Chapter Text
He’s a pro, he knows how to do this. This is the job.
The tux is cleaned, the blood stains only a memory.
He takes a shower, an efficient one, not long enough to allow himself to relax and think.
He examines himself in the mirror, like he does before every client nowadays. Shaves, moisturizes, hair just like he knows makes him looks best. Makes sure everything is detailed, illusion of exclusivity picture perfect.
Book matching the cover, back to front.
It’s only when he sits down to tend his palm that it hits.
How Steve stuck around when he didn’t have to, at the ER. Billy’s just a hooker, not worthy of Steve’s time, and yet…Paid for it, took him home—was kind. Decent.
He squeezes the palm into a fist, his fingers pressing the wound, holding it.
A sharp exhale escapes him at the pain.
But it’s Steve, all nervous, in front of him for the first time, that hovers.
“Fuck!” he mutters, presses the wound with a thumb.
The pain surges, his breath hitches, then he groans.
Reminds him of where he is, of what this is.
Two hundred for a blowjob, five for a fuck.
He takes an uber, wants to be there on time.
Wants not to go at all.
The driver tries to talk, Billy just stares through the side window.
It’s just the two of them—and all the past versions of Billy.
He goes through his checklist for each john: make the rules clear, ask preferences, take the lead, do the deed.
The list is simple, clear.
There’s nothing in this he hasn’t done a thousand times before.
As he walks through the front door of the hotel, it’s not him—it’s a ghost of him before who takes the key card. Someone he used to be, someone who had it all together is the one who calls down the elevator, stares at the numbers as the elevator climbs, steps into the hallway, stops in front of the hotel room door.
Two hundred and five.
He swallows.
Swipes the card, lock clicks open.
Two hundred. And five.
He takes a deep breath as he presses the handle down and pushes the door open.
The room is a mirror of the one he remembers all too well.
It’s bare, just a small table against the wall paired with a chair, the bed against the opposite wall.
And Steve.
He sits on the bed, dressed to the nines.
Leans his elbow to his knee, plays with his tie, the shirt three buttons open.
Doesn’t get up, says nothing. Just waits.
Billy presses the door closed behind him, keeps his hand on the handle as he leans against it.
Two hundred and five.
He waits for Steve to speak, turns uncertain under the dark gaze.
Wants to run.
Can’t.
The silence is too loud.
Fuck.
He hears himself speak, the words just fall out, unguarded, too honest. “Why are you doing this?”
Steve tilts his head. “I thought you’d be happy to see me.”
The words are too much, they hit Billy straight into his sternum, render him defenseless.
He smiles a little, has to look anywhere but Steve. “Didn’t say I wasn’t.”
Get it together.
He walks to the table, sets the key down on it, holds his hand over it for a beat before looking back at Steve.
The tie is now hanging idly in his hand, and when Billy looks up at his eyes, they’re dark and hungry.
Billy squeezes his eyes shut, holds his breath for a moment.
He grins, puts on the mask he knows so well.
Two hundred. And five.
The tie goes first, slips off his neck as he licks the corner of his mouth.
Steve’s eyes follow his tongue rather than the tie, and he grabs his knee with his other hand, squeezes, to have a hold of something.
Billy is careful with the jacket, reveals his shoulders slowly.
His heart is hammering against his ribcage.
It’s the first time. Ever.
He uses the setting the jacket properly on the chair as an excuse to look away. To gather himself back together.
His palms are sweating.
Steve is still sitting on the bed, still holding his knee. He’s the client, but it’s Billy who is coming apart.
Two hundred and.
He pauses for a beat, assessing Steve. He wants to speak, wants to ask if he’s doing something wrong because Steve just…sits there. Holds himself back.
Looks at Billy with a warmer gaze now, less sharp, more like…devotion.
It’s scarier than if he simply got up and choked Billy. Or anything else.
Okay. He can work with this, too.
He can.
Raising his chin, he opens the first button slowly. Then the other, the third.
Their eyes are locked the whole time.
Billy sure won’t be the first to drop his gaze now. He won’t let Steve win, won’t evade the look in his eyes.
Won’t admit it burns.
He pulls the shirt from his trousers, finishes with it, never speeding the act up.
It’s as if Steve doesn’t even notice Billy isn’t wearing a shirt anymore.
The sound the zipper of the trousers makes fills the room, cuts through the tension between them. He lets them just drop down, wants to move on. To get away from under the relentless eyes.
When Billy gropes himself over the black briefs, squeezes his balls, Steve finally drops his gaze down, licks his lips.
Billy lets out a shuddering breath.
He crosses the short distance to the bed, stops in the end of it.
Steve takes off his jacket. It’s a slow act, a mirror of Billy’s.
It makes something lurch in Billy’s chest uncomfortably.
Steve tosses it on the floor with the tie, spreads his legs, invites Billy in.
This he can do.
He climbs on the bed, first between Steve’s legs, then moves one leg over Steve’s thigh, then the other until he’s straddling his lap. Sits down.
Steve still leans back with his hands, doesn’t wrap them around Billy, doesn’t grab his ass and squeeze it hard.
Holds back.
It’s kind of a gift, let Billy do whatever he wants.
It’s almost unbearable.
Doesn’t really know what to do with it.
Tries his best.
He leans in, hovering close to Steve’s face.
Billy’s breathing has grown shallow, all his blood gathered in his groin.
He can feel the puffs of air Steve lets out on his skin.
Steve’s clearly holding back with all his might. It’s admirable, that he’s been managing it this long.
The game is on. Has to be. A game. This.
Billy leans in the final stretch, meets Steve’s lips with his.
Inhales Steve involuntarily, grabs his neck, pulls him in.
Steve leans up, finally wraps his arm around Billy’s waist, cards the fingers of the other in the hair in the nape of Billy’s neck.
He burns everywhere Steve is touching him, the hands like a brand on his skin.
He tries to force the kiss deeper, make it faster. Hungrier.
Steve keeps it slow and soft, his tongue licking Billy’s lips, asking for permission.
Billy can’t deny him even though he now wants nothing but to get up and run. To get away from what’s happening.
Wants to melt.
Two hundred.
He pushes Steve to lay down, keeps him on the mattress with one hand.
Not that he probably wouldn’t stay down willingly anyway, the bastard.
His hands brush Billy’s sides, down his thighs, then back up, slow and deliberate. Slide under Billy’s briefs—finally grabbing his ass.
He can’t help grinding down, his hard-on against Steve’s.
They both moan.
Billy wants his hands on Steve’s chest hair, needs something to hold on to. He makes quick work of Steve’s shirt buttons, rushes it open, revealing his chest.
Steve’s leaner than Billy but he’s no less in shape. Broad shoulders, the happy trail vanishing down his trousers.
Billy tucks the hair over Steve’s right pec, making Steve’s breath hitch, then smile.
It scares him.
He opens the trousers, pulls down the briefs, letting Steve’s dick spring free.
Pulls his own dick out, grabs it and Steve’s with his hand, slowly.
Steve wraps his hand around Billy’s, takes over.
Billy has to close his eyes. He doesn’t want to, but they fall shut, forcing him to just feel. A small noise escapes his lips.
He hatesloves it.
Two.
He opens his eyes, has to lean down and kiss Steve. Can’t just do nothing, can’t just let this happen to him.
He’s supposed to be in the lead.
This time it’s easier to coax Steve into heavier kiss.
It stops Steve’s hand from moving, makes him let go. His eyes are dark when he says the words Billy has been waiting for, “Take ‘em off.”
Billy shifts next to Steve on the bed, takes off his briefs, reaches for the lube from the nightstand.
Steve’s lips are on his shoulder when he’s broken the seal of the tube. “Let me,” he whispers right into Billy’s ear, making him shudder.
“I can do—” Billy tries to protest, but can’t stop Steve, lets him take it.
Shh is all Steve lets out, not knowing the devastation the sound leaves behind.
Billy’s throat clicks as he swallows, straddling Steve’s naked thighs, exhales when Steve’s fingers dip inside.
Can’t meet his eyes. Knows it would tear him apart.
Two.
Two, goddammit.
His eyes fall shut, can only feel everything.
Steve’s hand gripping Billy’s hip as he bottoms on Steve’s dick, tight enough to leave a bruise.
His breath hitching every time Steve brushes over his prostate.
The way his name is like a plea on Steve’s lips.
He’s close to coming when Steve suddenly turns them over.
An alarm goes off in Billy’s mind, his eyes flying open.
This is dangerous, abort, abort.
He has nothing to fear from Steve. Just everything.
Steve slides back in, pushes Billy’s hands on both sides of the pillow and cards their fingers together. Kisses him as he thrusts, both as deep and hard, both as slow.
That does it for Billy.
Tears spill over his cheeks as he comes.
Steve shudders, leans his forehead on Billy’s shoulder, groans at his own peak, then stills.
Billy leans his cheek against Steve’s temple.
Their heavy breathing fills the room.
Billy wakes up.
He doesn’t know what time it is, he just knows the room is dark. Steve must’ve gotten up at some point to turn off all the lights, because Billy doesn’t remember that happening.
Steve’s wrapped around him, his leg hooked over Billy’s, arm firmly holding his waist, keeping them tightly together.
Like he never wants to let go.
He shifts, presses his nose into Billy’s hair, mutters, “This feels right.”
The words spread like a blanket over Billy.
Tw—I belong here.
He stiffens, his senses all of a sudden razor sharp.
No. No no no.
This is not where he belongs.
Steve’s married. With a kid.
This is not what—no, he can’t. He needs to get out. Now.
He feels sick, pulls himself free from Steve’s warm hold, tries not to do it reluctantly.
He never should’ve fallen asleep.
Piece of fucking shit, you asshole, he chides himself inwardly as he pulls on his trousers, looks for the shirt from somewhere on the floor. Hopes the one he found first is his and not Steve’s.
Steve stirs behind him. “Hey.”
“Gotta go,” Billy mutters, doesn’t bother to button the shirt, just grabs his jacket.
“Wait. Why? What—”
Billy doesn’t listen. Can’t stop. Won’t.
He needs to get away.
This was a massive mistake. Huge. Gigantic.
Doesn’t bother taking the key, slips out the door.
The slam it makes behind him is louder in his ears than it probably is.