[in the earlier hours, long after Billy’s dipped and rode back home, there’s a ping. it goes out to all his subscribers: a soft launch, of sorts. an announcement. with it there’s a video.
it’s Billy, clearly. the scars, all the way down to the dips of his hips. up by his chest, some against his arms. his thighs are unmarked: tanned and taught, slightly spread while he works. work is simple: he palms himself slow through his briefs. works it with slow, methodical, just enough to get his breath hitching. he’s already half-hard, like the very idea of filming was enough to turn him on. maybe it was.
his face is just out of frame though, the focus very much on his hand at the moment. how he works himself hard, until his cock is straining against his underwear, damp at the front and tight.
then he reaches: changes the angle to capture his face. grins lazy and a little high, wets his lips real slow and inches his briefs down. let’s his dick smack free against his thigh, hisses at air and spits on a palm.
he takes this slow too. deliberate, slow and firm strokes, moves his hand just enough to get his head tilted back, throat exposed as he groans out a fuck, squeezing around the head and then smoothing over the tip with his thumb. Billy Hargrove puts on a show. edges himself to the brink and back; does it again and again until there’s tears in those pretty blue eyes, until he can’t stop his own twitching, has a hand loosely around his own throat as he fucks into fist. he’s loud, shameless; he comes with a startled cry, spilling over his hand, twitching in the aftermath.
he almost sobs with the release. pants, catches his breath and then lifts his hand to lick his knuckles and fingers clean. his head lolls to the side, his grin completely fucked out.
just a few moments, just a beat of his breath steadying, and then it ends.]
[ Steve needs to stop staring at the moon, it's doing nobody any good to have his howls booming out without warning whenever the uncontrollable urge takes over. It's not until he's in his and Eddie's room with the curtains closed that he lets out something like a sigh of relief, then a huge yawn that squeals a little when his tongue curls up, licking his lips. He itches his muzzle and paces forward on the weird legs that grew in the alley, claws clicking on the floor until he sits on the edge of the bed and stares ahead into a mirror on a cabinet, ears up in alarm. He looks like a german shepherd on steroids, he thinks, whuffing under his breath in what would have been a curse.
It smells so good in this room in particular, however, so his wolf-related anxieties are simmering. He can think for himself, knows himself and those around him, but it's becoming all a little too simple. Mate, he thinks of Eddie's scent, and Mine in the same thought. He shakes his head, pawed hand rubbing the side of his skull.
Now that the moon is put away, Steve only has one other real focus and he watches him with golden-hazel eyes. ]
[ it's been an emotionally draining day. eddie's spent most of the last half of it getting high. steve's a werewolf, there's a vampire duplicate of him, and the world might be ending. it's all a little much.
he's dozing lightly -- the only way he can, when his boyfriend keeps howling at the fucking moon -- when his boyfriend's focus shifts. one tired brown eye cracks open, feeling the weight of those pretty golden hues watching him. ]
[The other Eddie goes and the apartment doesn’t get any less crowded. They’re already outgrowing the three bedrooms and the living room, already multiplying faster than Billy can keep up.
The other three are out, and Billy has to assume they’re shopping. Preppy stuff that preps do. He’s watched Eddie roll a joint while he tidies up Steve’s pancake mess from the morning. It’d been a slow kind of day: Billy should be working, probably, but it’s a nice kind of afternoon with Eddie in control of the music, the sun hitting the back of his head in a way that looks a little angelic, and Billy’s still a little tired from working the night before. Feels a little stiff, a little like he should take better care of himself.
So when he’s done, he tugs his damp shirt off to toss in the laundry. He watches Eddie light up and sprawl on the couch, and it doesn’t feel weird to just, sit. Make grabby hands for it, to take a hit and the twist and settle with his head on Eddie’s thighs, blowing smoke out with his eyes closed.
Eddie’s a strange kind of bony, really. He’s comfortable, he runs hot when the sun hits him. When Billy blinks up at him through the smoke, he looks serene with the glow of it behind him. He feels safe.
And Billy’s a real asshole.] - Sorry, [he says, handing the joint back up. ] For the basketball thing.
[there’s a lot of parks, which means Eddie will know that Billy’s poking around in his head to find him. in and out, before he’s rolling up on the bike.
he’s real surly looking, when he takes the helmet off. real absolutely miserable, but Eddie probably knows that too. ] A park bench, really?
[ Eddie is laying across a park bench, a pack of smokes out with a lit one between his teeth. there is no newspaper blanket - he stopped in at a dollar general and grabbed a little blankey there. ]
Old habits dying hard. Someone tells me to fuck off and leave them alone, I give a wide berth until I know I'm welcome again.
[ not that steve would go after him the way certain other people did if he returned home before he was wanted. but old wounds ache all the same through their mental connection. he sits up. looking tired. maybe a little cried out. ]
[ After returning from helping Billy moves his bags and spending an evening watching romcoms with Robin (wildly in debate about whether she should dye their hair or shake up her style to get her a girlfriend) Steve enters his and Eddie's bedroom late, pulling off his shirt as he closes the door on his heels. He yawns, toeing off his socks, and starts stripping into his comfy slacks. ]
Mm... I think you've got some explaining to do, Mr. Harrington.
[ he's in bed, but no longer sleeping. The nap had been short, but just a prelude to a proper sleep beside his boyfriend for the first time in a few nights. The prosthetic leg off and resting at its place by the night table, a sure sign that he'd actually relaxed and not feigning it. ]
[ he's come about twice in the last two hours. The date is either going very well, or Billy isnso frustrated it's turned into sexual energy.
His phone dings and he clumsily grabs for it, hand still wrapped around his still hard dick and that sight is all he needs to tumble over the edge. Hips stuttering, head thrown back with a trembling moan.
[ Is the heads up sent, approximately 35 minutes after his last contact and about 20 seconds before a portal opens up on the porch to deposit one Stephen Strange directly outside the front door. He's dressed in his civvies (he'd considered wizard garb for the gravitas but figured it might overshadow the conversation) and will knock on the door to announce himself if there's nobody nearby to greet him. ]
Edited (next day icon choice perfectionism don't mind me) 2022-11-02 13:15 (UTC)
[ Luckily for Eddie Munson, lover of fake magic and loather of real stuff, he's not there to witness the portal and to experience some fucky PTSD style flashbacks of seeing a hole in space time open up where he's not expecting it.
But, okay. A scruffy looking metal head pops the door open. The old weed stank clings to his clothes. ]
Sorcerer Stranger! [ he steps aside, gesturing for him to enter. ] Uh, come in, come in. I'm - Eddie, Eddie Munson.
[Most of Eddie’s gifts are left in their most used room. It’s an unhinged mixture: some jewellery that’s real tacky, new CD’s, a view finder that exclusively only flicks through a series of nudes Billy took for it specifically. Dumb stuff to make Eddie laugh.
Then there’s a bigger box and a smaller one: the smaller one has Billy’s mother mary and the spare key for the bike. The larger has a brand new custom electric guitar, deep black and accented in silver. On the neck, Munson’s Wife is engraved.
The card isn’t enveloped - it just reads: B, ❤️. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
s. harrington; audio
Hey. I didn't mean to bite your head off.
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It's alright, man.
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cw homophobia
cw homophobia
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YOU HAVE ONE NEW NOTIFICATION
BILLY H has uploaded a new video.
[in the earlier hours, long after Billy’s dipped and rode back home, there’s a ping. it goes out to all his subscribers: a soft launch, of sorts. an announcement. with it there’s a video.
it’s Billy, clearly. the scars, all the way down to the dips of his hips. up by his chest, some against his arms. his thighs are unmarked: tanned and taught, slightly spread while he works. work is simple: he palms himself slow through his briefs. works it with slow, methodical, just enough to get his breath hitching. he’s already half-hard, like the very idea of filming was enough to turn him on. maybe it was.
his face is just out of frame though, the focus very much on his hand at the moment. how he works himself hard, until his cock is straining against his underwear, damp at the front and tight.
then he reaches: changes the angle to capture his face. grins lazy and a little high, wets his lips real slow and inches his briefs down. let’s his dick smack free against his thigh, hisses at air and spits on a palm.
he takes this slow too. deliberate, slow and firm strokes, moves his hand just enough to get his head tilted back, throat exposed as he groans out a fuck, squeezing around the head and then smoothing over the tip with his thumb. Billy Hargrove puts on a show. edges himself to the brink and back; does it again and again until there’s tears in those pretty blue eyes, until he can’t stop his own twitching, has a hand loosely around his own throat as he fucks into fist. he’s loud, shameless; he comes with a startled cry, spilling over his hand, twitching in the aftermath.
he almost sobs with the release. pants, catches his breath and then lifts his hand to lick his knuckles and fingers clean. his head lolls to the side, his grin completely fucked out.
just a few moments, just a beat of his breath steadying, and then it ends.]
s. harrington, text;
Re: s. harrington, text;
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s. harrington; text
Apparently dorky glasses are in, now.
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uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
there is a very long delay ]
Where are you?
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getting harrington the bass was a mistake he’s gonna work me to the bone e
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text.
text.
billy doesn't usually ask to call. eddie's sleep mussed but mostly sober, sitting up from a late afternoon nap. ]
Sure.
Its just me here right now.
[ in case its something sensitive and he needs the assurance. ]
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4th wall event; werewolf night.
It smells so good in this room in particular, however, so his wolf-related anxieties are simmering. He can think for himself, knows himself and those around him, but it's becoming all a little too simple. Mate, he thinks of Eddie's scent, and Mine in the same thought. He shakes his head, pawed hand rubbing the side of his skull.
Now that the moon is put away, Steve only has one other real focus and he watches him with golden-hazel eyes. ]
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he's dozing lightly -- the only way he can, when his boyfriend keeps howling at the fucking moon -- when his boyfriend's focus shifts. one tired brown eye cracks open, feeling the weight of those pretty golden hues watching him. ]
... You done scaring off the big bad moon, baby?
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soft
The other three are out, and Billy has to assume they’re shopping. Preppy stuff that preps do. He’s watched Eddie roll a joint while he tidies up Steve’s pancake mess from the morning. It’d been a slow kind of day: Billy should be working, probably, but it’s a nice kind of afternoon with Eddie in control of the music, the sun hitting the back of his head in a way that looks a little angelic, and Billy’s still a little tired from working the night before. Feels a little stiff, a little like he should take better care of himself.
So when he’s done, he tugs his damp shirt off to toss in the laundry. He watches Eddie light up and sprawl on the couch, and it doesn’t feel weird to just, sit. Make grabby hands for it, to take a hit and the twist and settle with his head on Eddie’s thighs, blowing smoke out with his eyes closed.
Eddie’s a strange kind of bony, really. He’s comfortable, he runs hot when the sun hits him. When Billy blinks up at him through the smoke, he looks serene with the glow of it behind him. He feels safe.
And Billy’s a real asshole.] - Sorry, [he says, handing the joint back up. ] For the basketball thing.
s. harrington, text;
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NEW NOTFICATION FROM ONLYSTANS
text; HOURS LATER.
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OKAY NOW THAT THE BF THING HAS BEEN SORTED
♥
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pt 7 of the great gay disaster
he’s real surly looking, when he takes the helmet off. real absolutely miserable, but Eddie probably knows that too. ] A park bench, really?
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[ Eddie is laying across a park bench, a pack of smokes out with a lit one between his teeth. there is no newspaper blanket - he stopped in at a dollar general and grabbed a little blankey there. ]
Old habits dying hard. Someone tells me to fuck off and leave them alone, I give a wide berth until I know I'm welcome again.
[ not that steve would go after him the way certain other people did if he returned home before he was wanted. but old wounds ache all the same through their mental connection. he sits up. looking tired. maybe a little cried out. ]
Fucked up bad, B.
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txt | later that night etc
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Re: txt | later that night etc
1/2
2/2
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much MUCH later.
Hey, you. Glad I didn't have to wake you up.
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[ he's in bed, but no longer sleeping. The nap had been short, but just a prelude to a proper sleep beside his boyfriend for the first time in a few nights. The prosthetic leg off and resting at its place by the night table, a sure sign that he'd actually relaxed and not feigning it. ]
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txt.
i fucked up
TXT
it’s an image attachment. one selfie of Billy’s cum shot facial, tongue against his teeth and vaguely, in the background, the blurry outline of
well, it’s Steve, mostly naked. there’s no other context. just a lil selfie. ]
Re: TXT
His phone dings and he clumsily grabs for it, hand still wrapped around his still hard dick and that sight is all he needs to tumble over the edge. Hips stuttering, head thrown back with a trembling moan.
Fuck. Fuck! ]
Jesus Christ B.
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text ; monster (s)mash
[then:] EDDihue89 EDD ie
[THEN:] FUCK does voice to text work Eddie all capitals i am having a fuck ing problem over here
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Where are you, B?
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action.
[ Is the heads up sent, approximately 35 minutes after his last contact and about 20 seconds before a portal opens up on the porch to deposit one Stephen Strange directly outside the front door. He's dressed in his civvies (he'd considered wizard garb for the gravitas but figured it might overshadow the conversation) and will knock on the door to announce himself if there's nobody nearby to greet him. ]
action.
But, okay. A scruffy looking metal head pops the door open. The old weed stank clings to his clothes. ]
Sorcerer Stranger! [ he steps aside, gesturing for him to enter. ] Uh, come in, come in. I'm - Eddie, Eddie Munson.
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b. hargrove | text
chrissy.
we can help her out:
IMG472837.jpg
crismas
Then there’s a bigger box and a smaller one: the smaller one has Billy’s mother mary and the spare key for the bike. The larger has a brand new custom electric guitar, deep black and accented in silver. On the neck, Munson’s Wife is engraved.
The card isn’t enveloped - it just reads: B, ❤️. ]
b.hargrove, text
i always thought my dad and harrington were full of shit but they're here