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“Come have a beer with us.”
Kieran is half-hunched over one of the vacant wooden tables that are dotted across camp, scrubbing it down with a damp, dirty rag, and determinedly avoiding one table in particular. He knows he’ll have to clean it eventually — it’s part of his chores, and there’s still some deeply-ingrained sense of obedience inside of him from when he was a scrawny little stable boy who’d be whipped over the slightest wrongdoing — but if he can avoid that table for as long as possible, he will.
Bill’s demand crawls it’s way up the back of Kieran’s neck, but he continues to spit-shine the table as though he hasn’t heard a thing.
“Hey, O’Driscoll bitch — I know you heard me.” Bill sneers, and Kieran’s shoulders tense. He stills and looks upwards, like some beady little star is what’s gonna save him from the hell that is trying to live alongside Bill Williamson. Kieran closes his eyes, straightens his back, and exhales, sharply, through his nose.
“No thank you,” he says, and grabs the rag once more, with every intention of returning to his chores unbothered.
“Don’t think I caught that,” Bill all but spits, and Kieran sighs.
“No thank you,” he repeats, loud and clear. In spite of himself, he still starts and scrambles like a frightened rabbit when Bill’s huge hand grabs the collar of his shirt, only to go limp as he’s roughly shoved onto a stool, helpless as a puppy being carried by the scruff of its neck.
Once the immediate burst of fright subsides, Kieran looks around. Accompanying them are Javier and John, watching Kieran apologetically. There’s a harsh clink as Bill all but slams a bottle onto the table in front of Kieran, sending half of its contents spilling onto the wood.
“I didn’t fuckin’ ask,” Bill says. “I told you to drink with us.”
Their eyes meet, and something stirs in Kieran. This always ends the same way — Kieran drinks until he can’t anymore and stumbles off before he pisses himself, with Bill dogging him into the trees to watch. Kieran knows he’s there, and is pretty sure Bill doesn’t care. It’s like the only time Bill can guiltlessly feed into that particular desire of his is when he’s as drunk and angry and stupid as he is now.
But tonight, Kieran feels brave. This time, things will go differently.
He grabs the bottle, tosses it back, and drinks.
-
Maybe an hour passes. Kieran doesn’t hear anything Bill or the others say, and doesn’t really care. He’s shit-faced on lukewarm beer and his dick aches with the need to piss.
It takes both hands on the table to push himself to his feet, and even that takes effort. The earth sways, or maybe that’s Kieran. It doesn’t matter. He needs to piss.
“I gonna go,” he says. Nice. Smooth. He pushes himself away from the wood, swings himself around and stumbles towards the trees at the outskirts of camp, running through lines in his head that he’s been thinking of since Bill slammed that first drink down in front of him.
Once he’s in the trees, he settles with his back against one of the trunks, folds his arms across his chest, and waits.
It’s not long before Bill comes sniffing after him. He falters when he sees Kieran, not hunched over in the bushes, trying to pretend that he doesn’t know Bill is there, but standing, waiting for him. Expecting him.
Something passes between them. Bill is clearly startled and confused, red in the face from drinking and undoubtedly going to turn even redder, with anger or embarrassment, or probably both. Kieran isn’t worried. If anything, his inhibitions are completely gone. Bill’s fault for making him feel brave.
Kieran speaks, and hears his own voice, squawky and pitched now from the excitement stirring in his belly. “You gonna get on your knees, or what?”
Bill stands in stunned silence. It must be taking longer than usual for Kieran’s words to reach his brain, but slowly, his face begins to twist into a sneer. “‘Scuse me?”
Drunk, angry and stupid. Kieran is begging himself to stay cool, but his heart is pounding, and it’s a struggle not to grin. “I know you heard me.”
Bill looks like an angry bull, with both huge fists clenched at his sides, like it’s taking every ounce of strength for him not to charge. But he doesn’t, just stares at Kieran, gaze flicking between his face and his belt.
“You think I ain’t caught onto what you been doin’?” Kieran asks, spurred onwards by his sudden confidence, surprised by the steadiness in his voice. “You think I’m too stupid to notice you slinkin’ after me every time I go t’ take a leak?”
Kieran’s hand moves to his belt buckle, where Bill’s gaze has settled, and he quickly looks away, staring instead at the dirt. He says nothing.
“You don’t have to,” Kieran continues. “You say ‘no thank you, Mister Duffy,’ and I’ll let you scamper off an’ get on with your night.” He laughs. “Or you could hit me. You’d probably just hit me. But I don’t think you’re gonna.”
Kieran can see Bill’s nose wrinkle, and waits, patiently, for him to look up. He does, making eye contact with Kieran while barely lifting his head, and Kieran feels the first tiny flutter of fear in his chest. He suddenly remembers that this is Bill he’s dealing with — drunk, stupid, angry Bill — that it’s just the two of them here, and that Bill is bigger and stronger than he is.
But Bill doesn’t move towards him, or seem like he’s going to. He just grumbles, “...Makes you so sure’ve that?”
And now Kieran’s grinning, unable to keep it down any longer. “Cuz I got something you want,” he says. “And I’m pretty sure I’m the only one’s gonna give it to ya.”
Bill says nothing. Kieran clears his throat.
“I’ll ask you again,” he says, accompanied by the softest clink of metal as he begins to unbuckle his belt. “Are you gonna get on your knees, or what?”
Bill turns his head quickly, glancing over his shoulder. If he wasn’t worried about being spotted before, he certainly is now — and something about that knowledge has Kieran’s heart pounding.
Bill turns back. He continues to stare down at the ground, lips pursed, shaking fists still clenched at his sides like the dirt owes him money. Kieran waits.
He hears the sharp sound of Bill inhaling through his nose, watches him twitch a little, sparing another glance into the trees. Then, he breathes out a long, heavy sigh; his fists unclench and, slowly, he starts to unbutton his shirt.
Kieran watches patiently, struggling to ignore his growing, agonizing need to piss, more concerned with how terribly this could go if he gets too pushy. Then Bill’s shirt is off, he’s unbuckling his belt, and it dawns on Kieran that Bill's been in this situation before.
Bill looks at him, finally, and he doesn’t even look like Bill. He’s exposed and vulnerable, a little afraid, and searching, waiting for something — waiting for Kieran to tell him what to do. They're alone in the trees, and Bill's nude, and Kieran isn't afraid for his life.
Tentatively, Kieran nods towards the ground in front of him, and Bill gets to his knees without a fuss. Kieran can hear his heart pounding, his blood rushing. This is so bizarre; what was he thinking? What is he supposed to do with this? This doesn’t feel like Bill anymore - this is someone vulnerable, and trusting, and how could Kieran betray that now?
Kieran breathes. There’s a low clink as he undoes his belt, the soft sound of his dick sliding over fabric as he guides it out. Bill doesn’t look up at it. He’s staring at the ground again, focused, waiting.
“Look at me,” Kieran says. Bill doesn’t budge, and Kieran frowns. “Hey—”
Impulsively, he reaches down, grabs Bill by the beard, and yanks upwards. Bill’s eyes are wild and panicked, flicking between Kieran’s face and his dick where it’s being held, inches away from him — until, of course, it settles there, and Kieran grins.
“Yeah?” Kieran says, low, surprised by the gravel in his own voice. The word descends into a laugh, and he let’s go of Bill’s beard. “Look there, then,” he snaps. “Don’t fucking take your eyes off it.”
Kieran can’t hold it any longer, so he pisses. It comes out like a hose, a steady, warm stream that splashes onto Bill’s chest, and he shudders with relief. Could fucking moan with it -- and could admit that the sight of his piss dripping down Bill's soft, hairy chest, his stomach, his hard dick where it hangs between his thighs, is making him feel something.
Bill is beet red, and Kieran can't tell whether it's from heat or shame and frankly, doesn't care. He catches Bill looking away from his dick, glancing down at the mess Kieran is making of him, and huffs.
"Hey," he says, and grabs Bill by the hair on his head this time, or what's left of it. Bill yelps like a girl, looks up at Kieran with blown pupils, eyes wide with want and fear and whatever else.
"What'd I say?" Kieran asks, quiet and scary calm. He feels his dick starting to throb and his eyes starting to feel heavy, getting swept up into the moment.
He could almost imagine Bill's bottom lip starting to wobble. "L-Look."
"That's right," Kieran answers, and flashes his teeth. "Open up."
Bill hurriedly obeys, following the pull of Kieran's grip and tilting his head back, opening his mouth wide.
"Good boy," Kieran says. He doesn't know where it comes from. He shakes a few more drops of piss out of his dick, letting them spatter across Bill's face, little droplets getting caught in his beard and the hair curling over his upper lip. Then, Kieran slides his dick into Bill's mouth, down his throat, and chuckles at the sound of him gagging on it.
"There we go," Kieran mutters. He plants both hands on the back of Bill's head, holding him there. How could Kieran be afraid of him at this point - of his rage, or his teeth? He feels Bill trying to open up as much as possible, his tongue gliding against the underside of his cock, trying to coax it impossibly further down his throat even as he chokes on it. He feels himself getting hard from it.
Kieran pulls back and Bill gulps down air, staring Kieran's dick down, lips parted and wet and red. Kieran still has a hold on his hair, but it's loosened now; Bill isn't going anywhere.
"God, you just live for this shit, don't you?" Kieran breathes. He idly strokes himself, watching Bill's eyes follow his fingers up and down his shaft, open mouthed and dumb. "Such a fucking whore."
Bill leans forward, open mouthed, and Kieran leans away. "Please," Bill croaks.
Kieran frowns. "Please what?" Bill's nose wrinkles.
"Let me suck your dick," he answers. It's the most frustration he's shown since this started. Kieran's dick twitches in his hand, and he could swear that Bill whines. "Please."
"Jesus, okay," Kieran answers. He holds his dick towards Bill's mouth, and Bill eagerly shuffles forward. "Jus' your mouth. No touching."
Bill has definitely sucked dick before. It's not surprising at this point, but Kieran is the slightest bit ashamed at how much he enjoys it, to the point where he doesn't scold Bill for bracing himself against the tree, or letting his beard rub rough against Kieran's shaft as he takes him down his throat. Bill’s thighs are clenched together, squeezing around his own dick, his hips rocking back and forth along with his head. Kieran offers his foot, lets it hover over Bill's bare cock, and he happily accepts the sole of Kieran's boot to rut against.
Bill comes quickly, with an animalistic, broken groan, across the dirty toe of Kieran's boot. The sound rumbles up the throbbing length of Kieran's cock, and that's enough for him to finish. His grip on Bill's head tightens as he buries himself to the hilt, balls pressed against Bill's hairy chin, in spite of how he gags and sputters and spills cum and spit around Kieran's cock.
When Kieran finally relents, Bill gasps open-mouthed and desperate for air, chest heaving, while Kieran looks him over appreciatively. He's soaked from his beard, dark and shiny with fluid, all the way down to the wet spot in his pants. Wasted and defeated. Conquered.
Kieran smirks, satisfied. He wipes himself clean with a raggedy handkerchief before tucking his quickly softening cock back into his trousers. Bill glares at him as he returns the handkerchief, as well, to his back pocket.
"What?" Kieran asks, riding this newfound wave of confidence to its very end. "You didn't think I'd stay here and dote on you like it were our wedding night, did'ya?"
Bill says nothing, just glares. It's almost funny, the sight of him pouting with Kieran's seed still dribbling down his chin.
Kieran shrugs, barely biting back his grin. "Well, then," he says, turning. He struts away, boots squelching in the damp ground, leaving Bill kneeling in the piss-soaked dirt.
"Night, Williamson."
If Kieran carried himself a little lighter over the next few days, no one seemed to notice.