nice to meet you.”

‘Nice’ isn’t the word that Billy would use, but. Sure.

And he’s not sure what compels him to do it, but he mutters in reply, “Uh, yeah, likewise. Name’s Billy.”

“Billy?” Steve repeats, his eyes widening with excitement.

“Yeah,” Billy nods slightly, unsure if it was the best idea to tell this guy his name, but…it wasn’t like he was ever going to see him again, so.

“I like that name,” Steve hums as he flicks his turn signal on, “It’s…strong. Masculine. The perfect boy name, I think.”

Jesus, what a fucking weirdo.

Steve doesn’t stop, “Billy and Steve. Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

“Uh, I guess,” Billy mumbles, wondering if he should ask him to pull over, but Billy has no idea where they are - it’s dark and he can’t see the street signs anymore.

“Tell me,” Steve hums, his tone low and curious, not even looking as he asks in an even tone, “Why are you running away, Billy?”

It’s a little surreal at this point. Like he’s in the cab but not. There’s something almost hypnotizing about the way Steve speaks and the way he holds eye contact with Billy - like Billy wants to answer him and not tell him to mind his own fucking business.

And he reminds himself that he’ll never see Steve once he’s dropped off at the beach. There’s no harm in telling a random cabbie why he’s packed up and left in the middle of the night, right? And the attention is nice. The fact that Steve seems to even give a little bit of a shit about Billy is nice. 

Steve pipes up again, interrupting Billy’s thoughts, “You’re not the first one, y’know. I’ve picked up ladies who leave their piece of shit husbands in the middle of the night. Kids who run away from a bad home. And I make sure they get somewhere safe - a place where they’ll never be hurt again.”

Maybe Steve can read minds.

“Jesus,” Billy sighs, “My dad is an asshole who beats me so I saved up money and left him,” he says in one breath, like it was pushed out of him, and he pouts a little as he mutters, “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“No,” Steve frowns as he turns onto another street slowly, his hands steady on the steering wheel, “That’s never what I want to hear. No one deserves that - especially kids like you.”

“I’m not a kid,” Billy mumbles a touch petulantly. As if to prove it, he adds, “I turned eighteen a few months ago.”

That makes Steve smile again, looking back at Billy through that little mirror as he says, “Hey, we’re almost the same age – I’m twenty-four!”

Billy snorts in amusement at that, smiles a little as he says, “That’s not ‘almost’ the same age, dude.”

“Close enough,” Steve chuckles softly, going quiet for a second before he says quietly, almost shyly, “You have a nice smile, by the way.”

And it’s stupid, the way that simple little compliment makes Billy’s neck go hot, how it makes him smile down at his lap with a small shake of his head. Steve is flirting with him while Billy’s running away from home. Unbelievable.

It’s kinda funny, in a sad way, until Steve speaks again, in that low tone, “Bet the rest of you is nice, too.”

“Alright,” Billy chuckles softly, “That’s enough, man, I get it.”

“No,” Steve argues gently, “I mean it. I wanna see the rest of you, if you’d let me.”

Billy’s lips part but no words come out, he just sits there confused, until he laughs incredulously, “What kinda taxi are you running here, huh?” 

“Who said I’m driving a taxi, Billy?”

The words hit him like his father and suddenly, he feels cold all over.

There’s no plexiglass separating them, there’s no meter, there’s no signs on the back of the seats, and there wasn’t a familiar white sign on top of the car. He hadn’t checked - he’d just climbed in, like an idiot.

He’s in the backseat of a stranger’s car and his stomach sinks.

“Hey—let me out,” he says, trying for firm and unmoving but his voice is small and quiet.

Steve chuckles and turns off the road, and it’s then that Billy realizes that they’re nowhere near the beach. They’re in a random parking lot in the middle of the night in a quiet part of town, no one is around and once again, Billy feels alone.

The car stops and they sit there for a moment, unmoving and not speaking, like they’re both afraid to break the silence they’ve created.

Billy shifts just a little and the shape of his switchblade in his back pocket is a sudden, comforting reminder.

Be cool.

He breathes out a small sigh and then they come alive.

It’s a struggle to get out of the car as Steve climbs into the back, Billy feels his elbow connect with Steve’s side as he reaches for his switchblade, his heart in his throat as he reaches for the door handle. Steve’s grabbing at him roughly, fisting his hands in his clothes, begging in a quiet voice for Billy to ‘stop’ and ‘relax’.

He manages to open the door and fall out, landing on the pavement with a grunt and he stares up at the night sky for half a second before his adrenaline tells his body to fucking move.

By the time he gets to his feet, Steve is already there, grabbing both of his wrists and pinning him to the side of the car with an almost feral grin.

“Easy, tiger,” Steve laughs breathlessly as Billy struggles against him, but he’s pinned against the cold metal and Billy hasn’t felt this desperate in a long time.

But like this, he finally gets a good look at Steve. He’s got about an inch on Billy, his hair is dark and messy and unwashed, medium build, beauty spots and moles adoring his face like stars in the sky above them, and those brown eyes are bigger like this - staring straight into his own blues. They’re unwavering and hungry, with clear joy, like he’s enjoying the struggle and fight that’s quickly sapping the energy out of Billy.

And that joy increases tenfold once he spots the knife in Billy’s hand.

“Is this for me, honey?” Steve hums, “You gonna be a big boy and use it?”

It’s condescending and makes Billy feel small, powerless, which only increases when Steve squeezes his wrist hard and he cries out, the blade falling from his hand and almost right into Steve’s, like a gift.

The switchblade opens with a press of the button and the sharp point is on Billy’s neck, digging in gently, threatening.

He could die like this. Gutted and left to rot until the morning comes.

The realization makes him beg, his voice shaky as he whispers, “Please don’t hurt me.”

Steve pouts his lower lip at him, “Such nice manners. Just when I thought you couldn’t get any more perfect.”

Perfect.

Steve continues, smiling in amusement as he hums, “I don’t wanna hurt you, baby. You’re too pretty.“

“Liar,” Billy whispers, suddenly emboldened, “If you didn’t want to hurt me, you’d let me go.”

“But then you’d run to the police,” Steve pouts again, “You’d tell them all about me and then they’d find me and the others.”

“Others?” Billy blinks, and then he remembers.

I make sure they get somewhere safe – a place where they’ll never be hurt again.

His lip trembles again as he realizes and he whimpers out, “You killed them…you said they were safe and you killed them—“

Steve presses the knife harder, making Billy shut up quick, and he shakes his head ‘no’ slowly. “They don’t matter now, Billy,” he says firmly, sweetly, “Only you do. Look at you - you’re shaking like a leaf. You don’t deserve to be in a house where you’re scared to even breathe the wrong way. You’ll be safe, with me, yeah?”

Under his goddamn floorboards or crawlspace, probably.

Billy knows desperation. He feels it now, coursing through his body, and he tries to think of something to help himself. He’s a fucking survivor, there’s no way he can’t make it out of this - not when he’s just survived his father. 

The knife travels up his neck and to his jaw, still pressing firmly, but there’s no risk of a cut unless Billy makes any sudden movements.

And looking at Steve, he can see the way those brown eyes have softened into something like awe, like admiration, as he trails the tip of the knife along Billy’s face.

Admiration. Appreciation. Steve had been flirting earlier.

“You said you wanted to see the rest of me,” Billy whispers, deciding his plan, “If I let you, will you let me go?”

He watches the way Steve considers it, tilting his head to the side as his eyes narrow, the tip of the knife sliding across his bottom lip.

“Maybe,” Steve murmurs after an eternity, “Get in the car.”

It’s sick, the way he’d desperately tried to escape this backseat only minutes ago and now he’s willingly climbing back in. He’s no stranger to using his body to get what he wants, whether that be a distraction, to get off, or to even just have a warm bed to sleep in at night that isn’t his own. This time it’s a matter of life or death.

Once he’s laid out in the back, he watches Steve closely, following every movement as the brunette keeps the switchblade in his hand and climbs in, shutting the door behind him as he does.

Billy doesn’t dare move as Steve settles on top of him, sitting on his hips, but he does stiffen as the tip of the blade is pressed to the dip between his collarbones and Steve smiles down at him sweetly.

“C’mon,” Steve hums, “Shirt, off. Unless you want me to cut it off?” He chuckles, like it’s some inside joke between them.

“No, no,” Billy breathes with a small shake of his head, and once the blade is far enough, he pulls his shirt off with a bit of struggle and he hears Steve hum in appreciation.

The shirt is forgotten on the floor as Billy lays back again, his chest rising and falling a little faster as he looks down at it, watching and feeling Steve drag the tip of the blade down his breastbone.

It’s weird, the way Steve’s eyes cloud over as he draws little patterns on his skin, digging just a little too hard at times that it makes Billy suck in a sharp little breath. It’s enough to bring Steve back to himself, lifting the pressure just a bit as he blinks the look in his eyes away.

“So beautiful,” Steve sighs as he circles Billy’s bellybutton with the switchblade, shifting himself lower until he’s sitting back on Billy’s thighs, murmuring the entire time, “Perfect arms, perfect stomach, perfect tits…”

Billy can’t help the warmth that rises to his cheeks as he hears it - Steve calling his pecs ‘tits’ - and he licks his dry lips as Steve lowers the blade down to the front of his jeans, tapping the button with it. 

“Off,” Steve orders and Billy does as he’s told, unbuttoning his jeans and pushing them down his thighs, kicking them off once they’re below his knees and Steve lifts himself up to ‘help’.

He doesn’t wear briefs, ever, and turns red once Steve gives him a knowing smirk.

“Good boy,” Steve all but purrs, which suddenly swirls all sorts of emotions in Billy’s chest as Steve slides the switchblade down the ‘V’ of his hips and runs the flat of the blade down the length of his cock.

The cold metal on such a sensitive part of his body makes Billy shiver, his thighs trembling under the weight of Steve, who notices and uses his free hand to smooth his palm across Billy’s stomach and side, down to his hip and thigh, and the warmth of his palm mixed with the cool of the knife has Billy’s dick begin to harden.

He’s mortified, scared, and fucking aroused as Steve continues to admire him - like Billy is worth looking at, like he’s a piece of artwork, like he’s actually being seen for the first time in his miserable life and he wants more of it.

The want to always feel like this is sudden and all-consuming.

Steve notices the effect of his stare right away, his brows lifting in surprise as he drags the tip of the knife along Billy’s thighs, murmuring, “Every part of you is perfect, Billy. It would be a shame to…waste it.”

Waste it. “As in…kill me,” Billy breathes, feeling like he can’t catch his breath because arousal grips him just as tightly as fear does.

Brown eyes glance up at him then, intense yet hauntingly empty, and that look is a clear enough ‘yes’. Because what else would Steve mean by that? He’s already admitted to killing others before Billy, people who had been in a similar situation, desperate and hurting and in need of saving. They hadn’t been strong enough to fight Steve off, unwilling to play this sick little game, but Billy knows how to deal with monsters - he’s been raised by one.

He spreads his thighs, shifting against the fabric of the backseat, and Steve cocks his head in consideration. There’s a small, secret smile on his face as he settles between Billy’s thighs, transferring the knife to his other hand and bringing it back up to Billy’s throat, a threatening presence once again.

A silent command, don’t move.

As if Billy would dare.

No, instead, his breath catches as Steve’s other hand sneaks between his thighs, ghosting his fingertips over his balls and rubbing down the smooth skin underneath, until he’s rubbing at his hole and Billy’s head swims.

He’s no stranger to this, not at all, but the combination of fear and arousal is new and then Steve’s murmuring praise into the cramped space between them, which feels like a hundred little kisses to his skin all at once.

“Look at you,” Steve sighs, “So beautiful like this, that look on your face is fucking delicious, I wanna see it all the time…” He rubs a little harder, makes Billy’s brows furrow when the tip of his finger pushes a little too far, but it makes a blissful look cross Steve’s face, “It hurts just as much as it feels good, huh, baby?”

Billy tries to muster up the strength to say something, anything, but all he can manage is a small whimper in the back of his throat with the tiniest nod of his head because Steve is right.

That fingertip is gone then, and the pinch of the knife at his throat disappears, too, hearing it clatter to the floor as Steve grabs his hips and folds Billy in half easily. He’s got surprising strength, which is made clearer as Billy feels the breath pushed out of his lungs as his knees almost hit his shoulders, his hands grasping onto whatever they can - the seat, Steve, but they’re slick with sweat and slip with every curl of his fingers.

Steve looks ravenous - his hair and eyes are wild as he wraps his arm around Billy’s waist, keeping his lower half tucked firmly against his chest. It’s hard to breathe like this, but it’s even harder when Billy feels the wetness of Steve’s mouth and tongue sealing around his hole, lapping and sucking and swirling him to full hardness.

“Fuck,” he gasps weakly, struggling a little against Steve’s hold, which is swiftly rectified by a smack to the side of his thigh.

“Be good,” Steve growls against his entrance, his breath hot on Billy’s wet skin, and Billy goes quiet with a whimper.

It’s unlike anything Billy’s had before - the way Steve’s mouth seals around him, licking with the flat of his tongue and pointing it to push into the heat of him, devouring him like Steve hasn’t eaten in days.

And all Billy can do is take, he doesn’t even move, just makes these pathetic little sounds as Steve eats him out until he’s sloppy and wet and it’s dribbling down the crack of his ass, much like the way his cock drips precum onto his chest and face. It’s gross, it’s hot, it makes Billy want more.

Quietly, he mewls, “Please.”

That one little word is enough for Steve to lift his head, breathing hard as he stares down at Billy, his chin and mouth wet with spit. “Hm?” He hums, “You say something, gorgeous?”

Billy blushes so hard he can feel it down his neck and chest, his lower lip trembling a little as he parts his lips silently, repeating even softer, “Please…”

“Please, what?” Steve hums, turning his head to bite at Billy’s inner thigh, “You want more? Is that it?”

He blinks up at Steve, licking his lips with a shaky nod, because this is fucked up and yet Billy doesn’t want to stop, he doesn’t want to fight back against the man that might kill him, no - he just wants.

And Steve wants him, too, because he smirks and shifts back, lowering Billy’s hips and legs back onto the seat without a word before he’s reaching down and stuffing three fingers into Billy’s mouth.

He gags a little around them and closes his eyes in embarrassment as Steve orders in a tone that allows nothing but compliance, “Suck.” 

Billy can taste the salt on Steve’s fingers, sucks and licks them as best he can, feeling tears begin to brim in his eyes as Steve presses deeper, gathering that thick saliva at the back of his tongue. 

Steve watches him the entire time, with this unreadable expression, but he pulls his fingers out abruptly and leans over Billy at the same time, planting his free hand on the seat while the other goes between Billy’s thighs, leaning down to whisper into his ear, “Be a good pet and hold yourself open for me, hm?”

Billy’s hands are flying down before he realizes it, grasps his ass with each hand and spreads himself, wanting to hear the praise that Steve seems so ready to give him.

Slick fingers prod at his entrance just as Steve hums, “Good boy,” and sinks the first finger in.

There’s a sharp burn with the sudden stretch, one that has Billy’s mouth gaping as his brows furrow, tears brimming his eyes again as Steve opens him up. It’s not kind, but it’s not harsh, either - it’s what Steve wants and Billy whines at the width of two fingers too soon. Still, Steve whispers his praise into his ear, murmuring, “So perfect,” and “Taking me so good, baby,” as Billy stutters out choked sounds of his pleasure-pain.

He has three fingers knuckle-deep before he knows it, feels Steve pressing deep, until Billy is loose around him and he pulls them out, slapping them against puckered skin with a grin. It makes Billy huff and flush even deeper, licking his dry lips as he watches with eager eyes as Steve opens the front of his pants.

Unzipping and unbuttoning until he’s pushing those jeans down and revealing the prettiest dick Billy’s ever seen.

Steve spits into his palm and smears it over his cock, thumbing over the veins and the tip, which is rosy and slick and Billy wants it in his mouth. Maybe it would ease the way, would add to the mess already between his cheeks, but Steve’s already lining himself up and pushing past that loosened muscle with a soft groan.

It hurts because Steve’s cock is big and pretty but Billy forces himself to breathe, letting his eyelids flutter shut to focus on it, until he feels a firm hand around his throat and Steve’s growling, “Look at me.”

His eyes open immediately, chokes on a gasp as Steve presses his hand down a little more with a terrifying look on his face that is full of rage and like he’s actually going to kill Billy, until their eyes connect and then he’s sweet again - smiling and humming praise, “Good pet.”

And then Steve’s brushing that spot inside of Billy that makes him see stars.

“Oh–fuck,” Billy chokes out, his hands going to grasp at Steve’s wrist, his face twisting in pleasure as Steve pulls his hips back, clearly savouring the tight pull around his cock and the way Billy’s face contorts with every brush of his prostate.

“You feel so good, pet,” Steve sighs as he begins to move a little faster, pushing a little deeper, flexing his fingers on each side of Billy’s throat, “Fucking made for me, just for me, all mine,” he groans as he fucks into Billy, saying it like a claim that’s branded into Billy’s brain forever.

And it’s the best dick Billy’s ever had so he thinks that maybe he wouldn’t mind being Steve’s. Thinks that he could be reduced to this every night, mindless and dumb with pleasure, as tears overflow from his eyes and Steve just eats it right up with a breathless, chuckled moan.

The pleasure becomes too much as Steve’s free hand finds his neglected cock, which has been weeping against his lower belly, and the slick sound of Steve’s fist over the tip is enough for Billy to gasp and squirm, more desperate than he can ever remember being as he grips like a vice around the cock pressing deep inside him.

Steve groans, his own expression beginning to falter as he gets close, his thrusts turning into deep grinds as his hips press to Billy’s ass. He leans over Billy again when he’s balls deep, rubbing that spot just right and growling as he cums, “Mine.”

It’s intense, the way Billy cums like that, with a dangerous man’s hand wrapped around his throat and claiming him in more ways than one.

The air is thick when Steve finally lifts his hand off Billy’s throat, both of them panting and now pressed together, riding out the high quietly.

Until Billy leans up and presses a kiss to Steve’s mouth.

He isn’t sure why he does it, but he sucks at Steve’s wide cupid’s bow, feels how the brunette stiffens at the feeling until he slowly begins to kiss back, timid and unsure - so unlike how he’d been up until now.

It makes Billy’s heart flutter in his chest.

He pulls away from the kiss and opens his eyes to see Steve staring right back, his doe eyes flickering over Billy’s face quickly, like he’s trying to spot every freckle.

Finally, Steve mutters, “I haven’t…kissed anyone in a long time.”

“How long?” Billy whispers, reaching up to brush Steve’s hair behind his ear tenderly.

“A very long time,” Steve says as he snatches Billy’s hand away from him, gripping his wrist for half a second before he loosens his grip and brings Billy’s hand to his mouth.

Their eyes lock as Steve bites the meat of Billy’s palm, which makes the blond grimace, but the way Steve murmurs, “I’m going to keep you,” into his skin makes him melt.

“Okay,” he whispers, smiling up at Steve, who returns it in that scary-sweet way he does.

And maybe it won’t be so bad. He’s already hurt, so what’s the worst that can happen now?