Steve could think of a lot of things to call Billy Hargrove. Bully. Asshole. Arrogant. Gross. Unfortunately, the only thing Steve was allowed to call him was —
“Captain.”
Delivered through gritted teeth, mostly, or yelled across the court. Said in a drawl with an eye roll for added effect.
It wasn’t fucking fair. Billy had been a year under Steve in high school. And yet he’d managed to get to uni first, so now Steve was stuck calling Billy what Billy used to call him.
“Ass in gear, Harrington!”
At least some things never changed.
Billy was smart, apparently. Like — really smart. He’d bounced out of high school and immediately fucked off to uni, full ride and everything. Steve had to take two whole years to get himself in order, and even then his parents were paying for the degree. Steve was a whole year older than Billy and a whole year behind.
It fucking sucked.
Especially because no one here knew Billy in high school. It was just Steve who remembered what he used to be like. He hadn’t changed that much, but it was clear leaving Hawkins had a huge effect on the guy. Here in California, he was so much less angry.
He still yelled at the team plenty, but more to motivate than to abuse. Was still rough, but out of play, not violence. Still gross. Still hot. Still charmed the pants off any girl he wanted, still gave Steve that horrid smirk any time Billy got one up on him.
And after three years, Steve wasn’t really frustrated about Billy being a grade up, being better. Steve knew Billy would end up captain for his senior year. Now what Steve was frustrated about was how Billy had suddenly gotten worse. And no one else seemed to notice.
Maybe he just picked on Steve in particular. But it fucking sucked. The rest of the team worshipped Captain Hargrove, and Billy hated Steve.
Basketball was the only thing Steve knew he was good at. He wanted to be captain next year. So badly. But there was no way in hell Billy would hand the reigns to him, and he’d made that increasingly clear in the past few months.
Graduation was fast approaching. Finals were screwing everyone. Steve was high strung with the stress of it all, and Billy’s bullshit wasn’t helping.
Knocking him down just to pick him up and do it all over again. Passing to Steve just to yell at him for a ‘bad play’. Putting Steve on the opposite team and guarding him on purpose.
Steve was pissed off and he’d had enough.
“Alright, Captain,” he’d hissed the moment the gym doors had closed behind Billy, shoving the stockier boy up against the wall by the water fountain. “You really gonna hold a high school grudge all the way until graduation or what?”
Billy, asshole that he was, just grinned at him. “Why so touchy, Harrington? If this is about that girl at the party last week, it’s not your fault she wanted a younger guy.” He wiggled his brows.
“No — what?” Steve grimaced. Billy never stopped being gross. “Fuck off, dude. You know what I’m talking about. Everyone knows you target me like hell.”
Billy glanced away, all shifty, but when he looked back the grin was plastered into place. “Dunno what you’re talking about, Harrington. Look, I know you’re used to the princess treatment — ”
“Don’t give me that,” Steve snapped, pushing Billy’s shoulder, shoved harshly into the wall again, feeling only a tiny bit bad when Billy winced. “You treat me like shit. I know you wouldn’t give it to me to save your life but let’s face it your next best option is fucking Daniel and he’s not exactly a team player.”
Billy squinted at him. “You think next best is Daniel? Shit, maybe I should reconsider this whole thing.”
Steve gaped a little. “What whole — you weren’t gonna give it to him?”
“No, asshole,” Billy drawled, like Steve was slow. “I was gonna give it to you, but fuckin Daniel is such a shit take that maybe I gotta rethink my plan, you get what I’m sayin? Can’t have you picking shit new players.”
Steve stared at him.
Tried to find the lie, the joke, the taunt in Billy’s blazing eyes but Billy wasn’t a liar, never had been, not like Steve was.
Billy’s lips twitched. “The fuck you lookin at?”
Steve blinked, and stumbled back from Billy, releasing him. “You were gonna make me captain?”
“Well shit, not yet,” Billy replied. Asshole. “Still got another month left in me.”
“Jesus Christ, you know what I mean. Why were you being such a dick, then, Hargrove?”
Billy’s eyebrows climbed. “Try that again, Harrington.”
Steve narrowed his eyes at Billy, who just looked back at him expectantly.
Gritting his teeth, Steve replied in his flattest tone, “Why were you being such a dick, Captain.”
A flash of pearly whites for his trouble, and a pat to the shoulder. “Couldn’t let you have my team before I knew you could handle it, now could I?”
“So what, all of this was just some sort of fucked up test?”
“Sure, if it helps you sleep at night.”
“You’re — I hate you.”
“No you don’t.” Billy grinned at him again. Wolfish, just like it had been in high school, ready to close around Steve’s throat. “You want me to like you so bad.”
“Yeah because I want to be Captain, you ass—”
Those teeth that were designed to destroy Steve’s windpipe were suddenly digging into Steve’s bottom lip, which made it rather difficult to speak. It also fucking hurt. And was incredibly surprising. So if Steve made a completely undignified yelping sort of sound, it had nothing to do with Billy kissing him and everything to do with shock and pain.
Kissing back wasn’t quite so easily explained.
Honestly, Steve didn’t know why he did it. Billy really did piss him off. Maybe it was just the thrill of knowing it wasn’t all for nothing, the high of knowing he’d be captain next year. Maybe it was knowing Billy approved of him — not that Steve gave a shit about that. Maybe it was just that Billy was hot and Steve hadn’t slept with that girl at last week’s party because Billy had been better. Maybe Steve had wanted him since high school and just buried it under a thick layer of what an ass.
And truly, what an ass, as Billy tried to make Steve’s mouth bleed or something with how agressive he was being, and god finally getting to sink his fingers into the dense meat of Billy was beyond satisfying. There was something to be said for his gym rat behavior, since Steve’s hands could wrap and squeeze and dig into Billy’s biceps and ass and thighs like he could rend him right open.
Steve had just wrapped his hand up in Billy’s stupid hair and Billy had just dragged his tongue between Steve’s teeth when a door slammed somewhere in the gym.
Steve startled and jerked away, suddenly incredibly aware of their easily accessible location, not to mention the burning feeling in his face, the sting of his bitten mouth, the fingers that gone numb from wrapping Billy’s hair too tight around them. The aching straining tightening coiling way too fucking obvious in his basketball shorts, the matching mouthwatering visual in Billy’s and goddamn, Steve hated the idea of getting on his knees for someone like Billy Hargrove but he might just be able to do it for Billy Hargrove himself.
Billy was grinning again. Panting between his teeth.
“Well? Captain.”
And — that made Steve feel.
Something.
“Shut up,” Steve managed. Not sure what else to say.
Billy’s grin cracked impossibly wider. “What, you want me to tell you to make me? Cause even I’m not that cliche, Harrington, and – ”
And Jesus Christ, Steve just wanted him to stop fucking talking, so he grabbed him by the face and crushed their mouths back together. The quickest way to shut Billy Hargrove up, as it turned out, was to stick one’s tongue down his throat.
Their teeth clicked together, which was painful, as most things with Billy were. Billy hissed and shoved back a little, and they stumbled grasping and yanking into the shower room.
Steve gave a breathless sort of laugh when they finally bumped to a stop, Billy shoved up against him and his back to a wall. Billy might as well have been feral, prowling up on Steve as he was, clawing his shirt off and gnawing on him, cornering and hunting him.
“Like to — fuck — play with your food, Captain?”
Billy groaned in response, shoving Steve harder against the wall, making him wince as his now-bare shoulders scraped against the shitty paint. “Forgot how to mouth off, Harrington?”
Steve laughed again, that same hysterical breathless definitely-not-a-giggle kind of laugh. “Gonna fuck some respect into me or what?”
“Jesus Christ, Harrington,” Billy replied, a low grating syrupy quality to his voice that went straight through Steve’s bloodstream like a hit. “If telling you you’re gonna be captain is all it took, I shoulda told you sooner.”
Steve huffed a little. “Yeah, right.”
“No, serious.” Billy pushed his shoulder again. Rough. Playful. “Already had it in my head it was gonna be you. Knew it months ago. Had to put on a good show, you know, really make sure so no one could say I was just playin old high school favorites. And maybe I liked pushin you around a little. But I’m serious. It’s been you, Harrington.”
And that made something uncomfortably warm swirl in Steve’s chest. Warmth wasn’t a feeling Steve wanted to associate with Billy Hargrove. Burning heat was good, scalding, melting flesh off bone. But something warm, cozy, blanket around his shoulders coffee in the rain — Steve couldn’t take that.
“Yeah, right,” he said again, quieter this time. Not defiant, just soft. Acceptance. Having Billy’s gorgeous blue eyes boring into his own made it hard to disagree. “Right.”
Billy must have felt it too, then — this warm curling thing between them — because he plastered the sharp grin back on, slicing through whatever fragile just slipped through the cracks. “Where were we?”
A slow smile crept back across Steve’s mouth in return.
Billy’s got Steve all pressed up against the Beemer when he says it.
“This is the last time, Hargrove,” he pants, putting his hand on Billy’s chest. “Last time.”
Billy thinks for a moment it sounds serious. Because Steve’s looking at him like it is, and because he hasn’t said that in a while. But he used to say it all the time – every time, in fact. Liar. Billy may be an asshole but Steve’s a huge fucking liar.
So he sort of huffs a laugh and presses back in against Steve’s hand and drawls “whatever you say, Harrington” because Steve’s a liar.
Steve indulges him in another kiss before he tries to speak again. “I’m serious,” he groans when Billy starts working down his throat.
“Sure you are, pretty boy. Just like all the other times,” Billy replies, a bit too focused on working open Steve’s shirt to come up with something meaner.
“I,” Steve starts, then gives a little breathless moan when Billy grinds their hips together. He tries again. “I found someone.”
That makes Billy pause, though only for a moment. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.” Steve’s fingers are working on Billy’s belt. “Someone I think I wanna be serious about.”
Billy’s glad his face is buried in Steve’s neck so Steve can’t see him wince. Because yeah, Billy’s not the type of person Steve wants to be serious with. And he knows that. But it still kind of stings, every time.
Still. He presses Steve back firmer into the Beemer and tugs his shirt out from where it’s tucked into his jeans. Steve’s done this a few times, gone and gotten serious with some girl. He always comes crawling back.
“Well, when you get bored of this chick – ”
Steve gets Billy’s belt open with a little groan. “Not a chick.”
Billy stops.
This is new.
“What?”
“Not a…” Steve huffs. Tugs impatiently at the waist of Billy’s jeans. “It’s a guy.”
And holy shit, Steve’s serious.
He means it.
This is the last time.
Billy takes a whole step back, eyes kind of wide, staring at Steve. Steve whines, because he’s used to getting what he wants, spoiled rich boy that he is. For once, Billy’s not sure he wants to give it to him.
“You’re serious,” Billy says, and his voice sounds kind of hollow.
Steve blinks at him like he’s confused, all soft doe eyes. “So?” he pouts, because Billy’s never reacted like this before.
But Steve’s never done this before. Never tried to get serious with a guy. Which means it’s not about being queer. It’s not that Steve only wants to be serious with a girl, with someone he can marry, someone he can show off.
The problem isn’t with guys.
It’s with Billy.
Shame and embarrassment and anger curl ugly in Billy’s chest. He’s sliding his belt back into place before he really registers what he’s doing.
Steve’s frown deepens, really pouting now. “What’re you doing?”
“I’m going home,” Billy replies gruffly.
“What? Why?”
Billy shakes his head, and turns to leave.
“Billy,” Steve calls, and he sounds genuinely confused. “Billy, stop.”
But Billy doesn’t want to hear it. He doesn’t want to look at Steve right now. Because Billy is the problem. And if he’s gonna fucking cry, it’s gonna be far, far away from Steve Harrington.
Steve’s getting frustrated, because he snaps after him, “You’re wasting your last chance!”
“Goodbye, Steve,” Billy replies, a bit mean, a bit flat, and doesn’t look back.
Eddie’s laid flat on his back, it’s not particularly comfortable. He’s on a yoga mat on the grass. The sun is shining, so Eddie has his shades on and his eyes closed, but it still feels too bright. The sun feels too warm on his already itchy skin. He’s vaguely aware that his cock is probably doing it’s own version of ‘saluting the sun’ or whatever the fuck the pose is called, because his rut still isn’t done.
Eddie’s jerked off a couple of times, a little half hearted. Sometimes crossing the finish line and some times not. He’s never had a rut last this long and it’s pretty miserable. The not full nature of it is somehow making it worse; like his system is sluggishly working through years of blockers and inducers and general abuse, so it doesn’t have the energy to tip Eddie into a full, proper rut.
“This is bullshit,” he tells the sky.
Next to him, he hears Steve hum a vaguely agreeable noise, and then there’s rustling as he moves. Eddie squints over just long enough to see that Steve has bent himself into yet another highly improbable pose. He’s making a big show about how good he is at breathing.
Eddie can breath. Steve isn’t all that.
Steve’s dumb floppy hair falls forward, and Eddie just wants to give Steve a shove and watch him topple over. It’d be easy, the way he’s balancing.
Low hanging fruit, Eddie decides, and closes his eyes again.
There’s more rustling, and Steve’s just sitting there now, criss cross apple sauce, hands resting easily on his knees. Stupid yoga pants with leaves and flowers printed on them, like Steve doesn’t care what he looks like.
Yoga pants that leave absolutely nothing to the imagination.
“What are you doing?”
“Meditating.”
“Is it working?”
“Sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn’t.” Steve answers evenly.
Eddie decides to sing the green bottles on a wall song, he starts at one hundred, but looses steam at around ninety seven when he realizes Steve is showing no outwards sign of being bothered.
Eddie sighs. Flops over onto his stomach and sighs again.
“Why am I here for this?”
“Chrissy said you said you wanted to try yoga, so here we are.”
“That is not what happened,” Eddie flops back over onto his back indignantly, “she told me that she’s been doing yoga, and that she thinks I should try it. She said it might help.”
“She’s right, it might.”
“I don’t see how.”
Steve’s quiet for a second, then, “you know when someone comes to the door, and the dog barks like crazy?”
“I don’t have a dog, and no one ever comes to my-”
“Hypothetical dog. And front door.”
“What color?”
“The dog or the front door?”
Eddie tuts, “the dog. The hypothetical dog, what color is it?”
“It’s a golden retriever.”
“Okay, yeah,” Eddie waves his hand vaguely, “go on then.”
“It’s really difficult to train a dog to stop doing something; the best way is to train it to do something else instead. So, you train the dog that when there’s someone at the door, it fetches a toy or something. Reward when the dog meets you at the front door with the toy.”
“Are you actually a dog trainer? Like, I’m so insulted, why did they get me a dog trainer-?”
Steve snorts, “my point is, the dog can’t bark if it has something in it’s mouth. It takes ninety days to build a habit.”
Or seven or eight lines, Eddie thinks absently. “What, and I can’t get high because I’m too busy being bent up like a wanna’ be pretzel? Bullshit.”
“I think it’s more the frame of mind Chrissy was-”
“Got fucking high playing twister once. So, yeah, calling bullshit.”
“Yeah, makes sense. It’s rough anyway, yoga. Lots of core strength.”
“Shut the fuck up, try playing a three hour gig, you don’t even know core strength.”
“Right right, yeah. Of course.”
“Show me the, the stupid thing,” Eddie gets up, “the one with the ass in the air, I’ll show you. Can’t be that hard.”
“Sure, start by standing up straight...”
“I tried the stupid, the thing. The yoga thing.”
“Eddie that’s great! How was it!”
“I’m broken. Don’t tell Steve.”
Chrissy snorts down the line, “awww, you’re getting on okay with him then?”
“He’s got a great ass.”
“Eddie!”
“Might fuck it.”
“Oh my Jesus Christ Eddie no-!”
“I’m kidding. I’m kidding. Best behavior. Scouts honor.”
“You were never a scout.”
Eddie snorts, “no, definitely not. Bet Steve was though. Where did you even find this guy anyway? He knows how to like, do everything. He made waffles for lunch, ate like, four of ‘em. Even the fruit.”
“He got you to eat fruit? That’s it, I’ll hire him full time right now, he’s never leaving-”
“Pffft. Shut it. I’m not that bad. Besides, he’s probably got like a wife, and two point five kids and white picket fence to get back to.”
“I...actually don’t know anything personal about him really.”
Eddie hums vaguely, because that’s boring.
“He said your ruts not done, if it’s not any better in forty eight hours they want to send someone to do a blood draw.”
“Great. You know I love a nurses- hang on, wait. Is Steve reporting back to you? What else has he been telling you?”
“Not much!” Chrissy says in a bright voice that Eddie instantly knows is a lie, “and he does work for me Eddie, I mean, be reasonable. I need to know you’re okay.”
“You can ask me if I’m okay!” He takes a deep breath, feeling kind of angry and not just a little betrayed.
“I...Eddie. Your...what you tell me about yourself isn’t always...accurate. At least, it hasn’t been.”
“Oh, what so now you don’t trust me?”
“Eddie, come on-”
“No. Fuck off.” And Eddie hangs up the phone.
Eddie stews on it for a bit. Then storms through the house. He finds Steve on the couch, reading a book, “you! You fucking- you, you Judas! Get the fuck out of my house!”
Steve doesn’t even stand up off the couch, just lowers the book a bit, “I’m sorry?”
“Where the fuck do you get off, huh? What have you been telling Chrissy? Did you tell her about the other night? I bet you did you fucking snake-”
“You want to read what I wrote?”
“I- what?” Eddie deflates instantly. He was expecting Steve to put up a fight or deny it or spout some bullshit about confidentiality or something equally wank and made up.
“I do have to report back; Chrissy is my employer. This is my job.”
“But you’ll...let me read it?”
Steve shrugs, “it is about you.”
Every twenty four hour period appears to be it’s own email. All neatly laid out. It starts with if Eddie’s had a wash or not, and it turns out that Eddie is not a fan of having his personal hygiene clinically reviewed on a daily basis. It’s followed by what he’s eaten and drunk that day; or at least, what Steve’s seen him eat and drink. Not that Eddie’s been snacking much; he’s too thin right now, he can tell that by looking at himself in the mirror. It’s not a good look; it’s not the kind of skinny that would have the tabloids saying how great he looks.
It’s the kind of skinny that would have them speculating about eating disorders.
Right after that is just...notes. Clinical but...vague.
EM supported with nesting. “I have not nested.”
“No, but I changed your sheets.”
EM continues to show poor engagement with nutritional food. “Steve. I’m not eating the fucking salad.”
Steve shrugs, “you’re not eating much of anything.”
Eddie tuts.
EM continues to be disinterested in any scenting/is not showing any particularly Alpha behaviors despite continued rut. Sex drive/mating urges still appear to be low/non existent. Eddie isn’t even going to touch that one; in fact he does a solid job of pretending he didn’t even read it.
Eddie skips back a day, looking for his little nighttime misadventure. EM restless during the night. Reluctant to engage in talking therapy. Encouraged primal therapy; worked well and resolved without incident. EM exposed to positive fan feedback.
“Restless?”
Steve shrugs, “you were, weren't you?”
Eddie slides down in the office chair, “Steve, I was looking to score, I’m not some ninety year old who wouldn’t stay in bed.”
Steve shrugs again.
“Okay I guess...I mean, thanks. For covering for me.”
“Just calling it as I saw it. You didn’t actually go anywhere...I like to think you’d have come around before you made it to the gate.”
The...optimism. Faith. Trust. Whatever that Steve’s just shown is kind of...prickly and uncomfortable, “you can’t know that,” Steve shrugs, “how did you know, anyway? You got a secret spy camera or something? Door alarm?”
“No just...good instincts for this kind of thing, I guess.”
Eddie ‘harrumphs’ dismissively.
“You should call Chrissy. Apologize.”
“How do you even know-”
“Eddie,” and Steve might not be physically, like, rubbing his forehead or pinching at his nose in despair, but his tone is doing a lot of heavy lifting, “you stormed in here angry that I was spying on you. I am just doing my job, okay? You’re a smart guy, you don’t need me to point out to you how that behavior looks from the outside,”
“Meh meh meh meh looks from the outside,” Eddie mimics back in the most childish voice he can, “smart guy meh meh.”
“I-oh.” Eddie stops for a second, because...well. He tries to be angry, because what the actual fuck, but the anger part has kind of already happened. Steve's watching him, not in any kind of way, not really. He’s just...prepared.
“I imagine it...like a stage,” Steve starts slowly.
“What, like I’m on stage?” Because that’s an image Eddie can get behind. He knows that feeling. The heat of the lights, the physical force of the crowd screaming. The weight of being the absolute center of the universe for literally thousands of people.
Steve moves to the couch, leaving Eddie in the office chair, “yeah, sure okay. You’re on stage, and you’re...calm. Competent. You have a plan right? You’re centered. There’s...harmony. You’ve done this a hundred times, the band backs you. You are yourself, right?”
“Okay…” Eddie says slowly, no fucking idea where Steve is going with this.
“So the crowd is...also you. Parts of you. But you have control over the crowed, right? You tell them to get their phones out for the lights, or one half of them sing and then the other half sing, right?”
Eddie does do that, it vaguely makes him think Steve has at least seen a recording of a gig, because that’s pretty accurate. He likes interacting with the crowd. Likes getting them involved and playing games like that to get them hyped. It’s the most fun part of the gig. “Sure.”
“Okay so...the audience is you, the good bits, and the bad bits. So...something unexpected happens, and maybe you get angry, or scared, or...restless,” Steve says carefully, “but they want control, so they get on the stage with you. Now you’re not in control any more. There’s too many people on the stage and not enough left in the audience, it’s chaos, right? There’s not enough of you left out there for you to...take control. The stage is loud and crowded and you can’t find you in the middle of all that, follow me?”
Eddie does. He can. He’s always had a fucking stellar imagination, and a stage crowded with fucked up versions of Eddie is really easy to picture.
“So...the first thing you learn is to recognize it’s even happening. Step one. Just that.”
Eddie rolls his eyes, “and then one to ten with The Count after, right? Shapes with Big Bird?”
“Only if you’re good,” Steve smiles at him, and Eddie feels like it’s the first genuine one he’s gotten so far.
rocker eddie/actor steve | exes to lovers | fame au p6 (final part)
p1 p2 p3 p4 p5 interlude
Steve thinks about second chances, as he walks along Greenwich Ave. He thinks about them when he tosses the wig in a garbage can that reeks of puke.
And he thinks about them, when Eddie opens the door, eyes catching on the rip in Steve’s jeans, the liner under his eyes. When he lights up & says, “You came.”
Yeah, Steve thinks about second chances.
He offers Eddie a small smile as he walks in, can’t bring himself to acknowledge it all. The world of them. Him going. Eddie playing that song. What that could mean, like, actually mean. Can’t do it yet.
He likes this place better than the mansion in LA. It’s messy and grungy with stupid, corny shit plastered on the walls. Feels more… Eddie.
They walk out to the balcony. It overlooks a tiny little green space, his neighbors’ homes. Eddie lights a cigarette and offers one to Steve. Steve quit years ago. Eddie knows that now. He takes it anyway.
“Last tour I sold out Madison Square Garden and now I sell out Forest Hills.” Eddie’s chuckling, “Like I’m back at the trailer park.”
Eddie’s third album didn’t do the numbers his first two had. So they’d downsized, just a little.
Steve sighs, he didn’t fly all the way out here to coddle his ex, “It was a good show, Eddie.”
“Yeah.” He drags, smiles to himself. “It was a really good show. I’m really glad you saw it, baby.”
Steve cringes, full body shiver. Eddie doesn’t seem to realize what he said, Steve’s sure as hell not gonna clue him in.
“How’d your meeting go?”
Steve tries to play it off. “Good. Pretty good.”
Eddie chuckles again, leans into him that way he always does, like personal space is more of a suggestion than a boundary. A hand brushes his cheek, a light, teasing tap of knuckles, “What’s pretty good, Harrington?”
Steve smiles into it. Can’t help it. “There’s uh… you know that blacklist script I mentioned last month? There’s probably a lead there for me.”
Eddie lights up again, bright and true, “Steve, that’s amazing.”
Steve snorts, “Not jealous?”
“Nah, I’m happy for you ba-” Eddie catches it this time, chokes on his drag, coughs and flounders, “Happy for you, man.”
Steve’s not sure if he can do this, actually. Can’t face this Eddie. The one whose ego isn’t a stormcloud, who’s okay failing, who’s okay seeing him succeed. Who’s honest and sincere and wants the best for him. Eddie who would lose thousands of fans just to sing Steve’s favorite song.
Eddie’s eyes are shiny, “But you’ve been good?”
“Yeah, yeah. Good. Keeping busy. I filmed an Amex commercial. Good money. Made my agents happy.” He’s rambling around it. He squints into the dark, drops it casually as he can muster. “I’m gonna start seeing that country singer, probably. The one with that Kansas song? Our people are setting something up.”
Eddie’s face falls, the sun out with a sentence. “What are we doing here, Harrington?”
Steve’s tone is bleary, sheepish, “What?”
“Been losing my mind this last month. Can’t stand not having you around. But you- you’re dating?”
It’s a shrug, it’s all he's got, “Sure.”
Eddie’s hunched, shoulders tight. He talks small. “You told me you loved me. Before you left.”
Steve huffs a breath. The air is cold. “C’mon. You were like, obliterating my brain with your dick. I say impulsive shit like that all the time.”
He doesn’t. They both know that.
Eddie clicks his teeth, shakes a whisper. “Nah. You don’t.”
Steve falters, trips on his tongue. He finds his voice low and hoarse, he can barely say it, “Please don’t hold me to it.”
Eddie won’t look him in the eye. He blinks up at the sky, “I love you. For the record. I um, I never stopped. Guess I’ve been pretty obvious about it.”
“Eddie, c’mon. Don’t do this. It’s not fair.”
“Date Dorothy.” His laugh is glacial. “I don’t mind. It won’t be real, right? Those things never fucking are.”
“I don’t know– it could be.” The ground’s falling under Steve’s feet. “Down the line, or whatever.”
Something cracks, crumples. “I had you. God fucking damnit. I had you and I–”
Steve’s not expecting the sobs until they happen. Flemmed and shaky and pathetic. Those brown eyes silver-wet like moons.
Eddie pushes his palms into his cheeks. “Sometimes, after you leave, I just stare up at the ceiling and try to invent like, time travel or something. Just to go back and slap the shit outta myself. I was a goddamn coward. Couldn’t face it. Could talk around it, sure. Write it into my songs like that was honest. But, nah, I couldn’t look in the mirror. Definitely couldn’t look at you. I’m facing it now. I need you to know that. It won’t fix all shit I did, won’t fix the stupid fucking way I tried to fix it the first time. It’s there, it’s out, it’s goddamn double platinum.” He sputters it out miserable, “But I am trying. Even if this– if we can’t. Need you to know I’m facing it now. I want to be better.”
Then Eddie looks right at him, looks at Steve like looking is enough to break his heart. “And I don’t wanna be selfish anymore cause it’s poison, Steve. But fuck. I know I don’t deserve it but if you’ll have me, I’ll– I’m there. Whatever way you’ll take me.”
“Eddie.” Steve doesn’t know why he’s here. Why he keeps digging this wound, ripping out stitches.
“Please? Can’t walk away again. Don’t have it in me.”
“Yeah.” Steve laughs. He thinks about second chances. “You only do that when it’s easy.”
Eddie flinches. Shoves a ringed hand into a pocket. “Too late, huh?”
Steve scratches the back of his head and turns on his heel, “We can’t keep doing this.”
He gets as far the kitchen. Eddie quicksteps in front of the counter, blocks his out. But he’s cowering, ducking his head. “Did you um, like the song?”
It swells up all at once, that bone-deep cruelty of it. A gust turned tsunami. “Not really, Ed. Kinda broke my fucking heart.”
“Shit,” Eddie clicks. “Yeah, I, um, I’m not all that good at the grand gesture thing. Probably should have figured that out by now.”
Steve lets it all in. The red that’s been thrumming through his body since this whole thing started. Lets it possess him. He pushes into Eddie’s space, callous and cruel. “You’re really fucking me up, here. Do you know that?”
“I– I’m not trying to.” Eddie blinks. Frustratingly earnest.
“What we’re doing– Whatever this is. It makes me feel pathetic. I’d be the dumbest asshole on the planet if I took you back.” He’s screaming now. The balcony door is still open. He doesn’t care if anyone hears. He wants them to hear.
Eddie’s lip is shaking. “I’m sorry.”
“I hate you.” Steve murmurs. The red’s coming off in whisps, quicker than it ever had, easier than it should.
Eddie’s smile is weak. His face is wet. “I know.”
“You ruined me.” He leans in, finds half a punch in it. Last one he’s got.
Eddie closes his eyes, brow furrowed. “I know.”
“I don’t want anyone else.” He’s tired. Bone tired. Tired of the ache that only ever seems to go away around, well–
Eddie’s guilt is plain. It's all of him. “I’m sorry.”
Steve takes a breath. He thinks about second chances.
“You really want to be with me?”
Eddie looks at him like he’s already burrowed in. Ribs and guts and blood. “Got my priorities way out of whack for a minute there. Jesus, way too many minutes there. But yeah. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. You’re it for me, Stevie.”
Steve groans, taps his forehead lightly against a shelf. Eddie’s hand lands steady at his arm, awkward and cautious and right. “I’m a fucking idiot.”
“No.” Eddie says soft. “You’re not.”
“Yeah, I am.” Steve shakes his head. Waves a finger into Eddie’s chest. “You sang Dave fucking Matthews.”
“Don’t remind me, man. They’re gonna start shattering my CDs.” He pauses, sincere as ever. ‘I, uh, wouldn’t take it back though.”
Steve groans again, presses his head into Eddie’s shoulder. “No, you don’t get it. You sang Dave Matthews and now I’m gonna have to call my team and tell them it’s not gonna happen with the country singer.”
Eddie blubbers, big Saturday morning cartoon recalibration. “You’re– what?”
Steve shrugs, catches his eye. “Now I’m gonna have to talk about my coming out journey with Angie at People and dude, she’s been on my ass about it for years. Total sore winner.”
He’s shaking his head, “Harrington… Steve. Stevie.”
But Steve keeps rattling on, “I’m gonna have to tip off the paparazzi that Dark Pines star Steve Harrington was spotted sneaking into Eddie Munson’s brownstone at midnight for a secret rendezvous. Gonna have to go for a jog around the block first thing tomorrow, with like, more hickeys than a teen who just got their first girlfriend.”
“You’ve really thought about this, huh?”
Eddie’s back pushes into the edge of the kitchen counter. And Steve thinks about that photo that forced them together again, about Eddie’s easy grin, about the soft adoration high on his cheeks, about never being so young. He thinks about fucking up and growing up and growing apart and changing. And he smiles against chapped lips that taste like cigarettes and coming home.
And he says, “Gonna have to find someone to give me the hickeys.”
Steve gets really into birdwatching after patrolling the woods around Hawkins for upside down creepy-crawlies and then accidentally joins the Hawkins Community Birdwatching Society, and rightfully doesn’t tell anybody about it because he still wants the party to think he’s cool.
However. Eddie brings his uncle around the party for the first time and before he can introduce him, Wayne’s like, “Hey, Steve. Diana tell ya that she saw a pileated woodpecker outside of Melvards last week?”
When Steve doesn’t respond with confusion, a record scratches inside Robin and Eddie’s brains at the same time because
“This is Wayne? Your friend Wayne??” Robin asks at the same time that Eddie exclaims, “Steve from bird club is Steve Harrington?!”
@superineffable just so you know, I love your tags because I know for a fact that Eddie heard about ‘this guy from the club’ and then went home to complain to his uncle about it. Eddie over here wishing curses upon this guy’s entire bloodline.
“Which friend is this, again?” Wayne asks because Eddie recently obtained more friends than he’s ever had before. “I know a birdwatcher that I think you’d get along with. I can tell him to call you.”
“Wayne, I’m not going to date a bird boy!”
Meanwhile, Robin only ever told Eddie about Steve’s “club friend” to make him jealous and she realizes a lot quicker than Eddie does that he’s been jealous of his uncle the whole time. She is extremely smug about it.
Steve squints at him, “like, right now? Right this second, you can hear Billy, he’s like, in your head?”
Do you think he’s finally getting it? We’ve been over this like, forty times.
“Yeah. Right now. He’s here.”
“Do you...are you having any urges to hit me over the head with a plate?”
Yes.
“No.”
“Right...and...does anyone else know?”
“Yeah, we told Max, and the little super hero just knew.”
Steve smiles, “right, of course she did.”
Finally.
It’s a lot for anyone to take in, alright? We’ve had ages to get used to it. Give him a minute.
“That’s...you’re talking to him, aren't you? I knew something was up, you get this like, cross eyed look on your face. You’re talking, inside your head?”
“Yeah.”
“I...oh. Can you tell him I’m...I’m really sorry about. Everything. The Mindflayer. I know it wasn’t him in control you know, I don’t blame him for anything,” Steve winces, “shit, he got hit by his own car. Fuck. I’m real sorry, can you tell him-”
“He can hear you. Don’t worry.”
“Right. Okay. Well, I’m sorry.”
I can’t believe he ever had me fooled. King Steve. Pffft what a joke.
Eddie snorts a laugh, “sorry he’s just-”
“Making fun of me.”
“Yeah. Yeah, kind of, sorry.”
I’m not sorry.
They sit quiet for a second, “so you, uhm, you were going to leave because of Billy, right?”
“It’s. I guess it’s a little complicated.”
“Yeah. I can’t imagine Billy Hargrove is interested in watching us mack on each other.”
Don’t you dare.
Eddie sighs, so what can I tell him?
There’s nothing to tell, you bailed, not me.
Because you looked upset.
So? I’m not running the show any more, am I? It’s your life Munson, you should do whatever the fuck you like.
Not if it makes you upset.
“I’ll just...leave you guys to talk?”
Look, it doesn’t fucking matter, alright, you should just...have your happy ever after, or whatever the fuck it is you want.
Steve knows you’re there now...we could. Work something out? Maybe? The three of us?
Billy scoffs. As Steve walks by, Eddie grabs his hand, “just...sit with us a minute, I’m trying to work this out.” Can I at least tell him you like guys? So he knows it’s not that? That that isn’t your problem, I mean?
Fine.
“Billy likes guys and girls, he doesn’t care that we’re both guys.”
“Oh. Oh, that’s...good?”
I should have stayed. The bats were better company than this.
“Yeah, Steve, that’s good.”
They sit in silence for another few seconds.
“I mean, I like you Eddie, and I still want too,” he gestures vaguely, “but I get if it’s weird, you know? And you don’t...want to. Or...I would get it if Billy doesn’t want to? I figured he never really liked me, so I’d understand.”
Billy is suspiciously very silent.
“Why do you think he doesn’t like you?” Don’t you like him?
“Well he was always just...a bit of a prick, really.”
“He’s always a bit of a prick, it’s how he shows affection,” it’s a complete joke, Eddie doesn’t mean it at all, but the moment it’s out of his mouth he’s hit with a realization. Do you like Steve?
Shut up.
“Oh...he’s...I think he was mean to you because he liked you?”
Steve frowns, “what, like pulling my hair and running away? Did he...did he say that?”
“No. He’s being real quiet, and he’s never really quiet so that makes me think I’m right-” Oh my god. Yes. Fine. Happy now? “- I am right. Steve and Billy, sitting in a tree, K I S S I N G-”
Billy sighs, real loud, really put upon. Steve blushes and looks at where Eddie is still holding his fingers.
“So...Billy likes you, and I like you, so are you still game for, you know, giving this thing a try?”
“Only if you’re both...sure?”
“I’m sure. Billy?”
Look, this isn’t up to me, you guys should just-
Eddie sighs, “Billy, come on.”
I- I mean I’m not exactly going to say no, am I? You’re hot. Harrington’s hot. I guess you’re both...okay.
Eddie grins, “you think I’m hot.”
Shut up.
“That’s so weird, you guys are...talking.”
“I can see him sometimes too, when I look in a mirror, he’s there with me. And I could,” Eddie feels himself blush, then fiddles with Steve’s fingers for a distraction, “I could feel it, when he touched me, but we haven't like- that’s only happened once, and it was kind of tingly. I couldn’t tell if it was like, in my head because I could see it or...you know? We haven't worked it out. Might just be my brain playing tricks.”
Steve thinks for a second, frowning, “the mirror in my en suite is a pretty decent size, you want to try?”
“Sure? Billy?”
Fine, whatever, Eddie can almost feel him rolling his eyes.
“Yeah,” Eddie relays.
Steve grins, “cool.”
When Steve leans forward and kisses him, Eddie’s sure he hears Billy rumble a pleased sound.
It’s actually vital to have Billy fixing the Beemer as a favor. Maybe he’s got his hair pushed back with the bandana. And he’s looking as sweaty as a glass coke bottle in the sun and Steve’s watching him, thirsty as hell.
Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington (Stranger Things) vs Nico di Angelo/Will Solace (Percy Jackson)
Billy/Steve
Nico/Will
Voting ended onApr 28, 2024
This poll is a celebration of fandom and fandom history; we're aware that there are certain issues with many of the listed pairings and sources, but they are a part of that history. Please do not take this as an endorsement, and refrain from harassment.
Steve who feels so fucking lost bc robin went off to college and the kids can drive themselves around and he’s lonely and doesn’t know what to do with himself.
So he takes to driving around aimlessly on the evenings, because that’s what he and Robin used to do.
And one night, he stumbles on this building, put in the middle of (mostly) nowhere. There are beat-up cars in the parking lot, and he can hear the music all the way on the road.
He doesn’t totally know what he’s doing when he pulls in, and he’s out of the car before he can really decide if this is a good idea or not.
He’s glad he was wearing something plain, a dark green t-shirt and jeans, because he’d stick out like a sore thumb in his usual attire here.
He’d never seen so much black clothing.
Everyone had on similar items, black pants, all ripped up. Some people had put patches on their clothes. He saw names like The Dead Kennedys, The Runaways, The Ramones, The Sex Pistols. He saw leather jackets, clothes covered in safety pins and spikes. Big dark boots with blue, or yellow, or purple laces.
The band was playing some crashing song, and it was so fucking loud that Steve could hardly pick out the words, let alone differentiate the sounds of each instrument.
But something about the way the crowd was moving, head-banging and slamming into each other. Everyone had huge smiles on their faces, even as they all smashed together.
He didn’t join in the first day, sue him if he was a little scared, but he just kept, coming back.
And he made friends. Friends his own age. Friends with piercings in their faces, who shared cheap apartments on the outskirts of town. And they called him a yuppie, but they gave him hand-me-down clothes and helped him diy his first leather jacket, one that had been hanging, sad and forgotten, in his closet since last July.
He would go to the little venue every weekend, smearing black make up around his eyes in the car on the way there. He got his nose pierced in the bathroom, three people crammed into the tiny space. (He’s fucking shocked he didn’t get an infection).
He made out with a boy against the back wall while some shitty band raged up front, slamming their instruments into the floor.
(He ended up in tears later that night, black eyeliner staining his cheeks, because the boy’s blue eyes reminded him of someone he was too heartbroken to think about.)
It was a weird coincidence that led him to this little sea of punk weirdos, and nobody, not even Steve, had expected him to get so deep into this counterculture, but he finally felt free, and himself, and happy, and he can’t remember a time in which he has ever felt more comfortable in his own skin.
eddie was billy’s dealer and hey, billy sometimes was short of cash but ed’s takes payment in the form of blowjobs and rough fucking so what did you expect
mike thinks that eddie is like the coolest person ever and is absolutely devastated that he's dating the guy mike thinks is the absolute lamest, steve.
One of the (many) reasons why Harringrove works so well as a pairing is because Steve and Billy are compatible on a very fundamental, almost archetypical level. Steve Harrington being “the babysitter” might be a bit of a running gag in the show, but it really highlights his character as the caretaker. And who do we have on the other side? Billy fucking Hargrove, whose entire tragedy is that he desperately needs somebody to care.
This is a shipper’s wet dream—a pairing that is set up for success.
What’s even better is that the pairing has a lot of potential for angst and conflict (which naturally makes the resolution even sweeter) within this very same dynamic. See, Steve’s caring nature is fully capable of biting him in the ass; he often strikes me as the kind of guy who finds taking care of others more important or easier than taking care of himself (this post was made by the Too Depressed To Get Out Of Bed And Feed Myself, But My Cat Lives Like A King gang…), and as a result is prone to neglecting himself for the sake of other people. Billy is fun too, because his need for closeness and affection is directly sabotaged by his prickly exterior and self-defense mechanisms that make him always keep a safe distance between himself and other people. Holy shit, you can do so much stuff with these tropes.
So yeah, from a writer’s point of view this ship is built on a very solid dynamic. Because of this inherent compatibility Harringrove makes writing a fantastic experience for me. Now please excuse me, I have this “Billy and his mom move to Hawkins to escape from Neil” S2 AU to write…
I'm gonna fucking say it: Billy is the least bad of the human antagonists on that fucking show. Those little shits in season one literally made Mike jump off a cliff while holding Dustin at knife point. Jason whipped up a vigilante mob and got himself a gun at the drop of a hat. Brenner kidnaps and tortures children. Henry is a literal serial killer before anyone ever interferes with the trajectory of his life.
gracieabrams
gummygunk
vaporwave
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
prguitarman
stormborns
origamiaround
theartofmadeline
