billy x stu oneshots

Just one kiss

Credit to dopeyjoe

Stu was always talking. It wasn't as much that he had anything concrete to say, it was more that he liked the attention. That if he was to shut up, he'd have time to think. Because he could not simply think and talk at the same time, now could he?
It was very cold outside that morning, very foggy. As if a bridal veil had been softly set upon Woodsboro. The front lawn of the huge Macher farmhouse was frosty and white, dry leaves littered over the silent yard. And it was quiet.
Quiet he hated, above all else. That was exactly why Stu avoided being alone as often as he possibly could. This morning was no different, hollow light of the climbing sun leaking trough the naked branches. Empty house, empty fields, empty forests, empty streets. He just wanted to scream to kill the silence, just for a while.
He sat on the porch and bit his nails, staring at the curve of the road. His parents were away for the weekend, as they often were.
It was unbearable to just sit here and wait. Billy was supposed to come over, but of course it was too early. A bit past nine, but for a Saturday morning it was obivous that the boy would choose to sleep 'til noon. Because why would he care about that promise he had made anyway? It wasn't like Stu cared.
Exept that he did.
That was why he sat outside in the cold waiting, while he could have as well settled down in the den to watch mtv, or staid up in his room jerking off or something else super productive.
Sighing accompanied by a roll of his eyes nobody saw, just for the sake of amusing himself with cheap theatrics, he got up to stand again. He had sat there for fifteen minutes with nothing to do, it was a shame he wasn't a smoker. Tucking his tall fingers into the sleeves of his knit in the cold, he spared one more gaze at the curve. There was nobody there.

The house was disgusting when he said there alone. Absolutely repulsive. It made his stomach turn. Opening the front door to step back inside, he left it unlocked for when Billy would decide to actually turn up. His eyes scanned lazily over the wooden paneling on the walls, the beiges and browns that were supposed to bring a rustic, homey feel to the decor. It failed miserably. The house was never welcoming, it was hard to keep a house that size warm. And a cold house was never a treat to return to. But then again, all small houses weren't the best either. Yeah, it was warmer at the Loomis residence- but boy, it was a death trap. Hank was a cunt of a man, exactly the reason Billy spent his time at Stu's rather than at home.
"You look like a cocksucker. No- you look like someone who'd suck cock and then take it up your faggot ass!" Hank would yell, and his voice would slur. And Billy would pretend he wasn't hearing any of it, because Hank was like a toddler when he had been drinking: if you pay attention to him, he only grows wilder.
He was thinking about that, Billy sucking cock that was, as he was walking up the stairs towards his bedroom. Stu's mind wandered often, and yet again he feared it would wander too far and get lost. There was something deeply unsettling about those thoughts; he had known he was gay since he was eleven, when he had been watching Black Christmas on the television. Something about men, but most importantly men covered in blood fascinated him. Naked men covered in blood was a thought that popped to his head a little later. His own blood, preferrably. God, it turned him on.
And as he caught himself with these thoughts again, he supposed he should go take a cold shower to cool off, cut it out before it was too late again. But the flashing images of Billy standing there, covered from head to toe in Maureen Prescott's blood, was arousing him yet again. Deeply, deeply arousing. It had been almost a year already.
But then he thought about it, and he was home alone after all. So why not, for goddamn once, just let himself have that fantasy?
So he opened his room's door, kicked off his shoes and threw himself on the bed. He imagined he had been pushed there by big, rough, bloodied hands. With a swift yank he opened the drawer of the small table next to him. There was a clawed Buck 120 hunting knife there, in the midst of other junk. It was neatly inside of it's dark leather scabbard, and grabbing it felt somehow freeing. He began unbuckling his belt, slowly pusing his hand inside to grab his already half hard cock trough the thin fabric of his boxers. His hand was cool against it, still chilly from the outside frost. Usually he just liked to hold the knife as he went at it, afraid of doing more in case he'd get loud and his parents would hear. But now he was alone, so why not go further this time?
Taking off his pants, then his knitted sweater and the tee underneath, and finally the boxers he had began to leak into, he laid on his back on top of the covers. Taking the knife from it's holder, he looked at the way it glinted in the pale light that filtered trough the thin curtains of his room. Then he began to trace the blade down his skin.
It was a very sharp knife, but he knew not to put any weight on it to make sure he wouldn't cut himself by accident. Even though he kind of wanted to. The further down the knife travelled, the harder he got in his hand. And he began to softly stroke himself with his thumb, the knife slowing down as it reached the slight curve of his hip bone. He squeezed himself harder, faster as the knife point began to scratch on his upper thigh, going lower, lower, inner. And then his muscle twitched a little from the pleasure, and he pressed the knife a bit too hard absent-mindedly. It cut a barely an inch long nick to his inner thigh, not deep at all. But it did bleed.
Dropping the knife onto the sheets by him,
he whimpered and moaned. His eyes squeezed shut, right hand tight around his cock, left one smearing around the blood on the pale skin of his thigh. Then he brought his bloody fingers to his mouth and began to suck on them, muffling out the noises.
"What... the... fuck..?!"
A voice Stu was sure was at first coming from inside of his own clouded head, spoke with genuine, yet monotone and creepily amused shock. It took him a second to realize it wasn't coming from his head- but the doorway of his room. Snapping out of it, eyes flying open, Stu stopped what he was doing in pure panic. A flush of shame, deepest red Billy had ever seen, painted the blond's already a bit pink face. Scrambling for the covers, Stu was screaming for him to look away.
"I'm gonna fucking kill you, don't you fucking look at me!" He screamed, and the tight knot that rose to his throat was threatening him with tears. As he caught a handfull of the comforter to pull over himself, he fell back onto the discarded knife that now laid on the slightly bloody sheets. It cut a long wound to the back of his upper thigh and ass, and the boy wailed.
"What the FUCK are you doing?!" Billy yelled, not sure if he should just back out of the room.
"Dude I cut myself-"
"Yeah I can see that!"
"No man, I cut myself RIGHT NOW and- oh shit-" He was crying a little, not because of the pain but the shock and shame, and there was a lot of blood pouring onto the light blue bedsheet under him as he fought an internal battle in between getting up to help himself, or staying there to cover up that raging erection that made the comforter bulge up. "I fell on top of the knife, it's... it's inside of my fucking thigh, man."
Billy just stood there kind of frozen, his eyes glued to the scene; his best friend, naked, with uneven smears of blood on his lips, cheeks and chest, blood covered fingers covering himself with the blanket.
The bed began to slowly look like a butcher shop.
"Can you go 'til I get some pants on bro?"
Stu's lips were trembling, and Billy wasn't quite sure if the boy was just that ashamed of himself, or that easily clouded by pain.
"Are you fucking stupid? You can't just put pants on that, it'll bleed trough and you'll get all kinds of shit inside of it."
"Then go 'til I patch it up, just fuck off!"
The itch to finish himself off was the most painful part- this was the biggest erection he had had since the night they killed Maureen. And Billy just didn't seem to get the hint, standing unmovingly in the doorway.
"You're gonna need help with that. I'll drive you to the ER."
And then he did get to moving, but to the opposite direction Stu had hoped for. Instead of, say, getting a towel from the bathroom or something, he walked to the bedside.
"Show me how deep."
"No way man, I'm naked-"
"I've seen you naked before, don't be such a fucking pussy."
"It's not- I'm just... god, Billy, I need to fucking finish myself off before I turn purple, man!"
That didn't seem to set Billy back at all. Instead of giving his buddy the privacy he needed, he dug his fingers into Stu's surprisingly muscular shoulder.
"I said show me the wound." His tone began to sound threatening, and with a shameful whine Stu struggled onto his knees. As he did, the knife shifted in the wound a little, making a small flap of skin tear off before dropping down onto the sheet as the boy was no longer on top of it. The blood looked black, but it's flow wasn't as heavy as Billy had secretly hoped for. He was growing hard in his jeans looking at it. Stu's bare ass and thighs covered in blood was something he hadn't figured would turn him on before. But there's a first time for everything.
"What the fuck is wrong with you, Stu? You filthy fucking whore..." His voice growled low, as the boy was standing back against him on his knees on the bed, and Billy pressed two fingers against the gently flowing bloodstream. He wanted to know what Stu tasted like.
"Can I- just let me-"
"What? Touch yourself? Are you a faggot, Macher?" Billy's voice was harsh, he was getting off on this better than he had gotten off on anything else before. He put his fingers into his mouth and sucked off the blood.
"Yes I'm a fucking faggot! Just please, please..." The whining and crying was pathetic. Billy loved it.
"You disgust me." He said as his right hand got off of Stu's shoulder, and moved down from under his arm to his waist, then his crotch, tho his dick that was still painfully standing upright. Mercilessly he grabbed it, and Stu's eyes were actually wet with tears.
"Did you hear me? You're a disgusting..." He started stroking, and his hands were strong and warm.
"...filthy..." Stu was shaking like a leaf against his chest as Billy continued degrading him.
"...sick..." The taller boy was moaning so loud he was sure it could be heard all the way to town.
"...whore."
And after the last slur, Billy bit his ear as Stu cried out, shaking as he released into his best friend's hand.
"Look at you. Ugly, stupid, loudmouth Macher. As if things couldn't go any worse for you. But a fucking faggot? Man, you sure can't pick your genre huh..." Billy laughed, but now that Stu had finished off, the degrading didn't feel good anymore. He was so ashamed of himself he could have just died.
"Stop... please Billy, no more."
"Are you crying?"
"Yes I'm fucking crying man, can you just help me to the ER now or something?"
And something about Billy shifted then.
"Yeah, yeah of course."