#withoneheadlight

He does it today, while Billy’s trying to pay attention to whatever his manager is saying. He can’t help but slide a smirk in Steve’s direction, though: the poor guy standing listlessly with one camera hanging around his neck, and another on a tall tripod next to him.

The manger notices and wraps up what he’s saying concisely. Billy understood his frustration. Billy and Steve working together had proven a 50/50 chance at making million dollar ad campaigns

Or

Just clumsy dates, really.

Billy had been Steve’s entrance into this business - a fact not lost on either of them since various managers and executives threatened reminded them of it whenever photoshoots fell through - but Billy’s second favorite thing about Steve was how he didn’t let that cause a rift between them. If anything, Steve asked for more jobs with Billy, even at the risk of being demoted to a photographer’s assistant or Billy’s personal assistant.

But it kept them together. It allowed Billy a reassurance on international flights that he’d have Steve available to climb into his first class seat whenever Billy’s fear of flying kicked in.

As much as the agencies loathed to admit it, Steve was like a walking insurance policy for one hot-headed Billy Hargrove. If a photographer said something wrong, treated the models rudely, or if he was merely having a bad day, Steve could step in, and Billy eye fucked his boyfriend for hours.

Other models requested Steve. Billy knew that was a big deal for his boyfriend and was proud of him. He could always find Steve on set, either by his brightly colored beanies, or the fluffy hair going without. That had helped Billy feel more at home in this business; he may have opened the door for Steve, but Steve furnished it with friends and loyal connections.

Today Steve yanked the head covering off, already hot under the lights. It was just Billy here, even though he raked a hand through his mane. Billy liked seeing the gleam on his hair. He also enjoyed Steve’s little self-esteem thing about needing his hair styled in the presence of models.

“Ready, pretty boy?”

Steve refocused and stepped behind the tripod. “Yeah. Whenever you are.”

Steve must’ve taken hundreds of photos just in the first half hour. He set it on a steady timer, and moved around the room, changing the lights to warm tones, and then less explosive on the brightness. Billy did his work, tilting himself appropriately to catch the fan’s breeze when Steve pointed it to blow his suit jacket open, or billow through his half-open, black dress shirt.

“Ten minute break,” Steve announced. He was good about breaks. Billy’s manager brought a chilled bottle of water and Steve went through the portfolio paperwork for the shoot. It wasn’t much of a break for him, as he moved the lights and furniture around, but Billy was ready for him.

He sat on the luxurious ottoman, already in his first stance when he peeked at the lack of camera noise. “Steve?”

His boyfriend stood with his shoulders a little contorted so he could examine something going on with the camera hanging from his neck. “Sorry. I...I need another minute.”

Billy relaxed as much as he could so the suit did not wrinkle or collapse in shape. Eventually, though, he noticed Steve crouching over one of his bags for his tools.

Oh boy.

Billy sauntered over, standing over him as he asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Can you hold this?” Steve answered instead. He blindly held the camera up, and Billy accepted, along with the explanation, “The lens is uneven and one of the pieces is askew.”

Billy silently thanked him for not wielding fancy terms at him, but upon a closer look at the device, it certainly wasn’t correct. A thin, middle section between the lens and the camera tilted wonkily. He breathed with a small amount of awe, “How did that happen?”

“I don’t know. I think it got bumped during the drive,” Steve sighed, holding a tiny screw driver as he stood up.

“Come here,” Billy nodded toward the set, and Steve came to sit on the floor while using the ottoman as a table. He removed his jacket and wiped his forehead, glancing at the lights before Billy pestered, “What’s the matter?”

“I have to expose the sensor. With the shudder, it’s fine, but with too much light, we might be stuck with the tripod.”

“Can’t we turn off some lights?”

“I need to be able to see. Maybe you could, um, just hold your hands over it? Or hold that umbrella for me?”

Billy detached the umbrella from one of the unused lights and sat on the ottoman, with the umbrella situated on his thighs. As the camera became more exposed, he added his hands for extra shade. Eventually Steve surprised him with, “Are you okay?”

“Hm? I’m fine. We do this all the time.”

“Wasting a lot of time, though,” he exhaled nervously.

“We’re going to Sydney on Friday. That’s locked in, so don’t worry about it.”

“I don’t think blowing one shoot is justified by the promise of another,” Steve managed to giggle. Then he tilted his face up and just...gazed at him. “You look really good.”

Billy smirked softly. “I know.”

Steve’s eyes rolled. “Forgot who I was working with here.”

Billy laughed and saw in his periphery people moving around, other cameras working. This job always had multiple cameras. Hair and makeup stylists capturing their work from afar. His and Steve’s managers locking in behind the scenes shots for Instagram. Another perk of their success: the fanfare material behind the cameras built as much revenue as the actual scheduled photoshoots.

As Steve unscrewed something, Billy saw and heard the clatter of it falling back into place. “That’s good, right?”

Steve sighed a relieved smile up at him. Billy felt ticklish warmth in his chest. “Yeah, that’s good. The screws are probably bent, but I can get new ones before Friday. It’ll work for now.”

Steve put the damn thing back together while Billy returned the umbrella, and resumed his posture on the ottoman. A couple of people manifested around him to touch up his raiment and make sure his shirt was open to cleavage perfection.

“Steve, come here.”

The stylists retreated as his photographer trotted up -

Billy yanked him down for a kiss. And just as quickly pushed him back up to standing. “Go to work, my time is precious.”

“Don’t be a dipshit,” Steve remarked, and pointed the camera right at Billy’s face to make the lights flash in revenge.

Come Friday, Billy showed him something on his phone: the Instagram account his manager operated. Much to both of their amusement and chagrin - because a long day taking pictures was more grueling than most people realized - was a picture behind the magazine editor’s shoulder while he worked at his computer.

The caption read: Impromptu cover. Sometimes candid is better.

The image was Steve on the floor and Billy on the ottoman, the two of them gazing at each other mid-conversation in the set’s warm lighting.

Steve chewed his fruit and yogurt slowly, processing in the airport vip lounge. His hair was in glorious disarray, and Billy’s not much better underneath his ball cap.

“That’s the cover?”

“Seems so.”

“Your manager’s going to steal my job with a phone camera - why am I on the cover?”

“The theme was Warm Encounters,” Billy reminded. “It’s not a secret that we’re together.”

“I’m not styled or anything - ”

“Your hair looks good.”

“I’m wearing the t-shirt I got in Hong Kong. It says BURBUSSY.”

Steve is… unnecessarily excited under those heady, ocean blues as they take in all that he is. Feels himself swell at the attention, but paralysed by shock of having been caught by Billy in Billy’s shirt and practically nothing else. 

And Billy steps through the door frame into the kitchen. Keeps walking slowly, cautiously maybe, he makes his way to where Steve leans against the counter, fingers curled around the edge with anticipation and a bit of fear.

Normally he’d have guessed that Billy would call him names, mock him with a poisoned grin, but with such heavy lids and mouth slightly open, that doesn’t seem like the most likely outcome to this, and it only thrills Steve all the more.

Billy comes to a standstill in front of Steve, feet almost touching, and he leans closer, places his left hand next to Steve’s, thumb touching skin there. And he bites into his plump lower lip, eyes dancing across Steve’s features just to land on his mouth, mind clearly working away at something.

Up this close Steve catches a whiff of cigarettes and the usual cologne, maybe a bit of sweat from whatever he’s been doing all night. Or whoever. He can feel Billy’s calm and collected breathing ghost across his lips, and his heart stops beating in anticipation, lips quiver, dick hopeful.

“Is that my shirt?” Billy mumbles out and tugs at the hem that stops mid-cheek on Steve’s slighter frame. 

He might be taller by a few inches, but he still swims in the shirt stretched out by Billy’s broad shoulders and chiseled pecs.

“Y-yeah…”

At that, Billy’s fingers let go of the shirt, then spread out against Steve’s skin. He takes an all too loud breath at the electric jolt Billy’s warm palm urges out, shooting straight to between his thighs where his cock gives a curious little kick.

The hand wanders, across his thigh to his front, moving at a pace so slow it can only be deliberate, Billy teasing him, or maybe waiting for him to say stop.

But he doesn’t, so he doesn’t.

Smooths the tips of his fingers higher up, through the coarse pubic hair, till he reaches the base of Steve’s shaft, the palm of his hand grazing against the lazy head, effectively making him grow harder, and gasp out a breathy, “Fuck.”

Billy moves closer again, knee pushing Steve’s legs apart, noses nuzzling together, lips like feathers, daring Steve to kiss him.

He moans instead, as the hand tickling his skin closes in an expert fist, possibly giving away just how many times Billy must have done the same notion to himself. A thought that delights Steve to impossible extends, knowing that the hand Billy jerks off with is now stroking him under the shirt.

“Fuck, Billy,” Steve whimpers and brings a hand to steady himself on Billy’s firm shoulder.

And he can’t wait any more; presses their lips together and is immediately met with the same fervor he offers up - soft lips in a hard embrace, touching each other as if they’ve always wanted this, as if all the strife in their past was just tension and unresolved shit that culminated to punches and bleeding noses.

The motion of Billy’s fist is relentless, and Steve has to break away to breathe. “A-ah, shit, Billy!”

He bites his way down Steve’s neck, painful and delicious, stroking his now fully erect cock like he’s eager to have him cum, wanting to watch Steve unravel and cry out his name.

And just as Steve is seconds away from ruining the shirt, Billy pulls off, leaving behind an ache that makes Steve cry out from the edge of release.

“Fuck! Billy you asshole, why-” he doesn’t get to finish that thought before he’s spun around, a hand on his upper back pushing him against the counter, head throbbing worse than his filled dick. “Billy- Billy!”

“Want me to stop?” Billy snaps a bit too loud, a bit too sudden, but the answer is inevitably,

“No,” and Steve is set on that. 

He’s wanted this for far too long; suspects that he’s been craving Billy since before he graduated, but didn’t dare think about it too long. Spent some extra time restocking the porn section of Family Videos in the backroom behind the curtain, borrowed a few gay ones in secret. He was more than curious, he was interested.

Now he’s here, cheek pressed against the cold surface of their kitchen counter, eyes closed to the world as he focuses on how Billy’s holding him down with one hand, the other squeezing his ass, spreading him, exposing him, and-

It is slick and wet and weird when Billy licks his fat tongue flat across his hole. Not bad weird as far as he can tell from the way his entire body squirms with pleasure, his prick leaking, and he gasps when Billy does it again.

And again. He grabs on with both hands as he sloppily eats out Steve’s ass, sucking with wet lips, tongue sliding over the rim time and time again, the tip prodding at his entrance, making him moan out, whimpering for more without as many words.

Billy seems almost happy to oblige, shoving his tongue in, and Steve knows what that looks like, but to feel it? His body is on fire, burning hot and white, feeling better than he ever thought it actually would; he knows the men on those tapes are just actors, always just believed they were exaggerating, but no.

Steve has never been this aroused in his fucking life, 21 years old and hornier than he ever was as a teenager surrounded by hot girls. None of them he ever slept with made him feel this… incredible, and he has none other than Billy fucking Hargrove to thank for it. With every lick and suck and penetration he’s nearing the edge again, faster than he ever thought he could, to be honest, but it’s just not enough to get him there.

“Billy- Billy please, I’m so close, please touch me,” he begs with a voice all indecent, drooling a bit on the counter as he stays flat and powerless, simply unable to do anything.

Then he’s left alone, ready to complain and tell Billy, “Fuck you,” but when he glances over his shoulder, he sees Billy whip out his fat cock, and Steve sucks in a quick breath, eyes wide and amazed. He’s seen it before, in the showers at school, accidentally in the shower of their apartment, but never like this… so girthy and veiny, red and shiny with pre.

Billy grabs Steve by the hips, and for a moment he thinks that Billy’s just going to fuck him, right here right now, unprepped, dry, it’s probably going to hurt, but Steve’s so curious to finally find out what that feels like- what Bill’s dick feels like, what it’s like to have sex with Billy.

Yet he’s still relieved when he instead feels it between his cheeks, rubbing through the spit and across his rim. He gasps and moans all the same though, lets Billy control the pace as he with a bruising grip on Steve’s hips pulls him into his thrusts, skin slapping together in an obscene fashion that makes Steve’s cock drip and throb, keeping him on that sharp edge of orgasm.

“Shit, Billy, ah-h,” Steve whines out a plea.

When a hand closes around his aching cock again, he moans unadulterated, the pleasure of Billy’s every touch pushing the hangover into the background. The rhythm is erratic in a sense, quick then slow, all the way up or shallow, but in tact with how Billy’s hips meets Steve’s cheeks, keeping him from cumming as if he’s wanting to time it, have them both cumming together at once.

But Billy cums first; he’s quick to pull up the tee and paints Steve’s back with hot and warm semen, grunting a few times as he stops pounding against Steve’s ass. He then bends over to get a better grip on Steve’s cock as he jerks him to completion with a few practiced flicks of his wrist, Steve being loud in comparison and definitely less controlled, eyes rolling back to watch the fireworks as he spills over the cupboard beneath them.

In that moment he’s beyond thankful that Billy’s there behind him, supporting him and keeping him caught against the countertop, or he might just fall to the floor as his legs give out. As he lays there, for a moment in complete bliss with no headache, eyes closed, panting, he feels Billy wipe his back clean with a napkin.

“Can you stand?” he sounds all too amused, hands down on Steve’s hips, rubbing where his fingers might just have left a few bruises.

“I’m… I’m, ahh, yeah,” Steve exhales and pushes himself up and standing.

He turns around to watch Billy tuck himself away again, chest heaving a bit, a rather relaxed expression on his face, and when their eyes meet he smiles. Not a grin, nor a smirk, but an actual smile, and it makes Steve’s heart throb and bleed and hope.