The Harringrove Relay Race is a 48 hour celebration that will take place on April 12th and 13th. Artists and authors will reveal works at a scheduled time, then present the next person in line, like passing a baton in a relay race!
Hi! I'm gonna start working on the memory book soon. If you added more parts to your fics since the relay race day, please DM me and let me know and I'll add the continuations of your fic(s) in the book as well! ♡
Thank you everyone for participating in the relay race this year! It was a pleasure to work together with a wonderful group of talented artists and authors to finish this race.
As promised, I’ll be putting together a memory book for all of the participants’ personal collection.
I’d also like to thank everyone that supported all the talented participants and showed love to their work!
Please check out all the beautiful creations shared on this blog and be sure to comment and give kudos on the works in the AO3 Collection.
This is my contribution to the Harringrove Relay Race! (@harringrove-relay-race)✨
I was passed the baton by the lovely @imsodishy, and I'm honored to close out the relay race with this piece. I've loved seeing all the beautiful creations coming out of this event and I'm blushing at even being considered alongside creators like these.
summary:
What had he done to deserve this?
Billy's chest grew cold and achy as he stared at a tousled blonde head of hair, looking at his mother for the first time in years. Except she wasn’t his mother. Just a woman who could be her long-lost twin, if not for the color of her eyes — a cold gray compared to his mother’s ocean blues.
tags: pre-relationship, post s2, panic attacks, implied/referenced child abuse, billy sees a woman who looks like his mother and doesn't handle it well, steve harrington is a sweetheart, emotional hurt/comfort, billy hargrove needs a hug
word count: 3.4k
Read on AO3 or below the cut!
Hawkins Indiana had been personally designed to be Billy’s own realm of hell, he was sure of it.
It had been one thing to shoulder the previous levels of misery this town had to offer. The simpering girls with jelly spines in their pastel sweater sets and Indiana’s hilly, woodsy stretches of land with not a drop of saltwater in sight. Did it matter that every single house looked like it had been popped out of one of three molds? He only had to tolerate this place until the day he turned eighteen, at which point he intended to jump in his car and drive until he got back to California.
It wasn’t worth bothering to ask why he would have earned such a punishment. He was at least self-aware enough to know he wasn’t exactly the pinnacle of kindness and social grace- he was sure plenty of people had quietly wished him to fall into the flames on more than one occasion.
But this… what had he done to deserve this?
His chest grew cold and achy as he stared at a tousled blonde head of hair, looking at his mother for the first time in years.
Except she wasn’t his mother.
Just a woman who could be her long-lost twin, if not for the color of her eyes — a cold gray compared to his mother’s ocean blues.
His breath caught in his throat, bile lingering on the back of his tongue, but he couldn’t look away. It was like the supermarket tiles had grown vines, wrapped around his legs until he couldn’t have moved even if he’d been on fire.
The woman was around the same age his mother had been the last time he’d seen her, too. Her face was youthful, untouched by age or stress or misery. Features soft in a way only reminiscent of the version of Dianna Hargrove that came out when Neil was away.
The pounding of his heart was making him dizzy, the woman he couldn’t tear his gaze from utterly oblivious to the damage she was doing to him on a molecular level by simply existing here, in this place, at the same time as him.
Panic was creeping up his throat- or maybe he was going to be sick. That was also a strong possibility. His vision was starting to pulse at the edges. He needed to get out of here; he needed to—
A hand clasped down on his shoulder, warm and firm, and Billy couldn’t control the violent flinch it earned from him. The hand moved immediately at the jolt, lifting in a gesture of surrender.
Wild blue eyes followed the arm attached to the hand towards its owner. He took in spattered moles that itched at his brain but couldn’t quite connect why through the wash of panic until he turned his gaze up the rest of the way.
Steve Harrington stared at him with eyes that were too soft, too big and concerned. He wasn’t used to seeing that expression on Harrington’s face and the perceived pity made him bristle.
“Don’t fucking touch me.” He muttered, but it lacked the bite that may usually have been present. Billy hated the way his voice trembled like a scared little kid, keeping his gaze as far away from the dairy aisle as he could now.
Harrington paused, brows furrowing in the middle, and he let out a little sigh in response to Billy’s order. Less irritated by his attitude than normal, more resigned, like a toddler had poured juice on his shoe. He wiggled his fingers as though in reminder that they were nowhere near Billy now, which made the blonde grit his teeth together.
Then- in a voice a little too gentle- he spoke up. “Sorry if I made you jump. Just ah… looked like you were going to barf. Thought I’d make sure that you were–”
“I’m fine.” Billy interrupted, but the last syllable was weak, to say the least. “I’m fine, I have to go.” He dropped his full basket on a nearby shelf, ducking past Steve as his cheeks started to burn red with humiliation.
He’d be lucky if Neil didn’t kick his ass for not getting the groceries like he was instructed, but he couldn’t stay in this store even one minute longer if he wanted to preserve even a shred of his pride. Bruises would heal, they always did.
At the door, in his hurry to get out, he almost smacked right into one of Susan’s friends. Cindy, if he wasn’t mistaken, was a brunette with hair bigger than a minivan and a gossiping tendency to match.
“Well hello there, Billy.” She said in a sickeningly sweet voice, unknowingly just barely avoiding being told to fuck off. He had to remind himself that if he did, she’d run home and tell Susan and then he’d have a lot more problems than a panic attack and a few bruises to deal with today.
He greeted her kind of flatly in response, but tried to smooth his face into something less shaken and more charming when she raised an eyebrow at his tone. “How’s the husband?” He tried again, even if his lungs still felt like they were in a vice grip.
She sighed dramatically with an eye-roll. “Probably sleeping in his recliner, as usual. Pretty sure he’d rot in that thing if he didn’t have to get up to eat.”
Billy regretted asking immediately but nodded sympathetically, internally begging her to just fuck off and go do her shopping already. “Can’t live with him, can’t live without him, huh?”
Cindy scoffed and twirled her hair, eyeing him a moment too long. “Oh, I’d do just fine without him. Unfortunately, the house is in his name.”
Billy inched towards the door, just barely shuffling his feet an inch at a time to put more space in between them. Just when he was trying to think of an excuse to leave without having to pretend he cared about her shitty marriage, another shrill voice called out her name and she spun to find them.
Sandy, not Cindy. At least he didn’t actually call her by the wrong name out loud.
Using her distraction, Billy all but threw himself through the glass doors and walked as fast as he could towards the alleyway between the store and the hair salon next door. An employee in a red store vest was smoking a cigarette against the wall, but Billy’s fracturing grip on his emotions must’ve resulted in a slightly terrifying expression on his face.
Dropping his cigarette to the ground and stomping it out, the teen- who Billy thought he vaguely recognized from school- faux casually booked it out of the other side of the alley before Billy had to yell at him to do so.
Finally alone, Billy dropped down to sit on the red metal bench they’d thrown back here to rust away and put his head in his hands. It was barely three seconds before a strangled sound, not entirely unlike a sob, dragged itself painfully out of his throat, his shoulders curling into a hunch.
With his eyes closed, he saw the woman again. The way the fluorescent lighting had sat so harshly on her corn-silk hair, the glint of silver rings on slender fingers. A shudder rolled down Billy’s spine as the version of her in his mind's eye turned to face him, eyes blue now instead of gray.
“Billy, baby? Is that you?” She said so softly, voice lilting in surprise. She reached out a hand towards him, her own basket dropping to the too-white tiles as the eyes she shared with him welled up with tears and–
“Hey!” She spoke again, but her voice was lower. Too deep, not her voice at all. It wasn’t until the third repetition that the illusion shattered, careful footsteps on the concrete snapping him free. Billy’s head shot up immediately, pulse picking up speed, only to see Steve Harrington once again.
“Don’t you have anywhere better to be?!” Billy snapped, his bitter attitude flaring up to protect the oozing, throbbing hole that had been torn straight through his abdomen. “Or are you so fucking obsessed with me that you’ve decided to follow me around and be a pain in my–”
“Damn it, Hargrove. Just… take a breath. I’m not going to fight you.” Steve sighed and moved closer, like he wasn’t even a little afraid of Billy’s temper. As though Billy hadn’t left him a bloody, bruised mess in a fit of anger barely six months prior.
“What do you want, Harrington? I’m not in the mood.” He said finally, all the fury draining from his voice. He just didn’t have the energy to fight right now.
He was tired and sad, his chest felt empty, and he missed his fucking mom.
“I know you said you were fine, but you’re clearly not.” Steve said, hovering around the edge of the bench. He shifted back on his heels, heavy-looking plastic bags dangling from his fingers. The tears he’d shed embarrassed Billy. He could feel them clinging to his cheeks, but he couldn’t stop them from falling even now and it was too late to hide them.
“Why do you care?” Billy muttered bitterly. “I’m an asshole to you. You hate me, I… I hate you.” That last one was a lie, and he knew it, but he wasn’t willing to acknowledge that to himself right now. “Shouldn’t you find this funny?”
Steve set the bags down, using his knee to nudge Billy out of the way before sitting down on the bench like he belonged there. Billy eyed him warily, lip hauled between his teeth now.
“Who said I hate you?” Steve said, tone still soft but with an edge like a teacher asking him for the date in history that the Old White Man of the Week had died. Billy felt any answer he may have so much as considered die in his throat.
“And even if I did hate you- which I don’t- I still wouldn’t find you being miserable funny.” Billy wanted to protest the description of his mood, but it was more accurate than he wanted it to be.
Eventually he managed a half-reply, “Didn’t mean you had to follow me.”
Steve shrugged and settled further into the bench, leg just barely pressing against the blonde’s own. “Yeah well. Like you said before, I had nothing better to do.” There was a small smile audible in his voice, and when Billy peeked back over at him, he figured out that Steve was trying to lighten the mood.
He didn’t exactly know that Billy was bleeding out beside him in slow-motion, so he had no way of knowing a joke wouldn’t patch it up. But the attempt was… oddly nice, even if Billy was still struggling to accept his presence as genuine at all.
“Just having a shitty day. It doesn’t matter.” Billy breathed, turning his gaze towards the gravel-strewn alley ground once more. A soggy flyer was balled up by his feet, which he aimed a kick at to get some of his tension out. It bounced off the rim of a rusted coffee can full of cigarette butts and then rolled off down the alley.
Beside him, Steve made a buzzer sound under his breath and even as his chest gave another dull throb, Billy found himself snorting a quiet laugh.
“I can still kick your ass on the court, missed shot or not.” Billy said defiantly, but his voice conveyed an attempt at reciprocated humor, even if it sounded a little flat. Steve just shrugged again.
“Eh, you’ve got me there.” The brunette acquiesced instead of even playfully fighting him and damn it all, why the hell did that have heat flooding back into Billy’s cheeks?
He knew why, but again, now was not the time.
“Can’t believe Steve Harrington spends time buying his own groceries. What, give the staff a day off?” Billy said before Steve could inadvertently compliment him again, picking at the skin of his palm as a tactile distraction.
“These aren’t mine actually, and believe it or not, I clean my own house, too. I know, shocking.” Steve drawled in a dry, light tone. Had he shifted closer? Billy could swear that he could feel more of Steve’s leg against his own than he had a minute ago.
“You do grocery shopping for other people?” Billy cocked his head. That was an even more bizarre concept, for some reason.
Steve shook his head, but his answer was no less cryptic. “Not often, just… sometimes I make an exception.”
“Ooookay.”
They both trailed off, silence creeping into the alleyway once again. Billy wasn’t sure when he stopped crying, but when he lifted a hand to wipe at his eyes, his face was dry.
Maybe Steve wasn’t a horrible distraction.
Billy opened his mouth to speak, anything to fill the silence. He’d always liked silence; silence was the opposite of everything home was. But for some reason, he hated it right now.
The problem was simple- what did he even say? He was still residually embarrassed and worn out. They’d never had a genuinely friendly conversation before- and Billy doubted this one counted as that either, at least not at the beginning- and he was genuinely grasping at mental straws trying to find a topic.
Hey man, while we’re having a somewhat normal conversation, mind telling me what was in that syringe my shitbird sister stabbed me with?
Also, I just casually hallucinated my mother in the grocery store because hey, if there’s a God, he loves taking his morning shit in my cereal.
Yeah, he was sure that would go over super well.
Billy’s hand lifted to rub over the spot on his neck that the needle had gone into, a slight shiver running down his back. That had been a weird fucking night.
Steve seemed to notice his movement, because he turned his body towards Billy a little more. Billy suddenly felt very observed, and he shifted in place before digging into his pocket for a cigarette.
As he inhaled a deep drag, he felt a little of the rigidness leave his posture. Even with the blonde woman still faintly burned into the edge of his vision, it was helping considerably.
“Hey uh…” Steve started, then trailed off. He clearly also didn’t know how to break the silence between them. “Are you going to Jennifer’s party?” He said finally.
Billy couldn’t help but smile at the obvious grasp of a topic, letting smoke curl out between his teeth. “Nah. I have to babysit.”
The displeasure in his voice was obvious. Even if he and Max were still in a weird, post-syringe purgatory phase of their hot and cold relationship, he didn’t exactly enjoy sitting at home and doing fuck all nothing but trying to keep her from sneaking out again.
“Max?” Steve probed, but it barely sounded like a question.
Billy raised an eyebrow at him. “You think I’d willingly watch any other snot-nosed kid in this town? If I needed money that badly, I think I’d be happier scrubbing out public toilets with a toothbrush.”
Steve choked on a laugh, hazel eyes crinkling at the corners. Billy may be a little into the way he looked when he was angry, but he was unfairly attractive when he smiled like that. Fuck. It made Billy want to piss him off just so his brain stopped turning all useless and fuzzy.
“Mm, yeah, that’s fair. Can’t really imagine you playing tea party.”
Billy made a disgusted sound, forcing himself to look away from that smile. “Yeah, I’m good. No thanks.”
Steve rubbed his palms on his jeans, tongue flicking out to wet his lips. “I should… get going.” He said apologetically, getting to his feet. “I have to get to… uh. Well, a job interview. At that new mall that just opened up.” He scrunched his face, looking disinterested in the concept as a whole.
Clearly, this job interview wasn’t his idea.
Billy attempted to conceal his disappointment with the loss of body heat at his side, already sensing a small amount of the calm that had settled into his chest fading away. He cleared his throat. “Alright..”
Steve looked at him for a moment longer, then glanced over his shoulder towards the opening to the alley. Was Billy imagining things, or did he look as disappointed as Billy felt?
Though trying to get the words out felt like dragging a sandbag through four feet of water, Billy eventually managed to get out a quiet- “Thanks… for ah- coming out here.” He said slowly, not looking anywhere close to Steve while he did so. He heard a quiet hum in response.
Steve was smiling again when he looked back up and Billy felt that damn fuzziness start creeping back into place. Fucking Harrington and his stupid, pretty smile.
“Not a problem…” Steve said, sounding genuine. “For… what it’s worth, I hope your day gets a little better.” Billy had to bite his tongue not to laugh sarcastically at the sentiment. He knew deep down it would only get worse.
But he’d long since gotten used to evading the truth when it came to stuff like this.
“I’m sure it will.” He lied, fingernails biting into the palm of his hand.
Steve didn’t look convinced, the corners of his lips twitching downwards. If he did know Billy was lying, he chose not to call him out. Billy appreciated it. He’d already been far more vulnerable in the last half an hour than he liked.
“I’ll… see you around, Billy.”
Billy. Not Hargrove or an insulting name. He was Billy now. It made his nerves skitter sparks, fingers twitching.
Steve started to walk away, slipping his hands into his pockets. It was that movement that made Billy realize something. “Hey, Steve–”
The brunette turned to look back at him, waiting.
Billy gestured lamely to the grocery bags on the ground. “You forgot your bags.”
Steve looked a little red in the face, but he simply shrugged. “Like I said… they aren’t my groceries.” Then, like he hadn’t just thoroughly confused Billy, he left the alley entirely and vanished around the corner.
Regardless of whether they were his or not, he was sure whoever Steve had been shopping for would’ve liked to actually get their groceries. He was surprised he had even managed to get all this. Wasn’t his basket basically empty when he’d approached Billy in the store...?
Billy blinked, eyes snapping to the bags on the ground with a new level of focus. Steve’s basket had had nothing but a jar of sauce in it. He was sure of that now. There were far too many bags sitting around his feet for Steve to have had time to get all of it and go through the checkout in the time Billy had been held up by Sandy at the doors.
He hesitantly reached down to the one nearest his foot, pulling it open. As he scanned the contents, Susan’s grocery list flashed through his mind. By the second bag, his mouth was hanging open a little, and he abruptly realized what Steve had done all at once.
“What the fuck?” He muttered, a little breathless.
Steve had bought his groceries for him. He’d grabbed Billy’s full basket off the shelf, and he’d gone and fucking–
Billy’s face pinched into something conflicted as he tried to battle back the wash of confusing emotions now flooding through his body, fingers shaking slightly on the handle of the bag. Relief, gratitude, confusion, and something soft and warm and terrifying.
Without even knowing the punishment that would’ve awaited him when he came home empty-handed, Steve had waltzed right in and somehow saved him from it.
He looked back towards the opening of the alley, even though he knew Steve was long gone now, with a dangerous fluttering taking over his chest. There was no coming back from this moment in time, that wave of warmth now far too strong to battle back even with his carefully honed talent of repression.
Steve Harrington had a terrible habit of messing up Billy’s plans- and brain- but this was a whole new level. This time, he’d gone straight for the heart.
i'm grabbing the baton from 💜 @oopsiedaisiesbaby for the penultimate leg of the...
Harringrove Relay Race
"Hold still Pretty Boy."
Steve was absolutely convinced that Billy's nose piercing was going to get infected and made a very ill-advised bet. Billy has never been so committed to a bactine routine in his life.
And now I'm handing the baton off to @californiaboytoybilly to bring it on home!! 💜
This is my contribution to the @harringrove-relay-race ✨ Thank you @chrisbitchtree for passing the baton ❤️
Dangerous Girl
Bull Rider Billy & Buckle Bunny Steve (CW: feminization, barebacking)
Also on AO3
The buzzer sounded and Steve blinked for the first time in a little over eight seconds.
Just like every other time, it had been the longest eight seconds of Steve’s life.
He watched as Billy seemed to effortlessly jump off of the wildly bucking bull before running a few yards to safety. Steve felt his entire body unclench, only becoming aware that he’d tensed every muscle as they released, achingly slow.
Fiery blue eyes caught Steve’s and he felt himself freeze again. Pinned by the heavy gaze that was interrupted only by the guard of a helmet.
Billy should’ve looked ridiculous as he took off the helmet, shaking out the blonde curls of his mullet and grinning wickedly. Except he really didn’t and Steve’s heart raced as Billy licked his lips, eyes still locked on Steve, causing all of the buckle bunnies around him to titter excitedly.
They all thought Billy was eyeing them. That they’d be the lucky one to ensnare The Billy Hargrove.
Steve knew better though.
Knew that no matter how hard he tried to fight it, that’d he’d be the one warming the bed in Billy’s travel trailer yet again. It happened every time Billy came back to Texas.
Steve would be drawn to whatever rodeo circuit Billy was currently dominating. Would hang on Billy’s fence just like those desperate buckle bunnies. He’d then make his way to the local bar and bend over the pool table to flirt shamelessly with Eddie or Argyle or whichever other bull rider was willing to put themselves into the line of fire that night. Eventually Billy would have enough and drag Steve out and fuck him six ways to Sunday.
He didn’t know why he bothered trying to convince himself that it wouldn’t happen.
It’d been happening since they were teenagers and Billy was just touring the local circuit. It didn’t matter how terribly he’d broken Steve’s heart when he’d signed up for a PBR membership at 18 and taken off to tour the entire continent, leaving Steve behind in their small, backwoods, Texan town.
The moment Billy had been back in Texas, Steve had dragged Jason and Robin to an event three hours away in Dallas just to let Billy defile him in a bar bathroom because they couldn’t make it out of the bar. Jason and Robin had not been amused on the drive home the following day.
He’d seen how they’d eyed Eddie and Heather though. They didn’t have much room to talk.
He drove the two and half hours to Houston a few days later by himself, just to do it all over again. He followed Billy to every single Texas show, turning around and heading back home just to wait another year then rinse and repeat for the last four years.
Finally, after what felt like ages, Billy broke eye contact and shuffled out of the arena. The spell broken, Steve removed himself from the fence and started trudging out towards his truck to drive himself to the local bar.
He was busy watching the way his boots kicked up dirt with each step which is why he let loose a scream when he suddenly found himself being yanked backwards and slammed up against a travel trailer. Steve’s scream was muffled by plush lips pressing against his, stubble scraping the sensitive skin of his face as fingers tangled in his hair.
Steve melted into the kiss, the familiar smell of Billy’s sweat and cologne hitting his nose just as his tongue forced its way into Steve’s mouth. Steve whined into the kiss as a strong hand grabbed his thigh and hiked it up so that their hips could press together a little tighter.
Hands lifting to grip the leather vest tightly, Steve finally found enough will power to push Billy back just enough to get some air.
“What the fuck, Billy?” Steve gasped, head thunking back against the metal of the trailer.
He was saved from the pain of collision by Billy’s hand cradling the back of his head.
“Couldn’t wait for all the bull shit at the bar,” Billy admitted, panting. “The way you were hanging on my fence with your fucking tits out almost got me bucked two seconds in.”
Steve glanced down at his chest where he’d left his pearl snap button up undone obscenely low. It was the same amount of buttons Billy usually had undone when he wasn’t buttoned up for riding. It was only fair.
“I don’t hang on your fence,” Steve muttered, rolling his hips and grinning when Billy cursed and stopped cupping the back of Steve’s head to plant it against the trailer.
“Don’t lie to yourself, princess,” Billy hissed, rocking against Steve in a dirty grind. “My own personal buckle bunny, getting wet just from watching me ride.”
“Don’t lie to yourself, Billy,” Steve scoffed, eyes fluttering closed as they continued to rut against each other slow and filthy. “You’ve got plenty of bunnies to choose from.”
He’d meant it as a jab at Billy but Steve felt pain lance through his chest at his own words.
“Don’t care about any of them,” Billy grunted, burying his face in Steve’s neck and mouthing at the sensitive skin. “You’re the only bunny I care about hanging on my fence.”
“Bullshit,” Steve whimpered as Billy bit down.
“Bull true,” Billy mumbled, dropping his hand from the trailer and grabbing Steve’s other thigh.
Steve jumped so that Billy was supporting all of his weight and his already skin tight wranglers became suffocating. Billy gave Steve’s neck one last bruising suck before lifting his face to kiss him senseless again.
Letting his hands wander to plant against Billy’s drenched button down, Steve felt the strong muscles shifting under the fabric and sighed into the kiss. Fuck, he’d missed Billy. Only getting to see him a few times a year wasn’t enough and Steve yearned for more.
“It’s just you, Steve,” Billy breathed as he pulled away, pushing his sweaty forehead against Steve’s. “You know that, right?”
Steve hoped against all hope that it was true.
It’d been just Billy for him since he was 14 and Steve’s family moved to the sad little town of Hawkins, Texas.
“Then take me to bed and prove it to me, cowboy,” Steve dared, smiling when Billy’s grin turned sharp.
Billy pulled them away from the trailer and started marching along the length of it until they were inside. The smell of horse, cologne, and something quintessentially Billy that had Steve clenching in anticipation.
When Billy reached the steps to his bed, he set Steve down letting him climb up the short ladder and slapping his ass for good measure. Steve turned around to glare and was met with Billy’s self-satisfied grin.
“You knew what you were doing when you put on those jeans, princess,” Billy said like that explained everything.
It did.
Steve sat on the edge of the bed, leaning back on his elbows as he watched Billy climb up onto the raised area that constituted the trailer’s bedroom. Billy paused at the edge of the bed, kneeling between Steve’s knees
“You wet for me, princess?” Billy asked, sliding his palms up Steve’s denim clad thighs, eyes burning as he looked up at Steve.
Nodding, Steve bit his lip as he considered telling Billy just how wet he actually was. He wanted it to be a surprise though.
Billy gently removed Steve’s boots with an ease that never ceased to amaze Steve. He felt like he was going to war every time he tried to take them off himself.
He slowly moved on to Steve’s belt before working on his button and fly. Billy was moving so slow it was painful and Steve’s dick twitched as the pressure of his tight jeans released. With a smirk, Billy teasingly pulled down Steve’s jeans and briefs before settling back between his thighs.
His broad shoulders forced Steve’s thighs apart far enough to make his hips twinge. Steve held his breath in anticipation as Billy kissed his way up the inside of one of his thighs before parting Steve’s cheeks with his thumbs and choking.
Steve bit his lip against the smile fighting its way across his face as he felt Billy’s breath stutter against his dick.
“Fuck me,” Billy breathed reverantly as he dipped a thumb inside of Steve’s already lubed and stretched hole.
Steve groaned at the sensation of finally being filled, back arching against the bed.
“Watching me ride really got you fucking soaked, huh?” Billy asked, voice thick and gruff as he dipped a couple of fingers inside of Steve.
Gasping and falling back against the bed, Steve whined as Billy stroked his prostate with gentle pulses of his fingertips.
“Need you in me,” Steve pleaded, pitchy and whiny in the worst way as he squirmed. “Been thinking about it all day, waiting for your ride.”
“I can’t -“ Billy cut himself off as he shifted around, yanking his boots and clothes off in a flurry that contradicted his slow, teasing approach from moments before. “I can’t do foreplay right now, princess.”
Billy flushed at the admittance, tossing his last piece of clothing to the floor and grabbing Steve’s thighs. He hauled Steve up the bed and situated himself so that he was hovering over him, lining up and looking at him in askance.
“Don’t need it,” Steve whispered, grabbing Billy’s pendant where it was dangling in his face. “Need you in me right now.”
Nodding, Billy lined up and pushed in tenderly. His face was red, veins popping as he tried to hold himself back.
Steve didn’t want him to hold back. It’d been months. Steve wanted the raw, desperate, reconciliation sex they always had. The kind that made his toes curl.
“Give it to me, cowboy,” Steve demanded, tangling his free hand in Billy’s curls.
“Christ, princess,” Billy moaned, his eyes fluttering closed as he allowed himself to fuck into Steve fully. “You got me so fucking pussy whipped.”
It was a gross statement, practically a line if he really thought about it. The way Billy had said it, like a confession had Steve feeling split open and unmoored.
“Yeah?” Steve checked, running his fingers through Billy’s curls.
“Yeah,” Billy croaked, eyes opening to gaze down at Steve.
Steve nodded to show he was ready and wailed as Billy started to fuck into him without abandon. He had to drop his grip on Billy’s necklace for fear of ripping it from his neck with how forceful his thrusts were.
It was the same, toe-curling, eye rolling rhythm they always had but something was missing and Steve couldn’t put his finger on it.
He didn’t have long to consider it as Billy angled his hips down so that he was brushing roughly against Steve’s prostate with each quick thrust. Steve looked up to gauge how close his head was to hitting the wall when he saw it.
“No hat?” Steve gasped, his voice nearly breaking, making Billy freeze as he gaped down at Steve.
It was silly, but Billy always wore his hat when they met up at the bars afterwards and Steve was feeling a little off kilter due to its absence. Billy’s surprised expression slowly melted into a lascivious smirk.
“Is that what does it for you?” Billy asked as he grabbed the black Stetson off its hook above the head of the bed.
He plopped it on top of his dirty, sweaty curls before quirking a teasing eyebrow at Steve.
“Shut up and fuck me, cowboy,” Steve mumbled, face flushing as he squeezed Billy’s hips with his thighs.
“As you wish, princess,” Billy agreed, before fucking into Steve so hard that he jolted up the bed.
Steve moaned, hand flying up to brace against the wall so that his head didn’t slam into it. He grinned up at Billy, hiking his legs higher on his waist to allow Billy to deepen the angle.
It was like a lightning storm every time they came together and Steve was helpless but to give in. It only got more overwhelming as Billy started running his mouth.
“We’re gonna go the bar after this,” Billy promised, breathless with exertion as he continued to fuck into Steve at a ridiculous pace.
“My cum’s gonna be dripping from your pussy when you bend over the pool table like a slut.”
Steve whimpered as he imagined it. Feeling Billy’s cum slide out of him as they hung out with their friends.
“Everyone always wants a piece of you,” Billy grunted, hands twisting in the sheets on either side of Steve’s head. “But everyone will know you’re my bunny.”
The crackling electricity of arousal hummed insistently in Steve’s belly.
“How?” Steve asked through stuttering breaths as Billy’s hips snapped into his at an unparalleled pace.
“Gonna put my necklace on you,” Billy panted, mouth dropping wide and tongue wetting his bottom lip as he struggled to keep his insane rhythm while coming down from the adrenaline rush.
Steve’s hand flew back up to the necklace in question, tightening up reflexively around Billy.
“Shit,” Billy choked out, eyes screwing shut as he trembled above Steve. “Pussy’s so fucking tight.”
“Yeah?” Steve asked, wrapping a hand around himself, orgasm buzzing close at seeing just how overwhelmed Billy was.
“Yeah,” Billy breathed, letting his eyes open so he could look at Steve again. “You’re so fucking pretty.”
“Show me how pretty I am,” Steve demanded softly, muscles tensing as his fingers and toes tingled. “Cum in my pussy.”
“Gonna fill you up,” Billy promised gruffly, rhythm growing sloppy. “Make you mine.”
Whimpering, Steve started stroking himself faster as he practically vibrated out of his skin.
“Come on, cowboy,” Steve urged, screwing up purposefully tight. “Show me who I belong to.”
“Belong to me,” Billy groaned, fucking into Steve impossibly harder, hand flying up to cradle Steve’s head so he didn’t hit it against the wall. “My princess.”
“Yes,” Steve agreed, vision blurring around the edges as his toes curled against Billy’s back, shocks of arousal sparking through his veins dangerously.
“Only one who gets to fuck this pussy,” Billy grunted, trembling above Steve as his eyes widened and his breath started to stutter.
“Only one,” Steve promised, voice going high as Billy fucked into him just right. “Give it to me.”
“Oh fuck,” Billy groaned before his breath caught.
Steve watched his muscles strain as Billy shook above him and Steve felt a shock of warmth spill inside of him.
Moaning loud and obscene, Steve gave in to the lightning bolting up his spine and through his limbs as he came all over his belly in strong bursts. The sensation of Billy’s thrusts getting sloppier and wetter had him clenching reflexively causing them both to whine.
Billy fucked him through the aftershocks of their orgasms as Steve’s muscles went limp and Billy’s breathing caught up. He slowed his thrusts to gentle rocks and Steve released Billy’s pendant and grabbed him by the hair and pulled him into a kiss.
Obliging easily, Billy slipped his tongue past Steve’s lips and let himself explore as he trailed callus rough fingertips up and down Steve’s thigh. Steve let himself relax into it fully, sinking against the mattress.
He hummed as Billy pulled back just enough to look at Steve’s face. His fiery gaze burned through Steve despite how gentle it was. Steve would never get enough of it.
Steve whined softly as Billy pulled away further, but settled as Billy fiddled with his necklace. Steve lifted his neck so that Billy could close the clasp and fell back against the bed once it was in place against his chest.
Billy stroked an exploratory finger over the pendant where it rested against Steve’s chest before pressing his weight down on Steve once again.
“Join me on the circuit,” Billy whispered, tilting Steve’s face so that he was staring directly into Billy’s fiery blue eyes.
“Billy,” Steve protested, eyes fluttering closed as he fought the itch in his nose that signaled oncoming tears.
They went over this every time. It broke Steve’s heart more and more each time. He didn’t know how Billy could stand it.
“Not now,” Billy amended, nudging their noses together. “In a couple of months when you graduate.”
Steve sighed and let his eyes flutter close. He’d be officially done with college in just a few short months. He’d be expected to start working for his father in just a few short months so he could take over the company eventually.
Could Steve survive eight or more years of only seeing Billy for a handful of days each year?
He opened his eyes to stare up into Billy’s, the absolute certainty and love reflected back at him making the decision for him.
“Okay,” Steve relented, grinning softly at the pure, unadulterated joy that spread across Billy’s face.
Billy whooped, grabbing Steve’s waist and rolling them over so that Steve was straddling his waist. Billy took his hat off, plopping it on Steve’s head and smiling so wide it had to have hurt his cheeks.
“The boys are gonna be so jealous when they find out I locked down the prettiest buckle bunny on the circuit,” Billy gloated, eyes glimmering with unbridled glee.
“I don’t think you’re allowed to call me a buckle bunny if we’re actually together,” Steve scoffed, smacking Billy’s shoulder.
“I can if you keep hanging off my fence, looking the way you do, watching me win all those buckles,” Billy teased, biting his tongue when Steve pinched his side.
Rolling his eyes, Steve readjusted the Stetson on his head and Billy’s gaze went molten.
“Looks good on you, princess,” Billy whispered, callused hands running up Steve’s thighs.
“Yeah?” Steve asked, rolling his hips back against Billy’s twitching dick.
“Mmhmm,” Billy hummed, grabbing Steve’s hips and holding him in place as he grinded up against his ass. “Think you should wear it while you ride me.”
Steve gasped as Billy’s cock settled between his cheeks, their rhythm growing harder and more frenzied.
“Think I’ll last all eight seconds?” Steve teased, whining as the head of Billy’s dick caught on his rim.
“Only one way to find out,” Billy challenged, guiding himself back into Steve and sliding home.
Steve made it significantly longer than eight seconds and left Billy wheezing about how Steve should upgrade from being a buckle bunny to a bull rider.
Please look forward to the lovely, wonderful, and amazing work from the next contributor, @imsodishy.
I'm now passing the baton on to @oopsiedaisiesbaby! I can’t wait to see what you’ve written!
4k - M
***
When Billy’s therapist had first assigned him the project, to write letters to his younger self detailing the twists and turns his life would take, and how he’d somehow managed to navigate them and get to a place where he could truly call himself happy, he’d laughed, because frankly, it sounded like a waste of time.
He knew he was happy and successful, so what good would it do to tell the long gone, scared, angry seventeen year old version of himself about it? But the more he wrote, filling page after page with his messy scrawl, the more he felt that he could let go of all the hurt and pain of his youth. It felt good. So good, in fact, that he’d allowed himself to be talked into giving Steve the letters to read.
Now though, as he stands on Steve’s front porch, he feels a really strong urge to run. It’s too late though, he’s already rung the doorbell, and he can hear Steve’s approaching footsteps. There’s no way he’d get back into his car and out of sight before Steve opens the door. He takes a deep breath, holding the stack of letters in front of himself.
“Hey Billy,” Steve greeted him, a grin spreading over his face, looking unfairly sexy, shirtless on this hot summer night. “To what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from you at 10pm on a Tuesday?”
“Uhhhh,” Billy replies, almost chickening out and saying he was in the neighbourhood and in the mood for some company and a beer, knowing Steve won’t ask questions, good guy that he is, but he knows that its important for Steve to read the letters, for Billy to let him in, if he ever wants to be more than friends with the man. Steve’s made it clear that he wants Billy, so the ball is firmly in Billy’s court. So, he takes another deep breath and hands the envelopes to Steve. “I want you to read these. Or my therapist does. But I do too. Just read them, okay, pretty boy?” With that, he walks away before Steve can answer.
***
At first, Steve’s confused when his doorbell rings at 10pm, and then he’s excited when he finds Billy on his front porch. They usually hang out pretty steadily, grabbing beers after work, having BBQs with Max and Lucas, watching endless movies, and hiking in the woods on the edge of town, but lately, every time Steve asks Billy to do anything, he claims that he’s busy working on a project, but won’t tell Steve any details about it. He’s starting to worry that Billy’s trying to freeze him out.
His excitement turns back to confusion when Billy hands him a stack of envelopes, telling him to read what’s inside of them, but he does as he’s told, grabbing the beer that he’d cracked open just before the doorbell had rung and taking it out to the backyard, turning on the patio lights so he can read.
He pulls a small stack of papers from the first envelope, unfolding them to find a letter.
“Dear younger me,
I know you’re upset right now. It’s not easy leaving your friends, your school, the ocean, the only home you’ve ever known behind to move to the middle of butt fuck nowhere. I won’t lie, it’s going to suck at first. Neil’s been with Susan long enough that he isn’t putting a show on in front of her anymore. He’s going to yell and threaten you and get in your face.
Starting at a new school is going to be terrifying, and it’s good to put on a brave face, to not show fear, but try to remember that it’s ok to admit that everything isn’t ok sometimes. Even if it’s just to yourself, curled up in your bed late at night. Let the tears fall, I promise you’ll feel better afterwards.
It won’t be long until you meet Steve Harrington, the king of Hawkins High. You’re going to be such a dick to him, and he’s going to spend a long time hating you for it. You’re going to spend a long time hating yourself for it. You’ll eventually work your way to friendship, but you’ll save a lot of time if you don’t spend your entire senior year of high school treating him like he’s dirt on the bottom of your shoes.
Because you can’t manage to get your head out of your ass, Steve’s going to push, rightfully so, and you’re going to pull, until the tension’s going to come to a head at Harrington’s graduation party. The night’s going to start with the two of you throwing barbs back and forth and end with you on your knees in the Harrington’s pool house, Steve’s cock between your lips. You’re barely even going to stay long enough for him to finish cumming, to scared to see what’ll happen in the aftermath, but you really should. Tell him how you feel about him, tell him that the way you treated him all year was an act, a way to protect your heart, and his response just might surprise you. You never know.”
Steve has to stop reading for a minute, his face flushing as he thinks back to his graduation night, how good Billy had looked on his knees, looking up at Steve as his tongue swirled around the head of his cock. He remembers how strong the urge to run his hands through Billy’s hair had been, but it had seemed too intimate an action, so he’d resisted, as hard as it had been. He’d wanted to reciprocate, but Billy had fled the scene before Steve could even catch his breath, not to be seen again for three years, until Neil and Susan Hargrove had died. He picks the letter back up, curious to see how it will end, and what will be in the next one.
“You’re going to blame yourself for a lot of what comes after. You’re going to tell yourself that if you’d stayed, if you hadn’t hightailed it back to California while the ink on your diploma was still drying, if you’d stayed, even just for Max, and nothing else, or if you’d finally stood up to Neil for once, things would have turned out differently. Please try as hard as you can to be kind to yourself. I promise you didn’t cause this, that nothing you could have done would have stopped Neil from being an asshole.
Love,
Billy”
“Dear younger me,
You just found out that Dad and Susan died, and you’re going to have a lot of mixed emotions about that. Relief that Neil can’t hurt you, can’t hurt anyone anymore, grief, as you mourn the dad you never got to have, regret, that you weren’t there to take the keys out of Neil’s hands that night when he drank too much and decided that Susan was cheating on him instead of going out to a girl’s night at the bar, sadness, for Max, who, at only seventeen, has no parents left, only has you to take care of her, when you can barely take care of yourself on the best of days.
It's going to be tough, I’m not going to lie. You and Max are going to fight about anything and everything. She’s going to blame you for this, and it’s going to take a long time for her to apologize, and it’s going to hurt, even though you blame yourself too.
You have to stay strong, though. Strong for yourself, and for Max. You need to put down the bottle and find a good job so you can take care of Max and yourself. It’ll be hard to even make yourself get out of bed most days, but you have to grin and bear it. I promise it’ll eventually get easier, even if it doesn’t seem like it right now. It’ll all be worth it when you see her walk across the stage with her diploma.
Love,
Billy”
As soon as he’s one reading the second letter, Steve folds it up and slips it back into its envelope and takes out the third letter, eager to see where this is going, to find out why he’s being asked to read them. He takes a sip of his beer and settles in for the long haul.
“When Max is twenty one, she’s going to call you and tell you that she’s dropping out of college to work at the garage with you and help you work towards your goal of buying it from Mr. Dennis when he retires, and you’re going to feel like a failure, like all your hard work, all the hours you put in at the shop to help pay for her education are going to waste. You’re going to fight long and hard about whether she’s fucking up her life, and you’re going to say a lot of things that you regret, but you need to remember that she’s an adult now, and she’s smart, and she knows what’s right for herself.
You won’t want to admit it, even to yourself, but you know you’re going to be happy to have her back where you can keep an eye on her, instead of way out in Boston. There’ll be growing pains at first, as you both get used to living together again, but it’ll be nice to have someone else around the house again.
And be nice to Lucas when Max has him over. He’s a good guy when he’s not being a smartass, and trust me, you’re going to need him later. Show him a little respect, and you’ll save yourself a lot of embarrassment later.
Love,
Billy”
“Dear younger me,
Two years after you finally take over ownership of the shop, just as you’re really starting to feel like the place is yours, Max is going to beg you to let her renovate the attached luncheonette and run a small diner and bakeshop out of it.
You’re going to resist for so long, finding a million reasons why she shouldn’t do it. The kitchen requires too much work, there won’t be enough customers for it to be profitable, she should be doing something better with her life than planting her roots so firmly in Hawkins. You worked hard so she can get out, and you don’t want to enable her sticking around.
Trust me, it’s going to be easier if you just give in. She may be stubborn, but she’s right, the place is going to be a huge success, and you’re going to wonder why you didn’t let her have at it sooner. That is, until two weeks after the diner opens, on the night of the launch party, Max is going to get drunk and take your motorcycle out and crash it.
She’s going to survive, but just barely. It’s going to be a very long road to recovery, and that’s where the thing I mentioned earlier about being nice to Lucas will come in. He’s the only one that’s going to be there for you in the early days, when you’re trying to keep two business afloat and be at the hospital with Max. He’s going to take a year off from school to work in the diner and the garage when you need to be with Max and be with Max when you need to be at the diner and garage. You’re going to be each other’s rocks when it gets to be too much, and you’re going to be embarrassed about how you treated him before if you don’t stop treating him like shit right now. I know I’ve already said this a lot, but trust me.
Love,
Billy”
“Dear younger me,
I know that more than anything, you’ll want to make sure that Max’s diner stays open, that it’s there for her when she gets better, but you’re too stubborn to ask for help, and too busy to have it open enough hours in a day to turn a profit, so you’ll think about throwing in the towel and just focusing on the garage.
Tired and frustrated, you’ll head to Chicago one evening to blow off some steam at a bar. You’ll think to yourself that you’ll just go for a few drinks, and maybe if you’re lucky, you’ll find someone to take to whatever shitty hotel you can find a room in for the night, but instead, what you find in there, or rather who you find in there, is going to change everything for you.
Standing near the bar nursing a bottle of beer is Steve Harrington, looking every bit as pretty as he did back in high school. You’re going to try to turn around and run like the coward that you are, but Steve’s going to spot you before you can head out. Caught, you’re going to let him buy you a beer and sit and catch up.
He’s going to tell you how he feels lost after dropping out of law school, a failure in his father’s eyes, how scary it is to not feel that much more mature at twenty five than he did at eighteen. You’re going to tell him about your dad and Susan, and Max’s accident, how it feels like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders, with no one there except Lucas to occasionally lighten the load.
He tells you that drinks are on him for the night, and he orders another round, and another and another, until you’re both shitfaced and stumbling towards his nearby apartment. On the way, you tell him that unless you get some money fast, you’re going to have to sell the diner, and then you forget you said anything as he asks if he can kiss you in the elevator.
You’re going to have a moment of panic, as Steve presses you up against the door of his apartment and runs his lips all over your throat, about whether this is the right thing to do or not. You think that it might be best to turn around and forget this ever happened.
Don’t. Stay, have fun with the hottest guy you could ever hope to be with, and create enough jerk off material to last you the rest of your life. Ever the gentleman, he’ll ask if he can take you to bed. You’ll both lose your breath laughing as he tries to carry you there and fails miserably, and you’ll smile to yourself every time you think about that moment.
Once you get to his room, you’re going to have to fight the urge to do all the work. You keep telling yourself that Steve deserves to be worshiped, but he’s going to insist that you sit back and enjoy it, and you should listen to someone else for once.
He’s going to do things you didn’t even know someone could do with their mouth, leaving your moaning, hands twisting in the bedsheets, and your eyes will roll back in your head as he fucks you six ways to Sunday. Afterwards, he’ll clean you both up and hold you in his arms while he snores softly in your ear, and you’ll think about how nice it is to be taken care of, that you could get used to it.
By morning, you’ll have talked yourself out of it. You don’t deserve this, you don’t have time for this, it’s too much, you’re not enough, and you’ll sneak out before Steve wakes, feeling like an idiot as you walk back to your car with your hair all stuck up in the back, knowing that everyone giving you side eye as they walk down the sidewalk with a coffee and a briefcase knows what you were up to last night.
You’ll be embarrassed, but relieved that you got out of Steve’s place without having to have an awkward morning after conversation. You’ll open up the shop for the day and put all your energy into working on the cars and running into the diner to check on Lucas and the lone waitress in between appointments, but no matter how hard you try, you’re not going to be able to take your mind off Steve, how he looked the night before, looking down at you with his big brown doe eyes as he asked you if it felt good. Part of you is going to wish you hadn’t left his place, but you know it’s for the best.
The days will keep marching on, until a couple weeks after you have your run-in with Steve, when you’ll get a call from the bank. You prepare yourself for the worst, sure that they’re calling you to tell you that it’s time to give up the diner, but no, they have a potential investor, and they want to meet with the two of you.
You show up at the bank feeling ridiculous in your one pair of khakis and your best button up, and of course, the first person you see when you enter the bank is Steve Fucking Harrington, grinning wide at you as he chats up a teller. You want to turn around, but you can’t, because this idiot is your only way to keep the diner alive.
When you ask him why, why he would do this for you, when you’ve just been an asshole to him. He says it’s not for you, it’s for Max, and for Steve himself, because his dad apparently has no problem writing a huge cheque to invest in the diner if it means that Steve won’t be sitting idle any longer.
You’re not going to be sure how involved Steve plans on actually being involved in the day to day running of the diner, but you definitely don’t expect him to show up two days later, apron and baseball cap on, ready to work his first shift. He’s going to suck, dropping plates, burning food, forgetting to dress burgers before they go out to hungry customers.”
Steve has to laugh at how right Billy is. He was just about the worst waiter and cook to have ever worked in a restaurant. He had no clue what he was doing, and there were many days where he was surprised that Billy didn’t kick him out, no matter how badly he needed the help, and there were a lot of other days where Steve was ready to throw in the towel, but he’d kept with it, determined not to give up on this like he had on law school, and he liked knowing he was lightening Billy’s load, even if it only got him groans of frustration and sighs of despair in return. Over time, he thankfully got better at both tasks, finding that he was actually a pretty good cook. He picks the letter back up, eager to get through the rest of the shortening stack.
“I promise the shitty times will end though. Soon, you won’t be able to imagine the place without Harrington there, telling bad jokes and bringing you coffee when your eyes start to droop in the evening, after you’ve had a long day at the shop and the diner, and then still need to go check in on Max.
Eventually, Max will be released from the hospital, and you’ll be happier than ever to have Steve around, to help Lucas moderate arguments between you and Max, while you get comfortable giving Max small freedoms, and she comes to understand why you’re so scared to let her out of your sight.
When Lucas finally has to go back to school, Mrs. Sinclair will try to step in and pick up shifts at the diner, and at first, you’re going to push back. You don’t want to take any more time and energy from that poor family, and you’re sure she has better things to do than do Max’s bidding as Max sits on a chair behind the counter telling her what to do.
Steve talks you into letting her stay, though. You need the help, and she’s willing to give it, and it’s another lesson in accepting that people care about you and Max and letting them help you. Between Mrs. Sinclair, Steve, you, and Max, as she starts to get stronger, along with Erica Sinclair waiting tables after school and on weekends, replacing your waitress who decided to go back to school, the diner actually starts to turn a profit, based on great food and fast, friendly service. When Lucas comes home for Christmas, he jokes that he can’t recognize the diner with more than a couple customers in it. For the first time, you’re going to feel like everything will be ok.
I promise you, things only keep getting better from here.
Love,
Billy”
“Dear younger me,
Now that you have your professional life somewhat under control, of course, you’re going to turn your attention to your personal life for the first time in a long time. I can tell you it won’t be easy to take that first step and finally accept that you need therapy. Nobody wants to admit that they need help, so it’s going to be a long battle of talking yourself in and out of it, but I can also tell you that once you commit to going regularly, and putting in the work to help yourself, things are going to be so much better.
You’re going to rush into things with Steve, but it’s important that you take time for yourself, to figure your shit out first. If Steve want this as bad as he’s been saying he does, then he’ll respect that you’re not ready yet, and wait until you are.”
Steve takes another sip of his drink, shaking his head at his own behaviour. To say he badly wants a relationship with Billy is the understatement of the century, and he’s far from quiet about it, confessing almost daily to Billy that he’s crazy about him, wants to date the heck out of him, hold his hand when they watch movies, make him dinner, tell anyone that’ll listen that Billy is his.
But for all of his enthusiastic rambling, he’s more than willing to wait until Billy’s ready. He doesn’t want to rush things, because he wants Billy to want it as much as he does, wants his heart to truly be in it. He doesn’t want Billy to date him just because it’s what Steve wants.
Over the past year, Steve’s come to learn that Billy’s not only literally the hottest guy Steve’s ever seen, he’s also selfless, caring, hilarious, hardworking, and secretly sweet, and Steve needs him like he needs air, so yeah, he’ll wait. He continues to read.
“My best advice for when thinking about Steve gets to be too much. Take a deep calming breath, a cold shower, or if that doesn’t work, think about seeing the ancient librarian at the public library naked. That should be more than enough to cool you down.
Love,
Billy”
Steve picks up the last letter, and slipping it out of its envelope, he unfolds it, noticing that it’s a lot shorter than the rest.
“Dear future me,
I know you’re panicking right now, sitting on your couch, biting your nails and nursing a beer, while you wait for Steve to read through the letters that you handed him tonight. You want him to know that you’re ready now, as ready as you’ll ever be to let him in, let yourself be loved and love him in return, and you can only hope that he feels the same way as he did this afternoon when he told you that he can’t wait to wife you up, whatever that means. Try to calm down. It’ll be ok.
So, hey Steve, if you’ve gotten this far, I’m ready. Bring your jammies, and we can have a sleepover. I promise not to run in the morning, and if you wake up early enough to make me cum a second time before breakfast, I’ll make you pancakes before we head into work.
Love,
Billy”
Steve slips on a pair of sandals and grabs his keys, running so fast for his car that he doesn’t realize until he’s halfway down the driveway that he’s not wearing a shirt. It doesn’t matter though. He’s gotta see about a boy.
This is my contribution to the @harringrove-relay-race! ✨
Thanks to @robthegoodfellow for the introduction!
Eight months after the events at Starcourt, Billy begins to have visions. Rated T for language and internalized homophobia.
June, 1985.
It was dark. He was out on a drive again. All of these backroads seemed to blend together in this damned town. Yet… he knew. He knew exactly where he was. He knew exactly where to go.
Go to Brimborn. Build it. Build it. Build it. Build it. BUILD IT.
He thought briefly about the person in his trunk. How afraid they must be. Terrified. He had long since drowned out their noises with his radio. He had tuned it to his favorite station, rock music blasting. At first, it was so loud, it hadn’t even allowed him to think. But the more he listened, the more numb he became. It was a seemingly endless cycle. Find a person, kidnap them, and take them to Him. He had tried to fight it. He didn’t want to do this. No, as much of an asshole as he was, he wasn’t a murderer. But it was uncontrollable. And his thoughts… The things he heard had broken him down so much.
You’re a disappointment. You want me to call your mommy for you? Doesn’t look like he has one of those! You’re so unlovable you can’t even keep your mother. Unlovable… Unlovable…
Was this his subconscious talking to him? Admitting things that he never wanted to admit to himself? Ever since his mother left, his life had been filled with rage and unhappiness. Why would she leave? Was it true? Was he that unlovable…?
The red lightning flashed across the sky and the radio turned to static. His hand reached out to tune it and he heard a woman talking. A radio host talking about a romance novel. He listened. He didn’t even know if what he was hearing was real. But he was stuck. Bound to listen regardless.
“…a coffee shop barista calling herself ‘Single Shot.’ This goes out to you, Mister waiter-turned-writer, hope you’re listening tonight. You: mid twenties, classically beautiful working as a waiter in a fun little brunch spot in the city. Me: mid twenties girl with bright blue hair splurging on a nice day with the girls. You’d said we should keep things secretive, and I agreed because I’m not the kind of person who makes things hard for the guy they like. We had talked about that the first time you asked what we were, when I shrugged wearing your t-shirt and said that I could be anything you needed me to be, and you said: ‘dating’.”
Halfway through the monologue, the voice had changed from a young woman’s, to a young man’s. The story sounded familiar. Keeping things a secret… another person wearing his t-shirt. His heart began to throb in his chest.
“I was happy. Because I didn’t have to be the one to ask you to be mine. I’m not a mood killer.”
Admitting his feelings after a midnight romp. Not wanting to leave because he felt so good for the first time in years. He felt… wanted.
The radio crackled again. The soft sultry music cut out. The voice turned back to a young woman’s. Colder. Harsher.
”I try and try to make it easier on you.”
A red, neon heart appeared before him. The road seemed to disappear. Another vision. LOVE ME.
“Because I want you to love me. Please love me. Please love me.”
The hearts were everywhere now. They burned into his eyes. Into his soul. He heard the mantra. Over and over again:
“Please love me. Please love me. Please love me. Please-“
The voice was interrupted by static. Through the fuzzy white noise came a voice. The young man again…
Billy… I love you.
His eyes start to burn with tears. A voice so familiar to him. The one person in this whole goddamn world that didn’t hate him. That didn’t think he was an unlovable piece of shit.
The voice was cut out and replaced by a sinister, twister version of the young woman’s. More neon signs appeared. Love me. Girls Girls Girls. Topless Bar. Gentlemen’s Club. Girls. Girls.
“I’ll do anything. I feel like I don’t exist if you aren’t looking at me. But when you see me…”
“When you see me… I know I’m real. But I’m driving through this dark without you…. It makes me feel like I’m nothing.”
It’s his own voice now.
“Please, someone find me.”
He stands in the void now. The monster… Normally, the monster would be here. But it’s dark. Cold. So much nothingness.
“Wow, what an impassioned speech from Billy’s fantasy lover. What do you think? They’re everything you specifically want in someone. They’re just like you, Billy. But you’re frightened of them. You’re frightened… of the men. The men who come your way. You’re afraid you can’t look away from them. You see them and you’re attracted to them. You’re broken, Billy. Starving for love.”
I understand you, Billy. I know you’re broken and that’s okay. I am too… But I’m here, Billy. I’m right here! Please… Can you hear me?
He can. He can hear his voice in the void. There’s something tugging at his mind both ways. Something compelling him to gather more people, to Build It.
Then something else is luring him in. Warmth. A pair of arms around him, lovingly embracing him. It’s so familiar, like it’s on the tip of his tongue. Like he knows and he can see it but it’s foggy. A shape swirling in his consciousness that’s trying to blot out the darkness. This thing that makes him happy. Hearing their voice…
He’s back in the car. It’s dark but… It’s not like that. Not like when he was taking people. He can see the stars. He can feel someone close to him. He can… feel their lips on his own. Tears sting his eyes again, this time they’re real. He’s real…
A hand caresses his cheek, that’s real too. He’s real… Brown eyes look deeply into his own. They bring him back to reality. This he knows is the truth. Please love me…
“I love you, Billy.” He whispers to him, wiping his tears.
”I love you too…” He replies. Please don’t leave me…
Little did he know this was just the beginning for them. Reliving the memories from the Summer of 1985. Something was haunting him. Three chimes of the clock. Was his time up?
-
I would like to introduce the amazing @avalonlights <3
follows Step 9 (Billy and Steve meet up in Hawkins in the 90s, both in a transition period of their lives—one in recovery, the other in midst of divorce—and end up coming out to each other)
taking the baton from @fizzigigsimmer! here's my post for @harringrove-relay-race 💛 warnings for references to addiction, cancer, death; contains brief casual stommy
.
The divorce was finalized around Christmas, which is when Steve resolved to tell Robin. Not about him and Nance—she’d been the first one he called post-Talk—but about the whole… latent attraction to men… thing?
Obviously, she’d be understanding and supportive and all, but he hadn’t wanted to hash it out over the phone before he felt on firmer ground. Had actual answers for the inevitable questions.
Robin always flew in for the holidays, always attended the New Year’s party at his parents’ place, so he thought he’d have plenty of opportunity.
He hadn’t accounted for Robin having also hidden certain developments, such as upgrading her on-again off-again fuckbuddy to girlfriend status. Serious girlfriend status, seeing as how she brought her home to meet the family.
So it wasn’t until New Year’s Eve that he let the cat out of the bag—or rather, the cat clawed its way out of the bag, hissing and scratching, a minute to midnight, when Carol off-handedly offered up her husband for Steve to smooch when the clock ran out.
And Robin could tell she wasn’t joking—Carol was, in fact, leering.
“You—and Tommy?” she stage whispered, bug-eyed, as the TV led the surrounding guests in the countdown, from ten, nine, eight… “Since when? Since—what?”
“No,” Steve exclaimed, waving his hands. “Since never.”
“Since August.” Tommy clapped his shoulder, smarmy grin stretched wide. “Been helping Stevie here discover himself.”
“HAPPY NEW YEAR!”
“Go on,” Carol called, goading, and Steve rolled his eyes, let Tommy tug him down by the neck, and kissed his smirking lips. Carol cheered, clapping. “Start the year off right.”
“They’re swingers,” Steve tried to explain, undertone, to temper Robin’s mounting indignation as Tommy swanned over to Carol and lay one on her, too. “I just needed to… figure some stuff out.”
While Robin was still assembling a response, Serious Girlfriend Jane was eying Carol up and down.
“Which way does she swing?”
Snapped out of the shock, Robin huffed. “We are not having a threesome with Carol.”
Overhearing, arms looped lazy around Tommy, Carol arched her brow. “Who said you were invited?”
Jane snorted, Robin flushing red with vengeance, and the night devolved from there.
They woke up at the Hagans the following morning, the threesome entwined in the master bedroom, Steve spooning Tommy on the living room couch.
“You’re being careful?” Robin asked, slumped against Jane in the backseat, after milking him for details all the way to the airport.
“Yeah,” Steve replied. “So far it’s just been Tommy.”
“Careful with your heart, too?” she pushed. “You’re not the type to—”
“I know.” Steve flicked his hand, dismissive. “It’s fine. Tommy’s just… Tommy.”
~~~
And he was—the same old shit-stirrer, just as impulsive and rowdy, though the mean streak had mercifully mellowed. Tommy was Tommy: familiar and comfortable and more than happy to stand-in as test dummy for Steve’s fumbling first times with a guy.
They’d hooked up occasionally since Steve made the move back to Hawkins, transferring to the local office, where the mindless corporate culture was more muted. Nance had stayed in Indianapolis, working her way up the ranks at the newspaper. She’d kept the condo in the city, and Steve was renting an apartment in town.
“You sure you’re okay… living there?” Nance had asked, skeptical.
What with the place crawling with the ghosts of untold interdimensional horrors, she meant.
And sure, passing the turn-off for the mall or hearing a strange noise at night set off the odd chill down his spine, goosebumps prickling, heart thumping, but… he didn’t want to leave. Couldn’t explain it.
Billy’s number was tucked in his wallet, burning a hole in the leather. Steve hadn’t used it—didn’t want to abuse the privilege. In case you need to talk about this shit, Billy had said. Gay shit, he meant, and Steve hadn’t yet felt lost enough to justify dialing. To finish dialing.
He’d seen Hargrove around, though—at the grocery store, or behind the counter at Melvald’s, or leaving a meeting at the church Wednesday evenings, or jogging alongside a shaggy brown dog that turned out belonged to Max. And if their eyes locked, they’d exchange a wave, a nod, maybe trade brief small talk that Steve would pat himself on the back for, afterward, if he’d managed to seem normal and well-adjusted.
They’d even socialized a couple times, in group settings. Like at the cookout in Tommy’s backyard, a couple weeks after the Hagans had invited Steve onto the swingset—Tommy standing still with a teasing smile while Steve decided whether or not to kiss him for science—and Steve had happened to drift into Billy’s orbit again and again.
“How’s Max?” Steve had asked, when they had a moment of relative privacy by the coolers, Billy digging for a can of Coke, passing Steve a beer. “How’s her mom doing?”
“Hanging in there,” Billy said, and Steve wasn’t sure whether he meant Max, her mom, or both. “Chemo’s rough.”
Steve winced in sympathy. Billy hadn’t specified what was ailing her, when he mentioned it at the diner.
“Are you—living with them, still?”
“Crashing at Munson’s. He lives across the way.” Billy grimaced, rueful. “His uncle passed from the same thing couple years ago, so. He wanted to help.”
Feeling acutely useless, but just as earnest: “Anything I can do? To help?”
For the first me, Billy’s eyes swung his way and stayed, rather than flit restlessly around, and Steve fought not to look at his mouth because this wasn’t about that, this was about—
“I’ll let you know,” Billy said, and turned back to his can. Took a long gulp.
“Good,” Steve said, and did watch his throat bob. Figured, since they’d already broken the seal on soul-bearing and secrets, it was safe to ask. “Are you doing okay? With—everything?”
Billy smacked his lips, brows raised. “Dunno about everything. Pretty gutted about Princess Di.”
An effective redirection, since Steve was pretty gutted, too. This disproportionate ache whenever he thought of her gone from the world—though she’d hardly registered for him before beyond her stalwart status as some distant icon.
He found himself nodding, emphatic. “Like I can feel the absence in the air. And it feels wrong.”
Billy toasted to that, lifting his Coke, and the clink of can on beer bottle sent a thrill of warmth through the nerves.
So when he assured Robin he was being careful, Steve had meant it. He was hyper aware that his tendency to form attachments at the drop of a hat had struck again, probably the very moment Hargrove had walked into that diner to amend what hadn’t even needed fixing.
That was why he’d been scratching the itch with Tommy, not Billy. Because this attachment wasn’t something to blunder into and hope for the best, the way he usually did—for a couple reasons, first being that Steve was still finding his legs, fresh from a decade of married life that seemed an alternate universe now that it was behind him.
Second, and more importantly, in his mind, was that Billy was clearly finding his legs, too. This town had tried to kill him, once upon a time, and Billy had come close to finishing the job himself—yet here he was, trying to do right by a family that had done him wrong, working hard to build something better, something good.
And Steve wouldn’t—he couldn’t mess with that. No matter what. Not until he was sure they were steady on their feet.
~~~
The first Monday of 1998, Steve drove out to Forest Hills with a bag of groceries, the way he’d been doing every Monday since around Thanksgiving, when it occurred to him that maybe he didn’t need to wait for Billy to let him know how he could help—Steve could just… help. Or try to.
He’d gone with ready-made meals that would keep in the freezer, some prepared food from the deli, a rotisserie chicken, that kind of thing. Minimal effort affairs. He’d been bracing for Billy to resist out of pride—partly why Steve had restricted himself to one bag—but to his surprise, Billy had accepted without fuss, with a simple thanks, passed the bag off to Max at the door.
Max’s mom was never feeling up for visitors, but sometimes the three of them, Max, Billy, and Steve, would chat for a bit at Munson’s when Steve came around. It was nice—and good for Max, he thought, to get away from caregiver duties.
That Monday, Steve had something extra in the bag. Oreos for Max, and sitting on top—
“What’s this?” Billy asked, catching sight of the ball of yarn in varying shades of blue.
“Ah, for Christmas, I guess,” Steve replied, trying to sound casual. “You said you liked to… crochet?”
Billy stared at the yarn for a solid beat. “Thanks,” he said, and Steve exhaled, relieved, waving him off when Billy added, “Sorry—I didn’t get you anything.”
“I mean, neither did I, really,” Steve reasoned. “An actual present would’ve been—like, a hat. Not the stuff to make the hat. And—” Steve regretted the words even as they tumbled from his mouth, already cringing. “I never got you back for giving me—your number. In case I needed it.”
Squinting, Billy tilted his chin. “Which… you haven’t.”
“I might!” Steve protested. “You never know.”
Billy shifted the bag on his hip. Said nothing. A lot of nothing.
“Anyway.” Steve cleared his throat. “Hope the holidays were—happy as possible.”
Billy nodded. “Yeah. You, too.” A flicker of mischief quirked his mouth. “Any New Year’s Resolutions?”
“A few.” His heart tripped, spilling nonsense. “If I tell you, they won’t come true.”
That got an actual smile, wry, fondly mocking. Fondly. “That’s not how it works.”
Grinning, lighter than air, Steve spun toward his car, hands shoved in his coat pockets, and threw back, “I guess we’ll find out.”
.
thank you for reading! now passing off the baton to @nerodmcdevilslayer
This is my contribution to the Harringrove Relay Race
There's no following @bigdumbbambieyes but take this humble offering.
The Best You (Never) Had
written for @harringrove-relay-race
Rating: M
Pairing: Steve x Billy with a heavy dose of angst.
I was charmed and instantly driven insane by the absolutely bomb Harringrove playboy bunnies drawn by @adelacreations, and it inspired me to wonder about a trans femme Billy, running into her past at a strip club.
Enjoy the adventures of Bunny Hargrove.
And stay on the look out for what @robthegoodfellow has coming up!
When Billie left Hawkins she hadn’t looked to her future and seen herself working at a strip club. She certainly hadn’t foreseen the possibility of having to serve her high-school bully cheap food and lousy drinks in one once she’d made it back to Cali. But that’s exactly what seems to be in store for her – fuck her life.
Five men occupy the half moon booth and table reserved mostly for bachelor parties and the occasional VIP. Billie’s coworker Amanda has been serving them food and drinks while they enjoy the sets of dancers on stage, but her wait shift is ending and Billie’s prepping to take over – tuning out as the other woman as she complains about one of the men grabbing at her ass and being a poor tipper.
It seems impossible, but somehow it’s happening. Steve Harrington is sitting right there, watching Lacey wiggle her ass in red spandex to a Katy Perry song.
It’s been going on fifteen years, but Billie would recognize him anywhere. Same slouch to the shoulders and dreamy eyed stare – neither Lacey’s wild gyrations nor the conversation of the group he’s with not enough to hold his full attention. Same stupid hair, although he’s changed the shape since high school. Now it’s held securely to one side by too much gel, and she just wants to break it up with her fingers. His laugh still doesn’t reach his eyes, and it probably says a lot about Billie, that some part of her is relieved to see that.
Her rent might be too high, her boss might be a creep, and her ex is still full of shit, but Steve Harrington is still hanging around with guys like Tommy and faking a smile, so it balances the scales.
He’s still gorgeous too, fuck him. Billie swallows and forces herself to look away, and not run away like the frantic beating of her heart suggests that she should. She’s got nothing to hide, and she’s not ashamed.
There’s no reason at all she shouldn’t saunter right over to the table with the bachelor party Amanda was gracious enough to split with her (knowing all about her rent worries) and flirt her way to another month of financial security; except for the fact that even in this day and age, certain people still get funny about people like her and Billie knows these guys.
Or rather, they knew her before – before she got out of Neil’s house, before freedom, before Billie.
There’s no reason at all she shouldn’t go over there and take that table full of drunk losers, eager to blow their cash on the club's cheap booze and dancing girls, for all that they’re worth. Nothing besides fear.
Fuck that.
The group is laughing loudly about something as Billie saunters up, one last swarm of butterflies taking flight in her belly as Hagen turns his neck to squint blearily at her.
God, that stupid smirk hasn’t changed a bit – wide and dopey like the dog he is, and mean in the eyes. Those beetle browns look her over just like they did on her first day in Hawkins, assessing for strengths and weaknesses to exploit; and for a moment she remembers the terror of being under that gaze and all the others like it. The fear of being caught out consuming her, choking her, day after day.
Sorry kid. Billie thinks to herself with a sway of her hips, right before parking herself up against the arm of the leather couch, warm skin brushing the sleeve on Tommy’s shoulder. The way that his lips part unconsciously as he gawks at her doesn’t make up for the past, but it still feels damn good. She’s a bad bitch and she knows it. Knew it back then but now she can show it and will kick ass if Tommy or any of his buddies decide they have a problem with it.
But it’s not recognition of any kind on any of their faces, it’s lust. They leer at the shiny shorts that hug her thighs and the plunging neckline of her tiny top – her employer's idea of a uniform. Whatever vindication she feels on behalf of her pitiful high school self, she doesn’t actually care anymore what Tommy and the clones think.
Billie finds her eyes going to Steve like they’re magnetized.
She shouldn’t care what Harrington thinks either, and yet, there’s a stupid flutter in her chest (damn it) when Steve looks her over, eyes lingering just a hair too long on her chest to be anything other than interested, before he meets her eye.
“Hey beautiful.” He leans forward a little, totally present now like he wasn’t before dripping charm he obviously learned in some board room working for daddy. And yet, there’s still some part of Billie that expects to wake up in bed back in the house on Cherry Street.
“What’s your name?” Steve Harrington is definitely asking, her, like it’s just a pre-courser to getting her naked, and Billie shivers. Fuck is she doing this?
“Hi Bambi, I’m Bunny.” She teases. Sees the line in the sand and walks right over it. Tommy howls like some chick likening his buddy to a baby deer is the most hilarious shit, and it sets the others off, oohing and ahhing and generally acting like fools as they rib Harrington.
But Steve ignores them, and the way he jolts a little when he hears that name, eyes narrowing on her in wary confusion, goes straight to her clit. Shit. One of these days her hard on for danger is gonna get her killed. But today it’s got her heart thumping and her pussy dripping as she clenches around nothing, like he’s already sliding inside where she obviously still wants him. She needs better taste in men. She’s sure her mama would have said she gets her poor taste from her if she’d stuck around long enough while Billie was growing up.
“I’m a sucker for big pretty brown eyes.” She winks at him, sugar sweet and he seems to settle a little. “Can I get you another round of drinks, or are you in the mood for something better?”
“Bunny.” He ignores the question to turn her show name over on his tongue, slow and curious like he’s tasting it. “Are you on tonight?” He asks, gaze twitching toward the stage and back.
“You calling me a stripper Bambi?”
“It is a strip club, and with a name like Bunny.”
Billie laughs and Steve’s mouth slides into a satisfied smirk, like that was always the end goal. Tommy rolls his eyes and pouts like an overgrown toddler, “Didn’t you date a chick named Trixie?”
“Yeah. So?” Steve drawls in reply, his focus momentarily shifting from Billie and back to Tommy, which if Billie’s memory serves, is exactly how Tommy likes it.
This is a bad idea. Such a bad idea. God, Hagen really hasn’t changed, but neither has Steve. Those dry little dig and the arch of his eyebrows are so familiar she feels a strange sort of relief. Like there was something inside her that had been counting down since the last time she saw him, afraid that he’d change and become lost to memory.
Fuck. That sounds – it’s not, what it sounds.
“So, you can’t tell a stripper by their name is all I’m saying.”
“Dude, are you serious? I met Trixie because you paid for her to show up at my apartment dressed like a police officer and give me a lap dance on my birthday.”
Now there’s an idea, Billie thinks as Tommy, remembering the incident, smiles sheepishly.
“I’m not dancing tonight, no.” Billie finally answers his question, pulling Steve’s attention back and a shiver goes down her spine when his eyes snap to her. “But I wouldn’t say no to tying you up and having my way with you, Pretty Boy.”
She doesn’t have to wonder if Steve remembers her the way she remembers him. If the words Billie had said and the insults, she’d flung had burrowed under his skin to live with him the same way Billie lives with his.
Steve flinches, his eyes narrowing sharply on her, and it’s barely perceptible but she catches it before he’s being nudged at and jostled from both sides by his buddies as they hoot and holler about how he’s been chosen.
He never stops looking at her.
The only one who doesn’t seem absolutely thrilled for him to get picked up by some babe in a seedy strip club in Santa Monica is Tommy, who grumbles something about the attention being wasted on Steve.
For the first time Billie wonders if he might be the bachelor about to get hitched – and she’s the one to flinch this time, as her eyes dart down to his hand. The ring finger is empty, which doesn’t really prove anything, but the pale strip of skin she finds there tells its own story.
Divorced? Long engagement? Married already perhaps and out to prove the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree? Fuck she hopes it’s not the last one. Not because it would change anything for her. Maybe it would, if she were a nicer person, but she’s not the married one, and if she started splitting hairs about fooling around with married men her tip jar would be a whole lot emptier each month.
No. She just plain doesn’t want him to be attached. The thought makes her chest twist up inside and the bottom of her stomach feel like it’s going to fall right out her ass – the same fucked up emotional constipation she’d felt watching him run through the female population of Hawkins High like he was trying to make them all forget they’d watched Nancy Wheeler take his balls and then make an absolute fool of him.
“Thanks for the offer, Bunny -” Steve starts, and she can hear the butt coming as clear as the others can if the sudden swell of groans is anything to go by.
“Harrington! Come on man.”
“Boo!”
“See what I mean? That’s a fucking ten right there, and you’re going to blow it over some bitch who doesn’t even want you?!” Screeches Tommy.
Bingo. Thank you, Tommy, with the big mouth. So, it’s divorced. Separated but still holding on to the past – just like old times.
It makes her smile a little mean as she leans toward him, holding his gaze, purrs - “You scared, Bambi? Worried I might break you?”
Steve clamps his mouth shut. His eyes blaze at her and her throat goes dry.
“Oh ho! Careful now darlin, our Stevie boys got a pretty big ego. You might not want to poke that bull if you’re not ready for the ride.” One of the bros says with the kind of glint in his eye that says he lives for ‘big egos’ putting little women like her into place. Fucking prick.
Steve seems to think so too because he mutters, “Shuttup Andy” as he reaches in his pocket for his wallet.
“How much?” he asks her, sounding bored. It’s bullshit. Billie licks her lip in triumph.
“Fifty for a lap dance here at the table, fifty more if you want to see some tit.”
“How much for a private show?”
Her breath hitches, her stomach tightening in her eagerness, but somehow, she keeps the breath out of her tone as she replies.
“Depends on what you want to see.” She answers, and without so much as a pause Harrington smiles – challenges.
“Everything.”
Fuck. She’s doing this.
She’s not delusional enough to think that fucking him is going to heal her inner child or whatever, and while she firmly believes she doesn’t owe every one night stand a complete rundown of her medical history, she’s fully aware of how this is different – of what the upstanding thing to do would be.
But then Billie remembers the way Steve had started pushing back after their fight that strange night at the Byers house; the way he’d swooped in and pulled the rug out from under her – reclaiming his spot as top dog, just by existing. No begging. No apologies. He just opened the doors to that mansion he lived in and rang the bell, and Tommy and the rest had come looking for supper.
She remembers the cruel things he said to her as he flaunted his big house and fancy car, rubbing in how quickly it was over once he made it a real contest; because however shiny and new Billie had been to those kids, she was still just trash under it all. Angry white trash going nowhere fast, while Steve was Mr. Somebody. Once he’d pulled his head out of Wheeler’s ass and remembered it, he’d made turning the school against Billie his new focus.
Pushed further and further to the fringes, Billie’s only choice to keep the jackals at bay had been to fight them off until people got the message and started avoiding her altogether.
She’s not claiming victim. She knows damn well who started the fight – that it was her own demons that drove her to lash out and try and prove her dominance over him – and that after that night at the Byers, Steve had especially no reason to take mercy on her.
But just because she’d asked for the fight doesn’t mean taking a beating hadn’t nearly pushed her to the edge.
Billie swallows back the taste of bitterness in her mouth, from the memory of being alone, broken and desperate, aching to be near someone who loathed her and yearning for the looks he gave so easily to other girls.
Except now he is – King Steve – looking at Billie Hargrove like he wants her. Like he’d empty out his wallet and spend all of that nepo baby salary just for the chance to get at her; and like hell is she going to turn it away. Revenge couldn’t get sweeter than this. The only thing that could make it better is if he knew. It’s me on your mind. Me you can’t ignore. Me you can’t walk away from.
But it’s just a fantasy. The reality him recognizing her now or later has her swinging from vicious jubilation toward mind numbing panic on a dime.
Regardless - Steve Harrington stands up, ignoring the cheers of his drunk friends, eyes locked with hers – and Billie Hargrove makes her own choices.
Billie is going to ride Steve until he sees God, hollowed be her name. Because she wants him (still) and he finally wants her. Just for once. That’s all she needs.
I am grabbing the baton from @billysblueeyes and running at top speed!! here is my contribution to the @harringrove-relay-race 🤍 I'm so happy to have taken part again!! my ficlet is short and sweet 🥹
head over heels
586 words | Rated G | fluff
It's that sort of sudden, all-telling fluttering in his stomach that makes Steve balk; his clumsy grip dropping the stack of VHS tapes in his hands as he goes to hand them to the blond across the counter.
Billy’s eyes hold a dull sharpness these days, like the person he’d been before Starcourt is still there somewhere deep down, but he’s resigned himself to who he is now — a man who just wants to move on. And they are as blue as ever, so striking and intense as they had been all those months ago.
Just a glance from them, even now, makes Steve’s heart stop.
And in all honesty, Steve can understand him – to a certain degree – because he’s also been trying to ignore or forget the last 3 years by pretending it’s all just a bad dream.
Except he’s never been possessed, so. He can’t really relate to that bit.
“Um, my bad,” Steve clears his throat as he stacks the tapes again, keeping his gaze on the small pile even as he feels Billy’s eyes boring a hole into his forehead.
“Nervous, Harrington?” Billy hums quietly, a little tease, and it makes the back of Steve’s neck burn.
He feels it flush his face, his cheeks turning ruddy as he shoves the tapes across the counter and forces himself to look Billy in the eye as he says, “No, just…tired.”
Billy’s got dark circles under his eyes but he still looks good, which is annoying. You’d think a guy who had died and come back to life would look like shit.
The blond places his hand over the stack, fingers spread wide as he pulls them the rest of the way, telling Steve with a slight drawl of, “Right.”
Steve, feeling his throat close up, watches Billy turn and head towards where Max is looking over the ‘New Arrivals’ wall. He watches the blond slowly saddle up next to her, unable to hear their conversation as Robin turns up the radio that plays throughout the store.
Which is annoying. How is he going to listen in?
It’s when he bends over the counter and watches Billy gently smack the top of Max’s head with a VHS, maybe arguing over which movie she wants to rent for the extra cost, that he hears the song, Roland Orzabal crooning from the speakers:
Something happens and I'm head over heelsI never find out until I'm head over heels
Steve feels his stomach flutter again as he watches Billy’s sharp smile, a small thing on his handsome face, but this time the sensation makes him scowl in realization.
Something happens and I'm head over heelsAh, don't take my heart, don't break my heartDon't, don't, don't throw it away
He’s got a fucking crush on Billy Hargrove.
Fucking great.
Max throws her hands up in defeat and storms out of the store, leaving Billy behind, who glances at Steve and gives him a playful wink before following her outside, the tapes carefully held against his chest.
Steve ever so slowly lowers his head down against the counter and presses his forehead against it, closing his eyes with a low groan of defeat.
“Hey, dingus,” Robin hums as she appears beside him and starts typing at the computer, “You forgot to mention Hargrove’s late fees. Again.”
Shit. He totally did forget. “I’ll get him when he comes back to return them,” he mutters against the counter, wondering what the fuck he’s going to do with himself.
up next is the super talented @fizzigigsimmer!! 🥰 pls look forward to what they have prepared for our enjoyment!!
Thank you @thissortofsorcery for the baton. I’m handing it off to @bigdumbbambieyes for this awesome event @harringrove-relay-race !
This fic was inspired by this post by @ickypuppi3 thank you for the inspiration!
Explicit
2.4k+
CW: drug use and unprotected sex.
🪩
Billy can see the flashing neon lights behind his closed eyelids. He raises his hands above his head, face to the ceiling, and he lets the lights wash over him, basking in the thumping rhythm of Be my Lover, as it reverberates through his ears. His hips undulate to the pace of the song, his entire body rolling seductively, as the music plays through the speakers of the packed nightclub.
He loves this.
It’s been a long time coming—finding his place in a cruel world that’s never catered to him or done him any favors.
The first thing he had to do to find his place was leave Hawkins.
It wasn’t easy. He left everything he ever truly cared about back there—Max—El—Steve.
But he couldn’t stay. There were too many bad memories, too many horrors, too many monsters, wanting to keep him under lock and key. Leaving was the best choice he ever made for himself.
Still, he wonders sometimes—what if he had stayed?
But it’s a fool’s game, to wonder.
Instead, he has this—
The nighttime, an LA nightclub, dressed in a scant pair of sequined booty shorts, his vicious scars on display.
He finds belonging under the lights, making money dancing to the club music that has dizzied the masses into a frenzy as they get closer and closer to the new millennium. He dances on his high-rise platform, entertaining and enticing the club goers, drumming up mystery and intrigue, being just out of reach while they all watch on with unmasked lust in their eyes as his body moves to the likes of La Bouche, Captain Hollywood Project, 2 Unlimited, Haddaway, and Dr. Alban…music far different than his preference for heavy metal, but the rhythms perfect for seducing anyone who likes watching him shake his ass.
Billy is surrounded by plenty who fawn. Each one different, but all of them finding family in each other—the scorned and abandoned—or those who have fought tooth and nail to escape the constraints of their gilded cages—to freedom. A freedom of acceptance and a chance to be their truest selves—freaks, rejects, and a kaleidoscope of queers—their minds stimulated by uppers and alcohol, ridding themselves of their shackles of misery on the dance floor, bodies pushing and pulling in a coalescing pool of euphoria.
Billy thinks he might never need anything else but this…
But then he chances a glance at the crowd, through the artificial smoke of the fog machines that casts everyone in a hazy neon glow of gyrating heartbeats. The lights pulsate over their heads, and suddenly Billy’s own heart is in his throat—the piece of it that he knows he left somewhere in Hawkins.
Billy recognizes that floppy coif of brown hair, standing amongst the thick crowd of dancers in the nightclub. It’s the mid 90s, but the style of it hasn’t changed much, if only a bit longer around the ears. Steve Harrington is a person of habit after all, no matter how much he would love to disagree. Billy looks closer, to be sure, and the lights flash across the familiar planes of Steve’s face as he looks up at Billy. He isn’t sure how long Steve has been watching him, but the burning desire in his eyes tells Billy that his former lover has been staring long enough. Billy could ignore Steve and keep dancing, finish his shift on the platform, knowing his boss will give him an earful for disappearing before the night is over.
He should make Steve wait…
But they don’t do that to each other. They don’t treat each other like that. Not anymore.
Plus, it’s not like either one of them are known for their patience. Steve could very well choose to come up on the platform.
Billy steps off instead, down the winding steel-beamed staircase, and into the same thick crowd of dancing bodies. Hands reach out, tugging at him, and brushing along the gnarled skin of his scars. It doesn’t bother him. Were it a decade ago, when the pain and the horror of his memories were fresh, he wouldn’t be able to handle it, but now, he keeps pushing through the crowd, begging off anyone who tries to drag him into a dance, but still letting them touch, letting them think they might have a chance, a smirk on his face, and a promise of later, sweetheart on his tongue.
It doesn’t take long to reach Steve.
Not near as long as it’s been since they last saw each other—five years, and the start of a brand-new decade.
Billy isn’t the same person he was back then, but it doesn’t mean that his feelings for the man in front of him has changed at all either. They didn’t leave off like that. Steve understood why Billy had to leave Hawkins, and Billy accepted that Steve wanted to stay…
“You look good up there!” Steve shouts over the music, his eyes playful behind the hazy lust of them.
“I know!” Billy shouts back.
Steve could roll his eyes. Billy can tell he wants to. Instead, his hand reaches out, cupping Billy’s jaw, brushing a thumb along the bone of one side. His next words aren’t shouted. They’re mouthed with a reverence and a passion that Billy might’ve forgotten existed from his old life…
“I’ve missed you, Billy.”
He knows the feeling.
“I’ve missed you too, Steve.” He mouths back.
The song changes, and the crowd adapts, a new pulse thrumming through them with a headier rhythm, and a silky voice crooning out for More, and More, and More. Billy’s hands grip Steve by the hips, holding onto him as they’re pushed through the thick of bodies. A pretty woman, painted in neon, wearing similar sequined shorts as Billy, topless with pasties on her tits, and sporting tight pigtails, brushes against them; her tongue lolls out of her mouth, a pill placed on it in offering, a smiley face stamped on the blue casing with artificial coloring. Billy nods towards her, gesturing for Steve to accept the gift. There’s a flash of hesitance in his expression, but Billy just smirks at him. So, Steve leans in, licking the pill out of the woman’s mouth, her lips meeting his in a filthy kiss. Billy’s hand comes up, gripping Steve by the nape of his neck. He knows Steve will be the first to pull away from the woman, even without Billy’s prompting. He turns back to Billy, sharing the remnants of ecstasy when their tongues meet in an even filthier kiss…
Time and distance are erased with the meeting of their mouths, as if they were never apart to begin with.
Billy realizes right then that he was wrong.
He loves this.
The feel of Steve’s lips on his. The way Steve’s hands hold him close, and the desperation that they share for each other. The music, the lights, the people, all of it fades away when Steve touches him. Billy can feel his senses heightened as the pill they shared starts taking effect, and his skin starts to tingle with every brush of Steve’s hands on him. The kiss until they can’t take it anymore, their breaths heavy, their cocks hard, and sporting each other’s spit on their chins, as they cling tightly to one another.
Finding a place to be alone in the packed nightclub should be harder, but there’s a single-stall bathroom that’s awash in neon green and years of graffiti. It’s been gloriously left unoccupied, and Billy slams Steve against the door as soon as they close themselves inside, locking it behind them. Billy’s grin is mean as he looks up at Steve’s blown-out pupils in the harsh green light.
“Don’t tease me. Don’t make me wait,” Steve says breathlessly.
As if Billy would ever dream of it. Not when this is real, and the man he’s loved for over a decade is back in his arms.
“I won’t.” Billy mumbles, tugging off Steve’s shirt and crashing their lips together again.
The bathroom is cramped, and dingy, but they’re both mindless to that after the drug they’ve ingested, and the horniness that’s burning through both of them. Billy doubts either one of them will last long enough to question how smart it is to have sex in a club bathroom. Steve moves, crowding Billy against the sink. He turns in Steve’s arms, facing the dirty mirror, and watching as Steve doesn’t waste time, pushing down the spandex of Billy’s sequined “uniform”. His big hands grip Billy by the hips, rutting himself against Billy’s ass, and they both moan, Billy pushing back because he can and because he wants to.
Despite the muffled pulsing of club music outside of the bathroom, Billy can distinctly hear the metal jingle of Steve’s belt, and the sound of his zipper being undone. Billy’s breath hitches in anticipation, and he grips the porcelain of the sink until his knuckles turn white, and the tips of his fingers grow numb.
He gasps at the rough sound of Steve spitting on his own hand and coating his dick. Billy’s eyes flutter closed as the blunt head of Steve’s cock rubs between his cheeks. Steve buries his face in the back of Billy’s neck, his clean hand snaking up to grip Billy around the throat. He thrusts shallowly, sliding between Billy’s thighs, along his taint, and tagging the back of his balls, teasing upwards, over the puckered ring of muscle of Billy’s hole. Billy shudders, clenching unconsciously, and waiting for the moment when Steve finally runs out of patience.
Billy can feel Steve’s smile against his neck. He pushes back into him, “now who’s teasing?”
“I’m sorry, baby.” Steve’s voice is low as he reaches up to lick and nibble along the shell of Billy’s ear. “You want me to take care of you?”
“Yes,” he hisses, “want you inside of me, Steve.”
The intrusion is sudden, but there’s hardly pain. Billy’s body is used to this. He doesn’t require any prep, but the lack of lube gives a slight burn, and he cries out as Steve really stretches him open. His hand tightens around Billy’s throat, and his pace picks up, fucking Billy like he’s missed him the last five years they’ve been apart.
“You’re still so goddamn perfect, baby. I can’t believe you’re real.” Steve grunts, their skin slapping together and echoing in the small space.
How obscene is it to be fucking in a filthy bathroom? Billy’s body bent over the sink, his back arched until he’s on the tips of his toes, and his sequined shorts are around his ankles, getting ruined as they brush against the floor, and Steve’s cock slides in and out of him from behind.
It feels so good,” Billy gasps, “you still fuck me so good, Steve.”
He falters for a second, pushing his forehead into Billy’s spine, and Billy knows Steve’s trying to stop himself from busting his load way too early.
“You’re killing me,” Steve breathes.
Billy doesn’t even get to respond as Steve starts up again, his pace even more brutal. The hand around Billy’s throat moves to his curls, getting a grip and yanking for leverage; the other holding Billy by the hip, and fucking into him hard. Steve watches Billy through the mirror with hooded eyes as his mouth falls slack in pleasure. Billy watches back, whimpering at how Steve uses him in the best way. Billy wouldn’t have even recognized the music playing outside of the bathroom if it wasn’t for Steve...
“Are—are you fucking me to the rhythm of What is Love?!”
“M—Maybe,” Steve grits out, “I’m trying not to cum too fast.”
Billy chokes on his laughter, but it cuts off as Steve grinds into him, brushing against prostate. His hold on the sink nearly gives out as his arms and legs turn to jelly, and the rest of his body trembles; the sound of their fucking louder and more vulgar than the music playing. Billy knows it won’t be long, so he wraps a hand around himself, fucking his fist dry, trying to wet it with the pre that’s gushing in fat rivulets at the head of his cock. It’s just enough, and the pleasure of being fucked and fucking himself with his own hand speeds things along pretty quickly.
“Steve,” he gasps, almost frightened by the intensity of his oncoming orgasm. He tries to pull away, but there isn’t anywhere to go. “Steve—I don’t think I—”
“You can,” he pulls Billy back by the hair, domineering in a way that Billy must’ve forgotten about. His neck strains with the hold Steve has on his hair, hips swiveling and grinding deep into Billy, knowing exactly what he’s doing by intentionally rubbing against Billy’s prostate. “I got you,” Steve groans, “I promise—”
His hand moves to grip the back of Billy’s neck, pushing him down and holding him in place, still fucking him roughly. Billy’s eyes roll back, unbidden tears falling down his face as his toes curl, hiccuping out wet moans with each stroke between the both of them. Billy’s vision is blurring in the corners, his heartbeat in his ears, pulsing louder than the music.
Billy’s muscles seize—a scream coming from his throat as he cums hard…
It can’t be more than a minute, but he might’ve blacked out because Steve’s holding him up tightly against the sink, and he can feel Steve’s cum leaking out of his hole while his hand hangs limply at his side, coated in his own cum. Both of their breaths are hitched, and Steve’s is wet on the back of Billy’s neck. Billy sniffles, realizing he’s a bit teary-eyed.
“Steve?”
“Yeah, baby—just a second.”
He pries himself from Billy’s sweaty back. Steve turns Billy in his arms to face him again, and he immediately kisses him, holding Billy close. His arms come up easily, to circle Steve’s neck.
“Did I tell that I’ve missed you?” Billy asks quietly.
“Yeah.” Steve laughs. “Did I tell you how much I still love you?”
“No, but I love you too.” Billy laughs along with him, sniffling again and pushing their foreheads together.
“Why don’t you take me home, and I can show you just how much I still love you?”
“You did a pretty damn good job just now.”
“But this club hasn’t even played Ace of Base yet, and you should feel the way I fuck you when Beautiful Life plays.”
LMAO—my love of 90s dance music knows no bounds! Thanks for reading!
This is my contribution to the @harringrove-relay-race!! It's been so much fun so far, and I'm so excited to share my piece!
Thank you so much to @kuroubojin for passing the baton to me 💕
--
Billy thought that finally getting King Steve into bed would be different.
Well, he didn’t think he’d actually get King Steve into bed, in the first place. But as much as Billy hates to admit it, now that he has, he’s feeling a little out of his depth.
In the many, many times he thought about what sex with Harrington would be like, he’d pictured something a little more… Wild. He thought fucking Harrington would be like a fight, biting and clawing and pushing to see who’s gonna come out on top. He thought he’d have to wrestle King Steve down and show him who the real king was, and it would be rough and hot and loud. Impersonal, though. Billy likes to get off fast and easy, after all. There’s no reason to draw it out or to linger after.
But. But.
Harrington caught him off guard. Billy never expected the teasing and the pigtail-pulling to pay off in the first place. He didn’t think he’d actually see Harrington’s fire turned on him, giving as good as he got, every barb out of Billy’s mouth being met with burning words and an upturned nose. It only egged Billy on more.
It came to a point where Billy couldn’t put his eyes on Harrington without his whole body responding, heart thrumming and veins singing with adrenaline, palms sweaty at the sight of an answering smirk.
And now, well.
Running into each other at the quarry turned into a shared case of beer and a cigarette, turned into this.
Billy pinned down on the backseat of Harrington’s damn BMW, leather seats sticking to his sweaty back. Billy doesn’t know how long they’ve been kissing; all he knows is that he lost his shirt somewhere in the middle, and his jeans are open and rucked down to his hips. Harrington’s skin is hot, feverish under Billy’s fingertips, soft skin covering firm, defined muscles that roll with every movement of Harrington’s hips.
Billy’s never cared much about kissing, but he can’t get enough of Harrington’s mouth. It’s obvious that he likes it, having latched onto Billy’s lips however long ago and not relented since. Billy’s not complaining. Harrington finds places in Billy’s mouth that he never thought could feel this good, takes over every one of his senses easy as breathing. He’s a tall wave bowling Billy over, taking up all the space in his head and chest and lungs, and it’s all he can do to hold on.
There’s no fighting while they fuck, no raucous and derisive laughter, taking potshots at each other like they have something to lose.
It’s good.
Billy was sure it would be, but… It’s like nothing he’s felt before. Harrington is everywhere; the scent of his hair products in Billy’s lungs, the taste of his sweat on Billy’s tongue, his body a heavy weight on top of Billy’s. His name on Billy’s lips, a litany of Steve, Steve, Steve that Billy barely registers is coming from him.
Harrington’s mouth never leaves his skin, not for a second, the maddening slide of his tongue leaving a line of fire wherever it goes. Harrington’s breath is hot on his neck.
Billy can’t figure out why it feels so overwhelming, why this feels so different from anyone else he’s fucked before. After a while, he stops trying to.
By the end, Billy doesn’t know which way is up, if it’s been minutes or hours. He can barely hear himself breathe over the thundering of his pulse in his ears. He forgets that he’s not supposed to drag this out, that he’s not supposed to linger, too busy riding the aftershocks of the pleasure Harrington brought out on his body.
He’s struck dumb. Or fucked stupid, more like.
This is nothing like he thought it was going to go. It was supposed to be about getting off, but Harrington turned it around on him.
The backseat is cramped, and Billy’s skin is uncomfortably sticky against the warm leather, but his body sings when Harrington rearranges them so Billy’s lying on top, on his stomach, and with his nose tucked into Harrington’s neck.
“C’mere,” is all Harrington says. Then he drapes his dumb members only jacket over Billy’s back. “I know how cold you get.”
Billy thinks he might be able to fall asleep like this. He’s not even itching for a cigarette.
“You good?” Harrington says, and Billy grins against his chest. Harrington’s chest hair tickles his lips.
“You gotta ask?” Billy laughs, a soft, light thing. He didn’t know he was capable of making a sound like that.
Billy still can’t feel his toes, but he’s not gonna tell him that.
“Dunno,” Harrington mumbles. There’s a note of uncertainty to his voice now, a dip in his confidence that Billy wasn’t expecting, not now.
Billy lifts his head to rest his chin on Harrington’s chest. He’s staring at the darkened car ceiling, but his hand is tight on Billy’s hip.
“Could be better,” Billy says, and Harrington’s eyes jump to him, a touch too wide. Billy’s smirk grows. “The beer’s outside.”
Harrington bursts out laughing, pale throat stretched and gleaming in what little light spills into the car.
“If I go out and get it you’re gonna freeze to death,” he says, one hand coming up to Billy’s face. The tips of his fingers stroke lightly over his forehead, almost imperceptible, and push a stray curl away from Billy’s eyes.
It hits him then, why everything feels so different from his other fucks. He barely has two brain cells left to rub together, caught in Harrington’s warm gaze, and it’s been niggling at him this whole time. How is it that Harrington can make Billy’s brain just shut off.
“Wouldn’t want that,” Billy mumbles distractedly.
“No.” Harrington’s smile goes soft around the edges, and his fingers stroke Billy’s cheek. “I wouldn’t.”
Harrington’s looking at him like he’s precious. Like something he wants to keep.
Billy’s retort gets lost on the way to his mouth.
“I’m good,” is what he ends up saying. Harrington smiles.
He is good, Billy thinks. Right here, under Harrington’s jacket, legs tangled together, the chill of the night shut away for now.
He’s better than he’s been in a while.
--
Thank you for reading my piece!
Please look forward to the next one, done by the the lovely @billysblueeyes!!!! Go go go!!
This is my contribution to the Harringrove Relay Race! ✨
Whenever I draw Billy and Steve I draw them with the life that I would have liked them to have, on this occasion I drew a recovered Billy thanks to Steve's love, returning to the beach where he was happy with his mother, but now with the love of his life <3
Please look forward to the amazing work from the next contributor, @thissortofsorcery
This is my contribution to the @harringrove-relay-race! Please enjoy a little fluff and comfort below the cut and look forward to the incredible work from the next relay contributor @kuroubojin!!
To be Desperate for Sleep
“You need your sleep, pretty boy,” Billy murmured into Steve’s hair, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. “Just go to bed already.”
Steve groaned a muffled ‘no’ into Billy’s chest as he forced an eye open to watch the movie. It was some documentary that Billy was obsessed with, and as exhausted as Steve was after work, he still couldn’t make himself get off the couch and go to bed. Without Billy, the bed was cold and too big and Steve couldn’t help feeling like his back was exposed, ready to be attacked. When Steve had Billy snoring lightly beside him, at least he had someone ready to fight with him, someone to make fighting worth it. Not that Steve told Billy that. It was easier to just pretend that he wanted to stay up than admit that he barely slept when Billy had night shifts or went out late with friends. He would find any excuse he could to stay up until Billy had crawled in between the sheets at the wee hours of the morning.
“Come on, you haven’t been sleeping much. I’m going to turn in right after this is done; you don’t have to stay up.”
Steve shook his head against Billy’s collarbone. “‘M fine, I’ll wait.”
Billy sighed and Steve thought that was the end of it. He’d go to bed when the documentary was over and Billy was ready and then maybe he’d actually sleep through the night without the memories of Starcourt haunting him. The last thing Steve expected to accompany Billy’s words was for him to be bundled up in Billy’s arms and practically launched into the air as Billy stood. He scrambled to wrap his arms around Billy’s neck even though he knew Billy wouldn’t let him fall and it drew out a little chuckle from Billy. “Don’t worry, I gotcha pretty boy.”
“Asshole.”
“You know it.” He could feel Billy’s chuckle through his cheek and curled closer to Billy as he was carried into the bedroom. When Billy went to set Steve on the bed he pulled him down with him, tangling him in his legs and arms. “Hey!”
“Mm, comfy.” Steve murmured in Billy’s ear before sticking his tongue out to lick his earlobe. It got a huff out of Billy and a shiver and Steve tightened his tired grip.
“Ewww,” Billy rolled his eyes but didn’t try to pull away again. Instead he rolled the pair of them onto their sides. “Did you really have to lick me?”
Steve shrugged slightly, turning his cheek into the pillow and reaching up to brush his thumb over the thin scar in Billy’s brow. “You usually like it when I lick you. Or are you too tired today, Hargrove?”
Billy managed to hold the unimpressed look on his face for about two seconds before he cracked, giving Steve a borderline salacious grin as he shook his head. “I’m not the one that’s tired, pretty boy.”
This time it was Billy who drew Steve closer. He tucked his chin over Steve’s shoulder so there was space between them and hummed quietly. “I’m right here, Steve. You can sleep.”
“You knew?” Steve let his hand slide down to Billy’s shoulder, resting there and feeling how real he was. He’d thought he’d been stealthy, careful, so Billy wouldn’t think he was clingy or dependent upon him. He’d spent hours coming up with a million excuses for when Billy would find him half-asleep on the couch waiting up for him.
He snorted, burying his hand in Steve’s hair and holding him in place. “Took me a while to figure it out, but yeah, I knew. Now rest; I won’t let the demodogs bite.”
“Screw you,” Steve chuckled. It didn’t keep him from wiggling in the bed a bit to get comfy and sighing when Billy pulled up the comforter.
Billy pressed a light kiss to Steve’s cheek, his scruff a pleasant and well-loved scratchiness. “Maybe tomorrow, once we’ve gotten some sleep.”
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