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robthegoodfellow · 7 months

Text

He Loves Me, Loves Me, Loves Me

Wet & Messy, Your Choice (Feminization), Breeding Kink, Begging for belated Days 24/25/29 of @harringrovekinktober additional incidental use of sex toys, praise kink, orgasm denial, dom/sub dynamic, role playing, come play, mirror sex, oh and minor food kink?? food play?? idk a cinnamon bun is involved

(roommates, kink experimentation, nsfw, billy is a good girl)

Handy Links to Previous Chapters: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

What’s the wildest thing you’ve done? Robin had asked, a couple summers ago. Like, in bed? They’d been driving to Chicago for an Indigo Girls concert—not because either of them were massive fans, but because Robin was on the rebound and Steve her sworn wingman. Also he had a car.

Caught off guard—moments before, she’d been narrating the time she’d bussed to the Windy City to meet up with an old friend from band camp who’d caved to their sapphic chemistry—Steve had stuttered an apparently disappointing answer: Ah… anal, I guess? And belatedly clarified, at her wide-eyed stare, Not me—I mean, with a few girls. Her surprise morphed to an eyeroll, complete with dismissive huff. Sorry for not being more adventurous, he drawled.

She patted his arm, consoling. Sorry for your vanilla lifestyle. Because her lifestyle, it seemed, had been infused with some spice of late. That girl I was telling you about? I fucked her. After finals. With a strap-on.

Just to be annoying, Steve had feigned a bored nonchalance. Wow—hands-free dildo. Whoop-dee-doo.

Funny thing, she shot back, smirking. What you can do with hands-free. Did her better than a guy ever had, she said.

He’d held out for maybe ten seconds before curiosity won. What was it like?

Fucking hot, she exclaimed, all self-satisfied loftiness abandoned. And not just the actual fucking part. It was like—hands waved, searching for the words—like it was hot just having it on, and feeling it hang as I moved and… and it changed how I moved? Like I finally understood why guys walk like that. At Steve’s questioning glance amidst the chuckles, she clarified. Like I had this swagger. This strut. And I liked it—this different version of me that just took the wheel. My inner dude or something.

Obviously, the Steve of the here and now could have listed quite a few far wilder things than coming in the back door, and now he had a clearer sense of what Robin had been trying to explain—that strangely electrifying sense of being something else, something other than you usually were. This bodily possession, except not by any demon, but by something that had been in you all along, only dormant.

It wasn’t his recent forays into alternate headspaces that had triggered the memory of that car ride, though. No, the flash hit him the morning Billy greeted him in the kitchen in a cheerleading skirt, hair tied in a high messy knot—when Steve was corralled to the kitchen table while Billy brought him a cup of coffee, a cinnamon bun on a plate.

Because he was moving different, too, and not just on account of the toy almost certainly snug in his ass. Like his steps were… more delicate, more fluid—this languid grace and daintiness, this sway that translated to the hem of the pleats hanging from his hips, brushing his upper thighs. It was feminine. This enticing feminine flare. Entrancing.

Steve leaned back in his chair as Billy set the plate and mug before him. Sighed, all forlorn. “Think the sight of you has me too weak to eat.”

Billy bit the inside of his lip, tolerantly amused—took Steve’s hand when it was offered to carefully settle astride his lap, facing him, and twisted to retrieve the cinnamon bun. Holding it level with Steve’s mouth, he cautioned: “Better not move too much, then. Regain your strength.” Waited for the nod, then allowed a bite—helped himself to one, too, while Steve chewed. Giggled soft when Steve moaned fuck, so good through the mouthful.

Billy licked the icing from Steve’s lips when they were done—let Steve lick the icing from sticky fingers, energy sufficiently recovered to gently grip the raised wrist between them. Good girl was a warm squirming weight by then, seeking friction, so Steve opted to relax a bit—retrieve his coffee, ignore the blood rushing south. Take his time. He was, however, well within his rights to rest his free hand on Billy’s ass, apply just enough pressure to bring them flush beneath the skirt.

“How is it?” he asked, between sips. “Wearing your little uniform?”

Delightful—the blush that dusted Billy’s cheeks. “It’s like I’m… hyper aware of my hips,” he admitted, quiet. “Of you looking at them. And how you could just reach under and—” A short gasp, and he arched, lifting off Steve’s thighs as the hand cupping his ass slid lower, tickling bare skin by the hem. The gasp turned to whining grunts, deep in the throat—Steve tracing an unseen edge of lace to the scrap of fabric that bridged the crack, and continued on, never quite as firm or as far as Billy wanted.

Not until he’d finished his coffee, anyway. The moment he set down the mug, he hugged Billy to his chest, cradling him as Steve slumped against the seatback, Billy’s ass raised off his lap. One arm wrapped iron around heaving ribs below the cropped tee, the other free to wander—palming asscheeks through rough lace, pressing around the base of the plug, never directly on, waiting for Billy to beg. And he did, squirming, glutes clenching, hard and throbbing against Steve’s abs, pleading so sweet.

“How’s this?” Panting, lips pressed to the flexing hinge of Billy’s jaw, so vulnerable with his hair pulled back. “You’re my girlfriend, pure as the driven snow, and I’ve been dying to fuck you for ages, but you wanna wait for marriage, and so…” Pausing for breath, he realized there were a couple ways this could go—all of them brain-melting in his book—so he passed it over to Billy. Ball in his court. “So you give me an ultimatum. What’s it gonna be?”

Billy clutched at his shoulders, face buried, his cheek grazing Steve’s neck as he nodded. “I tell you that… all you get is my a—ah…” His arms tightened, hips stuttering as fingers dipped under the lace, massaged his taint. Voice wavering high and tight, tried again. “All you get is my ass until you give me—a ring?” Shivers wracked his torso, words dropping to a shy whisper. “Or you wanna put a baby in me.”

That walloped Steve—went beyond what he expected, what he thought he’d want. Blindly, his arm shot out, clearing a space on the table, and with the strength that only came to him in the throes of lust, he hefted Billy and lay him flat, legs splayed, skirt hitched high enough to glimpse blue panties.

“Knew it was this pair,” he murmured, attention locked at the apex of trembling thighs, hands smoothing upward, against the grain of soft leg hair. His fingers disappeared under the hem, dug blunt into skin to wedge under the delicate waistband. “If I accept, will you roll over now?” Thumbs stroked his poor prick through satin, teased the weeping tip as he spoke. “Let me take a look? Show me what you’re offering up?”

Billy had been chanting yeah, low and breathy—barely waited for the prompting questions and he was contorting his spine, twisting onto his stomach. Might’ve been an unfortunate meeting of knee and crotch if Steve hadn’t stood to make room.

It was one of those views that sent him soaring, instant vertigo: table supporting most of Billy’s weight, arms folded under his cheek, round ass hanging off the edge, bent legs parted, socked feet searching for purchase on the floor. Blue scalloped lace peeked just past the drape of the skirt.

Pulse pounding, feeling reeled in by the hips, he nudged near, planted himself between Billy’s legs, mindless palms drawn to the globes of that ass, pillow soft, fumbling to push the skirt up, gathered at the small of his back.

Steve breathed a sigh, long and appreciative. “Can we make a rule that when you’re home, you’re always in panties?” Because goddamn—he’d never grow tired of this. How the cut accentuated his curves from behind, and from the front, so tenderly trapped his desperate, leaking need. Billy hummed, musing, and arched to lift his ass off the table, straight-up taunting. “Now, now,” Steve reproved—applied quelling pressure to the plug, and Billy moaned. “Be my patient girl.”

Almost clinical, he hooked the waistband, drew them low enough to expose the plug’s base, gleaming glass… bigger than he’d expected. “Showing off, huh?” he commented, grasping the toy to indulge in a gradual pull, and savored the wavering whine from pink, parted lips. “Let go, babe,” he urged.

Billy bore down, the base shifting. Another slow tug, a relieved whimper, and the slicked rim bloomed wide, glass slipping by—slid free.

The pervy puppet master who jerked his strings whenever he sank into this state prevented the plug from dropping to the braided rug below—placed it upright on the table instead, guided by a flash of foresight.

“Not gonna fuck you now,” he said. Only half-heard the groan of protest as he thumbed the hole, the normally tight furl visibly slackened—slid in up to the second knuckle with hardly any pressure. He tsked, commiserating. “I know—my good girl is so ready.”

It was a question of which particular fantasy ruled the others at any given moment, really. And right now? Right now he wanted to hold off in favor of drilling him later. Wanted, at the same time, to test the lubricating capacity of a load of jizz in the ass. Wanted to plug his good girl up again, full yet utterly unsatisfied.

And he saw a way to do that. Kill a couple birds with one stone. Kill a whole flock of birds.

Fishing his dick from his sweatpants, where he’d been making a steadily stickier mess since the moment Billy sat on his lap, he jerked himself, smearing precome down the shaft. “Don’t worry… I’ll give you something else. Something to keep warm.”

“Please,” Billy mewled, and Steve ground flush against him, wet cockhead plumbing the groove of his crack, catching on the swollen hole. He was so close already, on a hair trigger, and then his lips were forming filth—no filter.

“Want you to reach back.” Propped on one hand planted low on Billy’s back, Steve jacked it quick, aiming best he could as Billy obeyed. “Grab that pretty ass. Hold yourself open for me.”

Shaking fingers bit into plush skin, pulling, rosy entrance so inviting, on full display, and all it took was a couple tugs to spill—splatter his cheeks, empty hole gleaming, clenching on nothing.

Totally spent, equally lacking in coordination, Steve palmed an ass cheek—caught a trail of come in the webbing between forefinger and thumb… and swept it to Billy’s crack. Watched it drip on down to the furl, and, hypnotized, probed with his thumb, feeding his come into a hole that gripped around him, convulsive. Like it was swallowing.

His girl had been making this faint, fluttery sound—a gasping inhale, weak stuttering exhale, pitchy and high. So Steve kept his mouth going, shushing, crooning praise as Billy took it all, took every drop spooned into him, never loosing his hold, not even when the tip of the plug prodded where he was red and aching—he had to be aching—not even when Steve lodged it deep as slow and gentle as he could.

He only let go when Steve told him to. Drew his arms in, folded tight along his sides, one fist tucked under his chin, and sighed, long and unspooling, while Steve pulled his panties up, smoothed his skirt back down.

“Think I need a lie down,” Steve murmured, firm fingers stroking Billy’s spine. “That breakfast really took it out of me.”

A wet, throaty chuckle, then Billy extended a beseeching hand. “I’m gonna need some help walking.”

“Offer m’lady an arm?” Steve suggested, looping him in a hug from behind to lever him upright. Billy was pretty much dead weight, head tipped back on Steve’s shoulder.

“How about a wheelbarrow?” he mumbled, and Steve snickered. Kissed his neck.

He hadn’t planned to keep Billy waiting too long—for one thing, anything but the smallest plug wasn’t meant for extended use—but once they were cuddled in bed, trading lazy touches and the occasional whispered word, it was hard to keep track of anything except the warmth of Billy along his front, enveloped snug. They were turned on their sides, the blanket and sheets kicked to the foot of the bed, humidity already on the rise.

Steve must have drifted off at one point, jarred back to reality when blunt heat pressed his palm through rough fabric: Billy had dragged his hand down, rutting against it.

“Babe—”

“Look,” Billy puffed, cutting off his feigned outrage. “Look at us.”

Still half adrift, it took Steve a sec to crane his head up, see what Billy saw… and saw them, in the mirror over the dresser. Billy lifted his top leg, and Steve understood—hitched his knee forward, insinuating, interlocking.

“My good girl’s waited long enough?” Steve surmised, propping himself on an elbow to watch their reflection—watch as Billy let go of Steve’s hand, trusting him to take over. “Want your prize?”

Billy arched, silently begging. Curious, Steve dipped under the skirt, where the satin was damp, rubbing almost frictionless over his cock.

“So wet,” Steve breathed, then thought to check. Nuzzling his ear: “We still playing high school sweethearts?”

“Yeah,” Billy said, voice small and tight, hips hitching. “Yeah.”

So Steve went for it—full virgin fantasy, one where the guy miraculously knew what he was doing. “You ever come before, babe?”

“No.” Eyes squeezed shut, Billy hid behind his hands. “Not supposed to—touch there. But—I want—”

“I can show you how,” Steve offered, rubbing circles at the crown. “Show you how to feel good.”

As Billy murmured please—truly the sweetest word from that mouth—Steve worked him through his panties, that just-right-not-quite-enough pressure and speed that edged him along by exquisite increments, from trembling, twitching, to teetering.

Steve was riveted, eyes roving the writhing body in the mirror—the strong shapely legs, the skirt splayed about his hips, abs flexing under a cropped tee ridden up so a dusky nipple peeked out when he shifted. One hand was cupped under his head, the other arm flung out on the bed. Lids were half-mast over those baby blues, lashes impossibly long, color high in his cheeks, golden curls tumbling loose from the bun, his rosy lips mouthing the air the way he did when he was close.

He was beautiful. So beautiful. Most beautiful thing Steve had ever seen.

Bending to speak low and hushed, his stare never leaving their image, his coaxing touch never stalling, Steve returned to the earlier ultimatum. “What if I really do—want you to be mine? Give you a ring? Put a—”

Billy curled liked he’d been punched, his face twisted, moaning, “Can I—can I—can I—”

“Yes—yeah.” Blurted it, all in a rush, euphoric, and with an agonized grunt, Billy came—so much, for so long, that the sticky wet seeped through the satin, the lace, to smear on his stomach, the skirt, the bedding beneath.

And Steve realized—he’d been asking for permission. Not asking to be his. Like that.

But then Billy turned, nosing into Steve’s chest. Seized the same hand that had worked him so good and cupped it to his belly. “If we actually could, would you really want to…?”

Like he’d taken a knife and flayed open his heart, stitched him back together. Felt just like that. Steve surged forward, kissing his cheeks, his neck, bowling Billy backward.

The yelp brought him up short, freezing before scrambling to all fours, reaching for his skirt.

“Shit, sorry—we should probably—take that out.”

“You would, though?” Billy asked, parrying Steve’s arm even as he consented to be rolled onto his front. “You would—”

“Billy, I’d do anything with you.” The confession rang no less true for the thread of baffled laughter. “Anything. Everything.” He shook his head. “With you. For you. To you. I want to.”

It wasn’t even the first time he’d said something along those lines—All the time. Mine all the time—but it landed differently between them, just then. With finality.

Billy blinked, a telling shimmer along his lashes. “You’d really… give me a ring?”

Steve smiled, helplessly fond. “If you want one,” he said, suddenly bashful. “I’m pretty invested in—giving you—making you—” Cringing, flushed to burning, he forced it out. “Happy.”

And then Billy looked choked up, and Steve was getting choked up, and given he still had to get the plug out of Billy’s butt before they accidentally did some lasting damage, he groped for his ass and some levity.

“I mean…” He chuckled, gesturing at the closet. “If you’re not too particular, I’ve got a whole set of rings for you in there.” As intended, Billy shot a speculative glance at the indicated hiding spot, and Steve couldn’t help himself. Leaning in, secretive: “Not the type that goes on your finger.”

Billy snorted when the penny dropped, rolling his eyes. “Unbelievable.”

Steve shrugged, dramatically unbothered, and set to work on the plug, going slow. “If you’re not interested in those, I can totally return them—”

“No.” Hissing at the pressure, Billy shook his head. “No, that’s not… necessary.”

“Well, all right, then.” One last, steady tug, and the plug was out, shining with translucent white. “I’ll go clean this—”

The whine was so sharp that it took Steve a moment to hear the embedded word: “Later.” Yanking Steve to the mattress with the speed of a striking snake, Billy reminded him of their previous terms. “I said if you got me a ring, then you could—” Shifting, pulling, he managed to drape Steve half on top of him. “So now you have to…”

“Oh, I have to, huh?”

“If you want to,” Billy amended.

Steve nudged his grin into waves of blond. “I want to.”

NOW WITH FINAL CHAPTER: I Know That He Loves Me Any Way

#there's like one more chapter #then this is done #my first angst-free fic????#roommates in love #harringrove #harringrovekinktober2k23 #billy hargrove #good boy billy hargrove #good girl billy hargrove #billy contains multitudes #soft dom steve harrington

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