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tw Karen Wheeler trying to flirt with Billy
El wants to go to a pool for fun and no way in hell Jim is going to trust Mike Wheeler not to let her drown. She maybe have been in water tanks for telepathic shit, but he doesn't know if she can swim good enough. If it's okay, she can come here with Mike next time. Under supervision, of course.
It's a sunny day. The community pool is crowded, a bunch of kids are screaming and Jim eats his second ice cream to calm himself - it's terrible. Urban horror at its best.
El's eyes are big, she's happy and she's trying to convince Jim to swim a few laps, but Jim hates water. It's just too wet.
So he's walking over to the lifeguard to have a better overview, when he stops dead on his tracks. Karen Wheeler is standing next to the lifeguard, a manicured hand on his arm like she's trying to feel him up. She's smiling, all pink lipstick and blue eyeshadow. Like she dressed up to go to this ratty community pool full of annoying children.
Billy Hargrove stares at her, a frozen grin on his face. Jim can see his jaw working. He looks like a deer caught in the headlight. Karen would probably notice, if she wasn't to busy staring at his abs. He's so fucking young. He's the same age as her daughter.
Jim's temples throb. This isn't right. He clears his throat.
Karen turns around, but her fingers are still digging into Billy's skin.
"Oh, hi!" She's all saccharine and sweet. Jim feels sick. She doesn't notice how wrong this is.
"I need to borrow Billy for a moment," Jim says.
Karen tilts her head. "In a minute, okay?"
"Now," Jim says. He wishes he'd wear his badge and uniform right now and not his swim shorts with a bunch of hibiscus flowers on them. "You can talk to the kid another time."
That seems to sink in a little. Karen lets go of Billy. "I'll be out of your hair."
Billy stares at Jim. He's rubbing his arms where she touched him.
"What do you want?" he asks, blue eyes squinted a little.
"For her to stop touching you," Jim answers. It's the truth, why bother making something up?
"Oh," Billy says. He's still eyeing Jim warily, like he waits for Jim to grab him, too.
"Does she come here often?" Jim asks.
A tiny nod. Almost shy, like he doesn't know if he should really tell.
"Good thing my daughter wants to come here more often." Jim searches the pool for El. She's waving at him. Like she just waited for him to look over.
"Usually Saturdays," Billy mumbles.
"Maybe you could give El swimming lessons in return."
They watch El swim a little. She doesn't have any technique, but at least she's not drowning.
"She isn't doing too bad," Billy says. "You could easily-"
"I hate pools," Jim interrupts him. "Just as much as people like Wheeler."
He didn't ever except for Mike Wheeler to become only the second place for Wheeler he hates most.
"Alright, Chief." Billy clears his throat. "Thanks."
"No problem," Jim grumbles. They stand there in awkward silence for a second. A kid running along the poolside saves them.
Billy blows his whistle. "No running!"
Jim decides to join El at the pool. He'll keep an eye on Karen a while longer.
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goddamn haunted leather jackets, man... 👻
for @billyhargrovebingo | A2: "...and they were roommates!"
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Morning after an absolutely innocent sleepover at Harrington's...
Billy will totally stay for breakfast.. or will he?
(closeups under the cut)
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Harringrove for Turkey-commission for @robthegoodfellow. A scene from "Sideways", chapter 2 (which cracks me up! XD)
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Harringrove for Turkey-commission for @billyharringson, who wanted the boys very obviously flirting with each other but also them being too dumb to realise the other is into them.
Which is honestly right up my alley.
Lots of tongues in this one, folks! XD
Also, as a bonus - feast your eyes on this one, which is honestly my favorite doodle I think I've done:
Everyone's favorite scene. XD We all remember it the same way, right?
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Steve has a shopping list, but it's hard to follow when Billy takes everything Eddie asks for.
as we can see i'm not the best person choosing colors for a drawing lol
I have creative block, so I decided to finish this old drawing, anyway, suggestions will be very welcome
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I see your "Steve needs the planets aligned to sleep" and raise you "Steve is so used to hearing his boyfriends' heartbeats from sleeping beside/between them that one night they have to change routine and Steve is Big Mad about it"
you can't just say this to me, you know I have to write it.
no sleep
(fic requests open)
The bed is still warm when Steve wakes. He curls against it, breathes in the lingering scent of Aquanet and cigarette smoke, traces of Billy left in his wake.
There's a note on the refrigerator door, tacked down by an AC/DC magnet, a reminder that Billy has left to help Max and El move into their new off-campus apartment. The trip has been on the calendar for weeks, ever since Max called to ask for Billy's help. He'd offered for Steve to come along, but work demanded that he stay put. The little red light on the answering machine beckons Steve, Eddie's voice crackling through the speaker when he hits play.
"Hey, baby. Sorry I didn't get to call last night. We ran pretty late. I didn't want to wake you guys. I was hoping to catch you. I know Billy's probably gone by now." There's a pause. Eddie sounds tired. He's across the country, eight hours a day hunkered in a recording studio with the band. It sounds like he yawns before he says, "I'll talk to you later, okay?" Another pause, another yawn, and Eddie says, "I love you." before the line clicks off. The robotic voice of the machine announces that there are no new messages.
Steve pictures Eddie hanging up the phone, stumbling off to bed. He must be sound asleep already. He pictures Billy, too, on the road with the windows down and the radio cranked as high as it'll go, dashboard drumming his way to West Lafayette.
It is rare that the three of them spend time apart. In fact, Steve cannot remember the last time all three of them were pulled in separate directions. Even when Corroded Coffin tours, Steve and Billy do their best to travel with Eddie. If they can't, the two of them are home together, Eddie on speaker phone for late night check-ins. Steve is not used to being alone. Even brewing his morning coffee feels strange without another person to pour a cup for. There's a washed mug on the drying rack by the sink — Billy's from earlier in the morning. Steve takes it, uses it for his own coffee, tries to quell his nerves. Why does he feel so strange? He's a grown man, and so are they. They will both be home soon enough; he will not be alone for long.
Still, that strange anxiety follows Steve throughout the day. He stuffs it down, tries to keep himself busy, until he's home in the evening the phone rings.
"Hey, hon," Billy says when Steve picks up. "Just checking in."
There's music on in the background, the kind of soft pop that the girls have gotten into lately. He can hear voices, Max and El debating which cabinet should house the plates and which is best for cups. They dim and Steve pictures Billy shifting away, perhaps slipping around some corner.
Steve pins the phone between his shoulder and ear and says, "Hey. Everything good over there?"
"Yeah. Yeah, it's all good. The place isn't a shithole, at least." From another room, Steve can hear Max chide Billy. He must pull the phone away because he sounds distant when he laughs and tells her to mind her own business. They joke for a moment, that back-and-forth sibling banter that Steve knows Billy has been missing, and then Billy returns to the phone.
"High praise," Steve whistles. "What time are you heading out?"
"That's the thing," Billy says, and Steve can't help it — he feels worried. He sucks in his breath, hopes Billy can't hear his nerves through the line. "I think I'm crashing here tonight. I just want to make sure they're settled, you know? There's still some shit to unpack. I don't want leave them with a mess."
Steve is quiet for a beat and then catches himself, overcorrects, "Sure. Yeah, of course. Duh. Of course you're staying."
It's Billy's turn to sound worried when he says, "You okay?"
"Of course," Steve says too quickly. He takes a breath, squeezes his eyes shut, pinches the bridge of his nose. Why is this bothering him so much? He should be glad that Billy is getting time with sister, glad that he cares enough to make sure she's safe and settled at her new place. These are good things. But selfishly, Steve had been looking forward to curling up beside Billy that night. It's been hard enough with just the two of them, the bed feeling too big without Eddie. Steve hasn't slept without at least one of them at his side, doesn't know if he can handle being without them both. Selfishly, Steve wants Billy to hear his anxiety, to hop in the car and come home to him. He swallows these feelings, says, "I'm fine."
"You sure?" Billy presses, and Steve thinks about telling the truth, thinks about telling Billy that he needs him here, that he wants Billy beside him when he goes to sleep tonight.
Instead, Steve says, "Yeah. Yeah, I'm good."
Billy doesn't sound convinced. Still, he says, "Okay." He pauses. Steve can hear a TV flick on in the background, can hear El ask Billy if he has any preference. He asks her to give him a minute and then says, "You tell me if that changes, alright?"
"I will," Steve promises, taking down the phone number that Billy reads out to him, adding it to the list they've got pinned to the cork board by the sink. "I love you," Steve tells Billy when he can sense the call ending, can hear the girls vying for his attention in the background.
He can hear Billy's smile when he says, "I love you, too."
Eddie calls much later. Steve is on the couch, flipping through channels, bored of absolutely everything on television, when the phone rings. Steve mutes the TV and answers with a sleepy, "Hey."
"Hi," Eddie says, sounding surprised. "I didn't expect you to still be awake. It's crazy late, baby. You okay?"
"I'm fine," Steve lies. The truth, of course, is that he'd tried to go to bed at his usual time and had spent a good hour tossing and turning before giving in and retreating the couch, desperate for a distraction. The truth is that the bedroom felt too big and too cold and that every little sound grated on Steve's nerves. He'd start to drift off only to hear the air conditioner stutter or the pipes gurgle or the upstairs neighbor stomp across the floor. The pillows didn't smell as strongly of hairspray as they should, and there wasn't enough warm beneath the covers. Steve wanted Billy, or Eddie, or both of them. Steve swallows down these feelings and simply tells Eddie, "I miss you."
"I miss you, too, baby," Eddie says. "Sorry I've been M.I.A. I meant to call earlier. How's Billy? Is he home yet? I bet he passed out already, huh?"
"He's still at Max's," Steve explains, absently toying with the frayed threads of the couch cushion beside him, the spot where Billy would be if he were home. "Decided to stay over, make sure the girls are all settled in. He's coming home tomorrow."
"Oh," Eddie says. "Yeah. That makes sense." He's quiet for a moment before he asks, "You sure you're okay?"
Just like with Billy, Steve thinks about telling Eddie the truth. He doesn't feel okay, and he thinks about saying so. On the other hand, he doesn't want to come across as needy. He doesn't want to be the reason that Eddie or Billy drop important things. He doesn't need them here, not really. He wants them, wants their arms around him, wants the security of their heartbeats on either side of him, the warmth of their skin against his. Steve sighs and says, "I'm good. Just tired."
"Yeah," Eddie agrees. "Yeah, I feel that. You get some sleep, okay?"
"You, too," Steve says, because of course Eddie is tired, is probably more tired than he is. Steve rubs his eyes, and he hears Eddie yawn. "Go sleep," Steve tells him.
"I'm going," Eddie says sleepily. "I love you."
"I love you, too."
Steve feels lonelier when Eddie hangs up the phone. He keeps the receiver to his ear for a few moments after, thinking about calling back, telling Eddie that he didn't mean it, that he's not okay. He thinks about calling Billy, too. But he doesn't want to wake up Max or El just to talk to Billy, to whine to his boyfriend about being alone.
Are they missing him the way Steve's missing them? Eddie's so exhausted, Steve imagines the loneliness must not phase him. He must tumble into bed and fall right out. And Billy, he can sleep anywhere, circumstances be damned. Steve has watched him fall asleep during concerts, curled up in the breaks between bands, tucked away backstage while waiting for Corroded Coffin to go on.
Steve sighs. He shuts off the TV on his way into the bedroom, crawls into bed and tries, again, to sleep. He doesn't know how long he lays there, in the dark, annoyed at every little sound keeping him awake.
The sky is a hazy almost-blue when he hears the front door open. Steve is twilighting, but still far from asleep. He groggily raises his head as hushed voices drift from the hall. The bedroom door opens, bags are dropped on the floor.
"What's going on?" Steve asks. The mattress beside him dips down. Eddie smells like cool air and cigarette smoke; he smooths back Steve's hair, kisses his temple, doesn't even bother changing out of his clothes before slipping into bed beside him.
"We were worried about you," Eddie says softly, arms around Steve's waist. He nuzzles his face against Steve's neck, his warm breath tickling Steve's skin.
"We?" Steve asks.
"You're a bad liar," Billy tells him. He tucks himself beside Steve, too, his arms secure around Steve's middle. He kisses Steve's forehead before tucking Steve's head beneath his chin.
"What are you guys doing?" Steve asks. He's still tense between them, confused and wondering if perhaps this is a dream. Billy holds him a little tighter, and Eddie snuggles a little closer, and they feel too real for his brain to have conjured up.
"If you want us home," Billy says sleepily, his eyes already closing, his fingers trailing lazily up and down Steve's spine, "you just have to say so."
"Yeah," Eddie agrees, so close to Steve that his lips graze Steve's skin, his thumb rubbing small, soothing circles over Steve's hip. "Next time just tell us the truth, okay?"
"I didn't want to bother you guys," Steve admits sheepishly. He can't help it, though. He melts against him, can already feel his exhaustion tugging at his bones. He yawns, settles between Billy and Eddie, lets them hold him.
"You're not a bother," Eddie tells him.
"Besides," says Billy, "don't you think we'd rather sleep home, too?"
Steve wants to cry. He nuzzles against Billy's chest, relishes the feel of Eddie curled up behind him; happily sandwiched between them, the only thing he think to say is a tiny, sleepy, "Thank you."
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Steve trying to figure out where to go to eat with his boyfriends when...
1) Billy with expensive taste who will not eat greasy fast food will pout and sit in the car smoking if they pull up to a McDonalds.
And
2) Eddie who has few "safe foods" which include french fries and chicken nuggets will pout and sit in the car smoking if they pull up to a fancy restaurant.
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My and Max’ (@/celebillustrate on twt or check link in replies) metalsandwich collab! I did the lines and Max make magic with colors. ❤️🔥
✨New
Our second part of collab with roles reversed! Max did the lines I did the colors. Teachers!au but metalsandwich. PE billy, Math Steve, Music (supposedly) Eddie.
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If you’re about to tell me Steve isn’t a shoe guy, you’re lying. That boy has enough pairs of Nikes to coordinate them with his outfit of the day. He would definitely buy shoes for someone he loves, but not Nike because he’s considerate, he’d buy them whatever they like.
Steve loves his Nikes, Eddie has his beloved pair of ratty Reeboks, and Billy is a Converse boy through and through.
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Steve and Eddie are having picnic in the woods
🔪🔪🔪 в вк не репостить🔪🔪🔪
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don't get me wrong i like to read about fictional characters fucking and sucking too but if i want to actually feel something i go for the stories where someone gets told for the first time in their life that they matter and that as long as the person or people who love them are around they're never going to let anyone hurt them ever again. that's the good stuff that makes me shake like a neurotic greyhound on fireworks night.
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