nsfw
It’s almost one in the morning and Steve opens up the messages app on his phone, seeing the notification from Billy and clicking on it.
A dick pic with an accompanying message: it’s not gonna suck itself.
Steve’s a fucking sucker. No pun intended.
But, he can’t help himself. Not around Billy.
He’s already getting hard just from the picture alone.
He can already feel it in his mouth, stretching his lips and heavy on his tongue, leaking precum in the back of his throat.
Christ.
He responds back: it’s gonna have to bc i’m not driving over.
who said anything about you driving over?
i just assumed.
i’ll be outside in like 2 mins. get your shoes on.
Steve’s hand pauses where it’s stroking himself through his sweats, his eyes widening at the message before he’s rolling out of bed and grabbing a shirt from the floor, along with some socks.
Just as he gets downstairs, pulling his hoodie over his head, he peeks outside and yeah, Billy’s parked at the end of the driveway.
He feels a stupid little thrill sneaking out of his parent’s house, as if he’s not free to come and go as he pleases, and quietly shuts the front door behind him before rushing over to the running car.
Opening the door and sliding into the passenger seat, Billy’s smirking at him and looking down at his crotch, stating, “You got hard over my pic, Harrington?”
“Shut up,” Steve sighs as he leans over, sucking on Billy’s lower lip and giving a soft little laugh as Billy grabs the back of his neck and licks into his mouth, fucking filthy.
Billy doesn’t even go far, just down the street, in between street lights, and leans his seat back a little. Just enough for Steve to not hit his head on the steering wheel as he leans over the centre console.
Steve feels his mouth water as Billy pushes his own sweats down, not even wearing fucking underwear, and pulls his dick out.
And maybe he should be ashamed at how eager he is for this, for these midnight romps, letting himself be picked up and used because it’s what they both want, but he doesn’t feel even an ounce of shame.
Not when he leans down and sucks the tip of Billy’s cock into his mouth, moaning as he feels Billy’s hand in his hair, gripping a handful of it tight in his fist. He doesn’t push Steve down, not yet, but he loves the feeling — like Billy’s anchoring him.
“Fuck,” Billy groans as Steve takes more of him, takes him a little deeper, and purposefully reaches to shut off the stereo, the car filling with the lewd sounds of Steve’s mouth working his cock.
Slurping and sucking like a fucking slut, watching Steve and doing his best to not fuck up into his mouth — not yet.
“Got the prettiest mouth for sucking cock,” Billy sighs, which makes Steve keen softly, a blush spreading over his cheeks as he takes Billy even deeper.
Billy doesn’t stop talking, just grips Steve’s hair a little harder and growls, “Gonna cum down your throat and you’re gonna swallow it like the good boy you are, huh?”
Steve nods and hums, chokes and gags a little as he takes Billy into his throat, hearing the wet click of it and his own dick throbs in his sweats, desperate.
“Might just leave you like this, drop you off at home still hard,” Billy huffs, “Ready to cum in your pants like a fucking whore.”
That makes Steve moan around the cock in his throat, tears gathering in his eyes from the pleasure shooting through him.
“Yeah? You like that, princess?” Billy chuckles mean, “Might just do it. Keep you all pent up, come and visit you in the morning once your folks leave, have you wake up already split open on my cock—”
Fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck—
Steve moans and his hips twitch, his cock pulsing in his sweats as he cums untouched, a wet spot forming on the soft fabric.
“Jesus,” Billy groans, pushing Steve’s head down and keeping him there as his hips stutter, moaning out long and loud as he cums, filling Steve’s throat and mouth.
He does his best to swallow, but he pulls off coughing, his eyes a mess of tears and his mouth smeared with cum and spit as he sucks in lungfuls of air.
Billy’s on him in an instant, licking into his mouth with a deep groan, sucking his own cum off of Steve’s tongue and his spent dick gives a pathetic little twitch of interest.
The blond pulls away with a grin, so familiar now even in the dim light, “I knew you were into that shit.”
“What shit?” Steve rasps quietly, leaning back in his seat with a huff.
“The sleeping shit,” Billy clarifies, reaching over and opening up the glove compartment, pulling out a couple fast food napkins and tossing them into Steve’s lap, “You really want to wake up with me inside you, pretty boy?”
Steve thinks about it with a little pout as he wipes his face clean, imagining it: waking up with Billy on top of him, kissing his neck, already stretched out around his cock, probably ready to fucking blow. Christ.
“We could try it,” he mumbles, balling up the napkin and tossing it into the back with a little smirk, hearing Billy’s annoyed huff.
“Well, you better invite me to a sleepover soon,” Billy hums, turning the steering wheel and making a quick U-turn back to the Harrington house.
Steve smiles to himself, delighted, and teases, “I’ll think about it.”
Billy gives him one last filthy kiss before unlocking the car and smiling, humming, “Night, peanut.”
“Night,” Steve smiles back, the whole thing feeling a little too cute and stupid for late night hookup, and pecks Billy’s lips one last time before getting out and going back inside.
He watches Billy drive off and thinks about that sleepover.
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Ya know I don't see things posted from the feedees prospective much. Describing the cramping, the drum tightness above your belly button and the sore bulging sides.
About the heavy breathing, the stretched tight feeling in your whole abdomen when you breathe in.
Or how about the cottony feeling in your mouth from eating so much, the ache in your jaw from chewing so much. The flavored burps and retching trying to force anymore down your throat.
The weakness and lethargy from trying to digest so many calories, so much sugar and fat. Even your mind feels foggy as you lay there focused on breathing and the tight feeling of your stomach bulging out in front of you.
The excitement and anxiousness of being so helplessly beached, at the mercy of either time or your caretaker. The hazy waiting where time feels like molasses as you're waiting for the bloating to go down. The goosebumps that nails illicit running feather light over the sensitive skin of your poor stuffed belly.
How deeply and soundly you sleep on such a stuffed full stomach. And if you've slept long enough, waking up to that slight grumble or yawning hunger. The need to fill your belly back up, the dread of having to eat even one more bite.
And then comes the aftermath. If you're unlucky and you have to do things after you're stuffed, the tired gait of waddling around with your back arched and stomach sticking out, the strain in your thighs from having to lift your mass up from sitting, even having to rock back and forth to gain momentum when you get truly big.
The hot shame or excitement in your cheeks when you just feel like a fat whale, when you're hyper aware of how far your stomach is sticking out, the width of your thighs and the pudginess of your arms, of how much your double chin squishes when you look down. And there's a lot to look down at, and only more to come.
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Steve: Whatever happened to the concept of less is more?
Eddie: But if less is more, then just think of how much more 'more' will be!
~~~~~~~~~~~
Eddie: Are you good?
Steve: In what sense?
Eddie: Generally.
Steve: Oh, definitely not.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Eddie: You’re giving me a sticker?
Steve: Not just a sticker. That is a sticker of a kitty saying “me-wow!”
Eddie: I’m not a preschooler.
Steve: Fine, I’ll take it back-
Eddie: I earned this, back off!
~~~~~~~~~~~
Steve: I love you.
Eddie: How many people have you said that to?
Steve: Everyone.
Eddie: What?
Steve: I told everyone that I love you.
Eddie, on the floor, crying: You sLut.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Eddie: *Pulls a glass a water from out of nowhere*
Steve: Where did you get that?
Eddie: My pocket.
Steve: How do you keep a glass of water in your pocket?
Eddie: Skills.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Steve: Eddie likes to win. When he was 8, a little Club Scout friend of his bragged they could sell the most cookies.
Steve: Damned if Eddie didn't walk the neighborhood till he got blisters on his feet, and won by 10 boxes.
Steve: Best part is, Eddie wasn't even a Club Scout.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Steve: You are the love of my life and I would do anything within reason to make you happy.
Eddie: I would be happy if you ate, stayed hydrated and got a reasonable amount of sleep.
Steve: I said within reason, Eddie. How about I murder that guy?
Eddie: So murder is in reason but proper self care isn't?
Steve: Well, duh. What kind of question is that?
~~~~~~~~~~~
Eddie: If you spell skeletons backwards, it still spells skeletons.
Steve, deadpan: Wow, I can't wait for Halloween to see some snoteleks.
Eddie: Damnit man, I thought you were dyslexic.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Eddie: The real secret to immortality? Not dying. You want to be immortal? Okay, that’s easy. Just don’t die. That’s it. Refuse to die. There you go.
Steve: But how-
Eddie, ignoring him: “But how”, you may ask. Well, easy. Just don’t do it. Refuse to. Say “no thanks”.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Steve: I need life advice.
Eddie, sipping Gatorade and eating raw cookie dough: You came to the right person.
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Look at what you've done to me, I used to be a merely chubby little thing but now I've grown massive. You've got me hooked on being an obedient dumb farm animal. Addicted to growing, growing, growing, needing to be the fattest pig on the farm, the fattest cow. I can't stop stuffing my face, can't stop eating myself sick, eating until I feel the food getting stuck in my throat and my belly ready to burst! You've done this to me and now I can't stop wanting to get fatter for you!
I'm eating myself into a helpless blob, totally dependant on your lack of mercy, your sadistic tendencies shining through. If I dare to gurgle that I'm too full you double my meal and make damn sure I finish every crumb and lick the containers clean, even if I'm crying and retching through it.
But a part of me wanted this, all of it, to never stop eating myself sick, to never stop growing disgustingly fatter, to never stop being your mindlessly dumb fat cow.
So never stop encouraging me to keep growing for you, never stop telling me to keep shoving handfuls of greasy, sugary junk down my gullet no matter how full I am, never stop treating me like a dumb cow, training me to be obedient to your every command.
Never. Stop.
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