Summary: Before Andie, Steff had everything completely under control.
Before Andie, Steff had everything completely under control.
His house was big enough that even if his mother happened to be home for some bizarre reason, she'd never know who he brought home with him. If it was a whole group of his buddies from school, or if it was just Benny, no one ever noticed. Half the time he didn't even bother to lock the door. The staff knew better than to come in during the afternoon, and he'd be flat-out surprised if his parents even remembered which wing his room was in.
So there were certainly no worries about whether anyone would notice that it was just him and Blane in his room after school.
Still. Steff eyed Blane thoughtfully and turned the lock on the door. It didn't hurt to be careful.
Blane thought kissing was queer. Well, he thought kissing Steff was queer. He'd kiss girls - that was normal, that was right, and that was certainly not queer.
But when Steff crowded him against the wall in his room, pinned him there with his hands and his hips and pressed his tongue in his mouth, he wasn't giving Blane much room to complain. And when he pressed his hand to the front of Blane's pants, stroked him there through the soft, fine fabric trousers, Blane was too breathless and wild-eyed to say anything at all. He just leaned his head back against the wall and didn’t say a word as Steff swiftly thumbed open the button and tugged down the zipper of his pants and jerked him off right there, stroking him sure and steady until, gasping, he came slick over Steff's hand.
And when Steff undid his own pants, slowly, looking at Blane the whole time, and guided Blane's hand to his own cock, Blane didn’t say a word about it being queer. Blane just wrapped his fingers around Steff's cock, all warm and perfect, and moved his hand just right, until Steff was coming all over Blane's fist and his perfect shirt, spurting again and again, getting Blane all mussed and flustered.
And then Steff wrapped his hand, still sticky, in Blane's shirt, and hauled him close, kissing him again until Blane was whimpering into his mouth and not even trying to pull away.
That hadn't been the first time, and it wouldn't be the last, if Steff had anything to say about it. Blane had gorgeous eyes and a sweet mouth, and Steff was fine, perfectly fine, with taking this slow. He'd show Blane how good this could be, get him hooked, get him in. No way Blane could keep up with his uneasy worry about this maybe being queer. Blane had never been able to say no to Steff; Blane had never been able to say no to anybody. He wasn't going to start now.
Definitely not when it was good like this. And it was good, it was really fucking good.
Steff could wait, and if he was thinking about Blane while he fucked Benny, that was his business, and it wasn't like Benny was going to be able to tell the difference anyway. Steff wasn't always sure Benny knew who it was who was fucking her; she sure as hell wasn't ever going to be aware enough to know that he wasn't thinking of her hot pussy, that he was doing his best to drown out her stupid, mewling moans by thinking about how Blane held back, how he panted and bit down against groans while Steff's slick hand stroked his cock so good, so good, so fucking, fucking good…
Steff was careful with it. Didn't want to be too obvious, and Blane wasn't very good at hiding things. It helped that he almost always had a girlfriend, some sweet young thing, someone nice, not trashy like Benny. Some girl he'd treat with distracted charm. Blane was good at that, and he even fucked one or two of them, Steff knew. Steff always knew these things; Blane wasn't any good at keeping secrets.
And Steff, well, he had Benny and you had to be crazy to think they weren't fucking, the way she went after him, like a dog with a bone. It didn't hurt to have that, and he could feel Blane's eyes following him when they partied together, Steff's house full of people he barely knew and probably couldn't stand if he did know them. Drinking his dad's bar, making a travesty of the place; but that was all right, the maids would clean it up long before his parents got back from Milan.
Blane was on the couch with his current girl pressed up against his side, gazing at him soulfully, but Steff could feel Blane's eyes following him as he went upstairs with Benny. Benny was drunk off her ass - again - and he'd been making out with her against the wall, his hand up her skirt, in her panties, stroking her right there while she moaned into his mouth. He'd finally pulled her off the wall and half pushed, half carried her up the stairs.
He felt Blane's eyes on his back the whole way up, and when he was fucking Benny on his parent's bed, he was thinking about Blane's mouth.
Afterwards, he left Benny sprawled mostly unconscious on his bed. He'd looked down thoughtfully at her slack, drunk form, and turned her onto her side, propping a pillow behind her back and sincerely hoping she wouldn't vomit. He was drunk, too, sure, but he could handle himself. Unlike his precious girlfriend. He closed the door behind him as he left. When he got to the top of the stairs, Blane was lurking at the foot like a puppy dog. Steff paused at the top of the stairs, making what he thought was likely a very pretty picture, his shirt rumpled and undone, his expensive trousers and bare feet, and his hair all rumpled. He brushed his hair back off his forehead, deliberately not looking down at Blane.
His buddy Steve staggered into him, and Steff caught him by the shoulder, kept him from doing a header down the stairs. They talked for a few minutes, Steve slurring drunkenly and leaning too heavy against Steff's shoulder. The whole time, Steff could see Blane lurking at the bottom of the stairs, leaning back against the wall, a beer in one hand, the other hand tucked into the pocket of the nice linen jacket he had on. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was calm, cool, relaxed.
Steff knew better.
By the time he made his slow way down the stairs, Blane was staring away from Steff, taking a long swallow of his beer. When Steff walked by, barely brushing against Blane's chest with his shoulder, and tilting his head towards the sliding door that led out back, Blane stiffened, and swallowed hard.
Still, when Steff made his way across the lawn in the darkness, the grass cool and damp beneath his bare feet, he heard the slide of the door being shut carefully, and he knew Blane was following him.
They kissed behind the pool house, Steff pressing him up against the wall there, shoving his tongue into his mouth and palming his cock through his pants. Kissing Blane was nothing at all like the sloppy kisses with Benny - it made Steff feel sharp and focused and deeply, deeply turned on. Blane was panting into his mouth and shoving his hips forward against his hand, and Steff would have dropped to his knees and sucked him off right there, only it would have left grass stains on his pants and, well, no sense in being too careless.
Steff was so used to Blane being there whenever he turned his head that it took him three days to realize he wasn't around anymore. He waited another four before he said anything about it.
He spotted Blane down the hall, pushing his locker door shut and leaning his head against it afterwards. His eyes were closed and when Steff walked slowly up to him and nudged his shoulder, he jumped a mile.
"Hey," Blane said, smiling that smile that he gave when he was uneasy, the one that didn't get anywhere near his eyes. "What's up?"
Steff tucked his hands in his pockets and looked at him for a long moment, until Blane started shifting his feet and his hand crept up to rub at the back of his head. "Come over this afternoon," Steff said finally, easily, giving Blane a warm smile. "You haven't been to the house in a while."
"I -" Blane's eyes darted left, then back to Steff's, and the color was high in his cheeks.
"What, you have plans?" Steff slid his arm over Blane's shoulder, drew him down the hall in a slow stride.
"Kind of…" Blane hedged. "I mean -"
"Nothing you can't break, right?" They got to the door, and Steff tightened his hand on Blane's shoulder for a moment. "Nothing important?"
"I - no," Blane said finally, giving Steff an uneasy grin. "No. I'll be there."
"Ah." Steff took a step back, releasing Blane's shoulder and spreading his arms wide. "Good to know I'm still tops in your book."
"Sure, Steff," Blane said, and now his smile was easier. Blane could never say no to Steff. "I'll see you in a little while."
"Good man." Steff paced away, then pointed back over his shoulder at Blane, shooting him a fierce smile. "Good man, there, Blane."
"Right," Blane said faintly, standing there in the hall where Steff had left him, his arms dangling at his sides like he didn't know what else to do with them. "Right."
That afternoon, Blane was the one who pressed Steff to the bed, holding him there and kissing him fiercely, like he was trying to convince Steff of something, or maybe just trying to convince himself. It was Blane who couldn't take his lips away from Steff's as he fumbled Steff's belt open, slid his hand inside Steff's shorts and wrapped his fingers, hot, around Steff's cock.
Steff kept his eyes open as Blane jerked him off, looking up at Blane's face, where Blane's eyes kept flickering away from him, until finally Blane buried his face in Steff's shoulder, humping up against Steff's hip as he slid his hand so perfectly over Steff's cock.
When Steff came, he had his hand wrapped in Blane's fine hair, holding his head down against his shoulder, biting his lip so hard he tasted blood, and not saying a damn word, not one word at all.
And the thing was, Steff wasn't stupid. He noticed things. He noticed everything. He knew who Blane was mooning over; he knew it practically before Blane did. He'd noticed Blane's eyes following her bizarre hats down the hall for weeks before he saw Blane slipping out the side door during first lunch to follow her into that pit out by the smoking dock.
Blane was an idiot if he thought this was going to work. Blane still believed in true love and destiny and crap like that. Blane saw the world through rose-colored glasses, and maybe that's why he was attracted to Andie, with her low-end thrift-shop clothes and sharp, smart eyes that always seemed to cut through all the bullshit that was laid out in front of them in high school.
Steff spent weeks watching Blane watching Andie, so awkward and preoccupied it made Steff sick; his stomach twisted up and his jaw clenched.
Blane thought Andie was something special, something different. That was okay, that was fine. Steff was good with that. It'd all crumble to pieces around Blane - he was so fucking stupid, he couldn’t even see that - but Steff saw things clearly. He could wait. It was only a matter of time.
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