Chapter Text
Months go by in a blur. Phone calls from Stacee, sporadic as they are, are Willard’s oasis away from the chaos of Beaumont in the spring. He throws himself into school and falls into Stacee’s metaphorical arms at the end of the day, when Stacee has the time free to answer his calls.
Willard and Ren don’t quite make up, but Ren does apologize for the incident over dinner. And it’s tense, sure, but it’s livable. Willard misses his best friend most when he’s sitting right across from him, but existing in civility feels like an accomplishment. Their friend group is similarly tense during social gatherings, with none of their friends really wanting to take one side or the other, but there’s a clear divide showing. Like kids caught in the middle of a divorce. It’s disheartening and it makes Willard draw away from them all over again, the same way he had during his gap year.
Eventually, spring blooms into summer, and as the hottest days of the year creep upon them, Willard gets a phone call.
“Sooo…” Stacee trails off, “I’ve got some news.”
“What does that mean?” Willard laughed down the phone, settling back into his desk chair. He’d been doing his homework before Stacee called. He hoped summer classes could excel him ahead in his studies quicker, but he was sorely missing the concept of a summer break.
“I’m gonna be in Atlanta next week,” Stacee says.
“What?” Willard whirls around in his chair, as though Stacee were physically behind him to look at, his eyes wide.
“Yeah,” Stacee chuckles, “Me and the band are doing a cover shoot for the new album—“
“Oh, you mean the one that’s not finished?” Willard laughs.
“Yes, that one!” Stacee laughs with him, “But that’s beside the point, we’re supposed to be coming in for the weekend and heading home Sunday but…I booked for a few extra days,” He grows quiet for a moment and Willard can picture him biting his lip, “I hope that’s not too presumptuous.”
“It’s not,” Willard replies quietly, “So…Monday?”
“Monday,” Stacee laughs.
• • •
Within moments of knocking, the hotel room door swings open.
“Hi,” Willard says.
“Hi,” Stacee replies with a cheeky grin.
They just stare at each other for a long moment before Stacee grabs Willard by the shoulders and hauls him forward into a deep, passionate kiss. It contains months worth of yearning within the little nips and kitten licks and there’s a part of Willard that wants to weep at being able to feel Stacee’s lips against his own again when he’d thought there for a minute that he never would.
Stacee pulls him inside, kicking the door shut behind him with the heel of his boot, and presses Willard to the nearest wall. Willard leans into it, leveraging his weight back, so that Stacee essentially pins him into the wall with his hips. It’s aggressive and it’s fast and Willard loves it.
Stacee breaks from the kiss just long enough to breathe out, “Fuck, I missed you,” before enveloping WIllard’s lips once more, his tongue dancing it’s way along the ridges, dips, and hollows of his mouth. Willard hums in lieu of a response and brings his hands up to cup either side of Stacee’s face, but Stacee’s hands intercept him, pulling his wrists up and over his head. Willard’s eyes roll back into his head and his hips buck forward as he pants for air around the wet, open-mouthed kiss.
Stacee starts trailing his lips down the corner of Willard’s mouth, onto his jawline, “You liked that?”
“Uh huh,” Willard nods dumbly, stripped for words.
“Yeah,” Stacee grins against his neck and bucks his hips forward, their cocks rubbing together through their clothes. Willard moans again. “Yeah, you like it when I manhandle you, don’t you, baby boy?”
“Please,” Willard whines.
“Please what?” Stacee asks, before suckling at the point of his collarbone just long enough to leave a hickey.
“Fuck,” Willard whispers and then asks hoarsely, “Stacee, I need you to fuck me.”
“You don’t say?” Stacee’s mouth stretches into a cheeky smile against the skin of his throat and Willard huffs.
“Now,” Willard emphasizes, bucking his hips forward with a grunt, “Stacee, please.”
“Why?” Stacee pulls away entirely, jewelry-clad hands still pinning Willard to the wall by his hip and his wrists. He quirks a stern eyebrow, his eyes giving away his playfulness.
“Stacee,” Willard whines and Stacee tilts his head.
“Don’t make me spank you,” Stacee warns, sending a shiver down Willard’s spine, “Why do you want it? I don’t just wanna hear you beg, I want you to justify it.”
“Because I need it,” Willard pleads.
“I need more than that, baby,” Stacee coos condescendingly.
“I need you to fuck me so hard I can’t see straight,” Willard tips his forehead forward, as far as he can get it without pulling against Stacee’s unwavering grip, resting his head against Stacee’s tipped-up jaw, “I missed you, I want you to make it so I’ll feel it for days, please Stacee.”
Stacee leans in, his lips near Willard’s ear as he whispers, “Now that’s how you beg like a good little slut, baby.” Willard makes a small broken sound, but he doesn’t have much time to react before Stacee hauls him off the wall and towards the bed, tossing him on it.
After that, it feels like he blinks and they’re both naked.
It doesn’t take much for Stacee to have Willard’s knees up to his chest, and Willard pants for air as the older man trails that lithe tongue down the length of his ruddy, flushed cock where it rests against his belly, down the seam of his balls, along his perineum, and around his hole. He flicks the end of his tongue in a circle, around Willard’s rim, and Willard tips his head back, feeling settled for the first time in a while.
Stacee doesn’t relent once he gets started, lapping his tongue like a cat over Willard’s hole until it blooms, opening enough for him to dip his tongue inside. Willard’s heels come to rest on his shoulder blades, pressing and digging in as Willard resists the urge to beg and plead for more. Stacee presses his tongue all along the inner walls of Willard’s hole, spreading him often softly. His mouth is a gentle pleasure while his hands hold Willard’s thighs in a bruising grip and the contrast does something for Willard, who moans, a hand threading down into Stacee’s silky, long tresses.
Willard looks down to find Stacee’s eyes already on him, those piercing green eyes staring up at him through darkened eyelashes, smudged eyeliner all around them that sharpens the edge of his gaze. It makes him look like sex on legs and Willard can’t get over it, fisting Stacee’s hair tighter and bucking his hips.
Stacee’s hands slide down to hold Willard’s hips in place as he pulls away. Willard has to stifle a sob at the stimulation being taken away. “Now, we can’t go getting greedy, baby,” Stacee shakes his head slowly, his tone so condescending that Willard would be offended in any other context. As it stands, his cock twitches in response and Stacee’s eyes track the movement, but he doesn’t comment.
“You’ll get what you’re given,” Stacee leans over him, speaking in a growl, “So stay put and be a good little fucktoy.” Willard experiences a full-body shudder, nodding his agreement as he melts back into the bed. For what reason, he is unsure until— “Good boy,” Stacee purrs, dipping his head back down. Willard moans. Right. Forgot about that.
Stacee pulls a packet from his back pocket, ripping it open with his teeth. He empties it into his hands and Willard realizes it’s lube as Stacee spreads the cold slickness over his hole, rubbing and pressing over him with firm fingers.
Only when Willard’s whole body is tense as a bowstring does Stacee actually dip a finger in. And once Stacee gets to stretching him, it’s all efficiency. Sure, it feels good, but Stacee is purposefully avoiding his prostate, careful not to put much pressure at or around the rim, just massaging at the muscles so they relax and give way. Not the way Stacee used to finger him just to get him to the edge.
Three fingers later, Willard’s on the verge of whining when Stacee goes to detract his hand. Only then does he give one teasing drag over Willard’s prostate. Willard pants at the sensation and wants to beg for more, only he’s given no time. Stacee rips open around packet, slicks himself in, and slides into the base within seconds. Willard feels split open in a way he’s sorely missed, and he makes his appreciation clear, moaning nice and loud as his hands come up to bracket Stacee’s neck, his fingers toying with the hair at the base of his head. Stacee’s eyes are ever-watchful, even as his breath quickens from Willard’s tightness around him.
When Willard relaxes into the stretch, Stacee pulls back, almost all the way out, and then slams back in. It shakes the bed and Willard’s hands tighten, clawing at the back of Stacee’s neck, his eyes rolling back as the head of Stacee’s cock nails right on his prostate with a sniper’s precision. The bastard knows what he’s doing, Willard can’t deny that.
Stacee repeats the motion, his thrust hard enough this time that it sends a judder through the bed frame, making the headboard bang against the wall. Willard has not the wherewithal to send any concern for the neighbors, he can only roughly sob out, “Fuck,” as he feels the muscles in his stomach seize in response. Stacee thrusts again, one, two, three, and then he sets a punishing pace, hard and fast and rough in all the ways Willard had been made to beg for. It’s everything he had daydreamed about on the drive up and he vocalizes his appreciation whenever he can catch his breath.
“Yes, fuck,” He yelps, “So good, Stace, thank you,” his voice breaks around the moan, a chorus of ‘ah-ah-ah’s being punched from his throat, “Oh God,” he sobs, clawing at Stacee’s shoulders. Tears well in his eyes and he can’t do anything about it.
“Come on,” Stacee pants, tucking his head into Willard’s neck, his hips moving in a rhythm that no human man should be able to achieve, let alone maintain, “That’s it, baby, you’re taking me so fucking well, that’s my good boy.” Willard sobs again in response, clinging to Stacee with everything he has in him.
Stacee suddenly shifts, taking Willard’s already bent knees in his hands and stretching them further, altering the angle as Willard’s ankles land on Stacee’s shoulders. His thighs burn with the stretch and he can already feel the soreness of tomorrow in his hole, but his prostate is pummeled with every. single. thrust, and he’s knocked speechless, eyes on Stacee’s sweat-damp face as the man above him watches him closely.
Fuck, I love him. The thought passes his brain in a blink and it’s such a shock to the system that it startles an orgasm from Willard, the poor boy comes trembling with tears streaming down his cheeks, his voice broken out around a silent scream. It doesn’t take long for Stacee to follow him over the edge, groaning as he buries his head in Willard’s neck, his thrusts stilling in favor of deep, rocking circles while he rides out the duration of his orgasm.
With Stacee’s cum in his guts, the man himself draped on top of him, and Willard’s hands holding on tight, Willard had a brief moment of post-orgasm clarity. And realizes he’s in deep shit at the exact moment that Stacee presses a soft, lingering kiss to his throat. He almost wants to start crying again.
Somewhere along the way, he fell in love with Stacee Jaxx.
He doesn’t know whether to fall into hysterical laughter or descend into tears.
He’s so fucked.