Chapter Text
Steve Harrington had built his kingdom carefully.
Three years at State, two as president of Sigma Chi, and he'd turned the house into something that mattered. Not just another fraternity full of trust-fund assholes coasting on daddy's money—though there were plenty of those—but a machine. Athletes, mostly. Guys who understood hierarchy, discipline, the kind of brotherhood that came from bleeding together on a field or court. Steve had played point guard until his knee gave out sophomore year, but he'd kept the competitive edge, channeled it into running the tightest ship on Greek Row.
Which was why Billy Hargrove's pledge campaign made absolutely no fucking sense.
Billy himself? That Steve understood. The kid was a freshman, but he moved through the house like he'd been there for years. California-blonde arrogance that either got you killed or crowned. He'd walked onto the basketball team, was already starting, already had half the sophomore class eating out of his hand. Steve had pegged him for VP within a semester, maybe president after Steve graduated if he played it smart.
But Eddie Munson?
Steve leaned against the kitchen doorway, red Solo cup dangling from his fingers, watching the kid hover near the keg like a stray dog that had wandered into a wolf den. Munson was thin—sharp elbows, knobby wrists, a mop of dark curls that looked like it hadn't seen a brush in weeks. He wore ripped jeans and a faded Black Sabbath shirt to a mixer where everyone else had on polos or jerseys. Lanky didn't cover it. The guy looked like a strong wind would snap him in half.
"He's from Hawkins," Billy had said during the pledge meeting, arms crossed, daring anyone to argue. "We went to high school together. He's solid."
"He looks like he deals drugs behind the library," Connor Matthews had muttered, and half the room had laughed.
Billy hadn't. "You got a problem with that, Matthews?"
The room had gone quiet. Billy had only been in the house three weeks, but he had a way of making silence feel dangerous.
Steve had stepped in before it escalated. "If Billy vouches for him, we'll give him a shot. But he goes through pledging like everyone else. No special treatment."
Billy had smiled, all teeth. "Wouldn't dream of it."
That had been two weeks ago. Eddie had made it through Hell Week somehow—Steve still wasn't sure how, given that the kid looked like he'd never touched a weight in his life—and now here he was, officially a pledge, looking like he wanted to crawl out of his own skin.
Steve took a drink, eyes tracking Eddie across the room. The kid was talking to someone—Ryan, one of the linebackers—and even from here Steve could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers tapped against his thigh like he was counting down the seconds until he could leave.
"Why the fuck are you here?" Steve muttered under his breath.
"Talking to yourself, Harrington?"
Steve glanced over. Billy had materialized beside him, beer in hand, that perpetual smirk playing at his lips.
"Just wondering what your angle is," Steve said.
"My angle?"
"With Munson." Steve nodded toward Eddie. "You two don't exactly scream 'best friends forever.'"
Billy's smirk widened. "You jealous?"
"I'm curious. There's a difference."
"Eddie's good people. Kept me sane in that shithole town." Billy took a long drink, eyes following Steve's gaze. "Besides, he's useful."
"Useful how?"
Billy only smiled and took another drink.
Steve studied Billy's profile—the sharp cut of his jaw, the way his tongue darted out to catch a drop of beer from his lower lip.
"He doesn't want to be here," Steve said.
"No," Billy agreed. "He doesn't."
"So why is he?"
Billy turned to look at him then, and there was something in his eyes that Steve couldn't quite read. Something possessive.
"Because I told him to be."
Steve couldn't stop watching.
It was fucking annoying, actually. He had better things to do than track Eddie Munson's movements through the house like some kind of creep, but his eyes kept finding the kid anyway. During chapter meetings, Eddie would sit in the back, long legs sprawled out, doodling in the margins of his notebook instead of taking actual notes. At parties, he'd nurse the same beer for hours, talking to maybe two people the entire night. He never worked out in the house gym, never joined the pickup basketball games in the driveway, never seemed to do any of the shit that normal pledges did to integrate.
And yet Billy kept him close. The way Billy's hand would land on Eddie's shoulder in passing. The way they'd disappear together sometimes, coming back an hour later smelling like weed and cigarettes. The way Billy's eyes would track Eddie across a room the same way Steve's did, except Billy's gaze held something Steve was starting to recognize.
Ownership.
It should have been a red flag. Hazing was one thing—controlled, sanctioned, part of the tradition—but whatever Billy had going with Eddie felt different. Steve should have called a meeting, should have pulled Billy aside and asked what the fuck he thought he was doing.
Instead, he found himself lying awake at two in the morning, staring at his ceiling, thinking about the curve of Eddie's throat when he tilted his head back to laugh. The way his jeans hung low on narrow hips. The flash of pale stomach when he reached up to grab something from a high shelf.
"Jesus Christ," Steve muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face.
He was the president. He didn't get distracted by weird, lanky pledges who looked like they'd wandered in from a metal concert. He definitely didn't get hard thinking about the way Eddie's voice went rough and low when he was stoned, or the way his fingers moved when he was explaining some complicated Dungeons & Dragons bullshit to one of the other pledges.
Steve threw off his covers and headed downstairs for water.
The house was quiet at this hour, just the hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of someone snoring. Steve filled a glass from the tap, drank half of it, and was about to head back upstairs when he heard it.
A sound. Soft and muffled. Coming from down the hall.
Steve froze.
It wasn't unusual for guys to bring someone back to their rooms. Hell, it happened most nights. But something about this sound made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. It was breathy, almost pained, and underneath it—
"Billy..."
Steve's hand tightened on the glass.
He knew that voice.
He should have gone back upstairs. Should have minded his own fucking business. Instead, he found himself moving down the hall, following the sound to Billy's door. It was cracked open, just slightly, and through the gap Steve could see—
His brain stuttered, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.
Billy's room was dim, lit only by the streetlight filtering through the window, but it was enough. Enough to see Billy on the bed, shirtless, his shorts shoved down around his thighs. Enough to see Eddie underneath him, legs spread, head thrown back against the pillow.
Enough to see Billy moving, hips rolling in a steady rhythm, one hand braced beside Eddie's head and the other gripping Eddie's thigh, holding him open.
"Billy, it—it's too much, ah—"
Eddie's voice cracked on the last word, and Steve's glass nearly slipped from his hand.
He should leave. He should turn around and walk away and pretend he never saw this. But his feet wouldn't move, and his eyes wouldn't close, and his brain was still trying to process what he was looking at because—
Because that wasn't right.
The angle was wrong. Billy wasn't—he wasn't fucking Eddie's ass. He was—
Steve's hand moved before he could stop it, pushing the door open wider.
The hinges creaked.
Billy's head snapped up, eyes finding Steve's in the darkness. For a second, nobody moved. Then Billy's mouth curved into something that wasn't quite a smile, and he didn't stop, didn't pull out, just kept moving while Steve stood frozen in the doorway.
"Harrington," Billy said, voice rough. "Didn't anyone teach you to knock?"
Eddie made a choked sound, trying to twist around to see, but Billy's hand tightened on his thigh, holding him in place.
"Billy, stop, someone's—"
"I know, baby. It's just Steve."
Just Steve.
Steve's eyes dropped, following the line of Billy's body down to where they were joined, and his brain finally caught up with what he was seeing.
Eddie's pajama pants were shoved down around his ankles, his shirt rucked up to his ribs, and between his spread thighs—
Not a cock. Not what Steve had expected to see.
Slick, pink flesh. Billy's cock disappearing inside, pulling out wet and shining in the dim light before pushing back in. Eddie's body taking it, clenching around it, and Steve could see—could see everything, the way Eddie was opened up around Billy's thickness, the way his—her?
"Holy shit," Steve breathed.
Eddie's eyes found his then, wide and dark and terrified, and Steve saw the exact moment the fear shifted into something else. Something defiant.
"You gonna stand there all night," Eddie said, voice shaking, "or you gonna close the fucking door?"
Steve's hand was still on the doorknob. He could close it. Walk away. Pretend this never happened.
Instead, he stepped inside and let it swing shut behind him.
Billy laughed, low and pleased, and Eddie's breath hitched as Billy's hips snapped forward, harder than before.
"Welcome to the show, Harrington," Billy said. "Hope you brought popcorn."
Steve couldn't look away from Eddie's face—the flush spreading down his throat, the way his lips were parted and slick, the challenge burning in his eyes even as his body trembled under Billy's.
"What the fuck is this?" Steve managed.
"This," Billy said, punctuating the word with another thrust that made Eddie gasp, "is Eddie. And Eddie is mine."
Eddie's hand shot out, grabbing Billy's wrist. "Fuck you, I'm not—"
"Shh." Billy leaned down, mouth brushing Eddie's ear. "Don't lie. Not in front of company."
Steve's cock was hard in his sweats, and he couldn't even pretend to be ashamed of it. Not when Eddie was looking at him like that.
"Does anyone else know?" Steve heard himself ask.
"No," Billy said. "Just me. And now you."
Eddie's eyes hadn't left Steve's face. His chest was heaving, and Steve could see the shine of sweat on his skin, the way his body was responding even as his expression stayed guarded.
"Steve," Eddie said, and his voice was different now. Smaller. Almost pleading. "Don't—"
"Don't what?" Steve took a step closer to the bed. "Don't tell? Don't look?" Another step. "Don't ask why Billy fought so hard to get you into this house?"
Billy laughed, and pulled Eddie closer against his chest.
"Smart boy."
Eddie made a sound that might have been a protest, but Billy chose that moment to change his angle, and whatever Eddie was going to say dissolved into a broken moan.
Steve stood at the foot of the bed, glass of water forgotten in his hand, and watched Billy fuck Eddie Munson. Watched Eddie's body take it, watched the way his thighs trembled, watched the exact moment Eddie stopped trying to hide and just let Steve see.
"You want in, Harrington?" Billy asked, casual as anything. "Or you just gonna watch?"
Steve's mouth was dry. His heart was hammering against his ribs. Every instinct he had was screaming at him to leave, to report this, to do something other than stand here getting hard while watching his VP fuck a pledge who wasn't what anyone thought he was.
But then Eddie's eyes met his again, and Steve saw it.
The same hunger he felt. The same desperate, fucked-up want.
"I—" Steve started.
Eddie's hand moved, reaching out, and Steve didn't think. He just moved forward, close enough to touch.
Close enough for Eddie's fingers to wrap around his wrist and pull.
Let Eddie's surprisingly strong grip drag him down until he was kneeling on the bed.
"There we go," Billy said, and pulled out of Eddie with a wet sound that made Steve's cock throb. Eddie whimpered at the loss, hips pushing back, seeking. "Let's give our president a better view, huh?"
Billy's hands were on Eddie then, flipping him over onto his hands and knees. Eddie went willingly, his body pliant under Billy's direction. When Billy gripped his hair and turned him, Eddie's eyes found Steve's again.
"Please," Eddie whispered, and fuck, that word went straight to Steve's dick.
Billy positioned Eddie so he was facing away from Steve, that lean body on display—the curve of his spine, the swell of his ass, and between his thighs, glistening and swollen and so fucking wet Steve could see it in the dim light.
"Open up, Munson," Billy said, and Eddie's mouth dropped open immediately, tongue out, ready. Billy groaned as he fed his cock between Eddie's lips, still slick with Eddie's own arousal. "That's it. Show Harrington what that pretty mouth can do."
Eddie took Billy deep, gagging slightly but not pulling back. His throat worked around Billy's length, and Billy's head fell back with a satisfied grunt.
Then Billy's eyes opened, and he grinned.
"Are you an ass man, Harrington?" Billy asked, his voice rough with pleasure as Eddie sucked him off. "Or is pussy the only game you play?"
Steve couldn't answer. Couldn't think. Because Eddie was right there, presented to him like an offering, and every rule Steve had ever followed was dissolving under the weight of his want.
"He's fucking soaked," Billy continued, conversational despite the way his hips were starting to rock into Eddie's mouth. "Been dripping since I got him in here. You should feel how tight he gets when he's close."
Eddie moaned around Billy's cock, the sound muffled and desperate, and his hips shifted back toward Steve. Begging.
"Touch him," Billy ordered.
Steve's hand moved before his brain caught up. His palm landed on the curve of Eddie's ass, and Eddie pushed back into the touch immediately, eager.
"Fuck," Steve whispered.
"Yeah," Billy agreed. "Now stop being a pussy and really touch him."
Steve's hand slid lower, trembling slightly, until his fingers brushed against wet heat. Eddie jerked, a full-body shudder, and the moan he made around Billy's cock was obscene.
"Jesus Christ," Steve breathed. Eddie was drenched, slick coating Steve's fingers as he explored carefully. Soft and hot and so fucking wet it made Steve dizzy.
"He likes that," Billy said, watching Steve with dark, hungry eyes. "Don't you, Munson?"
Eddie couldn't answer with his mouth full, but he pushed back against Steve's hand, grinding against his fingers, and that was answer enough.
Steve's other hand gripped Eddie's hip, holding him steady as he let his fingers slide through slick folds, finding where Eddie was swollen and sensitive. Eddie's whole body tensed when Steve's thumb brushed over his clit, and Billy laughed.
"Found it," Billy said. "Do it again."
Steve did. Circled that sensitive bundle of nerves with his thumb while his fingers explored lower, finding where Eddie was open and wanting. He pressed one finger inside, just the tip, and Eddie's back arched.
"More," Eddie gasped, pulling off Billy's cock just long enough to speak. "Please, Steve, more—"
Billy's hand tightened in Eddie's hair, guiding him back. "Greedy little slut," he said, but there was affection in it. "You heard him, Harrington. Give him more."
Steve pushed two fingers inside, and the sound Eddie made was wrecked. He was so tight, so hot, clenching around Steve's fingers like he never wanted to let go. Steve's cock was aching in his jeans, pressed hard against his shorts, but he couldn't stop touching Eddie. Couldn't stop watching the way Eddie's body took his fingers, the way he rocked back for more.
"That's it," Billy encouraged. "Fuck him with your fingers. Get him ready."
"Ready for what?" Steve asked, though he knew. God, he knew.
"For you to fuck him, obviously. Unless you're too much of a coward."
Steve should say no. Should remember that he was president of this house, that Eddie was a pledge, that this was so far beyond every line he'd ever drawn.
But Eddie was whimpering, pushing back against Steve's hand, and when Steve crooked his fingers inside him, Eddie came off Billy's cock with a gasp.
"Steve," Eddie panted. "Steve, please, I want—I need—"
"Tell him," Billy ordered, still gripping Eddie's hair. "Tell him what you need."
Eddie's eyes found Steve's over his shoulder, desperate and so fucking needy.
"I need you to fuck me," Eddie said. "Please. I want to feel you. Want both of you. Please, Steve."
That was the moment Steve's last thread of control snapped.
He pulled his fingers out of Eddie, ignoring the disappointed whine, and reached for his waistband.
His hands were shaking. Steve Harrington's hands never shook, but they were now as he fumbled, shoving his shorts and boxers down just enough to free his aching cock. He was so hard it hurt, precum already beading at the tip.
"Nightstand," Billy said, and it took Steve a second to process. "Second drawer. Condoms and lube. Unless you want to go in raw."
Steve's brain stuttered at the image—filling Eddie without anything between them—but he reached for the nightstand anyway, yanking the drawer open. His fingers closed around a condom and the small bottle of lube.
"Good boy," Billy said, and Steve's head snapped up.
Billy was watching him with that knowing grin, still buried in Eddie's mouth. Eddie's lips were stretched obscenely around Billy's cock, spit and precum dripping down his chin, but his eyes were on Steve too. Watching. Waiting.
Steve tore open the condom wrapper with his teeth, hands still trembling as he rolled it on. The latex was tight, almost painful over how hard he was, but it was nothing compared to the ache in his chest, the desperate need clawing at his insides.
He slicked himself up, probably using too much lube, but he didn't care. Eddie deserved careful. Eddie deserved—
"You gonna stare at it all night, Harrington?" Billy's voice cut through his thoughts. "Or are you gonna fuck him?"
Steve positioned himself behind Eddie, one hand gripping Eddie's hip, the other guiding his cock to where Eddie was open and waiting. He pressed forward slowly, just the tip, and Eddie's whole body went taut.
"Oh fuck," Eddie gasped, pulling off Billy's cock. "Steve—yes—"
"Easy," Steve murmured, though he didn't know if he was talking to Eddie or himself. He pushed in another inch, and the heat was overwhelming. Eddie was so tight, so wet even with Billy having already fucked him, clenching around Steve like he was trying to pull him deeper.
"More," Eddie whimpered. "Please, Steve, I can take it, I want—"
Steve sank in deeper, and the sound Eddie made was wrecked. Beautiful. Steve's vision blurred at the edges, every nerve ending on fire as Eddie's body opened for him.
"That's it," Billy said, and Steve looked up to find Billy watching him. "Look at you. Our president, balls deep in my toy."
Steve should say something. Remind Billy who was in charge here. Billy was moving, pulling from Eddie's mouth, now inches from Steve's face.
"You look good like this," Billy said, voice Rough. His hand came up, fingers curling in Steve's shirt, and then he was pulling Steve forward.
Their mouths crashed together.
Steve had never kissed a guy before. Had never wanted to. But Billy kissed like he fucked—consuming, taking everything Steve had and making it his. Billy's tongue pushed into Steve's mouth, dominating, and Steve heard himself make a sound he'd never made before. Needy.
Billy pulled back just enough to bite Steve's lower lip, hard enough to sting, and Steve gasped.
"Fuck."
"Yeah," Billy agreed, and then his mouth was on Steve's neck, teeth scraping over sensitive skin. The sound Billy made was almost a growl. "You like that, pretty boy? Like being told what to do?"
Steve couldn't answer. He was buried inside Eddie, Eddie was moaning beneath him, and Billy was marking his throat like Steve belonged to him.
"Move," Billy ordered against Steve's skin. "Fuck him. Show me how bad you want it."
Steve's hips rolled forward automatically, and Eddie cried out. The sound shot straight to Steve's cock, and he did it again, pulling almost all the way out before sinking back in. Eddie was so tight, so perfect, taking every inch like he was made for it.
"Good," Billy praised, and his hand slid up to cup the back of Steve's neck. "That's good, Harrington. Harder."
Steve obeyed. His hips snapped forward, driving deep, and Eddie's back arched.
"Yes!" Eddie gasped. "Fuck, yes, just like that—"
"You hear that?" Billy's breath was hot against Steve's ear. "He loves it. Loves your cock filling him up. Don't you, baby?"
"Yes," Eddie moaned. "God, yes, feels so good—"
Billy's hand tightened on Steve's neck, then slid around to his throat. Not squeezing, just holding, just enough pressure to make Steve acutely aware of it. Steve's eyes flew to Billy's..
"This okay?" Checking.
Steve nodded. He couldn't speak, but he nodded, and Billy's grin widened.
"Good boy," Billy said again, and Steve's cock throbbed inside Eddie. "You like when I call you that? Like when I tell you what to do?"
Steve did. God, he did. He was president of this fucking house, he gave the orders, he controlled everything—but having Billy's hand on his throat, having Billy's voice in his ear telling him exactly how to fuck Eddie, it was the hottest thing Steve had ever experienced.
"Answer me," Billy demanded, fingers flexing slightly against Steve's throat.
"Yes," Steve gasped. "Fuck, yes, I like it—"
"I know you do." Billy's other hand came up to grip Steve's jaw, forcing Steve to look at him.
"Tell me what you want," Billy said, and his thumb brushed over Steve's lower lip. "Tell me, pretty boy."
"I want—" Steve's voice broke. "I want... Please, I need—"
"Do you want to cum?" Billy's voice dropped lower, hand tightened just slightly on Steve's throat. "You want to fill my little fuck toy up?"
Steve's answer came out as a broken moan, his hips stuttering forward. Eddie clenched around him, and Steve nearly lost it right there.
"Use your words," Billy ordered.
"Yes," Steve gasped. "Fuck, yes, please—"
"Then fuck him harder," Billy said. "Make him scream. Show me what our president can do."
Steve's control shattered. His hands gripped Eddie's hips hard enough to bruise, and he slammed forward. Eddie's cry was loud, echoing off the walls, and Steve did it again. And again. Losing himself in the heat, in the way Eddie pushed back to meet every thrust.
"That's it," Billy encouraged. "Just like that. Fuck, you look so good like this."
Reduced to sensation and need and the sound of Eddie's moans mixing with Billy's praise. His rhythm was brutal now, chasing more, and Eddie was taking it all, begging for more.
"Steve," Eddie sobbed. "Steve, I'm—I'm gonna—"
"Not yet," Billy said sharply, and Eddie whined. "You don't cum until I say. Understand?"
"Billy, please—"
"I said no." Billy's free hand reached down, and Steve realized he was touching Eddie, fingers finding where Steve's cock was stretching Eddie open. "You cum when Steve does. Got it?"
"Yes," Eddie whimpered. "Yes, okay, I'll—I'll wait—"
Steve's vision was going white at the edges. He was so close, pressure building at the base of his spine, and Billy's hand on his throat was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.
"You're close," Billy observed, and it wasn't a question. "I can see it. Can feel how hard you're trying to hold back."
"Can't—" Steve gasped. "Billy, I can't—"
"Yes you can." Billy's grip shifted, thumb pressing against Steve's pulse point. "You can hold it. Just a little longer. Make it good for him."
Steve didn't know how he managed it. Didn't know how he kept moving when every nerve was screaming for release. But he did, because Billy told him to, and apparently that was all it took now. Billy's word was law, and Steve's body obeyed.
"Please," Steve heard himself beg, and he didn't even care. "Please, Billy, I—"
Billy's eyes were so dark they were almost black, pupils blown wide with lust and power.
"Beg prettier."
"Please," Steve gasped, his voice breaking. "Please, I need—I need to cum, I can't hold it anymore, please let me—"
"Yeah. Yeah, okay, pretty boy."
Billy's hand left Steve's throat, and for a second Steve felt unmoored. But then he felt movement behind him, the mattress dipping, and suddenly Billy was there. Right there, pressed against Steve's back.
"Keep going," Billy murmured against Steve's ear, and Steve shuddered. "Don't stop fucking him."
Steve's hips stuttered forward, driving into Eddie, and Eddie moaned beneath them. But Steve could barely focus on that because Billy's mouth was on his neck now, kissing a line from his ear to his shoulder. When Billy's teeth scraped over sensitive skin, Steve's whole body jerked.
"Billy—" Steve started.
"I got you," his hands slid down Steve's sides, over his ribs, settling over Steve's hands where they gripped Eddie's waist. Billy's fingers curled over Steve's, holding them there, and then Billy's hips pressed forward.
The hard length of Billy's cock ground against Steve's ass, and Steve's brain short-circuited.
"Oh fuck..."
"That okay?" Billy asked, voice rough against Steve's neck. His hips rolled forward again, making sure Steve felt every inch of him. "You want me to stop?"
"No."
"No, don't—don't stop."
"Good." Billy's teeth found the junction of Steve's neck and shoulder, biting down hard enough to leave a mark, and Steve nearly collapsed.
Billy's hands tightened over Steve's, and then he was guiding Steve's movements, controlling the rhythm. He pulled Steve's hips back, then thrust forward, using his own body to drive Steve deeper into Eddie.
Steve went slack.
His head fell back onto Billy's shoulder, his body no longer his own. Billy was puppeteering him, using Steve's cock to fuck Eddie while grinding against Steve's ass, and it was too much. His mouth fell open, sounds spilling out wrecked and completely gone.
"That's it," Billy growled against his ear. "Let me do the work. Just feel it."
He felt everything. Eddie clenching around him, so tight and wet and perfect. Billy's cock pressing against his ass. Billy's hands controlling his movements, Billy's chest against his back, Billy's breath hot on his neck.
"You look so fucking good like this," Billy said, and his hips thrust forward harder, grinding against Steve. "Taking what I give you. Letting me use you to fuck him."
Steve's face went hot, a flush spreading down his neck and chest. Because Billy was right. Steve was letting Billy use him and he loved it. Loved being caught between them, loved the way Billy's cock felt against his ass, loved—
The thought hit him like a freight train.
He wanted Billy to fuck him.
Wanted Billy to bend him over just like Eddie, wanted to feel Billy inside him, wanted to know what it was like to be taken apart the way they were taking Eddie apart right now.
"No," Steve gasped, trying to shake his head, trying to push the thought away. But it was too late. It was there, vivid, and his cock throbbed inside Eddie at the image of Billy pushing into him, filling him, making him—
"What are you thinking about?" Billy asked, and there was something knowing in his voice. His hips ground forward again, harder this time, and Steve felt Billy's cock drag against his ass, felt the way his body wanted to push back into it. "What's got you so worked up, pretty boy?"
Steve couldn't answer. Couldn't admit it. But his body betrayed him, his hips pushing back against Billy even as he thrust forward into Eddie, and Billy laughed.
"Oh," Billy said. "Oh, that's what you want."
"Billy—" Steve tried, but Billy's hand came up to grip his jaw, turning Steve's head so they were face to face.
"You want me to fuck you. Want to know what it feels like. Want me inside you princess?."
Steve's answer was a broken moan, and that was all the confirmation Billy needed.
"Fuck, you're perfect," Billy breathed, and then his mouth was on Steve's, kissing him hard and filthy while his hips kept moving, kept grinding against Steve's ass. "Gonna make you feel so good, pretty boy. Gonna fuck you until you can't remember your own name. But first—" He thrust forward hard, driving Steve deep into Eddie, and Eddie cried out. "First you're gonna cum for me. Gonna fill him up. Can you do that?"
"Yes," Steve gasped against Billy's mouth. "Yes, fuck, I'm—"
"Then do it," Billy ordered. "Cum. Now."
The orgasm hit him hard, crashing over him and dragging him under. His whole body went rigid, every muscle locking up as pleasure tore through him. He was dimly aware of himself crying out, of Eddie screaming beneath him, of Billy's hands holding him steady as he came and came and came, filling the condom, his hips jerking with aftershocks.
"That's it," Billy murmured, still grinding against him, drawing it out. "Good boy. So fucking good."
Eddie was shaking beneath them, his own orgasm wracking his body, and Steve felt him clench rhythmically around Steve's oversensitive cock. The sounds Eddie was making were wrecked, beautiful.
Billy's hand slid down Steve's stomach, and Steve realized Billy was touching himself, jerking his cock against Steve's ass. Billy's breathing was ragged now, control finally slipping, and then he groaned low and deep, his body going taut against Steve's back.
For a long moment, none of them moved. The only sound was their harsh breathing, the three of them tangled together on Billy's bed.
Then Billy's mouth found Steve's ear again.
"You wanted me," Voice satisfied. "Wanted my cock in your ass while you fucked him. Didn't you?"
Steve's face burned, but he couldn't deny it. Not after that. Not after the way his body had responded.
The realization hit him.
He'd wanted Billy. Had pushed back against Billy's cock like a dog in heat. Had gotten off on the thought of Billy inside him, fucking him, using him the same way they'd used Eddie.
Steve Harrington. Fraternity president. King of his own carefully constructed kingdom.
And he'd just let Billy Hargrove turn him into a whimpering mess.
"Fuck," Steve gasped, and suddenly he couldn't breathe. Couldn't stay in this bed for one more second.
He pulled out of Eddie too fast, making Eddie cry out, and Steve couldn't even look at him. Couldn't look at either of them. He stumbled off the bed, his legs shaky, and grabbed his underwear from where they'd been kicked to the floor.
"Steve—" Billy started, but Steve was already pulling them on, his hands fumbling with the waistband.
"I have to—" Steve's voice cracked. "I need to go."
He didn't wait for a response just grabbed his jeans and bolted for the door, yanking it open and running down the hallway.
The fraternity house was quiet at this hour, most of the brothers either asleep or out, and Steve was grateful for it. He took the stairs two at a time, his bare feet silent on the carpet, and didn't stop until he reached the opposite wing—his wing—and slammed his bedroom door behind him.
His private bathroom. He needed his private bathroom.
Steve crossed the room hit the light switch, the fluorescent bulbs flickering to life. He went straight to the sink, gripping the porcelain edge so hard his knuckles went white.
His reflection stared back at him, flushed face, swollen lips, hair a complete disaster. He looked wrecked. He looked fucked.
"Shit...shit, shit, shit."
He needed to shower. Needed to wash this off, wash them off, needed to scrub away the evidence of what he'd just done.
Steve pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it toward the hamper, and reached for his underwear. But they caught on something, the fabric sticking, and Steve frowned. He turned slightly, angling toward the mirror to see what—
His stomach dropped.
There was cum smeared along his ass cheek. Across his lower back. Streaked on the shirt he'd just thrown aside.
Billy's cum.
Billy had come against him, on him, marking him, and Steve had been so far gone he hadn't even noticed. Hadn't felt it. Had just let Billy grind against his ass and lose control and—
"Shit," Steve whispered, and this time it came out strangled.
He yanked his underwear down and kicked them away, then dove into the shower. His hands were shaking as he turned the knob, and when the water hit him it was scalding. Too hot. He twisted it the other way, all the way to cold, and gasped as the icy spray hit his overheated skin.
The cold helped. It shocked his system, cleared some of the fog from his brain, made him feel less like he was going to crawl out of his own skin.
But it didn't stop the thoughts.
What the fuck had he just done?
He'd walked into Billy's room and found Eddie—Eddie, who he'd written off as some weird charity case Billy had dragged in—and instead of leaving, instead of keeping his mouth shut and pretending he'd never seen anything, Steve had stayed.
Had let Billy pull him in. Had let Billy kiss him, touch him, control him.
Had begged Billy to let him cum.
Steve pressed his forehead against the cold tile, water streaming down his back, and tried to make sense of it.
But there wasn't one.
Because the worst part—the part that made Steve's stomach twist with something that felt too much like shame and not enough like regret—was that he'd loved it.
Loved the way Billy had taken control. Loved the way Billy had made him feel small and owned. Loved the press of Billy's cock against his ass, the promise of what could happen next time.
Next time.
And the truly fucked up thing? Steve wanted to go back.
Wanted to walk back down that hallway, back into Billy's room, and let Billy do whatever he wanted. Wanted to feel Billy's hands on him again, Billy's mouth, Billy's cock. Wanted to know what it would feel like to have Billy inside him, fucking him the way they'd fucked Eddie.
Steve's hand came up to grip his own throat, fingers pressing where Billy's had been, and he shuddered under the cold water.
He was so fucked.