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It goes like this—dark room, hazy with smoke, the burn of liquor lingering in Tommy’s throat. It’s usually Tommy’s house, because his mom goes to bed at eight and his dad hasn’t been in the picture for years. Billy comes over, they smoke, they drink, then Billy turns off the lights and it’s just a pale moon casting a dull glow through the open window over Tommy’s bed.
One of the cues is that Billy wears a different cologne. It’s not the spicy, aggressive shit he usually slathers on. It’s understated, just a hint of musk and clove. He wears a nice sweater, or a button down shirt. He always has on a belt, even if his pants are so tight he doesn’t need one.
Billy is strong. He flips Tommy onto his stomach easy. Tommy thrashes, tries to crawl away. Billy grabs Tommy’s hair and shoves his face into the pillows, almost suffocating him. Billy’s full weight is more than enough to hold Tommy down. Tommy’s squirming and attempts to buck him off are useless.
“You’ve been asking for this.” Billy growls in Tommy’s ear, hard cock grinding against Tommy’s ass. “Mouthing off to me. Acting like a brat. Like a big man that could take me in a fight. You never seem to learn.”
Tommy doesn’t know what to say. He just breathes too fast and the heat that’s been building since he heard the Camaro pull into the driveway threatens to overwhelm him.
“This is hardly gonna teach you a lesson.” Billy licks his neck. It makes Tommy shiver. “You’re a little faggot that enjoys it. But lucky for you—it feels good for me too.”
The words always make Tommy dizzy. He tries not to give Billy the satisfaction of begging. He’s not sure what would be more humiliating. Begging for it to stop or begging for more. Either way, he loses. Billy’s right. He does like it.
Billy shifts. The slide of leather against denim, and the clinking of a buckle, it’s unmistakable. Billy lets go of Tommy’s hair, and then there’s a belt looped around his neck.
“Don’t test me.” Billy kisses right below Tommy’s ear. “I’ll choke you out. Leave marks. Give you a bruise necklace. I don’t care.”
It shouldn’t make Tommy’s dick twitch. He’s never struggled in a meaningful sense. Just enough to maintain the pretense that he’s not a queer, and that this is something Billy takes from him. He doesn’t want to admit it would be freely given. Billy’s never made him say it.
The first time, Billy was gentle. Almost sweet. He gave Tommy space to back out. Tommy didn’t. That left things plenty decided.
Billy yanks Tommy’s jeans down. They catch on Tommy’s erection, and Billy laughs at him.
“Yeah. That’s right. You’re goddamn aching for this aren’t you?”
Tommy doesn’t respond. He lifts his hips enough for Billy to get at his zipper, pull his pants all the way off. He squeezes Tommy’s ass. Slaps both cheeks to make them jiggle.
“Mmm. You got your mama’s ass. You should thank her. It really is something.”
That makes Tommy’s face burn. He knows that Billy’s fucked Karen Wheeler. He knows housewives are quite vulnerable to Billy’s charms. So far, Billy has stayed away from his mom. But the threat is always there.
Billy spreads Tommy’s ass cheeks and spits. He drags his thumb through the glob of saliva, rubbing it across Tommy’s hole. It feels. Really good. It lights Tommy’s nerves up. He gasps and he hates himself. Billy’s thumb sinks in and Tommy opens up easy.
“Well look at that.” Billy cackles, mean as he ever is. “You been playing with yourself? Riding your fingers while you jerk your little dick.”
“‘S not little.” Tommy mumbles. Billy has half an inch on him tops.
Billy yanks on the belt. Pulls it tight enough to press into Tommy’s throat and keeps the tension up while he tugs at the rim of Tommy’s hole.
“For your sake, I hope it’s just been your own fingers.”
He lets up. Tommy gulps air. Then subdued, quiet, he says, “Yeah. Just my fingers.”
“Good.” Billy rubs his hand down Tommy’s back, almost petting him. “I don’t wanna catch anything from you and I’m absolutely not wrapping it.”
Billy spits again. Gets two fingers in. Tommy has to fight himself, clutch at the sheets, because he wants to rock back against them. Billy keeps barely grazing against the spot that makes everything ache in the good way.
“Hand me the lube, huh? Much as I’d like to wreck this hole, I might wanna use it again later.”
Tommy fumbles. Reaches half-blind for the tub of vaseline on the nightstand and hands it back. Billy slicks up his fingers and gets three of them in. Tommy moans. He can’t help it. His dick throbs and he wants to grind against the mattress. He’s breathless, almost feels like he’s floating.
He hears the zipper. Billy nudges Tommy’s legs apart and settles between them. Tommy feels the blunt head of Billy’s cock pressing against him.
“Just relax.” Billy murmurs. “Won’t hurt much if you relax.”
He sinks in all the way and he groans. It’s a sudden stretch. It burns, but not in an entirely bad way. He gives Tommy a few moments to adjust, then he starts to move. He drops down, once again resting most of his weight on Tommy’s back. He breathes hot and wet against Tommy’s neck.
“Christ.” Billy’s voice is deep and raspy. “Take it. That’s right. You got such a perfect little fuck hole. You were made for this. It’s what you’re good for.”
The sting doesn’t go away entirely. Tommy is full. Every time Billy thrusts into him, he feels stuffed. Like he couldn’t possibly take any more. But he wants more. He wants it harder and faster. He’s not gonna say that. Instead he’s gonna clench on Billy’s dick and make him grunt.
“Shit. There’s a good slut. Tighten up for me.”
Billy grabs Tommy’s hips and drags him back onto his knees. Tommy scrambles to get his arms underneath him. Billy keeps a firm grip. He fucks into Tommy hard, pulls him back against every thrust. The change in angle makes Tommy whimper.
“Oh yeah?” Billy chuckles. “Does it feel good, faggot? You like having a dick in you?”
Tommy bites his lip. Billy digs his nails in.
“I know you like it. Bet this is what you think about when you touch yourself. You’re lucky you got someone to give it to you right. You’re so small and weak. If you went to some fag bar, bet they’d pin you to a grimy bathroom wall and take turns. Hell, you’re probably screwed up enough to enjoy it.”
Tommy’s thighs tense. He’s buzzing all over. He’s messed up. He shouldn’t want Billy to talk like that. It shouldn’t get him off. But his dick is shiny at the tip, and every time Billy fills him up it’s pushing him towards something explosive.
“You’d stay hard for it even if you got jumped at the truck stop. You’d moan like a porn star while some fat, sweaty old man did whatever he wanted.”
Billy shifts a little. He pushes down on the small of Tommy’s back to make him arch it. He slows down, and then he’s hitting the hot spot perfectly. Tommy whines like a bitch. His breath hitches, he can’t help pushing back against the friction. Billy shoves his fingers into Tommy’s mouth, pressing on his tongue.
Tommy sucks on them almost as a reflex.
“Yeah.” Billy breathes. “Atta boy, there you go.”
The tension starts to curl inside him. Tommy needs to come so bad it hurts. He tries to support himself on one hand so he can touch his dick. Billy immediately withdraws his fingers and knocks Tommy’s arm out from underneath him, sending him face first into the mattress again. He grabs both of Tommy’s wrists and pins them behind his back.
“Did I say you could do that?”
“Billy—c’mon—“
“I know you can finish like this. Don’t be lazy.”
Tommy lets out a frustrated groan. It’s not any louder than the other sounds he’s made. But Billy still shushes him.
“Hey now. Quiet down. You don’t wanna wake your mama up do you? What would she think if she saw you like this? Split open on a cock, rock hard and moaning. Bet she’d be so disappointed. Mortified her only son turned out a queer.”
Tommy doesn’t understand exactly what that does to him. He just knows it makes him shudder. He knows Billy is still fucking him deep, and perfect, and he’s been surfing that horrible, wonderful edge for what seems like an eternity.
“You gonna come?” Billy must sense it. He sounds elated.
Tommy can’t take it. His stomach lurches and the ground drops out from underneath him. He’s lost in it. His cock twitches, pumping out jizz that splatters on his hunter green polo shirt. The intense tingling, pleasure tapers off real slow, because Billy’s still fucking him. In fact Billy speeds up.
He growls like a feral beast. Like a huge wolf that’s got Tommy pinned between his claws, jaw open, saliva stringing between his teeth, ready to take a big bite. He’s fucking into Tommy without any rhythm. Grunting in raw desperation. Tommy flexes his fingers. Moans into the mattress. He can’t help shivering a little, his body still clenching with the aftershocks.
“Slut.” Billy snarls. “Wouldn’t have to keep doing this if you didn’t like it so much. Every time you look at me, I can tell how bad you want it. Drive me. Freaking. Crazy.”
He punctuates each harsh word with a harsher thrust. Tommy feels raw. Wrecked. Used up and wrung out. He’s exhausted, even if he’s not moving anymore. He’s just limp, letting Billy have his way.
Billy lets out a few guttural sounds followed by a long sigh. He pulls out. He releases Tommy’s wrists. Tommy slumps onto the bed. He’s covered in sweat. His shirt is sticky. He’s burning with shame and residual adrenaline. His heart is still hammering in his chest.
Sometimes, Billy leaves right away. He sets a couple Quaaludes on the nightstand, for Tommy’s trouble, and drives off to parts unknown. Tonight, he lingers, grabbing Tommy’s ass, spreading him, dipping his fingers in and playing with the mess of slick. Spitting to make it even wetter. Tommy’s overstimulated. It makes him whimper and try to shy away. Of course, Billy just drags him right back into place.
“C’mon, don’t pretend you’re upset. You’re always needy.” Billy pushes two fingers in. Tommy gasps. “Mmm… yeah. I’m gonna fuck you much harder the second round. One way or the other you’re gonna have trouble sitting down tomorrow. You’re lucky I’m doing this instead of bending you over a knee.”
Tommy squirms. His cock twitches. Because once, Billy absolutely did. He pinned Tommy across his lap and spanked him like a little kid. It was. Really hot. Tommy didn’t admit it. But he was so hard. He rode Billy’s dick after. It was one of the few times they’ve ever fucked face to face. The way Billy stared at him, eyes glassy, wicked smile, tongue poking between his teeth. Tommy still thinks about it if he can’t fall asleep and ends up sticking a hand down his pajama shorts.
Billy hooks both his thumbs into Tommy’s hole and tugs. It stings. Tommy yelps. Billy laughs. He withdraws his fingers. He grabs the edge of Tommy’s polo and starts pushing it upwards.
“Lemme see all those freckles.”
Tommy feels boneless, but he complies. He props himself up enough to strip the shirt off and toss it aside. Billy’s hands trace across Tommy’s back, sticky, filthy, badwrong like everything about the situation. Tommy will have to change the sheets. He’ll have to shower. Nothing’s gonna wash away the ache that’s already settled in his chest. That perverse hunger that only gets more intense the more he feeds it.
Billy pulls on the belt. It’s a steady, insistent pressure that makes Tommy crane his neck and eventually bow his back, propping himself up on his hands. Billy bars an arm across Tommy’s chest, knees on either side of his hips. He keeps Tommy bent like that, scruffy beard dragging against his neck, teeth grazing skin.
“You gonna be good at Jackie’s party tomorrow?” Billy kisses Tommy’s collar bone. “You gonna be sweet for me?”
Tommy nods. He barely remembers who Jackie is. What day it is. Where he is. All he knows is Billy’s body heat and low, raspy voice.
“Glad to hear it. If you behave yourself, maybe I’ll drag you into a guest room and give you a little treat. You’d like that, huh?”
Tommy nods again. The belt is pressing into his throat. He’s not sure he could talk even if he found the words.
The belt goes slack. Tommy’s allowed to flop on his face again. Billy sits against the headboard and lights a cigarette. He’s still wearing the silky black button down. His jeans are unzipped, but he’s otherwise fully clothed. He pokes and prods until Tommy rolls into his side, facing Billy. Then he grabs a fistful of hair and pulls until Tommy’s cheek is resting against his denim clad thigh. He lets Tommy take a drag off the cigarette. He plays with Tommy’s hair. Smiles down at him with a sharp condescension that hides any other emotion that may or may not be underneath it.
Tommy tries not to read into things like that.