Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/551866.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Young_Avengers
  Relationship:
      Teddy_Altman/Billy_Kaplan
  Character:
      Teddy_Altman_(Young_Avengers), Billy_Kaplan, Eli_Bradley, Nathaniel
      Richards
  Additional Tags:
      Teen_Romance, First_Kiss, First_Time
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-11-01 Words: 4723
****** The Boys of Summer ******
by Khirsah
Summary
     It feels…pretty good, actually, once he gets past the reflexive
     embarrassment. The faint wind is cooler against bare skin than it was
     through the hot black cotton. The sun feels amazing against his
     shoulders. Billy drops his T-shirt into his lap and anxiously picks
     at the hem, feeling color staining his cheeks even as he refuses to
     look at Teddy. He’s pretty sure one look will send him diving back
     into his shirt, or sprinting across the field, or teleporting to
     Siberia or something and, wow, okay, he’s sitting shirtless next to
     Teddy Altman and he really doesn’t need to throw up or get turned on
     or anything, so his body had better behave right the fuck now.
     OR: Billy is literally not cool.
Notes
     Dedication: This is for slanted_edges, as a thank you for all your
     help with Teenage Wasteland. You are amazeballs. Thanks to Billywick
     for the beta!
     Notes: Back when slanted_edges was slaving away on beta duty, I
     offered to write her a short fic as a thank you. We decided it would
     be fun if she sketched something and I wrote a story inspired by
     that. Because she’s extra amazing, she sketched two pictures for me
     to choose between. Someday I might write that Young Avengers Vietnam
     protest era AU, but until then…Billy with a tattoo.
     Oh, and if you want to try to translate what Teddy wrote, enter each
     sentence separately here.
        [http://i1204.photobucket.com/albums/bb417/OurTeenageWasteland/
                          Billytats_slantededges.jpg]
They’re in a field.
In Jersey.
It’s Friday, high noon, the sun beating down hard and mean across his
shoulders. Billy’s black T is sticking to his skinny frame under the pits and
down the curve of his spine. His jeans are starting to feel like some kind of
death trap and he’s already regretting the lame impulse that convinced him the
wallet chain was cool. It’s not cool, it’s the literal opposite of cool; every
time he rests his weight on his hand and feels the metal links burning into his
skin he’s viscerally reminded how literally not cool he is.
This sucks.
It’s supposed to be flying day. That’s why they’re here, in Jersey, stuck in
the middle of a trash-strewn field miles away from air conditioning or vending
machines or—okay, being honest—delicate things that can be broken by awkward
attempts at teamwork.
Across the field, far enough away that he can’t make out any of the words but
not so far that he can’t take a pretty good guess, Eli and Nate are yelling.
Watching them is a whole different kind of suck, or maybe it’s just a pocket
dimension of the suck they’re already inhabiting. It’s a pretty clear sign that
the team isn’t geling, that’s for sure—Nate’s body tight as a coiled spring,
Eli gesturing close enough to the younger boy’s face that it’s almost a threat.
Color high. Sweat standing out on their brows, beading over Eli’s head like a
crown.
God. Why couldn’t they wait until Fall to try to save the world?
Billy shifts, drops his hand, then yanks it back again when hot metal scalds
his skin. Damn it. He twists his hips and yanks on the chain, tugging out his
wallet. The metal burns his fingertips, but he doesn’t care—he just wants it
gone. It’s a quick-easy twist, and he’s tossing the chain aside, watching as it
coils glinting and predatory in the summer-bright sun.
“Jersey,” Billy says, shoving his wallet back into his pocket before rubbing
sulkily at his wrist. He doesn’t need to see Teddy’s shadow growing toward his
right—the sound of his Doc Martins in the gravel-and-weeds is announcement
enough. Still, he tips his head back to look up at his teammate, offering a shy
half-smile. Funny how the irritation just melts away whenever Teddy’s around.
“Hey. Did they have Fanta?”
Teddy drops into an easy crouch next to him. His blue-striped overshirt is tied
around his waist, and he looks unforgivably hot—figuratively, not literally
this time, though sometimes Billy’s certain he could burn himself on all that
gloriously tanned skin if he just dared reach out and touch—in his white tank.
Teddy pushes away his bangs with the back of one wrist. He flashes a quick grin
and tosses Billy a Fanta—score!—popping the tab of his own Mountain Dew. “It
could’ve been worse,” Teddy points out.
Billy makes a face, shifting as Teddy settles next to him. “Try me.”
“Could’ve been Queens.”
“Jersey.”
“Flushing, Queens.”
Billy presses the weeping can against his neck. “Point. …but at least then we
could’ve used the subway. I’m just saying.”
Teddy gives a soft chuff of laughter and tips his head back to drink. Billy
tries not to watch him—he really does, gaze moving toward Eli and Nate’s epic
power struggle take one billion. But his eyes keep getting drawn back, again
and again, to the long line of Teddy’s throat. He’s a shapeshifter, so he’s
perfect, but Billy’s begun to veer into the stage of crush that’s convinced him
he’s perfect because he’s Teddy. Silver glinting along the delicate shell of
his ear, Adam’s apple moving, full bottom lip depressed by the rim of the can.
Lashes long and dark against smooth cheeks.
Billy bites the inside of his mouth and sways subtly toward Teddy, fingers
curled around the slick-cold curve of his Fanta. Teddy is just so… He’s just
so…
He drops his gaze quickly when Teddy’s eyes flicker open; Billy focuses all of
his attention on tapping his nails against the lid of his can, then picking at
the tab, pretending he’s not so aware of Teddy that his skin is crawling with
it—prickles of heat that have nothing to do with the sun, spreading over his
skin and giving him, God, gooseflesh. How embarrassing.
He tries not to pay attention as Teddy sets his can aside and reaches out to
snag his bookbag, flimsy excuse of a tank riding up at the waist. It’s really
not fair that Teddy’s Hulking means he’s gotten used to wandering around in
various stages of undress. Nate and Eli seem pretty used to it, too—or at least
they don’t seem to care much one way or the other—but Billy’s…
Well. He’s human. And a teenager. And getting depressingly used to being in a
constant state of mortified semi-arousal. Which thinking about is not helping
so, hey, um, how ‘bout them Yankees?
…shit.
Billy shifts restlessly and slides his thumbnail under the tab, toying with it,
shoulders hunching against the punishing sun. He should probably grab his own
bag and pull out a book or something; he’s gotten to where he can recognize the
tenor of the Eli-and-Nate show, and it sounds like this will be going on for a
while. He should at least snag his ipod, or comics, or something to keep him
from thinking too much. And how depressing is that, that he’s gotten to a point
where he can’t even sit next to the guy and think neutral thoughts? It’s all
immediately oh wow he smells good or is it legal to look that hot in a
wifebeater or I’d die if he touched me. If Kang doesn’t hurry up, Billy’s
pretty sure he’ll be too addled by hormones to be any use and—
“Hey,” Teddy says suddenly. “C’mhere.”
“Huh? What? Sorry?”
He has to shake himself out of his spiraling thoughts, turning to look at
Teddy. Teddy’s uncapping a gel pen, smiling out of one corner of his mouth in a
way that makes a dimple flash, and that is seriously unfair. “C’mhere,” he
repeats, beckoning Billy to scoot forward. “And take off your shirt.”
Huh, Billy thinks, blinking rapidly, so this is what total mental meltdown
feels like. Good to know. “…uh?”
Teddy waggles the pen at him. “If we’re going to be here waiting on those two,
I’m going to put my time to good use.”
“…uh?”
“Lay yourself out, Kaplan—you’re my new canvas. I’m going to give you a
tattoo.” At Billy’s quick blink, he waggles the pen again. “With the pen? 100%
washable. Unless you don’t want to,” Teddy adds quickly. “In which case, my
jeans will sacrifice themselves to my boredom.”
“If you get any more artistically tousled, the hipsters will declare you their
king,” Billy says slowly. He has to swallow against a rising tide
of…something…building deep in his chest.
Teddy snorts. “I’ll take that into advisement Mr. Wallet-Chain.”
“Moment of weakness!” He glances back toward Eli and Nate, chewing his bottom
lip, practically vibrating with conflicting emotion. Then, slowly, Billy
reaches for the hem of his shirt. “Okay, but, um, nothing too lame.”
Teddy silently crosses his heart.
“And, um, no laughing at the general, um… I mean, it’s not like we can all be…
And I’m just sort of… And anyway, you’re like, um, and…” His fingers spasm
against the folds of fabric, excitement and nerves and sudden, crippling doubt
rising in his throat—because he’s not like Teddy, or Eli. Or even Nate, who
isn’t exactly a bodybuilder either, but who somehow manages to look sort-of
buff next to dorky, scrawny, pathetically skinny Billy Kaplan and oh God this
is a bad idea. “Um.”
Teddy leans in to lightly bump their shoulders together. “Hey,” he says, voice
low and gentle enough to send tracers of pleasure through Billy’s veins, “no
one’s laughing.”
“Yeah, now.”
“Ever.”
That shouldn’t make his breath catch, but it does, and he can’t keep his toes
from curling in his Sketchers even as he drops his gaze and slowly tugs off his
shirt.
It feels…pretty good, actually, once he gets past the reflexive embarrassment.
The faint wind is cooler against bare skin than it was through the hot black
cotton. The sun feels amazing against his shoulders. Billy drops his T-shirt
into his lap and anxiously picks at the hem, feeling color staining his cheeks
even as he refuses to look at Teddy. He’s pretty sure one look will send him
diving back into his shirt, or sprinting across the field, or teleporting to
Siberia or something and, wow, okay, he’s sitting shirtless next to Teddy
Altman and he really doesn’t need to throw up or get turned on or anything, so
his body had better behave right the fuck now.
Billy drags in a serrated breath and grabs his Fanta like a lifeline.
“Cool.” Teddy’s voice sounds oddly reedy, but Billy’s not ready to look at him
to see why. He focuses instead on the horizon, steadily ignoring everything but
the way the distant trees thrust up to meet the cerulean-blue sky, even when
Teddy turns to fully face him, even when Teddy’s bent knee brushes his hip,
even when the cool tip of the pen touches his skin.
He’s stone. He’s marble. He’s—
Teddy drags the pen down slowly and he’s nothing but a shocked, miserable ache.
Oh God, Billy thinks at the sudden gut-punch of arousal. Oh God, oh God. He can
feel the heat cast from Teddy’s body, is ultra-aware of his face nearby, head
bent down as Teddy focuses on his work. The rasp of Teddy’s knee against
Billy’s thigh is maddening, and the pen, holy fuck, that pen. Feather-light,
tracing over his skin in slow, aching loops.
Down. Curving. Up. Swirling.
Billy clenches his fists, one around the can of pop, the other tangled in his
shirt, nearly vibrating with energy. This shouldn’t be affecting him like this,
but it is, it really really is, and Billy has to close his eyes and bite down
against the breathless noise that wants to escape. He’s… He’s getting
hard—harder—trapped against the rough line of the zipper. He can feel the
scalding heat of it through his boxers and jeans and T-shirt, feel the ridge
pressing against his wrist when he shifts.
The shocking urge to touch himself almost makes him moan. What would Teddy do,
he wonders, if he just…unclenched his fist and cupped his fingers around the
growing bulge? Would he be disgusted? Intrigued? Turned on?
Billy can see it, so clearly: Eli and Nate in the distance, ignorant. Teddy’s
breath coming quicker, matching the light whisk whisk of the pen as it draws
loops and curves against Billy’s skin. Blue eyes on his, hot, wanting, aware,
as Billy leans back to rest his weight on one hand, reaching down to thumb the
button of his jeans with the other. He’d flick his thumbnail against the metal
before pushing it through the loop, popping it open with a low noise. The pen
would stall, Teddy going very still as Billy pressed the tip of one finger
against the head of the zipper and slowly pushed it down, letting the V widen,
revealing blue boxers with their growing damp patch, freeing himself, opening
himself up. And if Teddy reached in with his other hand, if he just slid that
big, calloused palm inside and gripped him, fuck—
Fuck.
Billy uncrosses his legs and presses his heels into the ground, drawing them up
so he can rest his forehead against his knees—hiding the undeniable bulge
between his thighs. He needs to calm down; he needs to stop thinking.
“You okay?” Teddy murmurs, and his voice is enough to make Billy’s cock jerk,
pleasure rippling through him. The pen pauses, then continues when Billy nods
sharply against his knees. It dips down to his elbow, drawing elaborate sworls.
“Yeah, yeah, just, it’s, it’s hot out.” He has to shift his hips; he can’t
shift his hips. If he does, he risks letting his jeans constrict around him,
rub against him, and he’s already way too keyed up—he doesn’t need the impulse
to thrust. “What are you drawing?”
Dip. Swirl. Dragging against over-heated skin.
Teddy lays his free hand along the sharp jut of Billy’s shoulder blade, bracing
him. “Just swirly nonsense. I used to want to get a tattoo, you know.”
“No. I am so shockingly shocked right now.” He’s proud he manages to sound
sarcastic. It takes a lot more effort than he wants to admit.
Teddy lightly smacks him with the pen. “Ass. It’s like you want me to draw a
giant dick on your arm.”
“Pretend I said something suitably sassy here.” Billy draws in a breath and
dares to turn his head, resting his cheek against his knees. He bites the
inside of his mouth as he opens his eyes, bracing for impact—for the sight of
Teddy, so close, blond hair falling into bright blue eyes, head tilted toward
him, shoulders broad and hands gentle and God, God this boy. He wants to reach
out and tangle his fingers in his hair, wants to cup his jaw and pull him close
and lick his way past those full, perfect lips. This crush is going to be the
death of him. “Um, so, I’m guessing you don’t get one because of the shifting?”
His voice doesn’t sound like his own; it’s enough to make Teddy pause and look
up, meeting his eyes. Their faces are close, almost close enough that he can
taste Teddy’s breath. The scent of him—aquatic, sweet, like no cologne Billy’s
ever found despite a good hour spent at Macy’s going from bottle to bottle
searching—is all around him. That, more than anything, makes his breath catch
and his trapped cock ache.
Teddy’s eyes are more black than blue now. “Yeah,” he says, then clears his
throat and focuses on the tattoo. Billy follows his gaze, fighting not to
squirm, mostly losing. He’s got a half-sleeve going, large bull’s-eye at the
join of his shoulder spiraling out to make a stylized sun. Lines and swirls and
arching loops explode around it, forming a pattern he can’t quite follow. He
wonders dizzily if this is what Teddy wants on himself. He wonders if it means
anything that Teddy’s giving it to him.
And then Teddy leans in and blows against his skin, and that’s it, that’s all,
he’s done thinking. He’s— Billy arches with a gasp, heels digging hard against
the dirt-and-gravel, hips lifting. He drops the unopened can of Fanta and
scrambles for purchase, nails dragging through the dirt as pleasure pulses
through him, aching, fuck, wanting, needing, just, God, Teddy.
“Sorry,” Teddy mumbles. “Ticklish?”
Billy has to turn his face away, reeling, so hard it’s starting to hurt. He
nods sharply, not trusting himself to speak. He bites his bottom lip as the pen
spirals across his over-sensitized skin and he’s pretty sure he’s seconds away
from moaning.
Or coming.
Fuck. He’d better not come from this.
Billy counts to ten, then backwards, then forwards again, trying to regain some
semblance of control over his traitorous teenaged body. Finally, he manages to
mumble, “God, are you almost done yet?” with a weak sort of heat that could be
mistaken for annoyance, knees drawing up tighter, chest pressing in, tenting
around the steady rhythmic throbbing of his cock.
Teddy doesn’t say anything for a long minute. Billy turns his head again to
look at him, watching the color rise along Teddy’s cheeks, staining up to the
tips of his ears as he finishes coloring in a vine. The sensation is bordering
on way the fuck too much, and Billy shifts again, wanting pressure, mortified
at himself for needing it so bad.
“Hold still,” Teddy murmurs, shifting his grip, turning Billy’s arm as he
carefully writes along the bottom. Nonsense words, at least from what Billy can
see, but beautiful.
amin ve' lle. lle ier vanima. amin irma a' miqula lle. auta n'e yassen amin?
“What does it say?” Billy’s voice is husky-deep, and he licks his lips
reflexively.
Teddy doesn’t answer. He just sits back, capping the pen and turning to tuck it
into his bag. Billy lifts his arm, straining to get a better look, trying to
read the…Elvish? Was that Elvish? “Oh my God, you dork,” he says, recognizing a
word or two. Want. You. Kiss.
Wait. What?
“Wait, what?” Billy says, head coming up fast. “What? Teddy, what?”
“It’s nothing,” Teddy says, shrugging a shoulder. He’s still flushed, and he
won’t meet Billy’s eyes, and he’s beginning to get up. “It’s just, whatever.”
Billy scrambles up onto his knees, catching the trailing ends of Teddy’s shirt
as the other boy shifts to move away. “No, you’re, God, sit down.” He yanks
hard—hard enough to pull Teddy back, and he doesn’t think before he presses his
advantage. Billy kicks Teddy’s legs out from under him, sending him sprawling,
and crab-crawls over him in an instant, trying to pen him to keep him from
fleeing.
Teddy twists, grabbing reflexively at Billy’s wrists, but Billy has two younger
brothers—he knows how to fight dirty, knows how to escape eel-slippery from a
strong grasp and press his advantage. “What does it say?” Billy digs his knees
in, riding the surprised buck of Teddy’s legs. He yelps as a powerful heave
steals his balance. Billy tips forward, grabbing handfuls of Teddy’s wifebeater
to keep from sprawling in the dirt, and somewhere along the way big hands close
over his hips and their bodies come aligned and the next thing Billy knows,
he’s straddling Teddy’s lap and blinking down into a face only inches away and,
well fuck, he’s only human.
“Please don’t kick my ass,” Billy murmurs, grip tightening reflexively as he
presses in those last few inches and finally, finally, kisses Teddy Altman.
He’s not sure what he expects. Fireworks, maybe. Fanfare. A fist to the gut. He
doesn’t get any of those things. Instead, he feels the sun beating down on his
bare shoulders. He tastes Mountain Dew and salt and spit. He hears an indrawn
breath, then the rasp of nails on fabric as Teddy’s grip tightens and he—oh
God, he—kisses back.
Billy melts with a breathless sound, trapped in the back of his throat. He can
feel Teddy’s indrawn breath as his powerful chest moves against him; they’re
seamed so tightly together he swears he can hear Teddy’s heartbeat keeping time
with the thrumming of his own pulse. He lets his eyes flicker shut, mouth
moving over Teddy’s, fingers tangling tighter and tighter in his wifebeater as
he sways over him. He has just enough sense to keep his hips arched back so
Teddy doesn’t feel his erection, but Billy’s pretty sure sense is going to be
fleeting, at best, and oh fuck, Teddy’s lips are parting, his tongue is
brushing the seam of Billy’s mouth, he’s licking the curve of his bottom lip.
Billy moans and presses in, lips parting, hips pushing snug and demanding
against Teddy’s tight stomach. He’ll be embarrassed later—he’ll find shame
somewhere. Right now he can’t think; he can’t breathe. He can’t do anything but
arch helplessly as Teddy dips his tongue into his mouth and strokes slow and
deep and wet.
They shiver together. Billy loves the low noise Teddy makes; he loves the taste
of him. He loves the way his big hands slide down to span across Billy’s ass,
pulling his body even tighter. Teddy doesn’t seem to mind the way Billy’s
rubbing against him. If anything, it seems to supercharge him—he’s moving up in
a counter-rhythm, his own hips arching. Thrusting. It’s a mindless ache of
scalding heat and pressure and, and—
Billy’s eyes go wide and he breaks the kiss on a startled gasp. He meets
Teddy’s eyes, dazed, seeing the same expression mirrored back in blue-rimmed
black.
“Oh my God,” Billy blurts. “You’re hard.”
Color spreads across Teddy’s cheeks. “Um.”
“You’re hard and you’re kissing me and, and I need to shut up now, but, wow,
okay, yeah. Okay, yeah, let’s do this, let’s go.” He reaches out to tug at
Teddy’s wifebeater, yanking it up, shivering with the maddening surge of want.
Feeling Teddy hot and eager against him is… He doesn’t have words for what it
is, but it’s better than he could have imagined, and it’s his, and he’s not
going to miss this chance for anything. “Me too, me too,” Billy breathes,
tossing aside Teddy’s shirt, pressing in to revel in the friction of skin on
skin. Teddy’s big and broad where he’s small and skinny, and something about
that size difference triggers tripwires in his brain, because he can’t keep
himself from rubbing up against all those muscles, rocking his trapped erection
along tight abs, wanting to be thrown down and spread open and holy God fucked
within an inch of his life. “Teddy.”
Teddy turns his face to capture Billy’s mouth, sucking on his lower lip. He
grabs for Billy’s hands as Billy reaches blindly for the placket of his jeans,
lifting them and pinning them between their bodies. He doesn’t stop kissing
him, doesn’t stop moving against him with hard, arching ruts of his
hips—Billy’s not sure Teddy can stop right now—but he’s not letting Billy go,
either.
Billy whines, deep in his throat, twisting helplessly as Teddy holds him
captive. His cock is aching fiercely, and he’s pretty sure he can come from
this—the smell of grass and weeds and the heat and the taste of sweat and…
And fucking Jersey. He loves Jersey. Jersey is awesome.
Teddy is awesome.
Teddy.
He’s doing this with Teddy.
“Oh,” Billy breathes into Teddy’s mouth, trembling. “Oh, oh God, Teddy, I’m,
I’m going to…”
“We’re in a field.” Teddy’s moan is deep and heartfelt, but he doesn’t stop
moving. His grip on Billy’s wrists is so tight it almost hurts, but that just
makes it hotter, somehow—that just makes him want to struggle. “We’re in a
field, and Eli and Nate are right there, and all I want to do is throw you
down—”
“Okay, yes, let’s do that.”
“—and rip off your clothes—”
“Yes, okay.”
“—and lick you open—”
“Oh my God, Teddy.”
“—and fuck you, and I haven’t even, we haven’t even… Milkshakes and comic books
don’t count as a date and I want to take you out and do this right and I’ve
never, you’re just so—” Teddy pulls back to meet Billy’s eyes, looking as dazed
as Billy feels, and murmurs, “I want to do this right. I like you.”
And that—that hits him unexpectedly hard. It’s like…like he’s chest-deep in the
ocean, carefully wading through the beginning swirls of a riptide, never seeing
the wave cresting over his head. Teddy wants to kiss him and fuck him and date
him and maybe be his boyfriend. Teddy likes him. And that’s just—
Oh. Just.
Everything.
All the breath leaves Billy in a whoosh, taking with it the bite of
desperation. He still wants this—he really, really wants this—but something in
Teddy’s admission, in his earnest blue eyes, makes Billy gently shake free of
Teddy’s grip and reach up to cup his face.
He brushes his thumbs along Teddy’s cheeks, arousal gradually transmutating
into shy wonder. Awe. All those weeks of wanting and not having have been
turned on its head and Teddy’s right here, hard and flushed and liking him.
“Yeah,” Billy murmurs. “Yeah, well. I like you too.” Pause. “But for the
record, milkshakes and comic books totally count.”
Teddy gives a chuff of laughter. He leans into Billy’s touch. “Yeah? Well,
good, because I could really use some Shake Shack tonight. Do you want to come?
Like a, well.”
“A date?” Billy can’t believe he’s blushing over those words. They were just
rutting in a field; how can asking Teddy out be more fraught than that?
“Yeah,” Teddy says, glancing away, then back at him through his lashes. “Yeah,
like a date.”
Billy has to close his eyes against the unexpected surge of emotion. This is…
He’s had dreams about this. He’s sat curled under blankets watching people like
Dan Savage tell him that someday he’ll have this. And it’s not that Billy
didn’t believe all those well-wishers. It’s just—
He’s a superhero. He’s going to save the world. He’s going to be somebody. And
the way Teddy’s looking at him now, breathless, anxious, like he’s afraid Billy
could say no…
God. He’s had dreams his life could be like this, yeah, but he never thought it
could feel this good.
“Yeah,” Billy murmurs. He slides his fingers into Teddy’s golden hair, heart
hiccupping in his chest. “Yes. Yes. I, yes, let’s— Talking: overrated.” Billy
swallows Teddy’s relieved laugh, licking into his mouth, trying to telegraph
through touch and taste just how much he wants this. Wants Teddy. Not sexually,
but—
Okay, yes, sexually too. His body isn’t done throwing off sparks, and having
Teddy’s tongue against his own, twining and slick and hot as a brand isn’t
doing anything to quiet the electrical current. But. He thinks maybe Teddy’s
right. Maybe they can take their time—do this right.
Then Teddy wraps his lips around Billy’s tongue and sucks firmly, tugging at
the root, and it’s all systems go again. Billy surges forward with a strangled
gasp, knees tightening around Teddy’s hips, body arching up. His cock jerks
hard, precome painting a dark patch on his jeans as he thrusts his tongue deep
into Teddy’s mouth. It feels— God, it feels amazing. It makes him wonder what
Teddy’s mouth will feel like on his cock.
“Wait, wait, argh, wait.” Billy tears his mouth away, gasping and laughing. He
beats balled-up fists against Teddy’s broad shoulders once. “This is not
slowing down!”
Teddy has the grace to look sheepish. “Sorry.”
“You should be. Harlot.” He shivers at the subtle shift of Teddy’s hips,
severely tempted to say screw dating and push Teddy down in the grass. The
temptation rises triple-fold when Teddy’s hands fall to Billy’s thighs,
gripping lightly. Clever thumbs trace up and down the seam of Billy’s jeans.
Teddy watches him through ridiculously long, dark lashes.
Billy covers his face with his hands. “Haaate,” he says. “You owe me a shake
and fries for this. Seriously.”
“You’re so— So adorable when you bitch.”
“Remember you said that; I’m going to hold you to it. Freak.” He drops his
hands and sways in for one final, soft kiss—because, hey, wow, Teddy thinks
he’s adorable—then he sighs and forces himself to slide off Teddy’s lap. Billy
twists and slithers back, scooting across the grass to put some distance
between them, palms skidding over the rough gravel-and-dirt and eyes locked on
Teddy’s when—
“Son of a BITCH! OW!”
The searing burn of metal links has him jerking his hand up reflexively. Billy
tilts, overbalancing, and topples into a graceless heap, body jellyfishing
uselessly as he tries to curl around his burned wrist and scramble up all at
once. He just ends up kicking up weeds, smacking his head into Teddy’s shoulder
as Teddy dives in with a startled, “What? What?!”
Billy pushes his shoulder into the dirt and lifts his wrist to his mouth,
sucking away the sting. There are faint red-pink links there, like a series of
zeroes, from—
He turns his head to glare at the forgotten wallet-chain, abandoned in the
grass. Coiled like a snake and mocking him, argh.
“Literally not cool,” Billy mutters, letting Teddy help him up. Eli and Nate
are looking over at them, finally, and hey—good to know exactly what it takes
to break them out of their epic man-struggle. “Teddy,” he says, leaning against
Teddy’s shoulder, looking up into a face that’s probably going to keep stealing
his breath no matter how many times he sees it, “I am literally not cool.”
Teddy slides a big hand down Billy’s spine, soothing. “I know,” he says
gravely. “But hey—at least you’ve got cool ink.”
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