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The bathroom smells like cigarette smoke. Like hard alcohol. Like puke.Smokey and astringent and sour.But above and past all that, all Billy can really smell is Eddie. Eddie, up in his face. Eddie, pulling and yanking him forward. Eddie, all sweat and musk and spice.Eddie’s the first thing Billy smells in the morning, head shoved in between Eddie’s armpit and their one shared and lumpy pillow. And he's the last thing Billy smells at night, face tucked up against Eddie’s neck, not even a millimeter between them.Billy’s shoes slide on the slick linoleum floor as Eddie slams the stall door shut behind them. The whole place rattles, the steady heartbeat of the current band’s bass line reverberating through the floors, the wall, the air.The seedy metal club’s bathroom is tight and close. In disrepair, just like the rest of the place. The room is only big enough for a few urinals and one stall with a door that doesn’t even lock, though it hangs mostly shut. A flimsy enough veil that it makes Billy’s heart beat almost louder than the bass.The whole place is gross. Disgusting. But Eddie’s fingers are curled tight in Billy’s hair and pulling hard.“Better be quiet, baby,” Eddie’s saying, his voice a hot whisper in Billy’s ear.Billy chokes back a groan.Not that it matters, though. Even if Billy moaned loud -- or even shouted -- he doubts that anyone would be able to hear him over the din of the music. The heavy thrum of the bass and the kick of the drums.Eddie hadn’t even waited until they got to the bathroom. He’d had his hand straight down the front of Billy’s pants while they were still out in the pit, cupping his dick. He’d been pressed so close to Billy -- standing behind him with no breathing room to spare -- that it had been easy. Practically unnoticeable where his hands were wandering.Or, anyone who had noticed hadn’t cared.Back in the pit, Eddie’s palm and his deft fingers had gotten Billy almost all the way to fully hard in his too-tight jeans-- only to pull away right as Billy’s knees were beginning to feel weak, right as he’d started leaning into Eddie, his breath growing shorter and shorter with every touch.After that, the bathroom wasn't difficult to find. And it hadn’t taken much convincing on Eddie’s part to get Billy into the stall, to shuck his own embarrassment, his own fear over getting caught.Eddie’s always been good at kissing away the bitter aftertaste that fear leaves in Billy’s mouth.The band’s in the middle of a set. And they’re a good show, too -- not many people are likely to push their way into the bathroom to miss it. Even fewer are likely to want to venture inside the stall, should they find themselves in the bathroom needing to piss. Billy can personally attest to how grody the stall is, how unwelcome a place. He can also attest to how often he’s gone into a club bathroom to piss at a urinal, only to hear someone else fucking two feet away in the stall. It’s not unheard of. It’s practically what the stalls are there for. Everyone knows that.They kiss for a while, wet and mean and messy.The metal of the bathroom stall has been drilled straight into the concrete wall of the bathroom, sturdy enough. And it’s not long before Eddie shoves Billy back against it, the knobs of Billy’s spine grinding against unforgiving composite as Eddie rocks against him. It hurts. But it feels so good, too. Like a fight -- but a hundred times better.“Turn around,” Eddie tells him. It’s almost a threat.Billy’s heart jumps right into his throat, pounding hard, liable to choke.But Billy’s helpless to disobey -- dizzy with the need for more, the cruel and insatiable hunger that lurks inside of him.Face to the wall, Billy drops his jeans, legs spread wide enough that they gather around his thighs.“God, so fucking good for me. Look at you,” Eddie says.Billy’s body goes hot. And weak. He can’t help but shudder, shivering even though he’s hot as a flame, sticky with warmth.Eddie doesn’t bother with his fingers. Doesn’t need to, Billy knows.He spits a couple of times -- Billy can hear that much -- and fists his own dick behind Billy, frantic and clumsy enough that Billy can feel it, the way that Eddie’s fist brushes against his ass with every few strokes.And then Eddie’s right there, the molten heat of his cock pressing against Billy, unyielding, until Billy feels his body -- give in. Open up.It aches like it always does. In the way that makes Billy’s veins light up, electric inside him, in the way that makes his dick give an aroused kick.Billy loves it like this. Raw and frantic and animalistic.They fuck enough that it isn’t difficult. That Billy’s body knows just how to yield to the press of Eddie’s cock.“Shit, you’re so good,” Billy hears.Billy feels his cock slip even deeper inside as Eddie thrusts his hips.Eddie’s spit doesn’t do much to slick the way. The drag of skin against skin is rough, near-raw, but it feels so good as Eddie rocks his hips slow.Billy brings his arm to his face, to lean up against, so that he doesn’t have to rest his head against hard concrete. It helps, kinda, that he can hide his head in the crook of his elbow, can bite down on his own skin as Eddie fucks in deeper and deeper -- until he’s fully sheathed within Billy, splitting him open at the seams.It feels so good, is the problem. Tumbling through hurt and pleasure in turns.Especially as Eddie starts moving, as he begins fucking Billy in earnest.The drag of skin against skin is rough, raw -- but Billy’s body knows how to take it, how to relax and fall into the pleasure of it. It’s easy, almost, letting Eddie take him like this.If Billy were honest, it might be his favorite way: so real, so animalistic. So easy.The door kicks open. Billy can only tell because the music gets louder for a moment -- then quieter again as it swings closed again. He can’t tell if someone’s inside, but they must be.Eddie’s palm comes up to cover Billy’s mouth. Like he knows Billy’s gonna get loud, like he doesn’t trust him. And something in that knowing gesture makes Billy feel so known, so seen. Like Eddie knows him better than himself.The air in Billy’s lungs feels stale. Trapped. He can’t breathe, but he’s not so sure that he wants to.Eddie’s hand is sticky with sweat. Disgusting, as he grips Billy’s face hard, pressing Billy in even closer to the wall.No one opens the stall door, but Billy thinks he can hear the sound of someone pissing over the heavy thud of the bass, the drums.Billy’s arm falls, slipping downward, and his forehead grinds against the concrete. His elbows scratch against the rock as Eddie shoves him even harder against the wall.“Better stay quiet, baby,” Eddie says, pressing close, lips tucked up right at Billy’s ear.The rhythm of his hips never stops, never falters. He keeps thrusting into Billy as the stranger empties their bladder next to them, only a thin, flimsy piece of metal away.Billy can’t help but think of the broken lock on the stall door. The fact that the only thing that’s keeping it closed is gravity and hope. There’s nothing stopping anyone from pushing the door open and coming in. Nothing stopping them from throwing fists -- or joining in.The moan that bubbles up from Billy’s throat is unbidden, surprising.Eddie leans in close, chuckles against Billy’s neck, and grips his mouth harder -- all while driving in hard.“Careful, sweetheart,” Eddie warns.Billy’s breathing hard against the cage of Eddie’s fingers. He thinks he might be drooling, too, open mouthed and dizzy as Eddie’s grip tries in vain to keep him quiet with that makeshift muzzle.Billy hopes that the music of the club is enough to cover up his moans. And the sounds of their boots on the ground. And the sound of Eddie fucking into him, hard and fast and brutal -- skin against skin.That last one seems an almost impossible task; it feels like that’s almost all that Billy can hear right now -- imagined or not -- the sound of Eddie’s cock driving into him. Again and again and again, just as fast as the pace of the music, but echoing louder and louder in Billy’s ears.For a little while, Billy’s head spins with feverish thought of it -- the sound of Eddie fucking him, the possibility of someone pushing their way into the stall to do -- anything. Anything could happen, Billy thinks. And he’d be powerless to stop it, pants around his ankles and body already fucked open wide. It makes him warm. Afraid. And so deeply and utterly turned on.Billy drifts there, in that strange and potential eventuality for a while, that nebulous reality.But eventually, before Billy can even register it, the bathroom door opens again. The sound of the club slips inside before fading once more, leaving them in still solitude once more.“Close call, huh?” Eddie says.He almost sounds a little winded now. Breath short, voice low.Billy can’t do anything other than nod.Eddie’s fingers, already slick with Billy’s spit, slip right into Billy’s mouth. Three all at once, almost enough to choke him -- but not quite.It’s gross, disgusting, and the suddenness of it floods Billy with immediate and dizzying heat. Eddie’s fingers taste like cigarettes, like liquor, like his cock -- sour and bitter and musky all at once.Billy groans, loud and desperate, and rocks back against Eddie’s thrusts. He can’t help it -- he needs more, so much more, suddenly taken by the need, the almost frantic desire.“Shit, there you are, kitten,” Eddie’s saying, voice trapped right at Billy’s ear. His breath is hot and humid and heavy, overwhelming enough to make Billy shudder in something near to but not quite disgust.And then Eddie gives him what he needs.Eddie fucks him like that, hard and mean, three fingers in Billy’s mouth while Billy groans and drools around his fingers.It’s not long before Billy starts to feel close, before his body pulls tight around Eddie, all of his muscles tensing up at once. Eddie chuckles and gets his other hand around Billy’s cock, grip rough. He wastes no time in jerking Billy off to the speed of his thrusts -- until Billy is gasping around Eddie’s fingers and spilling into his hand.As Billy’s body spasms around him, Eddie fucks him through and past it. Cock dragging rough against sensitive, tight muscle. Adding sparks of heat to the wash of Billy’s pleasure.Eddie follows not long after, spilling into Billy and leaning heavy against his back after he finishes. A long line of oppressive, sweaty heat.“Shit,” Eddie breathes out, sounding just as wrecked as Billy feels.The wall is cool against Billy’s face. Eddie’s fingers slip out from between Billy’s lips and smear saliva down his chin. Billy pants, breath still feeling just out of reach.“You alright there, sweetheart?” Eddie asks. His lips find Billy’s neck. Wet, warm. He presses a kiss there, along the drumming line of Billy’s jugular.Billy nods.Nonchalant, Eddie smears his come-covered hand over Billy’s shaky thigh as he pulls away. And then he bends down, helping Billy get his jeans back up from the ground. Sliding his pants right up over the mess he made of Billy.Once Eddie’s righted him, put him just a little bit back together, Billy lets himself turn until he’s back against the wall, still breathing hard and heavy. He looks around the stall and grimaces at the puddles on the ground, the mysterious stains on the wall. The crude graffiti.“You ready to catch the rest of the concert?” Eddie asks.“Jesus,” Billy groans.His legs feel shaky. He feels like he just ran a marathon. And his ass fucking aches.“Nah, just the same Eddie Munson as always, baby.” Eddie’s grin is a mile wide.And he looks almost still completely put together, still a live wire -- except Billy knows him well enough that he can see the sweat on his brow, the exhaustion in the lines around his eyes.But Eddie gives him a minute anyway, fishing a sharpie out from his pants with a mischievous look. He crowds in close to Billy and scrawls out something right next to his head.When Billy turns to look, Eddie’s handwriting is obvious:
EM fucked BH right here X
Billy rolls his eyes and tries to comb his fingers through his own hair to make himself look a little less well-and-truly-fucked.“You know that my first initial is W, right?” Billy asks.“Always a critic,” Eddie grumbles. His fingers find Billy’s hip and give a little squeeze. His touch is grounding, warm. “C’mon, you wanna go catch a couple songs and then head out?”Billy thinks of leaning into Eddie in the pit. Pressing against him while being jostled by humanity from all sides. Thinks a little bit of how that will hurt his aching muscles, how light his exhaustion is already making him feel. Almost out of his own head in the best possible way.He thinks of crawling into bed next to Eddie afterward, spent and sore and tired.“Sure,” Billy says. He’s not sure he could think of anything more perfect.Eddie leans in. Steals a quick but dirty kiss.The music is almost deafening when they push their way out of the bathroom. Cacophonous and loud as hell. Billy can feel it all the way in his chest, rattling his ribcage -- overwhelming and perfect.Practically hand-in-hand, they press their way back into the thrum of bodies until the pit swallows them whole for the rest of the night.