We Walk As Men

by Nomelon

Fandom: Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure

Characters: Bill S. Preston (Esq.)/Ted "Theodore" Logan

Rating: NC-17

Setting: pre-movie

Summary: "I'm just thinking about our extreme lack of fortune in the babes department."

A/N: So, uh, yes. I just made Bill and Ted have sex. I am SO SORRY. D:

Disclaimer: Be excellent to each other. Party on, dude.

~~~

"Ted, you remember that time when we were freshmen, and you asked Missy to prom, and she shot you down in front of the entire graduating class?"

Ted choked on a mouthful of his Pepsi. He knew that one day he would look back on such moments as mere trifles, but today was most assuredly not that day. "Bill," he said solemnly, wiping cola off his chin. "We made a pact not to bring up such egregious moments from our formative years. You know childhood trauma stunts your growth."

Bill thought for a second. "That's smoking, dude."

"Oh. Well, we shouldn't do that either. But we're sixteen now, Bill," Ted said more cheerfully. "Summer stretches out before us like an untravelled highway, and we walk as men. It doesn't pay to dwell on the failures of the past."

Ted stared up from his spot on the floor as he chugged the last of his Pepsi and burped expansively. All was right with the world: his new Mötley Crüe tape was playing on Bill's stereo, the July sun was shining in through the window, warm and welcoming, and neither of them had to go to summer school this year.

Things couldn't be any better, and yet Bill had been acting weird all week. Ted didn't get it.

Bill was lying on his messy bed, one sneakered foot propped up on the mattress. He was staring blankly at the Poison poster taped to his ceiling, trailing his fingertips absently over his stomach where his cut-off t-shirt had ridden up. "I'm just thinking about our extreme lack of fortune in the babes department."

"There've been babes." Ted frowned. Hell, yes, there'd been babes. At least three that would still talk to him in public. One of whom he'd even gotten to third base with, briefly at least, and hadn't that been an eye-opener.

"Maybe." Bill got up on his elbows. "Maybe we're doing something wrong."

"Like what?" Ted asked, spreading his hands. "We're in a band, dude. We can do no wrong."

"We haven't bought any instruments yet, Ted. I don't think you can say you're officially in a band until you at least have instruments."

"Oh." Ted sagged. "I guess."

Bill shifted around on the bed until he ended up sitting on its edge, elbows resting on his thighs.

Ted shuffled forward and got up on his knees to look Bill in the eye. "Bill, you look most unsettled, dude."

"That's because I feel unsettled, Ted. I've been thinking..." Bill took a deep breath. "I think we should make out."

Ted sat back with a bump, sprawled out at Bill's feet. "What?" he asked, his mouth hanging open, blinking the hair out of his eyes. This was most unprecedented. "No way. There isn't-- I don't-- What?"

Bill slithered off the bed and between Ted's spread thighs, pushing him back onto a pile of dirty laundry.

Ted scooted back in an awkward crab-crawl until his shoulders hit the wall behind him, but Bill stayed with him, looking both serious and determined -- two expressions that, when worn on Bill's face, Ted had never had much luck resisting. Ted held him at arm's length and waited for the punch-line.

"Seriously, Ted," Bill said. "How bad could it be?"

Ted considered the question carefully. "It could be bad. It could be real bad. It could be worse than the time you peed your pants in Show and Tell."

"Dude! I was six!" Bill narrowed his eyes. "It couldn't be any worse than the time you snorted milk out your nose onto Tammy Cornell's blouse and made it go see-through and she punched you in the nads."

Ted picked up the gauntlet. "It could be worse than that time you fell asleep in History and started asking your grandma for pudding cups and nappy-time hugs."

"It couldn't be worse than that time we took our physical and when the doc said, 'turn your head and cough,' you farted really loud and the whole class heard you."

"It could be worse than that time in gym class when you barfed in the pool."

"Yeah?" Bill said, looking indignant. "Well, it couldn't be any worse than that time last week when we fell asleep after playing Mario for twenty-four hours straight, and when I woke up you were totally humping my thigh."

"It could be-- Oh. Hey. Bogus. That never happened."

"Dude, why did you think I fell off the bed?"

Ted was trying really hard to think of a plausible answer to this when Bill leaned in and kissed him.

Ted thought about laughing it off. He thought about freaking the hell out. He thought about getting really pissed and having his first ever serious fight with Bill. Or, okay, their first ever serious fight since that thing with the power-hose and the exploding paddling pool at Ted's ninth birthday party.

But, as it turned out, Bill was actually an excellent kisser. He smelled really good and he tasted even better. Kind of like Skittles. Plus, his thigh was pressing right there, and Ted's body seemed to be inexplicably okay with this. Clearly he was going to have to sit himself down and have a long, hard talk with himself about how he wasn't into guys. Not Ted Theodore Logan, no sir. He just wasn't. Ted didn't actually know anyone who was, and he wasn't exactly planning on blazing the trail in San Dimas.

This was precisely the sort of shit that wasn't going to help them score with babes.

Bill shifted his weight until he was kind of straddling Ted's thigh and doing this really excellent slide-grind thing with their hips, something Ted was doing his damnedest not to notice. Bill was making these eager little grunting noises as he sucked biting kisses low down on Ted's throat. This kept making Ted open his eyes to peek because it sounded so good. Then he'd flip out a little when he saw a mop of curly hair and the angular line of Bill's jaw, realise he was fooling around with his best friend, and close them again, real fast.

He was so busy not focusing on the fact that Bill was kissing him again -- and, oh, hey, that was Bill's tongue -- and the fact that he had a death-grip on Bill's hips, pulling him in close and giving Ted something to work with, that he completely missed how Bill had snuck a hand under Ted's Def Leppard t-shirt and was stroking over his stomach. Ted could have let this go, he really could have, but then Bill hooked his fingers over the waistband of Ted's shorts and gave a little tug.

Ted panicked, digging his heels into the floor, but there was a wall behind him and a Bill in front of him. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place -- a really, really impressively hard place -- and there was nowhere to go but down.

Bill kept wriggling around, biting at Ted's lips and licking into his mouth in a really distractingly awesome way, and it was all throwing Ted completely off balance, especially since Bill's fingertips were now skimming the waistband of Ted's underwear.

"Whoa, dude," Ted said, licking his lips to speak and tasting Bill, which was just... Skittley. "Don't you think that's a little--?"

Bill just shot him a totally disarming grin as he thumbed open the top button of Ted's shorts and pulled. Ted's stupid, heinous, mutinous fly opened the whole way, giving Bill plenty of room to manoeuvre. He pressed the heel of his hand against Ted's completely illogical boner, and Ted's vision went a little fuzzy around the edges.

"Dude," Ted said, swallowing hard and trying to keep his voice level when Bill slowly rubbed the heel of his hand up and down the length of Ted's erection. "You're totally taking advantage of my pacifist nature."

"Shut up, Ted," Bill said, staring at Ted's mouth.

"But, Bill, I think we--"

"Shut up, Ted," Bill said firmly, and stuck his hand inside Ted's boxers.

Ted's eyes rolled back in his head, and, yeah, thirty seconds of Tammy Cornell's mouth on him to apologise for punching him in the nads didn't even come close to this.

Bill didn't quite have the right angle, but he was working on it, twisting his wrist in a way that made Ted whisper, "Yeah," about a hundred times in a row as his body gave out on him, just sinking back onto the heap of laundry and letting Bill do whatever the hell he wanted. This seemed to involve tugging Ted's shorts down over his hips and making Ted feel more naked than he ever had in his entire life.

Then Bill said, "Dude, I'm gunna."

Ted lifted his head and looked down his body to the bizarre and most unusual sight of Bill's hand wrapped around his cock. "Bill?"

Bill's face was flushed when he glanced up and gave a little nervous nod, like he'd made a decision. He reached up and spread his palm on the centre of Ted's chest and applied just enough pressure to get his point across. His point being: stay still and don't choke me when I go down on you, doofus.

Ted let out a soft little whimper when Bill dabbed experimentally at the head of Ted's dick with the very tip of his tongue.

"Bad?" Ted asked, his voice little more than a croak.

"No, not bad." Bill smacked his lips together, licking them over and over, and Ted's stomach somersaulted. "Just weird. Lemme try again."

Bill ran the flat of his tongue from root to tip, and Ted hit his head off the wall hard enough to leave a bruise. He fisted his hands in Bill's dirty laundry, and just held on, biting on his lip to stop from babbling some truly non-triumphant things about heat, and yeah, and good, and, "god, Bill, your mouth. Holy crap, dude. Yeah. Yeah, right there. Right there, please."

Bill was a fast learner, figuring out just how to hold him and touch him, doing things with his tongue that made Ted groan and strain and lift his hips off the floor, trying to get closer to all that awesome sloppy-wet heat.

It was all over embarrassingly quickly, but, as he came harder than he ever had before -- harder than that time with Wendy McCormick under the bleachers, right before her very angry, very large, quarterback boyfriend had caught them, harder even than those times when he'd used the faithful old numb hand trick -- Ted couldn't find it within himself to care.

The world took a minute or two to filter back in; Ted's breathing ringing loud in his own ears. He realised he had tight hold of a handful of Bill's hair, thick curls damp against his palm, and Bill's sweaty forehead was pressed against his bare hip. Bill was breathing heavily, rolling his forehead on Ted's skin, and palming his own cock through his shorts.

It was a complex moment for Ted, bereft of movement, and full to overflowing with a million and one thoughts bombarding him from every side. In the end, though, it all came down to one thing.

Ted wanted more.

He flipped Bill over, shoving Bill's t-shirt up and going to work on his fly. Bill's eyes were screwed shut, his hands fisted on Ted's shirt tight enough that Ted could hear stitches ripping. He didn't care that Bill came perilously close to kneeing him in the balls. He didn't even care that Bill was messing up his favourite shirt. He just concentrated on getting his hands inside Bill's clothes, and on the strange feeling of someone else's dick in his hand. Suddenly that whole thing about not being able to get the angle right made a whole lot more sense. It was totally weird coming at it from the other side. He worked Bill tight and hard, feeling the warm burn in his bicep, slapping his other hand over Bill's mouth and letting him lick and bite at his fingers to keep him quiet, because the last thing they needed was Bill's dad appearing because Bill kept yelling out Ted's name.

Bill arched up off the floor when he came, reaching blindly for Ted and smashing their mouths together, kissing him fiercely.

They kissed for a long time; Ted discreetly wiping his hand on Bill's laundry when Bill wasn't looking.

"Whoa," Ted said, slow and overwhelmed, when they finally broke apart. He saw trepidation and the bone-deep awesome of post-orgasm bliss reflected back at him in Bill's eyes.

It was amazing, because, really, nothing had changed. The sun was still shining. Mötley Crüe were still singing about Girls, Girls, Girls (the irony not lost on a man of the world like Ted). The laundry they were lying on still smelled kind of funky. Bill was still Bill and Ted was still Ted, but suddenly the whole universe was different.

Things might never be the same again.

"Bill, my friend?" Ted said, a little breathlessly.

"Yes, Ted, my friend?"

"That was excellent."

And they air-guitared happily.

The end.