#Suometar writes
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✨ This is my contribution to the Harringrove Relay Race! ✨ @harringrove-relay-race
Screwdriver
S: I'm not looking to fuck right now, but my bathroom sink is currently flooding the bathroom
S: I know it's kind of random, but can I borrow a flathead screwdriver by any chance?
S: I don't really know my neighbours and you're the closest person to me on Grindr
S: 😅
Billy stared at the four messages he'd received, not quite knowing what to think about them. They were from Steve, the guy he'd been messaging on Grindr for a while here and there.
It had been a kind of a mistake for Billy to even see Steve's profile. Steve had said he had been meaning to delete the whole profile since all he'd gotten through it was heartache and pain, but then had decided against it. Billy had the same kind of experience, so he'd suggested that they could just talk. And Steve had agreed.
They really didn’t know that much about each other, they talked about just casual stuff; work, TV shows and such. But Billy didn’t have anything special to do that evening, so why not. Steve seemed like a decent guy and Billy had an extensive selection of tools at home because of the Camaro he’d kept as a second car since it always needed something to be fixed.
B: Yeah why not.
B: Send me your address and I’ll bring it. BTW you should turn off the main water in case you haven’t yet.
Billy put his phone into his back pocket and went to the garage to rummage through his tools. Soon the phone blipped with a message.
S: Thanks, the water’s turned off. I’m panicking, didn’t even think of that. The address is 357 Oak Street, 3rd floor.
Billy snorted.
B: No problem. I'll be there in fifteen.
Steve didn’t actually live that far from Billy, which was surprising. Billy was sure he had never seen Steve around. Brown-haired, doe-eyed and tall men were his kryptonite. He was pretty sure he’d remember a guy looking like Steve.
He parked his truck and Steve buzzed him in.
Billy stepped out of the elevator in Steve’s floor. It wasn’t hard to know which one was Steve’s door: it was the one ajar through which he heard cursing. He walked to the door and knocked on it before opening the door wider.
“Hey, it’s Billy,” he said after he opened the door and couldn't see anyone in the corridor.
“Yeah, come in, I’m a bit busy right now,” came from somewhere behind the open door. “Shut the door.”
Billy closed the door and turned to look at the corridor opening behind the door – and almost inhaled the gum he’d been chewing, followed by a coughing fit.
Steve was on his knees on the bathroom floor, leaning under the sink into the sink cabinet – his ass high up in the air, clad in nothing but wet, green basketball shorts that were glued to his ass and his hairy legs – jesus christ how can someone be that hairy – and not leaving any other assets to imagination either.
He backed out from the cabinet, turned around and sat on the floor. “Oh good, thank fucking lord,” he let out, looking tired but clearly relieved. When he saw Billy all red from coughing, his expression turned worried. “You okay?”
Billy nodded, still trying to catch his breath, and lifted the toolbox in his hand.
Steve got up and walked to the bathroom door, looking flustered and rubbing his hands to his thighs.
For fuck's sake would you stop doing that Harrington.
Billy was half hard already from seeing that wet ass, no further sights needed.
“I wish we could’ve met under other circumstances,” Steve said, smiling awkwardly, not knowing where to place his hands, on his hips, his arms crossed, again finding their place on his hips. He pointed at the toolbox. “Uh… I needed only one...”
Think about the tools. THE TOOLS.
“There are more than one size,” Billy croaked before coughing a few last times to his sleeve. “You didn’t tell me which, so I brought all I have.”
“Oh.”
“Oh?” Billy asked, his brows raising.
This is turning into a porn film cliché.
Steve turned red and grimaced, trying to turn it into an awkward smile. “Like I said in the message, I panicked.”
If he curls his hair around his finger and bats his eyelashes a few times I swer I won't be able to hold it.
Billy looked Steve in the eyes for a moment, trying to concentrate to all possible horrors of mismanaging a burst water pipe or a broken tap could cause. Then his eyes fell to Steve’s chest and the dark hair, a lot of it, that was clearly visible under the wet white t-shirt and he felt himself blushing.
Act normal, act normal, act normal....
To keep his thoughts on the task, Billy set the toolbox on the floor and took off his jacket and set it on the chair that was in the corridor. “Okay, let me take a look. Is the floor wet?”
Steve shook his head as he stepped aside to let Billy into the bathroom. “Not anymore. I mopped the floor, but I just didn’t see a point in changing clothes. Didn’t want to get the rest of my wardrobe wet.”
The bathroom was small, so they brushed against each other just a little as they passed, enough for Billy to get a whif of Steve's scent. He smelt of cedar wood, hairspray and a little sweat – a winning combo, apparently, since Billy's had to hold back a whimper and lock his eyes to the sink cabinet. “You didn’t think to call a plumber?” he asked, trying to keep his voice even, as he squatted in front of the sink and looked into the cabinet to check what kind of screws he had to open.
“I did. The one I reached said that if the drain isn’t clogged and the tap isn't leaking there’s no point in me paying for the nighttime extra and that he comes to fix it first thing in the morning. But he said that I should get rid of anything that’s under the sink so that he can get to work when he arrives. So I was doing that when I realized that I didn’t even have a coin I could try to pry open the screws.”
Billy took a deep breath. “Okay, well, that’s good. Based on your messages I was afraid that you were trying to fix the pipes with the screwdriver.”
Steve snorted, amused. “Well, I might not be a handyman but even I’m not that dumb.”
Billy looked up at Steve with a smirk. “You need to take this cabinet out for the plumber?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, it’s good then that I brought my whole toolbox then because not all of these won’t open with a flathead, they need a Phillips.”
“They need a what now?” Steve asked, raising his eyebrows.
Clueless pretty thing, definitely checks the box.
Billy got up and chuckled. “I’ll take the cabinet apart for you, now that I’m here. But could I get a glass of water first? The coughing…”
“Oh, yeah, sure,” Steve said and left the bathroom to fetch it.
Billy was setting up the electric screwdriver when Steve returned with the glass.
Steve was still wearing the same wet clothes, because of course he was.
I want to claw those off and bury my face into that chest hair.
Steve looking down at himself all of a sudden made Billy realize that he had probably stared a bit too intensively and blushing. He downed his water quickly before handing the empty glass back to Steve.
“Uh… I’ll leave you to it,” Steve said, smirking. “I'll go change.”
Yeah, you had to point that out. What, you want me to follow instead of taking this shit apart and fuck your brains off?
Well, okay, maybe Billy wanted to do that, but that was not what they'd agreed upon. Better if he stayed on his lane, for now.
This isn't a porn film, not a porn film...
“Yeah, this shouldn’t take long,” Billy replied, not daring to look back at Steve again, and got to work.
Once he had taken the cabinet apart he put away his tools and looked into the living room where the bathroom opened to. Steve was sitting on the couch, staring intently at his laptop and tapping away. He was wearing eyeglasses, something Billy hadn’t seen in any of the photos Steve had shared online. They fit him, framing his face nicely. Billy's eyes wandered lower and he realized that Steve was wearing only sweatpants, his glorious chest hair all on display. There was a lot of it indeed.
I want to press my nose into that, snuggle into it, run my fingers through it, tug it when I come. He cleared his throat. “Uh, I took the cabinet apart.”
Steve looked up, smiling and put the laptop away. “Hey, that’s awesome. Thanks, man! How can I repay you?” he asked as he walked to Billy.
Do not think about it, do not think about it, DO NOT…
“Uh...” Billy managed to get out, rubbing his neck with his hand. This wasn't a fucking porn film, he reminded himself, even if a handyman came to fix something at the house and oops, only the good looking little missus is at home, wearing skimpy clothes and instead of fixing anything they end up fucking against the kitchen counter like horny bunnies. Okaaayyy, well, Steve had been wearing wet skimpy clothes that left nothing to imagination and now he was wearing even less, he was maybe also a bit clueless and…
Billy tried to keep his head in check and glued his eyes on Steve's face. “Can I take you to dinner?”
Steve raised his eyebrow and measured Billy from head to toes with a lazy gaze.
Billy felt naked.
Steve smiled. “Uh… Should I be the one doing that, though?” He was quiet for a moment and smirked. “What if I'm all out of money and you have to get your pay, are there other ways I could do that?”
Billy swallowed and turned beet red. He let out a laugh and licked his lower lip.
Steve hooked his right thumb on the waistband of his sweats, pulling it down a bit and revealing the beginning of a very hairy happy trail.
The fucker.
Billy started to unbutton his shirt. “Well... Maybe we could come to a mutual agreement about that.”
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Please look forward to the lovely, wonderful and amazing work from the next contributor @hg-deranged-edition
=====
The ficlet is based on this meme:
#harringrove relay race#harringrove#harringrove ficlet#harringrove fic#steve x billy#billy x steve#suometar writes#stranger things#billy hargrove#steve harrington
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In case you're still taking WIP Wednesday asks:
Old flame
I am! And thank you for asking!!!
Old Flame is really old draft I just recently remembered. Sometimes when you take a look at something you've drafted a long time ago you're like, is this my idea? I came up with this? Wow! This was one of those :D
But Steve really wasn't over Billy. He never was. When Eddie realised this he felt jealous and sad, but he loved Steve and wanted to just be a part of his life, so... “You know...I've always known that I love you more than you love me.”
“That's not true, Eddie.”
“No, it is, and you know it. And I'm happy despite that I get to share my life with you. I hope you love me at least on some level. But I know Billy is the love of your life. I know that now and it's fine.”
Steve looks at Eddie with tears in his eyes. “I never really got over him leaving,” he whispered.
Eddie smiled sadly. “I know.” He paused. “I think you should talk with him about it.”
“No. He's gotten over me.”
“Steve,” Eddie said, leaning to his elbow. “The way he looks at you...It's exactly the same way I look at you. He still has feelings for you.”
#wip tag game#Wip wednesday#my wips#suometar writes#asks#answered#post-and-out#harringroveson#steve harrington#eddie munson
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WIP tag game: Tell me about Touch Starved Roommates and A Late Visit please!
Touch Starved Roommates already answered here. :)
A Late Visit is the first fic I started writing for FF7R a while ago. I’ve been thinking about turning this story into a whole fic series where four characters are in a poly relationship together (I actually posted a little gifset about that on my side blog heh :)) and write different stories/versions about their relationship. This first part would be a smutty one-shot between Zack and Cloud.
I will ramble a little bit more about this idea under the cut and post a snippet of said story. If you’re curious about that, feel free to check it out. If not, then feel free to skip this altogether. :)
—
So, my idea here is that Cloud and Zack are old friends who used to be soldiers working under the same company. Then, Some really bad shit happened in that company, forcing them both to quit and look for work as mercenaries instead.
They both have girlfriends—Cloud’s with Tifa and Zack’s with Aerith—who also happen to be best friends with each other (possibly even girlfriends later).
So, Tifa and Aerith are out having a girls’ night, and the boys stay home. It's late at night and Cloud feels bored and lonely. So, he calls Zack, who's equally bored and lonely, and so Cloud rides his motorcycle to Zack’s and Aerith’s place to spend some quality time with an ‘old friend.’
The boys hang out and chill together, talk about work and girlfriends, and reminisce about the good old times. They drink some beer, a little bit of something hard and bitter as well, and as a result, start feeling tipsy. Because they’re old friends and went through some truly tough times together—could be some old, long-buried feelings still linger there under the surface... buried but not forgotten—and so, one thing leads to another. :)
And here’s that snippet that I promised:
—
There’s a silver barbell on Zack’s belly button. It glimmers with a small, clear diamond. Probably fake, but Cloud’s not an expert and doesn’t really care either. It looks very elegant on Zack… and incredibly hot.
The room temperature suddenly gets two or three degrees warmer. Cloud feels his brain short-circuit for a good long minute or so. His eyes go wide, and his mouth goes slack.
Zack clears his throat, drawing Cloud’s attention, and cocks his eyebrow. “Like it?” There’s a hint of smirk on Zack’s face, like he knows something that Cloud doesn’t. Bastard.
Cloud looks away, and he feels his face burn. It’s not polite to stare. Especially at a guy who’s his good friend, who Cloud totally didn't crush on in the army; who's still hot, if not even hotter now; and who's totally not taking advantage of his good looks by strutting around the house wearing that slutty crop top, showing off those killer abs and the belly button piercing. Not to mention those snug dark jeans that hug his muscular thighs and firm ass just right.
Zack's smug face isn't helping, and knowing him, he's probably drinking it all up, enjoying Cloud's embarrassment. After all, Zack was always the one who preened and loved the attention (he's basically a puppy), whereas Cloud's shy and awkward and hated having all eyes on him. He still does.
Cloud's mouth feels dry and his heart beats so fast, but he finally dares a glance at Zack again. Who's still very much smirking and even quirks an eyebrow at him. Idiot.
"Looks good on you," Cloud finally attempts, croaks a little, and then tries not to cringe about it. "When'd you take it exactly?"
Zack practically beams at that. “Oh, I don’t know, six months ago maybe?" The brunet replies. All casual, like it's no biggie. Like having your belly button pierced is the most common thing in the world. Cloud frowns.
“Okay, so... What prompted you to take it?” He asks gently, genuinely curious now. He’s always known Zack to make decisions in the heat of the moment. The guy's carefree like that; doesn't really care what other people think about him.
Until he wants attention and praise, that is.
Zack laughs and shakes his head. “Well, there was this one time I got a bit too drunk at Seventh Heaven, and we had this stupid bet with Reno-” Cloud instantly rolls his eyes at the mention of Reno, “-that whoever loses the drinking game has to get one body part pierced.”
Cloud grunts, incredulously. “And you lost to Reno, of all people?”
Zack could always hold his liquor better than Cloud—in fact, there had been a couple of instances where Zack had literally had to carry a passed-out Cloud over his shoulder all the way from a pub back to his own apartment.
Something that Cloud prefers very much not to think about right now or how strong Zack really is. It's not doing him any favors here.
“Weird, right? Thought it was gonna be a piece of cake ‘cause you know me and how much I can drink, and there's no way that scrawny little asshole could ever beat me, but believe me or not, Reno can really hold his liquor. Apparently,” Zack laughs nervously, rolling his blue eyes a little. Cloud still doesn't quite believe him.
Zack continues: “So, after Reno had me beat at that game and we were like, totally wasted and all, he tried to change the rules. 'Cause that's Reno fucking Sinclair, right? Like, sheesh, fuck that guy. Anyway, he was gonna try changing the rules so the winner can choose which body part you have to get pierced.”
Cloud instantly grimaces and scoffs. Knowing Reno, he’s not exactly surprised to hear that.
"And knowing Reno and his twisted little mind, he started going back and forth about whether I should get my nipple, or hells, my dick pierced." Cloud's eyes go wide, and he actually snorts a little. Zack fervently continues, "Which, I'm not gonna lie, made me really fucking nervous 'cause could you even imagine getting your dick pierced? Like, how painful it could be?"
Cloud shudders; his shoulders shake. Although he can't deny there's a certain appeal to it—like, he's really straining not to think about Zack's dick right now and how it would look pierced—still, the whole idea sounds extremely painful to him.
He offers his friend a sympathetic look instead. “So, what happened, then?”
“Well,” Zack smirks. He drapes one tanned, muscular arm over the backrest of the couch. Just behind Cloud’s head, which the blonde desperately tries to ignore. “Your girlfriend happened. You know how Tifa gets when she’s pissed, right?"
Cloud nods like it’s obvious. Of course he does—she’s his girlfriend, duh.
"Like, she just stared down at Reno with this kind of menacing look on her face that still gives me chills-” Cloud smiles; he knows exactly what Zack is talking about. “And she reminded him of some ‘agreement’ they have. I don’t know what that’s all about, and I’m not sure I even want to know, but Reno totally paled out. I’ve never seen him that freaked out or witnessed anyone shut his mouth as quickly as Tifa did, so it was kind of funny. So, there. All thanks to your wonderful girlfriend, my dick and nipples are still intact.”
Cloud smirks and hums at this. So very proud because that's his girl and he knows he can always count on her to do the right thing. He finally dares to peek at Zack's piercing again, still feels slight heat on his face and gives it a pointed look. “So, how’d you end up with that one?”
Zack kind of beams again and then looks down, almost shyly. “Ah. Well… it was Aerith’s suggestion, actually. She thought it would look good on me, so I took it. And then she said she likes it, so I haven’t taken it off yet.”
#replies#suometar#wip ask game#zakkura#clack#my writing#i've been thinking about this one a lot#but if i even manage to turn this into a series then. oh boy#there will be so much smut and i'm not very good at writing smut i think *cries*
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Comment Bingo Trial Run
Very simple rules: connect 5 squares in a line by completing the task in each square
Very simple goals: encourage readers to comment on fics; encourage fandom writers to KEEP WRITING
STEPS:
Download Bingo Card HERE (png) or HERE (jpg) or HERE (pdf)
Complete the tasks on the card, marking off each as you go, until you've completed 5 in a line (vertical, horizontal, or diagonal; NO double-dipping; kudos ♥️ is a free space)
REBLOG/POST your winning card (or list your filled squares) and tag @feedthefandomfest! Glory in your victory.
PROPOSED REWARD:
Bingo Badge!
@ihni and I thought it'd be fun to receive something commemorating a win (who gets bingo first isn't the point—ALL BINGOS are wins), in which case, there could be different tiers of achievement:
Bingo Badge (one line filled)
Double Bingo Badge (two lines filled)
ELITE Bingo Badge?? (ALL squares filled—for the ambitious, or at least for @ihni who will prob eat this card for breakfast)
I can make a badge with my limited Canva skills, but we thought it'd be cool if fandom artists came up with different designs? So if any artists wanna contribute, let me know.
If enough people are into this, I'm open to planning a more organized event, but figured this would be fun to try out for now.
no pressure, just tagging anyone who seemed interested: @sanguine-tenshi, @adelacreations, @redfeathered, @heartbreak-sandwich, @magniloquent-raven, @sepulchralsmile, @inquisitiveadventuress, @mrprettywhenhecries, @1jet2unknown, @iravenish, @six-demon-bag, @billyharringson, @suometar, @tciddaemina, @phoenix-burns-wildly, @lafey, @doctor-of-war-and-heartache, @supercomplicatedperson, @g-arya, @hesitantsorrows, @soap-lady, @fan-written, @we-want-mini-mini, @komatsuna-yuki, @calico-kiwi, @pinkittwice, @puppylove24680, @starcourtjesus
P.S. To facilitate unhinged liveblog comments, install the AO3 Floating Comment Box!
if you have any questions/concerns/suggestions, let me know! 💛
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Welcome
The response to the Comment Bingo has been amazing so far! Let's keep that momentum going. If you want to join, you can play with the original card or choose one of the other available cards:
one designed for Beginners (new or nervous commenters)
a Fluff Edition, Smut Edition and Angst Edition to find/comment on fics with themed tags
This blog is intended to promote anything and everything related to fic writing and commenting. In the fandom ecosystem, both creators and enjoyers are essential, but especially active creators and enjoyers—by which I also mean interactive.
For now, this is what I can guarantee from this blog:
more bingo cards for readers, featuring a mix of old and and new commenting tasks
bingo cards designed for writers (daily writing tasks; prompt tasks)
resources on commenting: etiquette and how-tos, etc.
celebrations of commenters who earn bingo (✨victory badges✨)
fic recs from bingo players who post the works used to fill their cards
OG Bingo Winners Board: Single, Double, Triple, Quadruple, Quintuple, ✨FULL CARD✨
Fluff Edition Winners Board: Triple, ✨FULL CARD✨
Depending on level of interest, this could also be a space to host more ambitious events (ship- or fandom-specific comment drives, comment drives for categories of fic with typically less traffic, etc).
Always open to feedback and suggestions! Here's the running FAQ post for the bingo trial.
The goal is to foster as much positive fandom engagement as possible 💛 Keep fandom well fed!
no pressure, just tagging anyone who expressed interest in the bingo trial run:
@sanguine-tenshi, @mrprettywhenhecries, @tciddaemina, @tapedsleeves, @unquantifiablefucks, @1jet2unknown, @doctor-of-war-and-heartache, @sterekbros, @evanesdust, @g-arya, @suometar, @camaro-and-smokes, @dragonflylady77, @redfeathered, @iravenish, @nibupei, @larkandcarry, @im-psycho-btw, @luimagines, @kallisto-k, @yallwildinrn, @adhd-merlin, @ah0yh0y, @neewtmas, @six-demon-bag, @silent-silver-slip, @magniloquent-raven, @garden-variety-jumo, @autistic-katara, @ghuleh-recs, @kissingghouls, @thissortofsorcery, @the-ravening, @toburnup, @gunshou, @daddiesdrarryy, @starryeyedjanai, @cattailhighway, @hexiewrites, @to-spread-the-ministry, @skystamp, @goddamnedamericanjedi, @likeapaperplane, @forgottenkanji, @minnichan, @asoftspotforangels, @lungache, @the-marron
#hit the limit on tagging people i think#so i'll reblog and tag more#sorry if that's obnoxious idk how else to direct attention here from the original post 😅#feed the fandom fest#comment bingo
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Tagged by my love @disdaidal (thank you😘) to make a collage/moodboard of
Favourite movie, character, animal, season, food, place, colour and hobby
Movie - plenty, let it be "Back to the future"
Character - Billy Hargrove
Animal - racoon
Season - August/September, golden autumn
Food - pickled vegetables, burgers, rolls, watermelon
Favourite place - ocean (live far away from it tho), the countryside, my bed/my apartment
Colour - various shades of turquoise/blue
Hobbies - beads, reading harringrove, hg headcanons and as of recently writing harringrove
It was fun! ❤️ Tagging (no pressure, only love) - @oopsiedaisiesbaby @thissortofsorcery @makeadealwithdean @rascheln @adelacreations @akichania @akioukun @memes-saved-me @suometar @edith-moonshadow @hoegrove @starkstruck27 @darleenjade @spaceofentropy @prettyboy-like-you @manwrre and anyone who'd like to do this fun game)
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If Billy had survived, it would've been beautiful- because too often in real life abuse victims can't get out. The only escape they may see is death.
And for Billy, who's lived his whole life with his abuser, to stand up to a monster and to live...
When he recovers, he knows the truth: that if he could stand up to one monster and win, then he can stand up to his father.
Billy looks straight into Neil's eyes as he snatches the key to the lock on his door, and jambs it into the flesh of Neil's hand before walking out the door, making sure he sees another blond walking away from him.
Susan shoves the crumpled divorce papers into Neil's mouth, and Max smacks him, spitting the words "That was for my brother" in his face.
Billy nods at Susan and waves at his former step-sister, who launches at him, wrapping both her arms around his bandaged waist.
"What the fuck are you doing?"
"I'm hugging my big bro."
Stunned, Billy hugs back.
"You're always welcome to come with us, you know," she says quietly.
"I can't. I need to start over, and I can't do that in California anymore than this hick town."
"Then where will you go?"
"Isn't it obviously? He's with us!" Argyle calls out from his van, grinning from ear to ear. El, Jonathan, Will, Robin, and Steve roll down the windows, looking happier to see Billy than anyone's ever been.
"But where are those morons going?" Max demands, still hugging him.
This is the longest anyone's hugged him.
"I don't know. I think that's a good thing, though, don't you? Not knowing what's coming?"
Max's eyes crinkle up as she smiles tearfully, wiping Billy's own tears with her thumb. "Yeah, I do. Swear you're gonna write, dickwad?"
Billy squeezes her hand. "Promise. You can't get away from me that easy, Maxine."
"Good, William."
"This is all very nice, but can we go now?" Rohin says thickly, dabbing her eyes.
Billy and Max flip her off at the same, and Robin snorts, letting the siblings have their moment before they go their separate ways.
But not forever, Billy thinks to himself, strapping his seat belt upon Jonathan's insistence as he watches Neil's house and the Mayfield's car grow smaller.
He turns forward, putting both behind him.
Has the world always been so vibrant and colorful? He feels like he's opening his eyes for the first time, seeing everything in a whole new light. Himself, too.
"Alright! I call dibs on the radio!" he announces, clapping his hands.
***
Tags:
@belovedharringrove
@gracethieved
@hephaestn
@grey-sides
@harringroveho
@harringrovetrashh
@ouizzyharringrove
@whoringrove
@m0isttoenails
@deedoop
@polaris-ursae
@justan-0-t-h-3-r
@suspiciouslackofclowns
@jaethecreator
@stevewhoreington
@wixterirox
@eddiebillysteve
@emeraldwitches
@suometar
@skyesayshi
@magellan-88
@deathinasmalltown
@onebrainsel
@dragonflylady77
@dragon1d
@cherry-sorry
@cherixsays
@spaceboxkitty
@talesfrom-theupsidedown
@flayedintheusa
@officialjoekeery
@angelshiba
@namorian
@billys-bitchh
@inchronicpain
@shipworm
@bowiebond
@phishyie
@prettybillycore
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Tag game!
Tag game: Tag 9 people you want to get to know better!
Thanks for the tag @medusapelagia !
Favourite colour: black (boring I know, so emerald is my close second)
Last song: Atlantis by Seafret
Currently reading: Ariadne by Jennifer Saint
Last movie: A Life Less Ordinary
Sweet/spicy/savoury: Sour & sweet
Currently working on: for writing I've got the ST Reverse Big Bang, Harringrove Kinktober and my WIPs (far too many to list but I'll post a new WIP list soon); otherwise I'm making quilts for my niece and nephews
No pressure tagging (and feel free to join in even if I didn't @ you): @guggi04 , @frozenmemories1987 , @stormkpr , @lemongizumo , @spaceofentropy , @billysbuttcheeks , @suometar , @destroya2005, @intothedysphoria
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come a little closer (i want you to stay a while)
happy new year yall 💕 i had a lot of fun writing this @harringroveholidayexchange gift for @suometar and i may have gotten a little carried away lmfao this is now my longest finished fic
read on ao3
~ tag list babes @spreckle @growup-thatbeautiful @prettyboy-like-you ~
---
Steve knew this Christmas would be different than what he was used to.
Being surrounded by sprawling fields of shrubbery, for one. Clear roads and green squares of grass. Steve's never been the biggest fan of snow—it's just a whole mess when it melts in his hair, okay—but winter is odd without it. Mild and dusty, like a dry spring. Makes the twinkling lights and glittering displays of plastic evergreen seem out of place. Aspirational at best. Sad at worst.
But he came to California to be with friends, Dustin invited him along, actually wanted him to be there. That's the difference that really matters.
He left his father a voicemail, and had a long chat with his mother while she worked her way through the minibar in her husband's hotel room. "Good for you," she'd said warmly, with pride, when he told her he wouldn't be driving up to Chicago for Christmas. He thought she'd fight him on it. Insist he grit his teeth and bear it, because she had to, so why should he get off easy. It was a weight off his shoulders when she let him go.
This year would be good. He'd get to be with people who actually want him around. No tailored jackets with itchy collars and professionally wrapped boxes of perfumed tissue paper, hiding slacks that wouldn't fit and gift cards to stores he'd never been in. He'd get to make new memories.
And it's been all of that. Different. Better. He woke up on Christmas morning to the smell of pancakes and coffee, laughter sparkling in the air, and lights twinkling through filmy lace curtains. He felt like he was part of something when everyone congregated in the kitchen, their elbows bumping together, sharing a meal, a pot of coffee, and a conversation about nothing at all. With three—four, including El—Byers, two Hendersons, and Steve, the room was full to bursting but it never felt cramped.
Steve's been enjoying different. He loves different.
But…well…
Leave it to Billy to take things to a whole other fucking level.
He hadn't given much thought to the fact that Billy would be here. He'd made a point of not thinking about it. He hasn't seen Billy in a year and a half, the person he remembers probably doesn't exist anymore. No point worrying if things are going to be weird because of a stupid rivalry from when they were both in high school.
And there's even less point dwelling on the awkward tension between them that Steve probably imagined anyways. They only interacted a little bit after Starcourt. Mostly in passing, when Steve dropped Max off at the hospital, or picked up El because Hop was running late again. There always seemed to be some kind of undercurrent to their stilted conversations. Some thread that Steve couldn't quite pick out from the tangle of every other reason why shit was weird between them.
The night before Susan drove her kids back to California, Max came to say goodbye, and there was a part of Steve that was disappointed that she stood on his doorstep alone. Billy drove her there, but stayed in his car the whole time, and a year and a half later Steve still has no idea why it bothered him so much.
Well, he didn't, until Billy shows up on Joyce Byers' doorstep wearing fishnet stockings and red lipstick, and suddenly it's like there's no air in the room. The whole damn Christmas party evaporates around him.
Has he always been that pretty?
It takes Steve way too long to notice that Billy isn't alone. Eddie Munson is standing next to him, grinning at whatever Joyce is saying to them. He's got an arm casually slung around Billy's shoulders.
He'd forgotten that Eddie moved here too, after what happened to Chrissy last year. Dustin had been the one to suggest it. Like Lenora Hills is The Place To Be if you're looking to get away from the Upside Down and all it's demons.
It does help to have people around who get it. Steve just didn't know Eddie and Billy were…friends, or whatever.
Guess it makes sense, they both have that cooler-than-you metalhead thing going for them. Plus the Upside Down shit. Shared trauma, or whatever.
Seems like moving to California has been good for them though. Billy most of all. Last time Steve saw him he was pale, sickly from a year in Indiana, three months in a hospital, barely pulling himself together enough to drag a brush through his hair, let alone wash it regularly, or…well, go to all this trouble either.
He sort of glows now. It's not just the gold sheen of his curls or the bronze glittering on his eyelids, it's the way he holds himself, his posture loose, and the way his smile actually reaches his eyes and lights him up from the inside.
Steve's fairly certain he's staring, but he can't bring himself to not . It isn't like he never noticed that Billy's hot, everyone noticed, it was impossible not to when he was flaunting his everything all the time. But it wasn't until after Billy left Hawkins that Steve really started dealing with his attraction to men. Looking at him now, it's like putting on glasses for the first time when you didn't realize you needed them.
But maybe it's also the fact that Billy sure as shit never dressed like that in Indiana.
He's ditched the biker boots and layers of denim. Tonight he's decked out in a tiny dark green jumpsuit…thing. With pearly buttons, cinched at the waist by a simple leather belt, and short enough to leave most of his stockinged thigh exposed. And heels. Fucking. High heels. Robin's always said high heels are murder to walk in, and they take a lot of practice. Billy seems to be having no problem.
Of all the goddamn things to stick in Steve's head, that's what he gets snagged on. Maybe after years of trying to take shit in stride he took one step too many and finally broke his brain.
He watches Billy shed his jacket—his old brown leather one, the familiarity makes Steve's stomach do something weird—and toss it over the chair next to the door. There's something easy about how he does it, like he's done it a hundred times before. He must spend a lot of time here.
Steve takes a sip of his drink. He can't remember what it is, and he doesn't taste it as it goes down.
"Dude, are you okay?" Dustin smacking his arm jolts him back to reality. He freezes and tries not to look guilty.
"I'm good. I'm great. Yes." He takes another sip of his mystery liquid and clears his throat. He's sweating all of a sudden. The couch cushions are too lumpy. His shirt is sticking to his back. He can hear every conversation in the room and they all sound like swarms of bees.
"Riiight…" Dustin pauses, eyes narrowing. "Things aren't gonna be weird with you and Billy are they?"
"What?! Why??"
"I dunno, he beat the shit out of you that one time? And because you were, like, in the middle of saying something before he came in."
Oh. Shit. "Uh…"
"Seriously, are you okay?" He leans in, glancing around like he's making sure they aren't being watched, and lowers his voice conspiratorially. "You know, I could talk to Eddie. He could get Billy outta here."
"No!" Some part of Steve recoils at the thought. He stomps it down as hard as he can. "I mean. Nah, it's fine. That would be kinda…I mean, it's Christmas, right. Everything's fine."
Dustin could not look any more unconvinced. "Uh huh." He sits back againt his side of the couch. "Well. I'm going to say hi to Eddie anyways. You…have fun trying to act like you're not being weird as hell."
"Seriously, man, don't say anything to him."
"Yeah, yeah, I'm just going to say hi, I swear."
"For real, Henderson. Not a word."
"Jesus Christ."
**
The Byers' new place is bigger than their old one back in Hawkins, but it's still not big enough for Steve to escape the sound of Billy's voice.
It's not like he's eavesdropping on purpose. He's very definitely trying not to creep on Billy, but it doesn't seem to matter how hard he tries. After Dustin left him to fend for himself it's not like he had anything else to do.
And it's a bit of a novelty to hear Billy Hargrove make small talk for some reason. Regular, non-aggressive, boring conversation. He talks about working part-time as a bouncer. His day job at the local library, of all places. How much of a pain it was when his car broke down last month and he had to get Eddie to chauffeur him around in his shitty van.
It's all so stupidly normal. Billy's just. Living a normal little life here. It shouldn't make Steve's insides squirm when he thinks about it for too long.
Fleeing to the kitchen seems like a good idea. He offers to help Claudia and Susan with dinner, and they put him to work chopping vegetables. He half-listens to them chat about Dustin's latest project exploding in the garage, and how Max is doing in school, and…things. Stuff. Billy's in the other room, talking to Max, the tenor of his voice just barely audible over the clattering dishes and soft, staticky piano from the radio on the table. The cutout in the wall makes it too easy for Steve's eyes to stray, to search.
He gets two potatoes diced before the knife slips and he nearly loses a toe.
He is promptly shooed out of the kitchen.
So, fine, not a great idea.
He'll just have to find someone to talk to. Really engage with someone, and maybe he'll forget to be distracted. Sure, the whole first floor is basically one big room sectioned off with pillars and shit, which means everyone can see everyone all the goddamn time, but if he starts a really interesting conversation it'll be okay.
Except Dustin and Eddie are deep into their DnD talk that Steve only understands every other word of, El and Max have disappeared upstairs, Joyce seems to be going for round three of talk-to-Jon-about-his-life-choices, which Steve absolutely refuses to get in the middle of, and Will is…
Talking to Billy.
They're sitting on the far side of the room, separate from everyone else. Billy is sitting in a cushy looking chair, drink in hand, elbow propped on the arm rest he's leaning over to speak quietly to Will, who's curled up in the seat next to him, hugging his knees.
The kid looks like he's blinking back tears, and the first uncharitable thought Steve has is that Billy is the reason why.
But that doesn't make sense. He knows it doesn't. If the pinched look of concern on Billy's face wasn't proof enough, Will's watery smile a second later would be.
Steve's intruding. He's dying to know what they're talking about, what Billy said, when he and Will got so close, and when Billy got so…caring and stuff. Maybe he always was, just never in ways Steve was allowed to see.
Hell, he shouldn't even be seeing this .
He tears his eyes away.
Maybe he'll just go out for a smoke. He was always a social smoker anyways, parties set off his nicotine cravings.
He'll have to ask someone for one though. Right now Eddie is the best bet, probably. He doesn't really know the guy that well, but still, it's just a cigarette.
Turns out it's very difficult to get Eddie's attention when he's immersed in…elf politics? Steve has less than no idea what he and Dustin are arguing about, but they're very heated about it. Eddie has spilled his drink twice because he wouldn't stop gesturing with it in his hand, and Dustin looks like he's about to pop a blood vessel.
After a couple false starts, "Hey—" and "Jesus you two are loud," and "Who does a guy have to yell at to get a smoke around here." Steve stands awkwardly behind the couch they're sharing, staring at the ceiling and weighing his options. He really doesn't have many. Joyce probably has packs laying around but he doesn't feel right about rifling through her stuff.
Unfortunately the craving is really starting to hit him now that he's thinking about it. He's getting antsy.
Which is still only half the reason he nearly jumps out of his skin when someone touches his elbow.
"Yo, Eddie, are you and the dweeb gonna be at it all night?" Billy says from somewhere in the vicinity of Steve's shoulder. He hasn't moved his hand, and his presence feels…heavy, despite the tiny point of contact. Steve wills himself not to look. He's already zoned out a like a weirdo just staring from across a room, and Billy's cologne is making him lightheaded. He'd really, really like to make it through the night without completely embarrassing himself.
God, it should be illegal to smell that good around innocent bystanders.
Eddie stops mid-rant, his arm outstretched, drink aloft, face visibly brighter now that Billy's here, despite the interruption. Dustin, on the other hand, looks outraged, but Eddie doesn't seem to notice. "Could be." He grins, and leans back in his seat, lounging like he wasn't worked up and high-strung three seconds ago. "Doubt Henderson's gonna change his mind any time soon, he's stubborn like that."
"Yeah, I'm sure it's all Curly's fault," Billy laughs, low and warm and undeniably fond. And still right in Steve's goddamn ear, Jesus Christ. "Gimme your smokes."
"What? Why?" Eddie blinks at him, and Steve—forgetting all his resolve from thirty seconds ago—turns to do the same. Is…Billy helping him out? Why? And holy fuck he's even prettier up close. There's a cluster of freckles on the side of his nose that Steve can't stop staring at. It's a cute nose, and the tiny speckles along the bridge are somehow just unbearably fucking adorable.
"Because, you'll smoke the whole damn pack without even noticing, and then I have to deal with your nic fit tomorrow when you wake up without cigarettes."
Eddie chews the inside of his cheek, then tilts his head, conceding with a snort. "Yeah, fair enough." He pulls a half-squashed pack of Camels from his vest and holds it up pinched between two fingers, wiggling it in Billy's general direction.
Because the universe is conspiring to drive Steve insane, Billy's chest brushes his arm when he leans over the back of the couch to grab Eddie's smokes.
He's really, uh…recovered well from what happened at Starcourt. Steve remembers him complaining frequently and loudly about not being able to work out while he was healing, growling at nurses and generally bitching at anyone who would listen. Steve suspected at the time that the anger was mostly bluster to cover for the fact that he could barely move and had lost a good chunk of muscle mass while wasting away in the hospital.
Muscle mass he has most definitely gotten back.
Where he was skin and bone and stitches two years ago, he's now sculpted and firm, relaxed enough that when he presses close there's some give, and Steve is gripped with the incredibly stupid thought that he wants to be buried face-first in Billy Hargrove's tits when he dies.
He might actually have to go to therapy after this party, what the fuck.
Billy turns to him, making eye-contact for the first time in a year and a half.
Steve might as well have been smashed over the head again, for how poorly his brain is working right now. He seems to have stalled, stuck somewhere between hello, gorgeous and what the fuck does he want from me .
Somewhere deep down there's a bitter voice that can't help reminding him that Billy probably doesn't want anything from him. Whatever half-assed rapport they built wasn't enough to warrant a goodbye, why would time apart with zero contact make Steve suddenly worth talking to.
Still, when Billy jerks his chin and mutters, "Walk with me?" Steve nods without a second thought.
"Have fun you two," Eddie drawls, with a shit-eating grin that Steve does not trust. He squints at Eddie suspiciously, but all he gets is a sarcastic little finger waggle of a wave in response.
He half expects Dustin to be on his side here, but Dustin—the goddamn traitor—is giving him a weird look.
Whatever. Chances are it's nothing. Probably.
His shreds of hope that this is just going to be a quick formality catch-up start to fray away into nothing when Billy leads him around the cluttered coffee table, further away from the group, and out the back door.
Billy shakes a cigarette out of Eddie's pack and stick it between his painted lips. A little bit of red rubs off on the white paper.
"Y'know, Joyce doesn't mind if we smoke inside," Steve says weakly, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder, towards the chattering voices filtering through the sliding glass door.
"I know." He flicks the plastic Bic lighter Eddie keeps tucked in his pack. Flicks it again. Three times. "Piece of shit," he mutters around his unlit cigarette. Fourth time's the charm, apparently. It springs to life with a metallic snick, and Billy greedily inhales the second he can, cheeks hollowing. He makes a face before letting the smoke pour from his nose. "Fuckin' miss Marlboros, man."
Steve hums, unsure what to say. Distracted by Billy's mouth. Confused as hell about what they're doing out here. He blinks dumbly when Billy extends a hand, offering up the cigarette pinched between two fingers. Ash flutters to the ground while Steve stares at it. At the pink smear on the filter.
"Uh, thanks." He reaches for it gingerly, afraid of looking too…anything, about something so normal. Their fingers brush, and he tries to act like that's normal too. "How, um. How've you been."
Billy gives him a wryly amused look, pulling out a second cigarette as he visibly contemplates his answer. Like it isn't obvious that he's been doing well. Leagues better than when he was in Indiana. Seems like an easy answer from where Steve's standing. But he still pauses, taking his time lighting up, then tucking the pack into his pocket. He's taken another drag before he finally says, "Good. Not a lot of things to miss about Hawkins."
"Right." Steve's not bitter. He doesn't sound bitter. Billy's right and he's doing good. And that's…good. He breathes in a lungful of smoke, lets it sit and burn before releasing it. It's been a while since his last cigarette—Robin doesn't like the smell, and he was never a big smoker anyways—but he manages not to cough.
"Said there wasn't much , pretty boy, didn't say nothing."
He chokes on his next pull.
He never thought he'd be grateful for a coughing fit, but it does give him an excuse not to say anything for several minutes while he recovers.
That can't mean what he thinks it means, but his big dumb heart leaps right to dangerous conclusions anyways.
"Oh," he manages between coughs. Nothing more helpful comes to mind.
Great. Spectacular. This is going so well.
"Oh," Billy echoes with the tiniest bit of a mocking lilt, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
It's such a Robin response that it's strangely comforting. He knows how to talk to Robin. Even when he kind of wanted to kiss her, it was easy to talk to her. Sure, his feelings for Billy have always been more complicated, but it's a start.
"Yeah, yeah," he sighs with an exhale that's almost a laugh. "Y'know, Hawkins is weirdly quiet without you and your obnoxious car. No one doing the Indy 500 up Main Street anymore. It's boring."
Billy smiles at that, something soft and private that he hides behind his cigarette. "What's stopping you from stepping up to the plate, Harrington."
"Demerit points?"
"Pff, lame."
Steve snorts. "Powell is so much more of a hardass than Hop was, I swear. Can't get away with shit anymore." He pauses, mesmerized by the smoke drifting out between Billy's lips. "You look nice tonight," he blurts, suddenly, and gestures up and down Billy's outfit. "All the—that. Suits you."
It's getting dark out, the horizon painted a dusky orange and the Byers' overgrown backyard half hidden in lengthening shadow, so it's hard to tell, but Steve could swear the tips of Billy's ears go pink. He shifts slightly, one heel scraping the wooden patio, and flicks ash over the railing. "Lost a bet," he mumbles, gaze dropping as he absently rubs at the lipstick stain on his cigarette with his thumb.
"Lotta effort for a dumb bet."
Billy shrugs. "Go big or go home, right."
"Hm." Steve's eyes trace the lines of Billy's face. The way the corner of his mouth pinches. The little furrow between his eyebrows. "Well, you should lose bets more often then."
The tension in his expression slips away, and he meets Steve's gaze with a lopsided grin. "I dunno, losing doesn't come as naturally to me as it does to you."
Steve sputters out an indignant, "Hey!" and smacks Billy's shoulder with the back of his hand. "Here I was being nice…"
"Oh, and what were you hoping my reaction would be, hm?" Billy's smile goes sly as he looks Steve up and down.
Steve pulse jumps up a notch or two. Just enough that he can feel it pounding against his sternum.
He could lie. He could brush it off. Make a joke. He could drop some obvious pick-up line, if he's right about what's happening right now.
He doesn't do any of that.
"Wanted you to smile. Which you did." He pauses, taking a drag off his cigarette to calm his nerves while Billy's gobsmacked stare bores a hole in the side of his head. "So I think that makes me a winner, actually."
"You… " As much as Billy tries to affect indifference, he sounds strained and breathless. "Anyone ever tell you you're cheesy as hell, Bambi?" Steve grins down at his hands, his ribcage full of warm fizzy feelings.
"Mostly girls who still put out later."
Billy's laugh is loud and bright. "Yeah, that tracks."
Hoo boy.
Steve is in so much trouble.
**
He's kissed a handful of people since Nancy, but for the life of him he can't recall what any of it was like.
Nancy he remembers. Her bubblegum lip gloss, and the bony curve of her shoulder digging into his chest, and the shy sort of mischief in her pretty blue eyes, the way she'd blink up at him when she wanted him to kiss her. The way she always waited, face turned towards him, a tiny crease dimpling the corner of her mouth.
Billy doesn't wait. The second the lock clicks into place he's in Steve's space, warm and heavy, a taut wall of muscle slamming into him, unexpectedly gentle hands sliding under the hem of his shirt. He kisses like he's drowning. Like he has minutes to live and this is all he wants to do with the time he has left. Like this is all he can do.
It's a raw, tender thing, red and bruising, a challenge and a surrender all at once. It makes Steve's head spin.
It's not like anything he and Nancy shared and yet he feels the same life-changing, heart-stopping, earth-shattering clarity that he felt the first time he kissed her. The same bliss washes over him. The same swooping sensation in his stomach as his whole world tips on its axis.
This is what he's been looking for. He didn't know until he felt it again, but he's spent the past three years desperately trying to capture even half the feeling he had with Nancy, flirting with every girl who will put up with him, chatting up guys in bars, and only succeeding in convincing himself he'll never love again, that he blew his one and only shot.
The upstairs bathroom at his ex-girlfriend's boyfriend's mom's house is kind of the last place he'd have expected to find that spark again, but he's not complaining now that he's here.
His hands tremble, clumsy as he threads his fingers into Billy's curls, coaxing him closer. He's not worried about finesse or coming off as cool and collected, he's too wound up for that, too busy grasping for more, more of whatever this is, as much as he can hold onto. Billy makes a quiet, startled sound as Steve, all at once, tightens his grip, tilting Billy's head back, slips his tongue into Billy's mouth, and presses a thigh between his legs.
Billy groans, low and catching in his throat, but Steve feels it rumble in his chest and it's some kind of fucking magic to behold. He knows they have to be quiet. The rational part of him knows that. But it almost seems worth getting caught just to know what Billy would sound like when he's not holding back. Is he dirty, or sweet, or just incoherent, gasping and only half-aware of the noises he's making? Some combination, maybe.
God, the things Steve would do to find out.
They're stumbling, making their way aimlessly away from the door, attached at the mouth. Steve knocks into the towel rack, with a twinge at the small of his back, but he doesn't let it distract him.
He fumbles with buttons near Billy's collar before his hazy brain recalls flashes of tanned skin, knotted scars, defined muscle pulling tight under dark material. His hands migrate down a little, halfway down Billy's chest before he finds buttons that are actually done up.
For the first time since the door shut behind them, Billy breaks away. Steve falls forward for half a second, chasing the lost contact—and for a moment, panics, wondering if he's done something wrong, before he realizes Billy's laughing at him.
His eyes are bright with it, mirth, mischief, a deep glittering blue like sunlight piercing through tropical waves. Steve's not exactly a connoisseur when it comes to make-up—in fact, according to Nancy, after he bought the wrong eyeliner for her birthday, he knows less than nothing about it—but he's gaining a new appreciation for the art. The warm bronze and gold tones of his eyeshadow, his impossibly dark eyelashes.
The red lipstick smeared around his kiss-bitten mouth.
It's all doing things to Steve.
Giddiness bubbles up in his chest, warm and floaty and buzzing, he can't help but join in Billy's laughter, a breathless exhale of a sound as he taps their foreheads together, irresistibly drawn into Billy's space. He smells like rosemary and smoke, like the spiced rum lingering on his breath, like all the sunlight he's soaked up, warm and bright and miraculously tangible under worshipful hands.
Steve parts the unbuttoned material hanging loose around Billy's torso, his palms gently press to scarred skin. His gaze lingers, not on the purple edges of healed flesh, pink and puckered valleys crisscrossing over Billy's sternum, but the subtle thudding of his heartbeat beneath, just visible if you know where to look. Billy's pulse is racing, and it's inexplicably satisfying to know he's the reason why.
"We don't exactly have time to enjoy the scenery, Harrington." He keeps his voice low. It sounds nice like that. Quiet and intimate.
"Mm…"
"Steve."
"Hm?"
Billy huffs a soft laugh, and, apparently having decided to take matters into his own hands—literally—goes for Steve's belt buckle.
It's obvious what he's about to do, but in all Steve's lust-filled fogginess, he doesn't put it together until Billy's fingers plunge beneath the waistband of his briefs the second his jeans are unzipped. He gasps when warm fingers wrap around his cock, strong and sure, caressing its length in firm strokes.
He's done this before, that much is obvious. There's no hesitance, no insecurity, every flick of his wrist is steady and practiced, just the right amount of pressure to make Steve squirm and bite his lip to keep from making too much noise. Billy's thumb drags across the tip of his dick every so often, circling his leaking slit, teasing his fingernail over sensitive skin. He grins, sharp and self-satisfied, when Steve shudders.
Cheeky. It is so on.
Steve dips his head, leaning into Billy's space and nuzzling the crook of his neck, inhaling deep and greedy. Golden curls tickle his forehead, and Billy's pulse jumps under the press of his lips, his tongue, his teeth. It's too easy to get drunk on the way his name is a low oath and a broken moan whispered hot in his ear, the way Billy arches against him when he starts to suck a spot at the base of his throat, the way his pace doesn't falter even as his free hand comes up to grip Steve's shoulder and his breathing grows shallower.
Heat pools in Steve's gut, egged on by every tiny sound Billy chokes on, every touch of his scarred hands, rough against the soft skin of his cock, the friction burns but Steve thrusts into his grip anyways, too lightheaded with pleasure to care.
He palms Billy's chest, tracing along the ridged edges of scar tissue, sliding blind until he reaches his nipple, circling the hard little nub with his fingertips.
Billy trembles at the touch, his grip on Steve's cock tightens, and for a moment they're both holding on for dear life, Steve burying a moan in the collar of Billy's shirt, and Billy swallowing a ragged, desperate noise that Steve can feel vibrate in his ribcage.
They're both still for a moment, chests heaving, leaning into each other.
There's faint chatter from downstairs, the hum of a radio turned down low. The ceiling vent rattles.
Steve pinches Billy's nipple.
"Hh— ah , fuck, Harrington you little shit," he hisses, too breathy to sound reprimanding. Besides, Steve can feel the hardness rubbing his thigh, felt his hips jerk and his dick twitch. He grins, pressing a smiling kiss to the side of Billy's neck.
"Sorry."
"Liar."
He wonders how reactive Billy would be if he was using his mouth instead. If he'd like Steve's lips on him like that. If Steve could make him cum just by sucking on his tits.
He traces another idle circle, relishing the goosebumps prickling across Billy's chest.
"Stop being a fucking tease," Billy groans, squeezing Steve's cock.
Steve exhales slowly, purposefully, the coiled heat in his gut tightening. He lifts his head to look Billy in the eye, and he's struck all over again by how fucking beautiful he is.
"God, you're gorgeous," he breathes, one hand coming up to absently fix a stray curl stuck to Billy's forehead. There's a flush on his cheeks, so dark it nearly hides the freckles that have bloomed there over the year and a half he's spent in the California sun. His opens his mouth, briefly, wordlessly. His tongue darts across his bottom lip, further ruining his lipstick.
"Yeah, I know," Billy says eventually. He rubs his thumb through a red smear on his chin.
Steve captures his hand before he can wipe off any more. "What do you want me to do?" He blindly traces the grooves in Billy's ring with his fingernail.
"Hm?"
"I'm gonna make you cum, tell me how you want me to do it."
Billy's gaze shifts, darkens, there's weight to it, the way it bores into Steve. He pulls his hand out of Steve's pants and instead starts undoing the rest of his pearly buttons. "I want you to fuck me."
Steve's pretty sure his vision whites out for a second. He blinks. "Uhh…"
"C'mon, Mr Big Talk, let's fuckin' go." He makes short work of his belt, tossing it onto the nearby bathmat. It lands with a muffled thump.
"Billy—" Steve has to bite down on his tongue to stop an actual moan from escaping him when Billy undoes his last button to reveal the hard line of his cock straining against powder blue lace and silk. Billy smirks, teasing his thumbnail along the waistline of his panties just to watch Steve's gaze follow. "Jesus fucking—Billy, what happened to we don't have time?"
Billy grins. "Aw that's cute, you think you'll last?"
"No—I mean, maybe—I mean, that's not what I mean, you asshole—" Steve cuts himself off, laughing at his own fumbling, rubbing his eyes to try and clear his head. "I don't want to hurt you," he tacks on helplessly.
Billy smile softens at that, just for a moment there's something bright and vulnerable shining through, but it's buried just as fast as it sprung up. "You won't." He grabs Steve's hand, guiding it around and pushing under his waistband. Silk brushes Steve's knuckles, and Billy—
"Oh."
Steve's finger slips inside him easily. He teases a second, just as a test, and watches Billy's face for any discomfort. His eyes flutter closed, and his lips part, and it's not pain , it's…
The thought of Billy fingering himself while he was getting ready for the party is overwhelmingly fucking hot. But it's also incredibly confusing. Did he plan on seducing Steve this whole time? How could he have been so sure it would work? Or maybe it wasn't about Steve at all, maybe that's just his standard pre-party ritual. Lacy underwear and lube. Jesus Christ.
"You prepped yourself?" He sounds a little hoarse. Man, he really isn't gonna last long, is he.
Billy's eyes open, and he gives Steve an unreadable look. "Not exactly."
"I mean it didn't get like that on its own."
"Obviously."
Steve is used to feeling like he's missing something, and he tries not to let it bother him, but in this case he really can't help it. There's a creeping sense of dread curdling in his gut, and he has a sneaking suspicion he's about to have his heart broken in a goddamn bathroom for the second time, but he's not sure why.
And then it clicks.
He withdraws all at once, putting space between him and Billy and holding his hands up, palms out, hovering in the air like he can't trust them if he can't see them. "Wait, wait, wait, you had sex right before—was it—are you and Eddie dating?"
Billy scratches his forehead, face scrunched like this is just mildly annoying. "Yes."
"Oh."
"Before you get all fucking sanctimonious, he knows about this," he gestures between the two of them, "and it's fine. So…"
"What do you mean it's fine?" Steve's voice cracks a little, embarrassingly.
Billy looks at him then, really looks at him. And his expression changes to something a little gentler. "I mean he's not exactly the jealous type, and we've talked about this. Really, it's okay."
"He's just…cool with you screwing around with other guys."
"I swear to god, Steve—do you want me to go get him, he'll tell you—"
"No, no. No. Um. No."
He has no doubt Billy would actually go get Eddie, just to prove a point, and this… situation— whatever's going on here—is messy enough already. If Billy was going to lie he would have just said he wasn't seeing anyone, but how does he know Eddie wasn't lying and just humoring Billy or something.
But that's not even what's bothering Steve, not really. He knows it should. He feels like it should. Even when he was sleeping around with whoever struck his fancy he tended to stay away from anyone taken, it's just not worth the hassle when there's plenty of other people who are willing and single. And it's wrong , right? Sleeping with someone who has a boyfriend already?
He should be disgusted with himself for considering it, but he isn't, and he doesn't like that he isn't.
Billy isn't just some random lay though. It might be worth the complications.
And…the thing is. The thing is. That's not even the biggest problem. That part is mostly buried under the avalanche of other feelings that he didn't expect and doesn't know how to handle.
The thought of Billy fingering himself before the party got him going, but this is something else entirely. Knowing that a few hours ago Billy was opened up and fucked, and this whole time he's been walking around like that, loose and wet and…and now he's asking for Steve to fuck him, while he's still carrying the touch of another man on him, in him. Billy can probably still feel Eddie's cock inside him and now he wants Steve's too, and that's just…
Steve can barely breathe at the thought of it. He's beyond flushed, he's burning up, he can feel it behind his eyes, under his jaw, aching and molten, he wants, he wants so badly it fucking scares him.
And he doesn't know why it's gripped him like this, or why he's so paralyzed over it. He doesn't have time to be conflicted, but he is. Frozen in place despite the heat bubbling in his veins.
"Look, if you're gonna call me a whore, can you just do it now and have your fucking freak-out on your own time?" Billy says sullenly, reaching for his buttons, his expression shuttered.
Panic smashes thought Steve's indecision, shattering whatever hold fear had on him, and he springs into action, darting forward to take Billy's hands. "No!" He says it a little too loud, a little too sudden, and they both flinch, glancing towards the door.
"What, do I get a lecture first?" Despite his carefully neutral expression and defensive posture he lets Steve hold him in place. Steve gentles his grip, and hesitantly shuffles closer. "Harrington?"
Steve kisses him. Just once. It's chaste, and brief. Reassurance more than anything else. "Promised I'd make you cum, didn't I?" he murmurs, trying to project more confidence than he feels. "So unless you want me to call you that…"
"I—" Billy blinks at him. "Don't remember you saying anything about a promise, actually."
"Billy, are we gonna do this or— mmh."
What he does to Steve is less of a kiss and more of an attack with his mouth, but Steve recovers quickly, steadying himself with a hand on the nearest shelf. Something clatters to the tiled floor, but he ignores it, thoroughly distracted by the truly fucking sinful way Billy licks into his mouth, and his desperate pawing at the front of Steve's jeans.
He utterly fails to pull them down enough for Steve to comfortably pull his cock out, too preoccupied with kissing Steve stupid, apparently.
"Here, let me," Steve laughs quietly, batting Billy's hands away. He glances around. It's not like there's enough space to fuck on the floor, and nothing really to sit on. The vanity is cluttered, and a bad height, so not useful either. There's a patch of bare wall next to the door, though. Might work. He jerks his chin at it. "Over there?"
Billy's gaze flicks towards it for half a second before returning to Steve. Very deliberately, without breaking eye-contact, he bares his shoulders, his arms, lets his clothes slip away and fall in a pile on the floor.
He only lingers for a second before he flashes a grin and moves to the wall, but the image of Billy in nothing but his blue panties and fishnets is going to be burned into Steve's brain until the day he dies. He's going to remember the way he stood loose and confident, despite the scars he swore he'd always hide being on display. The way a few stray curls had caught in his earring. The red mark starting to bloom at the base of his throat. The light blond hairs beneath his belly button. The tiny wet spot spreading out from where the tip of his cock is pressed to his underwear.
Steve stares blankly at the dark green fabric Billy left behind. His pulse roars in his ears.
"You coming or what."
"Jesus," Steve mutters, subtly shaking his head in an attempt to clear it. He runs a hand through his hair. "Yeah."
It's a bit of an awkward shuffle getting into position, stepping up behind Billy, making sure he's a comfortable distance from the wall—not so far that he'll overbalance if he needs to brace himself, but not too close either—fussing over where exactly to stand. He's stalling. He hates that he's stalling. There's a not insignificant part of him that's screaming at him to get on with it, that's burning with need. But he can't help the anxious grip twisting his guts. Now that he's actually here, about to do this, it's not just talk or flirting or making out, they're doing this.
He just…wants it to be good. He wants it to be perfect. Despite the fact that they'll have to keep quiet, and they can't take their time, and Billy will be staring at a wrinkle in the floral patterns pasted to the wall the whole time. He wants those things to be inconsequential compared to the rest of it.
But that's a lot to ask of someone with sweaty palms and a sneaking suspicion that he'll blow his load three pumps in.
He wriggles his jeans down a bit, taking his briefs with them, just far enough that they'll be out of the way. The air feels cold against his flushed skin. He's so hard it fucking hurts.
Billy cranes his neck to lock eyes with Steve over his shoulder, impatience clear in the way he arches his eyebrow, lips pursed like he's holding words back.
Steve takes his hands, and guides them so his palms are pressed to the wall. For a moment he's just holding Billy, arms caged around him, chest touching his back, curls tickling his nose. The tip of his cock brushes Billy's ass, the material stretched across it tantalizingly soft and frictionless. He drops a kiss to Billy's shoulder. "Keep 'em there, okay?"
Billy lets out a quiet breath that sounds as unsteady as Steve feels. It's oddly reassuring.
Back in high school Steve thought about Billy Hargrove's ass more often than he was ready to admit. Mostly along the lines of who needs to wear jeans that tight and stop staring, just wash your hair and leave. He'd never considered anything like this. The way it would look wrapped in blue silk and trimmed with lace. Getting to hook his fingers into the elastic waistband and slide it down, like he was unwrapping the worlds most pornographic Christmas present.
Teenaged Steve was missing out, truly.
"C'mon, c'mon," Billy urges him, arching his back just for the barest hint of contact, curling his fingers into fists against the wall.
Steve takes his cock in hand, and grips Billy's hip with the other. Lines himself up, and slowly pushes inside.
Agonizingly slow. Inch by inch. He squeezes his eyes shut and buries a groan in smoke-and-spice-scented curls, looping his arm around Billy's waist to pull him closer. Billy's abs twitch, tensing, firm under his palm, and almost absentmindedly Steve rubs his thumb in comforting circles in response.
He bottoms out with a stuttering exhale, and waits, listening to Billy breathe shallowly.
"You good?" he murmurs, slipping his other arm around Billy as well, and pressing another kiss to his shoulder. He doesn't pull back after, just rests there, lips brushing warm skin, enjoying the prolonged contact. The tight heat around his dick is making his head swim and his back sweat, but he'd almost be happy to just stay like this, holding Billy, sheathed inside him. Touching him everywhere he can.
Billy shifts his hips, like he's trying to take more, grinding back against Steve with a contented little hum.
It's not quite an answer. At least, it's not the answer Steve was looking for. He slides his hands up, cupping Billy's chest and thumbing the hard nubs of his nipples, rolling them between his fingers.
The punched out whine that Billy lets out makes Steve's whole body light up, and he just barely restrains the reflexive twitch of his hips.
"Need to hear you say it."
"Christ, Harrington, just fucking fuck me," he hisses. There's a slight wobble in his voice, a break towards the end, but mostly he sounds desperate, and goddamn if that isn't something Steve wouldn't mind hearing more of.
So. Good enough.
He gives Billy what he wants.
And thankfully he lasts longer than three pumps. But he's hanging on by a thread, overwhelmed in the best way. Billy is heavy and pliant in his arms, trembling and swallowing sweet little noises every time Steve nudges his prostate.
The slick glide of hours-old lube dripping from his hole is a constant reminder that Steve is the second person to fuck Billy today. That Eddie goddamn Munson had his fingers here, his cock. Steve wonders if Billy likes that Eddie's hands are guitar-calloused. Wonders what that feels like.
Lingers on the fact that Billy fucked his boyfriend this very afternoon, and still wanted Steve.
Fantasizes about fucking Billy while he's dripping with more than just lube. While he's still sensitive and overstimulated, wet and used and so, so good for Steve. So willing and ready for him.
His knees just about give out when Billy lets slip a thready moan, all hitched breath and something that could've been Steve's name. One of his hands slips from the wall with clear intent, but Steve reflexively grabs his wrist before he can touch himself. The sound Billy makes his half outrage, half sob, and Steve still doesn't let him go. Still thrusts into him, playing with his pink and swollen nipple, lips grazing the back of his neck.
"Steve."
"Not yet. Not yet, baby. You're doing so good," Steve murmurs between shallow breaths. "So good."
He guides Billy's hand back to the wall, stroking scarred knuckles with his thumb, holding him in place with a gentle touch.
"I can't—I need—" Billy pants, curling in on himself 'til his forehead is pressed to the wall between his hands, he's shuddering, knuckles white, his chest heaving. "Fuck , Steve, I—I'm…"
He could break out of Steve's grip easily, and they both know it. He could have a hand on his cock in seconds if he really wanted to, but he doesn't. Something about that makes Steve's heart skip, sing, float out of his mouth, light and giddy.
Steve lets go of his hand, skimming his fingers up Billy's arm, his neck, to cup his chin and turn his face. It's an awkward angle, but Billy sighs against his mouth, leaning back against Steve's shoulder, greedily sucking on his bottom lip. Steve can feel the tiny puffs of breath punch out of Billy every time he languidly rolls his hips, revels in the way his kissing is so much sloppier, wild and hungry.
While he's distracted Steve reaches down and takes ahold of his dick.
He jolts, surprised, his breathless cry muffled by Steve's lips.
It's that sound that pushes Steve right to the edge. He can feel all the heat in his veins flare, the pressure in his gut tighten.
"Billy," he gasps, kisses him again, fervently, "Billy I'm—I'm gonna—" He tries to pull back, pull out, he's halfway there when Billy falls back, plastering himself to Steve's front, from collarbone to thigh.
"Stay." Too soft to be a demand, quiet and pleading, Steve's heart somersaults in his chest.
Billy grinds down on him, clenching around him, bucking into his grip, and just like that, Steve cums so hard his vision goes spotty. He bites his lip so hard he tastes blood, holding Billy around the waist so tightly he's afraid he'll leave marks.
It takes him a second to relax, let out a breath and get his bearings.
His hand is sticky. That's the first thing he notices. Then, Billy bonelessly flopped against his chest, taking deep, quiet breaths, twitching when Steve's grip shifts on his softening cock. He makes a tiny irritated noise when Steve pulls out of him, and Steve tries—fails, but tries—not to find it hopelessly endearing.
What he wouldn't give to be laying down right now. To be able to roll over and press Billy into his mattress, curl into the crook of his neck and listen to his heartbeat as they fall asleep.
The sweat on his back is cooling, leaving his shirt uncomfortably damp in places. The noises from downstairs continue like nothing happened. Casual chatter. The ringing of bells from some Christmas song on the radio. His feels wrung out, exhausted at the thought of having to dodge questions about why he was gone so long.
Christ, they're gonna have to go back downstairs. Rejoin the rest of the world. Go back to…life. A life where Billy has a boyfriend, and Steve…
He gently pushes Billy upright. "We should get cleaned up."
Billy needs it more than he does, he notes guiltily. Steve might have cum drying on his fingers but Billy's makeup is wrecked, lipstick reduced to a pink stain smeared around his mouth, eyeshadow blurred with sweat. Upon closer inspection, there are tracks running down his cheek, black bits of makeup washed down his face by, presumably, tears, which, holy shit. When did that happen?
Steve rubs at the wetness with his thumb, like he's trying to prove to himself it's not what he thinks it is. All he succeeds in doing is getting his heart tugged on when Billy leans into the touch.
"Uh, sorry," Steve blurts out, because that's what comes out of his face when he has no idea what's happening apparently. Default to apologizing, because there's probably something he needs to be sorry for. Jesus Christ.
"What for."
"...Dunno." He pauses. Swipes his thumb across Billy's cheekbone again. "You cried."
Billy's back stiffens. "Don't worry 'bout it," he mutters, scrubbing at his face with the heel of his hand. He's gone suddenly, all at once, pulling out of Steve's loose embrace and brushing past him. Steve stares at the wrinkled wallpaper.
There's rustling behind him. And the sound of a tap running.
Guess that's that then. Billy seems to be getting on with it. Erasing all evidence that this happened, and moving on with his life. He seems to have a good life here, to be fair, him and Max are getting along better, he's got friends, a boyfriend, he's happy . Steve tries desperately to feel good about that, and not horribly, selfishly jealous that he isn't a part of any of it.
They had a nice time, because Billy and Eddie have an understanding, apparently, and that's all he's gonna get. And that's fine. It has to be fine, demanding more just…wouldn't be fair to anyone. Just thinking about being the guy who can't tell when he's not wanted makes him feel ill. He's had enough of that, thanks. All he can hope is that he was good enough to be memorable.
It's fine.
Steve lets out a breath. Tucks himself back into his pants and zips them up. He can wash up later, the bathroom is starting to feel claustrophobic and he needs to be…anywhere else.
"I, uh…This was. Fun. Thanks." He hides a wince, bowing his head and running a hand through his hair. He doesn't even know if Billy is looking at him right now, but it's the principle of the thing. "See ya, 'round, I guess."
He doesn't wait for an answer. It's rude, and selfish, but he knows Billy's not gonna say what he wants to hear, and he doesn't want to wait around hoping.
Walking into the hall feels like stepping into another dimension. He takes in a shuddering lungful of sweet-scented air, and pastes on what he hopes is a normal expression.
He doesn't look back.
He does, however, look down at his hand.
"Ah, fuck."
**
Billy stares, unseeing at the bathroom door.
Should've expected that, really. Things were going too well.
Things have been going suspiciously well for months, actually. Max has stopped jumping down his throat when she catches him smoking (the doc said he didn't recommend it, not that he couldn't do it). He likes his quiet, boring job. His scars still hurt, but it's more manageable now. And there's Eddie.
Eddie was just fun at first, and then he somehow ended up being someone Billy could count on. Or at least someone who makes him forget to watch out for the other shoe. Which is all he can ask for, really. It's a feeling he's not entirely familiar with, to be honest.
But apparently that's made him complacent. Now he's the kind of person who gets blindsided by people walking out on him.
This was fun. Jesus Christ.
This was everything he's been too scared to want, everything he's hated himself for dreaming of, everything he's guiltily fantasized about since that stupid fucking Halloween party back in '84. But sure. Fun. That too.
He wants to think it's a relief to be proved right. He wants to be grimly, stoically smug that he was correct in thinking he's always going to end up alone and miserable somehow.
But he can't. He's not. It just hurts.
He lets himself cry, silently, holding his breath while tears slip down his cheeks, counting down from sixty.
Fifty-nine…
Fifty-eight…
When his minute is up he finishes getting dressed. Washes his face. Methodically puts himself back together.
Lingers, staring in the mirror, his fingertips brushing the bruise just under his collar, pressing ever-so-slightly on it just to feel a twinge instead of soft lips and softer words whispered into his skin. Steve didn't fuck him like this was a one-and-done, just looking to get his rocks off with a warm body and perfunctory touches. He held Billy like he was something precious, fucked like he wanted to crawl inside and never leave, acted like he knew Billy would let him.
Maybe he did know. Maybe he was just trying to give Billy what he wanted. As much as he could stand to.
Everyone always said Steve Harrington's a fantastic lay, maybe that was the secret. Being a fucking people pleaser.
Billy turns away from his reflection.
He needs to talk to Eddie.
The thought makes him squirm. The instinct to confide in someone is still…new. Weird. Six months ago he would have rejected the idea and spiraled into self-loathing unchecked. He still kind of wants to. Spilling his guts about his stupid feelings is fucking humiliating.
But Eddie never makes him feel like shit about it.
He rubs his forehead. His eyes are dry, achy. It's making his head hurt.
He can't stay up here forever, no matter how much his stomach turns at the thought of being seen like this. Hiding away would be more of a giveaway than his red-rimmed eyes and barely salvaged makeup job.
Okay.
It'll be okay.
Just as he's finished psyching himself up for the trip downstairs, the door rattles. Quiet, insistent tapping from the other side. And, "Billy, you still in there?" Eddie whisper yelling through the door.
It's embarrassing how fast his knees turn to jelly, relief washing over him at the sound of his voice.
"Yeah."
"Oh thank god, that would've been so awkward if you weren't," Eddie mumbles half to himself as he nudges the door open, slipping into the room as soon as there's enough of a gap. His eyes are on Billy, wide and curious, lingering on the mark Steve left, and the pink blush where his lipstick rubbed off. "You okay? Harrington came downstairs looking like a spooked deer, which, uh. Didn't bode well. He didn't have a big straight boy meltdown did he? He kinda seems like the type."
…Did he?
That couldn't have been Steve's first time with a guy. He knew what he was doing. And he didn't seem shy about it either. Doesn't necessarily mean he wouldn't freak out after the fact, but…
Billy shakes his head. "Nah, it wasn't like that." He pauses, picking at a rough patch on his thumbnail. "He was probably just worried someone would ask him why he's been gone so long."
"Yeah, you two were up here a while," Eddie laughs, then schools his expression, scratching his cheek. "Seriously, what's the deal though, you all good, orr…?"
For all Billy's desire to talk to Eddie about what happened, he sure has no fucking clue how to start now that he's here. Suddenly he has no idea what did happen, if he ever knew. What's he even upset about? He had some truly mind-blowing sex and now he's all broken up about not being coddled afterwards? Did he have some ridiculous expectation that Steve would fall to his knees afterwards and declare that he's been secretly in love this whole time and he's going to move to California to be with Billy?
No, he tries to tell himself he didn't, that he's not that fucking stupid, but he's starting to have a sneaking suspicion that maybe he is. Maybe he really was that blind and dumb, and now reality is kicking him in the teeth and he has the audacity to be shocked by it.
He can't tell Eddie that.
His chest feels tight. Like when he forgets to put lotion on his scars and the slightest chill makes his skin feel thick and unwieldy, like his ribs have been shrinkwrapped, and every breath is a struggle to get air into burning lungs.
"Billy?" Concern bleeds into Eddie's soft tone. Concern he doesn't deserve, because he's just being an idiot, wanting things he can't have. Always watching empty doorways waiting for people who will never walk through them.
He should be grateful for what he has, but instead he's crying over not having more, it's fucking pathetic.
Billy shudders when Eddie carefully tucks loose curls behind his ears, guitar callouses catching on errant threads. It's a familiar motion, familiar touches, Eddie's perpetually cold hands, the rough patches on his fingertips, the way he always starts with the hesitance of a question with an uncertain answer. The familiarity is grounding, comforting, but Billy's still not sure what the answer is. He wants to lean into the touch, wants to be reminded that he's cared for, but a small angry part of him screams its throat raw and bloody telling him not to. Telling him to protect himself. He's gone soft , and it's Eddie's fault.
His eyes fall shut, and he shakes his head again, harder, trying to clear it. Eddie withdraws, taking that as an answer, but Billy panics at the sudden loss, heart leaping into his mouth, he grabs Eddie's hand.
"Shit, baby, what did he do to you?" Eddie murmurs, brows drawing together. He laces their fingers together, stepping into Billy's space to nudge Billy's cheek with his nose, like an affectionate cat. "Do I need to kick his ass?"
Billy snorts. "No."
"I could, you know. I could totally take him,"
"Pretty sure my little sister could take him, man. I'm not sure he's ever won a fight."
"Now there's an idea. Sic Max on him."
Billy's laugh is more genuine this time. He takes a breath. And another. The ring on his middle finger knocks against one of Eddie's, and he clicks them together again. He sighs. "He didn't do anything wrong." The words don't come easily, he has to drag them out, scraped raw and bruised, grimacing at the sour taste of them. "He fucked me and left, it wasn't…it was a perfectly normal hook up."
Eddie leans back enough to look him in the eye. If anything he looks more concerned by Billy's assurances. "That's it?"
It stings. Worse than a slap in the face. His posture goes rigid. "Yeah, I know, I'm all fucked up over nothing, thanks—"
"Nooo, no, no, no. No. Billy. Not what I meant." Eddie squeezes Billy's hand, clasping it between both of his like he's scared he'll pull away. "That's not what I meant," he adds, quieter, pleading. When Billy stays, suspicious but no longer tense and angry, he takes a breath. "I know you haven't just been pining after his dick for three years, when we talked about this it was pretty obvious you wanted to date him. That's kind of what we were making the exception for, no? So what's the deal here. Because seriously, I will kick his ass if he was just using you to get laid."
"I don't fucking know, okay. It just happened. We didn't exactly stop to negotiate terms beforehand."
"...He doesn't know you've been making giant cartoon heart-eyes at him since high school, does he."
Billy levels an unimpressed glare at him. "I burst into tears the second he put his dick in me, Eddie. I told him to cum in me. I think I made it pretty fucking obvious what this was."
"Okay, first of all, hot. And secondly. I love you, but do you have any idea how long it took me to figure you out? You're not as easy to read as you think you are." Eddie lets out an exasperated, half amused huff of a laugh. "And from what I hear Harrington is especially terrible at reading you. He actually believed you when you told him you lost a bet, didn't he."
"That's—"
"Billy."
"I—maybe, I dunno."
"That sounded a lot like, 'yes but I hate it when you're right.'"
"Fuck off."
"Mhm."
"Prick."
Eddie grins. "You love me."
"I hate you."
"Loooove."
Billy breaks, fond, begrudging, and smiles, a sigh rushing out of him. "Fine. Okay. Yeah."
"Ha. I win." He kisses Billy's nose. Then his cheek. His mouth. He rests their foreheads together, expression growing serious again. "You need to talk to him, y'know."
"Debatable."
"No, no it is not. You're going to be kicking yourself until the end of time if you don't work this out now."
He's right. Again. The bastard.
But it might be better to regret not clearing things up than to go for it and get explicitly shot down. He could barely handle implied rejection, what's going to happen if he bares his soul and Steve doesn't want it.
"Billy, I can see the evil little gears in your head spinning. Stop. Stop whatever it is that you're doing right now. It's gonna be okay."
"What if it isn't?" He doesn't mean to ask. His voice comes out small and wobbly, and all in a rush before he can catch it.
Eddie cards his fingers through Billy's hair. "Even if it doesn't go the way you hope it does, you're gonna be alright. You're strong like that. And you've got me still. And plenty of other people who care about you. I know you want him, and that…uh, it's hard when that kind of thing is taken away, but you don't need him. Not to live. Not to be happy. You'll be okay."
It's then that Billy is vividly reminded that Eddie watched a girl he cared about get brutally murdered, and it…puts things in perspective.
He lifts their joined hands and kisses Eddie's knuckles.
"Alright. But if this turns out to be a huge mistake I'm making you watch Dirty Dancing again."
"Oh, come on."
"Be there for me in my time of need, Eddie."
"Ugh."
**
He finds Steve sitting on the loveseat, blank, glassy eyes aimed at the muted weather report on TV. Henderson is perched beside him, nattering in his ear.
"It's weird , okay. You're being weird. And no one will admit that it's weird, which is weirder—"
"Hey, Nerd Jr. Scram."
Steve flails, freezing with his arms half raised, his eyes bugging out of their sockets, scrunched into the corner of the couch like he can disappear between the cushions if he throws himself at them hard enough. It would be fucking hilarious if Billy didn't feel a little like throwing up and a lot like running away. And if Steve's stare wasn't so intense it's making the back of his neck prickle.
"You can't just—"
"Dustin, it's okay." Steve manages to sound surprisingly level for a guy who jumped out of his skin two seconds ago.
Henderson throws his hands in the air. "I swear to god, Steve. If he, like, has something on you I can help with that. Never give in to blackmail."
"Unless what they have on you is, like, super embarrassing, then maybe consider it," Eddie says, appearing out of nowhere with a lilt in his voice, throwing an arm around Billy's shoulders and leaning towards Henderson with a conspiratorial smile. "Trust me, man. Better off staying outta this one."
"Wait is he actually—"
"No," Steve cuts in, a sudden odd edge to his voice.
Eddie glances between Steve and Billy, squinting in that way he does when he's got some idea percolating in his little gremlin brain. He's putting pieces together, and Billy has no fucking idea where he's getting them, it's not like he doesn't already know what's happening here.
With that same contemplative look on his face, he shifts closer to Billy, putting his arm more securely around him. And then kisses his cheek.
Billy stiffens, ever-so-slightly, trying his hardest to play it off while his pulse roars in his ears and his face flushes, because what the FUCK, Eddie.
He's desperately grasping for conversational straws that might distract everyone from what just happened, but he fumbles, drops the whole lot of them when Steve shifts in place, averting his eyes. Looking down at his hands, his mouth twisted into a tiny frown.
Huh.
Henderson's looking at them both like they've grown second heads, but Billy couldn't give less of a shit now.
"Y'know, I think you're gonna be more than okay, babe," Eddie whispers in his ear, chin propped on his shoulder. "Good luck." He pats Billy's side before withdrawing and turning to the dumbstruck little nerd on the couch. "Henderson. I do believe I was in the middle of completely destroying you in a debate."
Henderson narrows his eyes. "I know what you're doing, and I'm only letting it work because I've decided I don't actually want to know what's going on here."
"Good man."
And then they're alone.
As alone as they can be while he can still hear Jon patiently explaining why he's better off going to college in-state, and Susan's shy laughter as Mrs.Henderson tells her about a party she went to in the 60s. And he can feel Will looking at them. He's been looking since Eddie slung a casual arm over Billy's shoulders.
The kid has a staring problem. It used to make Billy itch, the way he'd always be watching. Took him too long to realize why he did it.
The last thing Billy ever expected to be for anyone was a role model, and he still hesitates to use that phrase. He'd never forgive himself if Will ended up like him. But he's doing the best he can. Sometimes all he can do is just…let himself be seen.
He sits down next to Steve, close enough that their knees touch. He's warm. Solid. Not moving away.
"I was talking about you, y'know," Billy says quietly.
Steve blinks at him, brows furrowing. "Huh?"
"You're the only thing I ever missed about Indiana."
"Oh."
Billy snorts. "Oh."
Something in Steve's expression softens. Something warm and inviting. He's always had a face like a hearthfire, making pretty promises of home and safety when you watch through a window. Dangerous if you get too close.
It's gone a moment later, snuffed out. Steve looks away, a frown tugging at his lips again. "I never understood why you didn't say goodbye."
Well. That's ironic.
Billy'd forgotten about that. He was in a bad way when he left Hawkins. Angry at himself, at the world, so deep in the weeds that he couldn't remember what sunlight looked like. He wasn't the kind of person that people wanted to know. Steve certainly hadn't made an effort, but he was always around , like he was just trying to remind Billy of what he couldn't have.
He didn't know how to say goodbye to someone he barely knew but desperately wanted to. It was easier just to make it as clean a break as possible. He'd always assumed Steve wouldn't care either way.
"We weren't friends, Steve."
A muscle in Steve's jaw twitches. "I know. But there was…something, right?"
"…What exactly are you asking me?" This is not where he saw this conversation going.
"I dunno, just thought, like, we could've been friends, right? Or. Something else. Y'know, before."
What. The fuck. Is he supposed to say to that.
"We weren't , why does it matter what might have happened?"
"Guess it doesn't," Steve mumbles at his knee, posture wilting.
"Did—did you want to be friends back then?" He can't ask about something else . He doesn't want to know. There are enough things in his life that he regrets, he doesn't need to add wasted three years not jumping on Steve's dick to the list.
This is almost worse though. That chance Billy could've had something real back then. Something to hold on to while he was drowning. A chance he wasted by being a coward.
"Why does it matter?" Steve parrots, just edging into bitchy with his tone.
It doesn't, he wants to say. It shouldn't. He approached Steve tonight because all his Talking It Out with Eddie had him in knots over all the stupid shit he did while mooning over Steve. He wanted to test the waters, see if he could get his shit together. Get closure, ideally. Discard that horrible little pearl of hope that had gotten caught somewhere along the line. But then Steve looked at him like Eddie looks at him, and all the just go for it and see what happens Eddie planted in his head took over.
But that was just tonight. It was a chance he'd taken and he's lucked out, and maybe Steve wanted to explore this new thing with him, but it was new. It was just this. It was Billy getting a second chance because he was a better person than he was before. Steve wouldn't have wanted him when he was at his worst. He wouldn't. He didn't.
"Because I was a piece of shit, Steve," he hisses, fingers curled into fists in his lap. "I was a fucking nightmare, and you hated me. And I didn't say goodbye because I was a selfish prick who couldn't deal with letting go of the one thing in that fucking hellhole that was worth a damn."
Steve stares at him. Really looks, like he's trying to burrow inside and pick him apart. "What about Eddie?"
"I didn't know him then."
"You didn't know me."
"But I wanted to! I always wanted to, you fucking asshole, so don't—don't pretend we could've been anything back then, alright. I tried, and it didn't go anywhere." Billy bites his lip. He came here to talk, but not about this. Ideally he would have never talked about this. It's fucking embarrassing.
"I…" Steve furrows his brow. "Always kind of thought you hated me, to be honest." Well. Looks like Eddie was right about Steve's observation skills. Fucking hell. "I didn't hate you though. You were annoying as hell sometimes, I'll give you that, but…Jesus Christ, Billy."
…Apparently Billy's aren't much better. Okay.
"So I guess we could've been something then," Billy says dryly, just to break the silence. "If we weren't so fucking stupid."
Steve laughs, a little helplessly, and runs a hand through his hair. "Guess so." He sobers, arm dropping to his side, tucked close like he's hugging himself. Billy wants to touch him. Offer something. He doesn't know what. "Kind of, uh. Sucks we figured that out too late then."
Billy rears back, enough that their thighs are no longer pressed together. His heart falls somewhere in the vicinity of his stomach, dropping like a stone in dark water. "What?"
"...What do you mean 'what?'"
"Steve, for fuck's sake—"
"You have a boyfriend now! And a life here! I don't—you said—" Steve gestures vehemently, talking a little too loud, seemingly unable to stop this from bursting out of him. "Being cool with your boyfriend hooking up with random dudes is one thing, dating is—it's not, I'm not trying to get in between you two, okay? You guys seem, happy. It's—I'm happy for you."
Oh.
Oh shit.
"Steve, for fuck's sake!" Billy launches himself forward, barely registering Steve's wide-eyed surprise before he grabs his face and plants one on him. And another. Gentler this time. Steve makes an odd wheezing sound.
"Uh."
"He's cool with me being with you , dumbass. He knew how I felt—how I feel , and. We talked about it. We talked about you. Okay?"
Steve opens his mouth. Closes it again. "Oh," he breathes.
Doubts prickle at Billy, needling him, the same doubts he had when Eddie first brought this idea up. Before he swore up and down that he just wanted to be with Billy, he didn't want to lose him, it didn't matter how he felt about anyone else.
"You're okay with this, right."
The doubts start to swarm, multiplying, when Steve pauses, expression pinched as he considers it.
"I mean, it's weird." He reaches out to touch Billy's arm, a loose grip around his elbow. "But I just…wanna make you happy. I wanna be part of what makes you happy. I don't have to be all of it."
The doubts melt away. Along with Billy's entire heart. "Oh."
Steve grins. "Oh," he echoes.
"Are you boys, uh. Almost finished? Dinner's ready," Joyce Byers calls out from where she's leaning against the half-wall behind the couch.
They spring apart, Steve stuttering out half-sentences, and Billy slowly realizing that half the people he knows were six feet away the entire time, and he feels a little like the ground could swallow him whole right now and that would be better than what's happening.
His face heats when Joyce grins at them. "Better wash up, the table's already set." And with that she turns to leave.
It could have gone much worse, but Billy still kind of wants to crawl into a hole somewhere. Eddie's beaming at them from across the room, Henderson is eyeing him suspiciously, Susan comes out of the kitchen with a bowl of mashed potatoes in hand and shoots him a tiny, gentle smile, and Will is sitting at the dining table, staring at the plate in front of him with a vacant, wide-eyed look.
He's gonna have to have a conversation with that kid later. Christ, he's gonna fuck it up so bad.
Steve reaches over and takes his hand.
…But maybe if he keeps trying something good will come from it anyways.
#harringroveson#stedilly#harringrove#mungrove#billy hargrove#steve harrington#gnc billy hargrove#stranger things#a raven's writing desk
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Sunlight on his face
Warning: period-typical homophopia. Made for @harringrove-relay-race 💜
Also on AO3 >>
Sunlight bleeds into the ceiling and on the top of the wall of their small bedroom from behind the curtain that sways slowly in the wind in front of the slightly open window.
Billy sits down next to Steve on the bed, doing his best not to wake him up. He knows he should be well on his way, but the sun is about to get up and Steve laying in bed like this—on this morning of all mornings—Billy can't leave, not just yet.
Steve is laying on his stomach, hugging his pillow, and his dark chocolate hair is a mess. Billy smiles as he runs his fingers gently through the hair, careful not to accidentally pull on any tangles and wake Steve up. Some locks are mushed between Steve's cheek and his pillow and a few strands are stuck on his cheekbones. The rest is a wild mop over his forehead and on the pillow.
Billy loves it when Steve's hair is like this. Untamed, untethered, unbothered.
Free.
Billy likes when Steve's like that, too.
Steve's been drooling in his sleep. Again.
It never fails to be endlessly endearing to Billy. He'll never tell that to Steve, though, because Steve hates that he drools in his sleep. Waking up every morning to your pillowcase being wet—or to a crusty line leading down from the corner of your mouth to your jaw or cheek—isn't classy, according to Steve.
For some godforsaken reason, he still thinks that he should be classy, as if there was nothing else he could be. But Billy knows that when Steve says those words, it's Steve's dad speaking, not Steve.
Billy isn't classy, and yet here Steve is, in bed with him. The sole proof of the words not being Steve's.
Billy knows it's not easy to let go of your past, even if you're doing better now. For them, it'll take years, if not decades, to let go of all the horrors of the past. If they ever can.
But it doesn't matter, not this morning—or ever, really, not anymore. Because of this, right here; Steve, next to him, with him.
The rays wander closer to the bed, already caressing the headboard. Billy has decided to stay until the sun reaches Steve's face.
Because today of all days, he wants to see his boyfriend's sleeping face lit up by the morning sun.
He's seen it so many times painted by the last rays just before the dusk settles, or just before the sun reaches the first steps of the ladders that lead high upon the sky above the horizon.
But never has he seen it in the first morning rays, as the sun starts climbing high up onto the sky. Whenever there’s been a chance for him to catch the sight, it's always been the wrong place, or overcast or raining, or he's been already late, or whatever the hell else that's been keeping him from staying just for just a while longer.
Today, though, nothing else matters so much as this. The rest of the world can wait for ten minutes. He'll just drive that much faster to get to work on time. Hell, he'll even take a ticket and pay it gladly if it comes to that.
This morning, when he saw that the sky was free of clouds, he decided he wants to see the first rays of the morning sun basking on Steve's sleeping face.
Because today is special.
Yesterday, they moved into this tiny apartment. Officially to everyone else as roommates, of course. But to them, it's their first home.
The apartment is small; one bedroom, a tiny bathroom and an open space with a kitchen nook in one corner, and in the other a makeshift living room created by a couch and the small, bright red TV on a crate. There's no space for a kitchen table, so they'll be eating on the couch for now.
But it doesn't matter. Because the bedroom, even if tiny as well, has a closet, just big enough for their clothes, and enough space for their bed.
And in there, in that bed, they are.
Billy wants to stay with Steve. He wants to place his head in the crook of Steve's neck and curl himself around him like a cat. Purr into his ears all the dirty words he can come up with and wake Steve up for a round of... Yeah, he wants to, so bad.
It's just that... He started at this new job at Mr. Wilkinson's garage last week and he can't ask on his first week 'hey can I take a day off, um yeah, next Monday would be great'.
No. He needs this job.
- - -
“What is this, Steve?” a female voice, close to screeching, demanded.
Both Steve and Billy snapped their heads toward the voice. They'd been so immersed in making love that they hadn't heard the knock—if there'd ever even been one—or the door opening.
A tall, dark-haired woman looked into Steve's room, her eyes wide. Billy had never met Steve's parents, but he recognized immediately from whom Steve had inherited his looks.
Steve quickly pulled out, his face turning deep red, and he covered himself with his hand as he fumbled to grab his blanket with the other to help Billy cover himself with it.
Billy hid under the blanket and turned his back towards the door. He felt his cheeks heating as shame rolled over him and he felt like crying. No one else had known his secret, their secret, and now the third worst person in the world had learned about it.
“Mom, I can explain...” Steve tried weakly, but his mom cut him off.
“Get rid of that!” she spat.
Billy knew her tone all too well. Surprise of the worst kind, spiced with disbelief and disgust, served hot and painfully burning.
“Be glad it was me who saw this,” she continued. “This, whatever this is, ends now. You hear me, Steve the 3rd Harrington?”
“Yes, ma'am,” Steve said without hesitation.
When the door clicked closed, Steve brushed Billy's side with his hand. “I'm sorry,” he whispered with a hoarse voice, and started sniffling.
Billy realized Steve was crying, and it was all his fault. Everything was.
Him falling in love with Steve and wanting to have Steve to himself. Allowing Steve to fall in love with him. All this even though he knew it wouldn't last and that it would probably end just like this.
Billy was about to say that he'll go when Steve gently pulled the cover from over his head and looked at him.
His eyes were angry red, and the pain in them was obvious. But what came out of his mouth wasn't what Billy had expected: “Just let me pack and I'll come with you.”
“What?” Billy said, confused. “No!”
Steve shook his head. “I'm tired of hiding.”
Billy's stomach dropped at the words. He blinked and tried to find hints of lies in Steve's gaze. There weren't any.
Steve wiped his face into his forearm. “I'll come with you and we'll figure something out,”
“No. I won't let you do that,” Billy said and sat up. “You're not leaving, you have everything here, good things ahead of you—”
Steve cut him off. “I want to be with you. If I stay, I can't. My dad won't... he won't understand, anyway. I might as well come with you now.”
They stared at each other for a while in silence.
Billy swallowed. “You sure?” he asked quietly.
Steve brushed Billy's cheek with his hand and smiled. “Yeah. Never been this sure about anything in my life.”
- - -
So, now that Steve's out from Loch Nora, disowned and cut off from the Harringtons' inheritance for good, they're truly on their own until Steve turns twenty-five and gets his hands on his trust fund—the only thing his parents allowed him to keep along with his name. Yeah, they got some hush money from the government after Starcourt, but Billy needed a new car and Steve put his money on the side for a bad day. They tried not to touch it.
Steve didn't care what his dad thought, but his mom cutting all ties, too, that was a blow. Billy could see it in Steve how badly it hurt.
Maybe she'll come around one day. Billy really hopes that, for Steve's sake.
Thank god for found families, though. For Joyce. And Hop.
- - -
“Joyce?” Billy said as soon as they walked in to the Byers' house.
Joyce had taken Billy in after he'd gotten out of the government facility where he'd been treated for three months after Starcourt. While he'd been recovering Neil had skipped town, leaving Max and Susan behind and living in the trailer park, and Billy just couldn't live in the tiny trailer with them. So, Hop had driven him to Byers' and Joyce hadn't let him leave until he set his bag in Jonathan's old room, 'just until you find a place of your own.'
“Coming,” Joyce replied from somewhere deeper in the house.
“Uh, Steve's here...he, uh, came... When's dinner?” Billy heard himself stumbling over his own words. He couldn't ask Joyce to take Steve in. She'd already taken him, for fuck's sake, but Steve needed a place to stay, at least for the night.
“Oh, hello Steve,” Joyce said, smiling, when she came into the kitchen. “Food is ready, just set the table. Will is staying at the Wheelers over night and Hop is in the night shift, so it's just us tonight.”
“Uh, Joyce...” Billy started and glanced at Steve and then back at Joyce.
She must've recognized the unease in Billy's eyes as she looked at Steve and lowered her gaze at the duffel bag in his hand.
Billy could tell the exact moment she clocked in what was going on.
“Steve, do you need a place to stay?” she asked.
“Um...” Steve started quietly.
Billy followed Joyce's gaze at Steve's hands and noticed that his free hand was trembling. When he looked up at him, he saw him swallowing hard, with tears in his eyes. He took Steve's hand, squeezing it gently, and Steve squeezed it back. “Yeah, he does,” he replied on Steve's behalf. “We’ll start looking for a place of our own tomorrow.”
“You're welcome to stay, Steve,” Joyce said with a gentle smile. Then her cheeks reddened. “I know you two like each other, and that's all fine and dandy. But keep it down then, okay?”
Billy felt his cheeks heating, and he gently squeezed Steve's hand. Steve squeezed it back, and Billy cleared his throat. “We will.”
“I'll pay rent, of course,” Steve said quietly. “Or for food. Anything.”
“That's alright, we can talk those things through later,” she said and turned to the cabinets, taking out plates and cutlery, as if nothing world changing hadn't just happened.
As if one mother hadn't just kicked out her son and straight away another taken that son under her wing.
Steve and Billy looked at each other, stunned.
When Joyce realized they hadn't moved from the door, she turned to look at them. “Well, don't just stand there, boys. I'm starving. I hope you are, too.”
- - -
After a few months of looking, they finally found this place.
Their landlady is Flo, the secretary from the police station.
According to Hop, when she'd heard that two young men were looking for an apartment with a rather quick schedule and that he could vouch for them, she'd told him to call them about the small apartment of her recently passed father.
Billy is convinced Hop made the deal extra sweet for her somehow to get them out of the Byers' house. Because Hop also spent significant amount of time there.
They had really done their best to be as descreet as possible while they'd been staying at the Byers'. But they were young and in love and after sharing the house for a few months with them, Hop had looked relieved when he'd been helping them to carry their meagre belongings, clothes and such, both the couch and the bed frame Joyce wanted to get rid of, and the one thing they bought brand new—a mattress—up onto the second floor where the apartment was.
- - -
“Thanks, Hop,” Billy said when all three of them had finally gotten the last item, the heavy bed frame, upstairs. “For, you know, everything.”
Hop took his ball cap off his head and wiped the sweat from his forehead with his other hand. “Yeah, sure.” He fiddled with the bill of his cap for a moment and then raised his gaze to Steve, who had appeared on Billy's side.
Billy, who could sense trouble miles away, saw that something was brewing and eyed both of them, concerned.
Hop placed his hand on Steve's shoulder, rubbing it. “Steve. I know you're a good kid,” he started with a grave tone, and pointed at Billy with his finger. “But if you ever hurt that boy...”
Billy glanced at Steve; he'd gone stiff and he looked at Hop his eyes wide open.
But he seemed to quickly catch up with what Hop was aiming at, because he straightened his posture and pulled his shoulders back. “I won't,” he said with conviction, the kind Billy had never heard from anyone before. “Sir.”
Suddenly, Billy could feel tears gathering under his eyes, and not just because of Steve's words. He knew Steve cared for him, maybe even loved. And even if that made Billy sometimes cry for being so incredible, it was Hop's words that touched something inside him he'd never thought he'd need; knowing that the man he'd had come to look up to the several months he'd been living at the Buyers' also cared about him... He tried to blink faster to keep the droplets from falling.
Hop stared Steve in the eyes for what must've been just seconds, but what felt like a lifetime. “Alright,” he said, “I trust you. But Joyce, you know... she's a mother tiger. And she's very fond of Billy.”
Steve swallowed and nodded. “Yes, I know. I'll, uh, I'll take good care of him. Sir.”
Hop patted Steve's shoulder and smiled approvingly. “Good. Well,” he said, letting go, and put his cap on. “I'll be off then. Enjoy your freedom, boys.”
Both Billy and Steve stared at the door after Hop had closed it after him.
Billy, still trying to blink his tears away, looked at Steve again. The sight made joy bubble in his stomach and laughter break its way through his tears; Steve looked ashen and truly shaken, something Billy had never seen before. And, for some reason, knowing it was because what Hop had said made it endlessly amusing.
Steve tore his eyes off the door and looked at Billy. “Jesus Christ! Ted was never that intimidating. I almost peed my pants.”
The statement made Billy cackle even more.
Steve's expression turned from shock to sour and he punched Billy in the arm with his fist—not too hard, though. “Hey, stop laughing. If you'd received a shovel talk like that from Hop, I doubt you'd feel any different,” he said defensively.
Billy was glad about the laughing fit because now he could claim his tears came from that. “You should've seen your face, though. It was priceless,” he wheezed, wiping his eyes.
Steve frowned at him, but then his gaze softened into something Billy knew well. Billy almost managed to plant his feet to hold back Steve’s sudden movement, but Steve was faster this time. He grabbed Billy's wrists and pinned him against the wall of their small foyer with his body. Billy could see the mischief in Steve's eyes, and it made a swarm of butterflies take flight in his stomach. He knew he would never have to fight Steve, not the way they did that one time forever ago. He was safe with Steve, he knew, so he surrendered.
“I promised to take good care of you,” Steve said huskily, his eyes roaming on Billy's face from his eyes to his mouth and back.
Billy felt his cheeks heating. “So you did,” he replied, his smile widening.
Steve drank the smile away from Billy's lips with a deep kiss that was very clear on what kind of care Steve meant.
- - -
The sun finally reaches the mattress and climbs onto Steve's pillow, grabbing him by the hair, and Billy moves his hand away from blocking its way. The bright rays tiptoe onto Steve's forehead, using the moles as stepping stones, one by one. As the world turns, the rays continue their endless march, sliding over Steve's temple and the bridge of his nose down his cheek. Finally, the rays cover his entire face as they continue spreading onto his shoulder and further, over Billy's knee and thigh.
Steve's relaxed face, now fully lit by the first morning sunlight, is exactly as beautiful as Billy thought it would be.
His heart aches, for he has to leave now if he wants to make it on time to work. But it's okay that he has to go. They'll celebrate in the evening when Steve comes home from his evening shift...
Billy is suddenly overwhelmed and tears pool in his eyes without a second warning; when Steve comes home in the evening, he comes home to him, to their home.
And that matters. More than Billy thought ever possible.
Because not only they just moved together yesterday, today is their very first anniversary.
The first time they celebrate their love lasting longer than mere months—love that began in that government facility where Steve was taken care of after Starcourt, too—it happens in a home of their own.
In a home where they're taken as they are, broken and not even close to perfect. Where always one is looking forward to the other to come home. Where there's no need for a curfew, for both of them want nothing more than to get home to be with each other.
It's a miracle they're here, really. So Billy, who usually takes nothing for granted, allows himself to take this much as written: they'll be happy here, together.
Billy leans down to place a kiss on Steve's cheek. Sun has warmed it and Billy rubs his nose in it a little, taking in a deep breath of Steve's scent. When Steve stirs from his sleep and grunts, Billy whispers, smiling, “I gotta run, babe. Happy anniversary. See you when you get home.”
- - -
Please look forward to the lovely, wonderful and amazing work from the next contributor @thatgirlwithasquid
#harringrove#harringrove ficlet#steve harrington#billy hargrove#billy x steve#steve x billy#suometar writes#harringrove fic
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Oooooo Goundhog Day and Anniversary for WIP Whateverday please!
Woooooo!
Groundhog day is so special to me rn!!!
But this time Billy turns around and looks at Steve. "There's this thing... it's fucked up. It's like this deja vu, I keep getting it when I'm with you and I can't explain why.”
Steve looks at Billy with a sad smile. “How so?”
“I really don't know,” Billy whispers after a while. “Just...it's so strange. I feel like I've known you for forever. Your words... It's as if I've heard them all before. And you know so much about me. I don't know how. But I know nothing about you, not really, things just seem so...familiar.” Billy paused, looking at his feet. “And I like it. That you know me.”
Anniversary is something I've been planning for ages and just got to draft more. I really hope to get it done and out there at some point :D
Steve is laying on his stomach, hugging his pillow. His dark chocolate hair is a mess. Billy smiles as he runs his fingers gently through it, careful not to pull any accidental tangles. Some of the locks are between Steve's mushed cheek and the pillow. The rest are a wild mop all over his face and on the pillow.
Billy loves it when Steve's hair is like this. Untamed, unthethered, unbothered.
Free.
He likes when Steve's like that, too.
Steve's been drooling in his sleep. Again. It never fails to be endlessly endearing to Billy. He'll never tell that to Steve, though, because Steve hates that he drools in his sleep. Waking up having your pillowcase wet every morning isn't classy, apparently, and Steve for some god forsaken reason still thinks that he should be classy. But that's his dad speaking, not Steve. Billy knows. It's not easy to let go of your past even if you're so much better now.
Thank you for asking 💜
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Last sentence game
I got tagged by @suometar @andordean and @lovebillyhargrove to post the last sentence I wrote (fanfic / original writing etc.) and then tag as many people as there are words. Thank you so much for your tags! ♥
“I mean, you were in pretty bad shape last night. Still are, actually. If I were him, I’d wait until you felt better.”
So, 23 people in total huh? I'm going to tag the next 23 friendly/familiar names that I can see in my activity and hope you're okay with it:
@hotdadlicense @ihni @gravegroves @boomhauer @rascheln @silvermoon-scrolls @introvertia @assortedfruitsnacks212 @bowiebond @kanirou-crosshack @memes-saved-me @deedoop @big--yikes @sensitivehandsomeactionman @oni-queen-magpie @landerspaul @astaldis @dragonflylady77 @thrud-of-asgard @releasemefromboredom @imsodishy @joefart @lazybakerart ♥
If you're not okay with being tagged / don't feel like participating, no pressure. <3
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tag game - stranger things edition
The lovely @dragonflylady77 and @harringrovest tagged me so here I am!
ride or die ship (your otp): Harringrove
most annoying ship: it's a tie between Steve/Nancy (those two don't work together in canon, they are like soap and grease, why even try to put them together AGAIN?!) and Byler (because Will deserves way better than Mike Wheeler, and he should realize it soon for his own good! T^T)
second favourite ship: Metalsandwich. There's something so fun in the ways those three interact and interconnect...
favourite platonic relationship: Stobin all the way!
underrated ship: Mungrove
overrated ship: Byler (again, free Will Byers 2023!)
one thing i would change in canon: ONE?! I get only ONE and I even have to choose which one?! How can I decide?! [Sadie Doyle voice] The utter inconsistency in how the UD works! No, Troy the little bully almost killing a kid and getting away scot free! No! El needing to be re-traumatized to get her powers back! No! Karen Wheeler noncing around unpunished! No! Eddie's stupid death! No! The rest of the party being shitty friends to Lucas again and again and him just going along with it in the end like it's no big deal! No! Nobody actually trying to pull the mindflayer out of Billy! No, just Billy's death in general!
something canon did right: quoting @harringrovest's answer, lifeguard!Billy. And Steve in that silly silly sailor outfit. Season 3 was a weird beast, but at least it gave us those two things!
a thing i'm proud of creating for the fandom PLEASE BRAG ABOUT YOURSELF I WANT TO SEE/READ YOUR ART: my metalsandwich long fic Of soulmates and colors and also my oneshots Come close and Amok which were banged out in a couple of hours each but I love a lot. And also What doesn't kill you makes you a monster, because writing demobat!Steve Harrington was fun as fuck! Yeah, basically I'm proud of each fic I published, thank you. And I'm also very proud of the shark glasses that led to THIS! beautiful, perfect edit by @imsodishy 🥲❤️
a character who is perfect to me (wouldn't change a thing): Billy Hargrove
the character i relate to the most and why: Billy Hargrove, because... well, personal reasons.
character i hate the most and why: Dr. Martin fucking Brenner, because he kidnapped kids, manipulated and tortured them, tortured El's mom until her mind broke, and the narrative wants us to... not hate him, not really, because after all he was right? He re-tortures and re-traumatizes El but it's for the greater good? Well, fuck that shit, fuck the Duffers and their whole writers' room, and fuck Brenner with a rusty pipe!
something i've learned from the fandom: as with anywhere else, there are lovely talented people in fandom that make great stuff, and there are also not great people (looking at you, assholes who wish harm on others because they like one character you dislike!), so the block button is your best friend. Also, squeeing in happiness at good art and fics is even sweeter when done in group! ❤️
three tags i seek out on ao3: I don't really have an answer, since I don't usually look for specific stuff; I more go with the flow or jump on fics that someone recommended/mentioned that sound interesting.
song i strongly associate with my otp/favourite character: Desire by Meg Myers is so Harringrove it hurts; and while Wolf by Yeah Yeah Yeahs is pure "Billy Hargrove after basking in Steve's love a little too long", Like You Better Dead is my favourite Billy-coded song, because, yeah, he can be as angry as he wants to be, just watch him burn!
I should tag someone, so... uh... argh! Hoping you've not been tagged, and begging preemptively pardon just in case... @salthat @destroya2005 @ariesbilly @suometar and anyone who sees this and wants to do it! :P
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"tag ten people you want to know better"
AYYYY thanks for the tag @suometar 😍
Relationship status: divorced i mean single oops
Song stuck in my head: Dancing With the Dead by Powerwolf (but your song SLAPS btw omg, instantly liked that one!)
Last song: Drifting by Adelita's Way (ok bro I officially trust you with my life, you have GOOD music taste holy crap)
Favourite food: lobster, steak, softshell crab sushi roll
Last thing I googled: "new metalocalypse movie release date" 😬
Dream trip: Tourist trip visiting museums and forests across Finland. I'm a simple being 😋
Anything I want right now: For all my studying to pay off and land me a job in technical or UX writing 😆
Tagging: @steverogersnotebook, @violetcancerian, @leek-soup, @vorador, @stevesjester, @faelanvance, @flowercrown-bard, @ocularpatdowns, @aritany, @coaleyed, and anyone else who wants an excuse who I might be forgetting because my brain is cheese! ✨
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Tagged by the mwah mwah mwah amazing @darleenjade ❤️ thank you ❤️
Last Song - Mojo "Lady hear me tonight" it's just so summery and youthful. I think abt harringrove ofc, them being happy
Song stuck in my head - Aha "Forever not yours". Amazing. Harringrove vibes
Favourite colour(s) - turquoise, shades of blue and green, especially in combination with various shades of grey/silver/golden
Currently watching - nothing
Currently reading - nothing
Currently craving - peace
Last movie - Transformers 2007. Thinking abt harringrove au
Sweet, spicy or savoury - savoury
Relationship status - married. Still, somehow
Current obsession - writing a harringrove slow burn "Wake me up when July is around"
Three favourite foods - burgers, sushi, watermelon
Last thing I googled - which kind of alcohol is possible to be set on fire (billy sets vodka shots on fire)
Dream trip - ocean. Friends around the world. Portugal. Cape cod.
Anything i want right now - to have more time to write the fic. For everyone to be safe and healthy
Tagging the usual crowd @dragonflylady77 @disdaidal @oopsiedaisiesbaby @thissortofsorcery @prettyboy-like-you @makeadealwithdean @adelacreations @dream-about-dancing @rascheln @suometar @memes-saved-me
Aaand @raspberry-rampage @mymisfitsbabe @aggressiveviking @brightside-of-the-upsidedown @intothedysphoria @biillys @fawcett-hairspray-club @spaceofentropy @cassandracorvo @fizzigigsimmer @thebejeweledwatercat @ilyharringrove ❤️❤️
And if you see this and wanna do it, i tag you too! ❤️❤️❤️
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Rec your fics tag game
Thanks for tagging me @suometar 💜
*rules*
Recommended us 3 of your fics. 1 that is the "most popular" and 2 that you consider as "hidden gems".
Okay...here we go
1) Most popular
For some reason Truck Stop is my most popular by far. Guess Trucker!Sy hit a nerve...
2) and 3)
I doubt they are gems, but I am proud of them for very different reasons and my babies deserve some recognition
First one is a Sherlock Fic called Night Train and I had so much fun writing this and weaving lines from an actual book into my lines.
And last but not least an August drabble inspired by a piece of classical music: Lacrimosa.
This one was easy and difficult to write...easy because I felt it so much, difficult because I wanted to make it as palpable as possible. Don't know if I succeeded but I like this one a lot.
Tagging @sillyrabbit81 @cavillsthighs @augustsprincess @emelinelovesjc and every one who writes and feels like doing this.
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