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He's not gay. He's not.
But he'd be lying if he said his eyes didn't linger in the change rooms or on the court every once in a while.
But he'd be lying if he said there wasn't anything he found intriguing about other men. But it's just appreciation, that's all it is. He can appreciate Billy Hargrove's toned exterior, his tanned skin and piercing blue eyes. He can appreciate 'The Freak's,' slender frame, bouncy curls and deep chocolate gaze. Or Jake's biceps or Ethan's smile or Andrew's laugh. He can appreciate all of it, doesn't mean he's attracted to them. Doesn't mean he's gay. He can't be. He likes women.
He likes women so much he has a new one under his tongue weekly, sometimes even daily. He likes their soft skin, their gentle curves, their buttery moans. The way they wither and whine beneath him. The way they scream his name and claw his back.
But if he's being honest, it hasn't been enough lately.
Who would've thought 'The King' would have issues getting off, let alone getting it up. He's found himself in that unfortunate scenario more often than he'd like to admit lately. Choosing to eat a girl out not only because he wants to but because he can't get hard enough to fuck her or lord forbid fake an orgasm because he can't get off and his mind is trying to wander to places he really doesn't want it to.
But those times when he does let his mind wander, well, then there's no problem at all. Smooth sailing. It's just that he's maybe imagining corded muscle and strong hands versus the delicate body and dainty touch he's experiencing.
He's not gay. He just needs more.
And well, maybe he has an idea on how to get more.
You see, he's heard rumours, saw the scribings on the bathroom stalls. He knows or at least he thinks he knows who he can go to for… more. Though his past assholery might make that a little difficult.
He wouldn't say he's proud of how he treats people; the geeks, the freaks, the band nerds. But it's not like he's the one doing it, he just doesn't say anything when it's Tommy or another jock being the asshole. As much as people make him out to be the bad guy, he just doesn't like conflict, doesn't want to get in the way, doesn't want to be the nuisance, doesn't want to step in front of it for the chance of a crushing blow to the side of his skull. Lord knows he gets enough of that at home.
So yeah, maybe when Tommy is sneering down at 'The Freak,' snarling slurs and ramming his head into the cold steel of the lockers, he doesn't say anything, only stands off to the side and avoids eye contact because he can't quite bring himself to intervene and can't quite bring himself to contribute to the abuse.
It's an unfortunate thing because he's pretty damn sure 'The Freak' is the only guy he can go to for 'more.' The guy the scribings in the bathroom stalls speak of, the guy the whispers in the halls talk about. The guy said to give the best head of your life if you go to the bleachers after school.
He's not gay. He just needs more.
And that desire for more leads him to the belly of the bleachers, waiting impatiently after the last bell rings to see a leather clad man with appreciable brown eyes and flowing hair. It's only a few minutes that Steve has to wait before he sees him, leather and black, thick silver rings and an air of attitude. The definition of more.
"The fuck are you doing here Rich Boy?"
He can't quite bring himself to respond to the man's teasing tone, doesn't think he's ever actually talked to 'The Freak.' His voice, syrupy and thick, forces a knot to twist behind Steve's navel. He winces at the sensation, watching the other man approach with a daunting stride of confidence.
Why's his mouth so dry?
"Hey Pretty Boy, I'm talking to you."
He's closer now and still, Steve can't bring himself to speak.
"Listen, I don't know what the fuck you think this is, but I really don't feel like getting my face beaten in today by some dumb jock. So if you're not here to buy drugs or participate in other nefarious activities that I shall not name in your company, you can kindly fuck off."
Steve swallows around the nerves bubbling in his throat, can't quite pinpoint why he's so nervous. It's just 'The Freak', 'The Drug Dealer' the supposed 'Best Blowjob Giver in All of Hawkins.' Well maybe it's the latter, maybe that point is a little daunting. Or maybe it's that fact that his skin crawls with something akin to need, something that flares hot and heavy in his core when said 'Freak' steps into his space to snarl, "What the fuck do you want?"
"More?" He whispers, it's a quiet shaky thing, nearing on a question he sounds so unsure of his single muttered word.
'The Freak's' brows pinch together, his mask of confidence and aggression slipping for a second before he moves, devilish smirk across his lips, a single ringed finger catching under Steve's chin to turn his gaze up as he whispers, "Don't tell me 'The King of Hawkins High' is a queer, coming to lil' ole me for something his pretty little women can't give him."
Well, that problem he seems to have in the bedroom, yeah, um, it's currently a problem for another reason right now. His jeans are painfully tight. It's damn embarrassing the way this fucking guy is affecting him. The smell of leather, weed and cheap cologne. The cold sting of metal pressed under his chin, holding his head high to meet hauntingly dark eyes. His attitude, the snarl and the grit in his voice.
He can't manage words, only gulps, Adam's Apple bobbing around a non existent sentence. But his face must give something away, if the way 'The Freak' draws an eyebrow up and darkly chuckles is anything to do by.
"No shit, hey? I'd say I'm surprised, but I'm not really. I see the way your eyes wander in the change room or linger just a little too long over Hargrove's ass. I'm not fucking blind Pretty Boy, just didn't think you'd have it in you is all."
"I do," Steve says out of absolutely nowhere. Where did that come from? That whiny, needy, nearly begging tone.
He's not gay but 'The Freak' is kinda making him weak in the knees.
God if the man's expression doesn't shift to something predatory at Steve's tone. It makes him needy, anxious, fucking desperate like he's never been before.
The finger that was once resting under his chin, moves to the back of his head, a large hand skating through his hair until it grips tight and gives a sharp pull forcing a rather embarrassing gasp to slip past his lips.
Dark eyes sear into his own as the other man speaks, "You listen and you listen fucking good. If this is all a ploy for your jock buddies to catch me in the act and beat me half to death for being a 'fucking fag,' know that I won't hesitate to shove a knife into your pretty little side." Punctuating his words with another sharp tug, he continues, "Got it?"
Steve nods, because what else can he do, he's speechless, hot, desperate and painfully horny. This is the definition of more and he's fucking weak for it. The grip in his hair is the only thing keeping him grounded as much as it's the same thing threatening to send him into orbit.
Another sharp tug, "Words."
"Got it," Steve chokes out, words mostly all air and heat.
'The Freak's' eyes search Steve's for a moment, probably looking for sincerity or the hint of a lie, but he must find what he's looking for because no less than a few short seconds later, Steve feels the grip in his hair tighten and a hand tightly clasp his hip,"Good. Now how about you get on your knees Sweetheart."
It's not a question, it's a command and Steve's gut twists with nerves. He wasn't expecting this. Not for him to be on his knees. He opens his mouth to protest but he's cut off with another sharp tug to his hair, encouraging him towards the ground, "Oh Honey, you weren't thinking you'd get off today were you? You've been a right prick to me for the last three years. Gotta make up for that if you want anything from me."
He's not Gay but he's a weak man and he drops to his knees with crushing force, face turned up, waiting for his next command.
"Look at you, being such a Good Boy for me already. Who woulda thought. 'The King' on his knees for 'The Freak." The man combs ringed fingers gently through Steve's hair, "I hate to say it, but you're quite pretty on your knees for me Rich Boy."
Never in his life had Steve Harrington been on his knees for a man. But god dammit if it doesn't get him going. His normally too soft cock is straining against the denim of his jeans, rubbing painfully along the seam. He attempts to swallow the whimper that the sensation shakes out of him.
Needless to say, he's unsuccessful.
'The Freak' smirks, sharp teeth and a dangerous smile, "You've never sucked a dick before have you Pretty Boy?"
Steve shakes his head, fighting the need to bury his nose in the prominent bulge in front of his face. Nerves and need swarm in his core but all he can manage is a desperate stare, no words, just hazel eyes looking up to the man above him. Waiting for instruction.
He looks contemplative for a moment, brown eyes searching Steve's face once again before he says, "Keep your hands to yourself. Behind your back. And do as you're told or we're done. Understand?"
Steve obliges, nodding wordlessly, moving his hands to clasp behind his back.
The other man leans down, a near terrifying glint in his eye while his grip in Steve's hair tightens, a sharp tug pulling him back to make eye contact while he growls, "I said: Understand?"
He doesn't know what comes over him, a needy whimper leaving his lips as absolutely mortifying words follow, "Yes Sir."
'The Freak' darkly chuckles against Steve's cheek, lightly biting the now rosy flesh before he whispers, "Good Boy."
Oh.
Oh wow.
Yep. That does something to him.
He's not gay…But having 'The Freak' call him a Good Boy and in that fucking tone…Well…
Steve stifles another groan watching as the man stands upright, moving to unfasten his stupid handcuff belt buckle with practised ease.
He speaks with a seriousness as he continues his motions, "As much as I fucking hate you, I'm not going to make you do anything you don't want to, because frankly that's just disgusting." He stops his motions, belt undone, button unclasped and zipper down, his cock's nearly on display and Steve's mouth waters with the need to feel its weight on his tongue, "You know the Stoplight System?"
Steve whispers a quiet "No."
"Figured," 'The Freak' says with no malice to his tone, "There's Green, Yellow and Red. Just like a Stoplight you follow the same rules. Green means go, yellow means yield or slow down and red means stop. You can communicate colours anytime you need to. But when I ask you questions or for your colour, you respond accordingly. Got it?"
Steve nods
The other man asks, "Colour?"
"Green," Steve answers with a heat rising to his cheeks, his knees already beginning to burn from where they're resting in the rough soil.
And god dammit if that doesn't make 'The Freak' smile, "Good," he says, carding his fingers gently through Steve's hair, "and if your mouth's full Sweetheart. You tap out your colours. One for green, two for yellow and three for red. Okay?"
Steve nods again while the other man wordlessly moves the hand that was in Steve's hair down his cheek so it's resting on his jaw. Fingers holding light, his thumb brushes over Steve's bottom lip gently pressing it into the wet heat of his mouth. Steve hums around the intrusion, instinctively running his tongue over the tip and hollowing his cheeks.
'The Freak' hums in approval, pressing down with the lightest pressure against Steve's tongue, "Colour?"
Slowly Steve moves his hand to the man's wrist, porcelain skin cool under his warm touch, he taps gently, once, 'Green.'
"Good, now you're ready."
From there it's pretty straightforward, Steve knows how a blowjob goes, he's gotten many in his lifetime, but still, on the other end of this, it feels kinda foreign. At least with the instruction to keep his hands out of the mix he doesn't have to worry about what to do with those.
He watches as the other man pulls his hearty length from his boxers, thick and leaking and he can't help but feel a swell of pride in his chest knowing he did that. His mouth waters at the sight and wordlessly he drops his jaw and lays his tongue out flat.
"Eager are we?"
Steve hums an affirmative, inching closer on his knees.
He'd be lying if he said the sight before him wasn't doing anything to him. Christ, he hasn't been this hard in months, almost painfully throbbing in his jeans with need. He isn't gay but well… he's something.
The other man takes his own length in hand, ringed fingers wrapping around a thick base, tight curls pressed against the curl of his palm. It's warm and salty when the head of it slaps against Steve's tongue, a taste he'll savour like it's the nectar of the gods.
He's being impatient and he knows it, a needy whine escaping his throat he inches even closer. He doesn't know what's gotten into him but before he knows it he's choking, struggling to breathe as he pushes his head all the way forward, trying to bury his nose in dark curls.
The man above him chuckles around a gasp, voice almost shakey. Hand clasped tight in Steve's hair he pulls him back, "Don't hurt yourself there Princess. Breathe through your nose and swallow when you feel like you're going to choke."
Steve nods, his motions pulling on the grip on his scalp and he tries again, a hot coil of need blooming in his core as the man above him lets out a sharp gasp. With the little instruction he's managed to take all of the man in, swallowing around the length, thick head pressing down his throat. His nose is buried in the thick thatch of hair and he can't help but nuzzle into it with a greedy inhale. Sweat and musk and something that makes his toes curl wafts through his senses.
Steve hums around 'The Freak's' length in his own appreciation, the vibration travelling through the other man's body in a wave of pleasure. The grip in his hair tightens and Steve can't help but whimper at the sensation and good god he nearly combusts when he opens his eyes to take in the man above him.
Hair wild, dark and rolling in waves over his shoulders, gathering in the streams of sweat along his neck. Cheeks flushed in a rosy hue of need, a rather beautiful contrast to his pale porcelain skin. His brows are creased, lip bitten and eyes squeezed shut.
It's obvious he's trying to stay quiet, though he's failing miserably. Steve continues to watch him from below, eyes open and watering as he chokes down every inch. He pulls back and off with a dramatic 'pop', diving right back in to nose his way under the man's cock and take what he can of his testicles in mouth.
It's a weird feeling being on this end of things, generally he has no idea what he's doing but he can't hold in the carnal need to make the man above him crumble. Steve feels nearly desperate, his cock painfully straining against the seam of his jeans for what feels like eternity. Fuck, if this goes on for much longer he might just come in his pants.
And wouldn't that be fucking embarrassing.
Steve continues his ministrations while trying to focus on anything other than the balls in his mouth or the cock hanging heavy above his face. He focuses on the grip in his hair, the bite of gravel against his knees, the throbbing pain between his legs. Nothing works, it's just too fucking good.
He takes the man back in his mouth after licking a thick stripe from root to tip and begins bobbing his head. A sinful wash of sounds pollutes the air, gasps and moans and shaky breaths. Wet squelches and muffled gags. Steve's sure he contributes his own noises as he rocks his hips against the seam in his jeans.
The taste of precome continues to flood over Steve's taste buds, salty and sweet and god dammit if he doesn't become addicted to it. Addicted to the taste of this man's essence on his tongue, the sounds that escape his lips, the way he looks as he approaches the edge.
Above Steve, 'The Freak's' babbling, gasping around moans and hardly formed words, "mmm fuck, ho- how are you so good at this?" He chuckles an unbelieving laugh that's drowned out by a choked back moan as Steve takes him down to the hilt. "Jesus H Christ." He gasps, grip tightening in Steve's hair.
Every syllable sends Steve careening towards the edge along with the man. He's close, every roll of his own hips, every sharp tug against his scalp, every moan from the man above.
But god dammit he still needs more.
Steve pulls off, a quick gasp of air and spit and precome hanging between them. 'The Freak' looks down at him with a brow raised and he's beautiful, looks absolutely wrecked, onyx eyes blown wide, face flushed red with his pending release and before he can say anything, Steve asks or more or less begs, "Fuck my face, please."
"Fuck," the man huffs before he checks, "You sure?"
Steve nods, "Please."
"Jesus Christ." He huffs once again before laying his cock over Steve's tongue once again, then he's snaking his other hand into Steve's hair, giving him an experimental pull forward.
Steve's eyes flutter in response, the man's thick length sliding slowly over his tongue and down his throat. He can't help the whine that rattles up his throat.
"You like that or something Sweetheart?"
Steve hums again, moving his hand to the man's wrist to tap once, 'Green' and he chances to leave it there. He'd be lying if he said he didn't want to feel more of this man under his touch.
They continue from there, 'The Freak' pressing his length over Steve's tongue until they're both leaking and shaking with the need of release.
Gravels digs into his knees and his scalp burns in such a beautiful way, Steve's hanging off the edge by his fingertips and he's only pushed that much further as the man above him gasps, "Wh-Where - fuck - mm- can I come in your mouth Baby?"
Baby
Baby. Baby. Baby.
Steve fails to hold back a groan at not only the question but also the nickname, it vibrates down the other man's length while he tightens his grip on a pale wrist and taps once, 'Green.'
For some reason in that moment Steve feels compelled to slide his hand into his own hair, lacing his fingers between thick rings and hard earned calluses, holding his hair tight, together. He's not shrugged off like he thought he would be and for some reason, that's the moment they both topple over the edge.
Salt and heat floods Steve's taste buds at the same time it does his underwear. Warm and slick, exiting his body with force. He groans something needy and desperate, bucking his hips forward as his mouth is pulled closer, nose pressed to pubes. The man above him gasps and bucks his hips forward with force, shuddering while squeezing Steve's fingers between his own.
Steve swallows, or at least tries to -god, now he kinda gets why girls hate that so much- he pulls off with a sharp inhale and presses his head the a denim clad thigh, spitting on the ground between them.
It's oddly tender for what it is, 'The Freak's' hands don't leave his hair, his grip only loosens and gently cards through mousy strands as they catch their breath together.
Steve's exhausted but satisfied; probably for the first time in months and all he had to do was blow a guy. Nothing even happened to him other than some nicknames that made his stomach flutter and some not so awkward hand holding.
They stay silent for a long while, Steve feels like he might fall asleep leaning against this man and it's an odd thing that he feels comfortable here, safe even. And that's a fucking wild thought, especially with a dick dripping come not more than a few inches from his face.
Steve can't help but chuckle at the thought.
"What?" The other man laughs quietly, tucking himself back in his jeans, standing upright, trying to help Steve do the same.
Steve shakes his head, burying it in the other man's shoulder. He can feel him tense beneath him and then seconds later slowly there's cautious arms wrapping around his shoulders, slow and soft while he continues to shake in silent laughter.
They stand there in what should be an awkward moment, but it's not and maybe that's the craziest part about this whole moment.
Steve Harrington knows this man from brash gestures and yelled opinions from atop lunch room tables. From the smell of leather and the clatter of chains. He's supposed to be weird and scary, he's supposed to be 'The Freak,' but for some reason Steve sees him as something else.
He sees him as more.
They're quiet for a moment and in those few short seconds a wild thought passes through Steve's mind. He pulls back, ever so slightly, only enough to meet the other man's eyes. He takes in the man's gaze, dark and speckled with amber, the freckles that dust over his nose and cheeks, the faint scar across his bridge and then he allows his eyes to wander lower.
Pink and perfect and beautiful, lips he wants to kiss with every fibre in his being. Steve sucks in a subtle breath letting his eyes float back up to meet those of the man before and like a silent gesture, he glances at his lips again as he whispers, "Colour?"
He watches sharp teeth bite into a pink bottom lip as he feels the grip around him tighten and then there's a subtle, hardly audible whisper, "Green."