#gideonwrites

[gideongrace]

Happy birthday @abigailcathleen! Here is the birthday fic you asked for!

//

"You got me a cake?" Steve says, smiling from ear to ear like nobody's ever gotten him a birthday cake before, not even a cheap, crappy store bought one that looks like it has 'happy birthday' misspelled on it, like this one does. 

Steve looks so freakin' happy and they're just sitting on the hood of Billy's car parked out in the field behind the chicken wing place, Sally's, or whatever. And if Billy had known Steve would light up like this, would be this level of goddamn delighted over a simple freakin' cake, well, then he would have done much more than take Steve out somewhere private and get him a cake and a present. Billy's never been exactly the biggest fan of birthdays, never seen much cause for celebration in his own life or in anyone else's, not before Steve, so it didn't really occur to him to do much else and if he's honest, even just going to the store and buying this cheap little chocolate cake and the red icing to write 'happy birthday!' on it had already felt pretty subversive, had already had him feeling just a little bit twitchy and maybe just a little bit meaner than he usually likes to be these days. Like yeah, he might have sort of glared at the checkout girl when she smiled at him after he'd paid for his stuff and said, "Have a nice rest of your day!" 

Because something about celebrating a birthday, something about celebrating anything at all, feels subversive to Billy, feels a little like he shouldn't be doing it. A little like he doesn't deserve it, considering who he is and what he's done in his life.

But Steve himself. Oh, Steve is definitely worth celebrating. Steve was definitely worth the cursing and the anger trying to draw those stupid words on that stupid cake had caused him - because cake decorating is an art, apparently, and Billy is sure as hell no artist. 

Steve, though. Steve is worth the world and Billy really should have planned something for his birthday.

Not that Steve had given Billy much time to do so, having only just casually thrown out that it was his birthday last night while they were sprawled out on Steve's parents' sofa, like he'd almost forgotten himself that the day was supposed to be important. 

So even if Billy had wanted to throw some massive kind of party for Steve for his birthday, it wasn't exactly like he'd been given a whole lot of time. Not that he's sure who exactly would've come these days, anyway - their reception in town once they started holding hands outside the house and just generally having the audacity, the gall, the sheer balls to exist as queer men being openly queer together in public in Fuck-You, Indiana, well… let's just say the reception the town has been giving them could nicely be referred to as 'frosty' and leave it at that.

Robin would've come, though. And Max. And all her little friends in her little dork brigade - the ones Steve loves so much, they would have come.

And Steve would have loved that as much as he loves this stupid cake.

"Did you…" Steve says as he reaches down into the box and smudges the lettering with his finger, only just barely managing to get any icing on his finger, "...do all this lettering all by yourself?"

He sticks his finger in his mouth, sucks it hard and draws it out with this wet little 'pop' that has Billy gulping and feeling, well, all kinds of feelings he can't exactly do anything about in the field behind Sally's chicken wings, or whatever the place is called. 

"Yes," Billy says as he sticks a finger in and grabs some icing for himself. "I did." He sticks his finger in his mouth and swirls his tongue around and around it so he isn't outdone by Steve and his ridiculous mouth and ridiculous fingers. 

Steve doesn't seem to notice this though, he's too busy still positively beaming at Billy for buying him the cake at all and it's enough to make Billy tip over into deliriously happy territory. But then Steve always makes him just deliriously happy. 

He feels his own face breaking out into an unavoidable smile to match Steve's - a side-effect of prolonged exposure to Steve's ridiculous presence - and Billy wipes his hand off on his jeans. Then he digs his hand into his pocket and fishes out Steve's present. 

It's small, and poorly wrapped, but handing it over to Steve has Billy's heart kicking up a storm inside his chest. Like the kind that should come with a tornado warning, alarm bells blaring loud and long and everything. 

"Aww," Steve says, sounding just ridiculously fond, "You got me a present!" He looks so happy it makes Billy want to punch both of Steve's picture perfect parents in their picture perfect teeth because no way in hell is this the reaction of someone who's ever gotten a real birthday gift before and Billy can tell.

And Billy swears he can feel his heartbeat climb up into his freaking teeth as Steve rips the paper off the little box his gift is in and cracks it open wide.

"Is this…" Steve says softly, quietly. Hesitantly. Like he doesn't get it. Like maybe he doesn't want it. Like maybe Billy has made a huge mistake - 

Steve takes the little silver key out of the little red box that's usually meant for jewelry for girls and holds up it so it catches the late afternoon sun and shines with it. 

"Billy," he says, still with that crushing note of hesitation held deep in his voice, the one that penetrates all the way down into Billy's freaking bones and he says, "what is this a key to?"

Billy looks away. He can't take looking at Steve for the rejection he knows is about to come his way. He watches his boots, looks down at the soft, green grass beneath the Camaro's wheels as his heart plummets towards it and buries itself ten feet under. 

"I got an apartment," Billy says quietly, voice breaking embarrassingly over the soft mess he's found himself to be.

And he waits, waits for the softness he's put on display to be thrown away, to be chucked into the dumpster like the day old chicken the old man in the grimy white apron has just stepped out of the restaurant to throw into the overflowing dumpster that sits just behind the place and not nearly far enough away from them and yeah, Billy really should have picked out a better spot for this, like there would be a better, more optimal spot to have your heart crushed but then…

But then Steve does absolutely the most unexpected thing Billy could think he would do - Steve laughs. He outright whoops with it and the sound crackles across the field, filling the entire space up completely and Billy isn't sure if the sound is meant to pick his heart up off the ground, to dig it up out of the dirt or to crush it, to compact it in deeper, to bury it more. Like maybe…

...Maybe it was ridiculous. Maybe it was ridiculous thinking Steve would want to move in with him, maybe -

But then Steve tackles him with this hug that has them both almost falling off the car and he's pressing kisses into the side of Billy's neck and Billy's heart not just digs itself up outta the dirt, Billy's heart soars.

"I can't believe you got us our own apartment!" Steve squeals, words half-muffled against Billy's neck with how close he's pressed up to it. "This is the best birthday gift ever!"

He tilts his head back just enough to look Billy in the eye as he says, "You're so romantic." 

Billy feels his smile dig itself out from where it had fallen, too and he wraps an arm around Steve and he shrugs all at the same time. All he can think to say is, "I mean, you know, it's whatever." 

Because he feels all tense and rigid, like he's got some puzzle pieces jammed in all wrong. Because of course Steve loves it. Loves him. How could he have doubted that fact that much that fast?

Steve laughs again and it shakes Billy a little bit loose. "It's not whatever, it's romantic and I love it and I'll love the apartment and I very much love you," Steve says like the giant mushball that he is.

And it takes a minute for Billy's head to come down from the clouds, for his heart to settle back into place in his chest, for those puzzle pieces to reorient themselves into the correct positions, the correct spaces. It takes a minute, but finally, Billy says, "Yeah, I love you, too," and he presses a soft, chaste kiss to the top of Steve's head.

He's totally going to plan Steve a birthday party with all his little nerd friends, even if it has to be a week late. Because Steve deserves a party. Steve deserves the world and Billy's going to give as much of it to him as he can possibly manage. 

fic tag squad:

@a-magey @xgardensinspace @myboyfriendsteve @haxpr0cess @thinger-strang @nagdabbit @demi-don @lissieisspacey @tracy7307 @ihni @yourneighborhoodace

@harringrovetrashh

[gideongrace]

"Like we're in love?" Steve says, voice cracking in a way that hits like a bullet straight to Billy's spine and for a moment Billy is paralyzed, can't move as Steve says, "You don't love me?" 

No, Billy wants to say. I do. So fucking much. But he also knows, but if I do it'll end in your death. 

And he wants to explain himself, wants to tell Steve that sometimes monsters have human faces but instead he smiles wide like the shark he's perfected pretending he is, and he says, "No, I don't," all smooth and calm even as every single part of him down to his atoms, down to his very soul just wants to reach out, to cup Steve's face and kiss away all the pain he's feeling. The pain Billy himself caused when he dragged Steve into this bathroom not to kiss him like Steve was expecting, but to break his heart and save his life. He just wants to kiss Steve, forget the last five minutes, forget everything else except for the feel of Steve's lips on his, the feel of Steve's hands in his hair, the way Steve's pulse jumps when he sucks on his neck, but…

He can't. That's not the way the world works - boys like him don't get to have boys like Steve. Not in fucking nowhere, Indiana. Not with fathers like his. So Billy leans back against the wall real casual, like he hasn't got a care in the world, and he says, "You had to know it was all bullshit, didn't you, Stevie?" He adds in a sneer for good measure, makes the words sound cruel and taunting even as they dig themselves into his own skin and bite. 

Steve shakes his head. "No, but I guess I should have." He smiles and it's pitiful and it's wretched and it etches itself onto Billy's heart, leaving a wound Billy knows will be unlikely to ever heal. "I mean," Steve says and he's going for bitter, for spiteful but he just sounds sad, "You fuck everything that moves, so I really should have known I was just one fish in a sea of millions." 

Billy makes a noise like this is both clever and an unavoidable truth. "Then swim along, little fish," Billy says. "Go." He waves a hand at the door, smiles meanly and sets his shoulders back like he's proud of himself, like he's done what he set out to do - conquer the great King Steve and leave him like he's nothing but a pile of ashes on the side of the road, rather than the truth - which is that he's everything. That if he truly were a King, Billy would be his Knight and would protect him from any monsters that came their way. Which is actually pretty much what Billy's doing now, Steve's just unaware of it because this isn't a monster that attacks head on and can't be fought head on. This is a monster that requires cleverness and sacrifice to beat and luckily (or unluckily, depending on how you look at it), both of those are things Billy's always excelled at.

"You're an asshole," Steve says as he moves for the door. Billy watches him go thinking if he really was a Knight, if he had a sword, he'd impale himself on it. Instead he makes due with cementing the image of Steve walking away from him into his mind's eye forever and heads out to make a new record as the new Keg Stand King. 

It's not enough, it'll never be enough, but maybe if he pretends for long enough, it'll become as natural as the rest of the act he puts on, be as natural as putting himself on display, just another easy, casual, practiced motion. 

Or maybe it won't. Maybe he'll wither and rot from the inside out. 

He slams back enough cheap beer that he stops thinking about it.

He can't stop feeling it, though. And the alcohol brings in another of its friends - rage. 

He gets into a fistfight with Tommy over… he has no idea what and then someone, several someones, are kicking him out of the party, leaving to stumble home in the dark.

Alone.

[gideongrace]

7. "I just don't. Want to! Why is that so hard to understand?" + 40. "You might as well just walk around with a sign around your neck saying 'perpetual asshole' on it." 💜💜💜💜

Today is Steve's first day back at work since the accident and it's also Billy's day off so he's had nothing to do but sit and worry and think everything to death since Steve left this morning. 

He's been texting back and forth with Steve since then, trying to keep it light, keep it easy all while also texting Max and snapping at every single thing she says. Because no amount of time nor effort nor therapy could ever truly make him not the kind of asshole who handles stress real poorly. But. At least he isn't snapping at Steve. At least there's that.

//

Today is Steve's first day back at work and it's… good. It's great. It's… fine. Really. 

Okay, he's miserable. His feet hurt after only having been on them for three hours because after having been reduced to basically lying on his ass on the couch for months, his stamina is garbage and his arm is sore and his everything else aches seemingly just because the rest of his body parts didn't want to miss out on the party his feet and his arm are apparently having and…

It sucks. 

The only thing keeping him going is texting Billy, even if Billy is pretending to be cool about everything rather than be honest and admit how stressed out he is about this. Steve expects to head to Billy's apartment at the end of the day and find that he's punched a hole into the wall. He's got 'nearest hardware stores' pulled up as a google search tab in the browser on his phone, just in case.

"Oh no, by all means, go ahead, laugh at my misery."

Steve's head snaps up as Dustin comes stomping into the kitchen followed closely by Robin and rather than pay attention to what Dustin just said, Robin is on Steve in an instant, dragging the tall, ugly stool over from the far side of the kitchen for Steve to sit on because she can tell just by looking at him, can tell just from the way he'd been leaning against the wall that he's exhausted just by standing. 

He sits down in the proffered chair without complaint and Dustin continues on with his rant like he'd never been interrupted in the first place. "Like. I just don't. Want to! Why is that so hard to understand?"

Steve looks at Dustin, then at Robin, who shrugs uselessly, before looking back to Dustin. "I take it your date didn't go very well?" 

Dustin huffs out a breath in the most dramatic, most Dustin way possible. "No, it did not."

Robin giggles and shoves her hand in front of her face before muttering, almost unintelligibly, "Tell him what happened." 

Dustin's face crumples up so hard it begins to resemble a crushed soda can more than it does a face, but he says, "He showed me a naked picture of himself in the middle of the date as a way to, I think, proposition me for sex." 

Steve feels his eyes try to separate themselves from his skull. He has no idea what to say to that so he just winds up gaping at Dustin blankly and fighting his eyeballs and their unrelenting urge to flee.

"Oh, he was totally trying to fuck you," Robin says. "He wanted him some curly haired nerd boy real bad." She giggles uproariously.

Dustin makes a noise somewhere between a grunt and a squeak. "And, as I have said a million times before, I. Do. Not. Want. That." 

With a grunt of his own, though its one borne of exhaustion and not defeat, Steve gets to his feet and goes to pat Dustin reaffirmingly on the shoulder. "I know, man," he says, because he does.

Before meeting Billy, his dating life had been the exact same way. A complete and unmitigated disaster.

//

Max gets home from class sometime after one, spends ten minutes listening to Billy groan softly to himself and throw the same ball against the wall again and again and again before finally deciding she's had enough and dragging him out to Navy Pier. It's tacky and cliche and touristy… and also the only place in the entirety of basically landlocked Illinois that even remotely reminds either of them of California. And it's not that it looks the same. Or that it feels the same. But that it's a pier with a ferris wheel and that's about as close as either of them is going to get around here.

So they go. And sometimes they go a lot considering as they both quite frequently miss California but also love Chicago and the people they've grown to know and love here.

It usually cheers one or both of them up when they're bummed out or angry or sad or whatever and today Max drags Billy, same as always, thinking it'll work its usual magic, same as always. 

Only it doesn't.

They wander around the tacky little gift shops and nothing. 

She buys him an ice cream and nothing.

She offers to ride on the ferris wheel with him and nothing. 

The only thing that gets him to smile even a little is a bakery with some plain little cupcakes out on display that he immediately takes pictures of and then starts texting, she thinks, Steve. 

And that's when she gets the idea.

//

Dustin sighs. "Thank you, Steven. You on the other hand"—he turns to glare at Robin—"You might as well just walk around with a sign around your neck saying 'perpetual asshole' on it." 

Robin huffs, clearly unbothered by Dustin's accusation. "You know I support your right to not fuck whoever you please. I just think your reactions are funny." 

Steve's phone goes off and he struggles not to check it. 

"And a guy showing you naked pictures of himself in the middle of a date is hilarious," Robin says, grin nearly splitting her face in two.

Dustin scowls and Steve's phone goes off again and he loses the battle not to check it.

He has two texts from Billy. The first is a picture of some cupcakes with pastel blue icing. The second says, "Yours are better," and Steve can't help but smile.

When he looks up Dustin is still scowling only now it's being directed at him. 

"What?" Steve asks, fully not getting it.

Dustin grumbles something Steve doesn't quite catch, throws his hands up in the air full drama queen style and stomps back out to the front room.

"What?" Steve says again, this time to Robin. 

Robin's still smiling but the meaning behind it changes a little. Now it's less like she's having a good time and more like she's about to explain something to him. (And she just loves explaining things to him.) "He's just mad you have someone while all he can find are losers," she says.

"Oh." 

Robin shrugs like, "What can you do?" and she says, "Yeah." 

//

"I got an idea," Max says. 

Billy looks up, not exactly curious, but not… not curious, either. 

"Come on," she says, holding a hand out to him. He takes it, but he looks suspicious.

She doesn't tell him where they're going, just drags him to her car and makes him get in.

//

They arrive at the bakery and Billy sighs partly in annoyance with Max for coming up with the idea and making it some big secret, partly at himself for not getting it sooner than four blocks ago and partly in relief because annoyed as he might be at Max, he needs to be here and he's glad she's dragged him.

He walks in and the second he does, Dustin grumbles at him, "Of course you're here. Because you're perfect!" And it sounds like an insult, it has the tone of one, but Billy doesn't remotely get why or what for.

"Why—" Billy starts but Max's burst of laughter cuts him off.

Dustin makes a very loud noise and points to the kitchen. "Your boyfriend's in the back," he says, sour as anything.

Max laughs again and Billy just shrugs and heads for the back. He claps Dustin on the shoulder as he passes by and manages to keep his laughter to himself, but none of this impresses Dustin. 

The kitchen is worse (read: weirder) than the front room had been because the second Billy steps through this door Robin shouts, "Billy! Yes! Please take your idiot boyfriend home!" 

Steve glowers at her and slowly—much too slowly to mean anything other than he needs to be taken home right now—gets up off his ugly, little stool and comes to stand by Billy. "I'm fine," he growls.

This time Billy speaks before Robin can get to it. "Yeah... considering how long it took you to get up off your stool and walk over to me I'd say you're not." 

Robin nods at him and he nods back and Steve grunts, "What? Are you two conspiring against me now?" He looks to Robin. "Did you text him and ask him to come get me?" 

Billy huffs. "No. Max brought me. I was being miserable and she dragged me to the Pier and when that didn't work she dragged me here." He puts a heavy hand on Steve's good side and Steve melts under the touch almost completely.

Billy waits for Steve to say something, or for Robin to, but when neither of them does, he leans in and kisses Steve, gentle and quick. 

"Let's go home, yeah? This was good enough for a first day." 

Fortunately, this is all the convincing Steve seems to need and he lets Billy lead him out of the bakery and to Max's crusty, old orange Beetle. 

Max is incorrigible the entire drive back. She doesn't say anything in terms of words, but the smug smirk plastered all over her face says everything.

//

They go to Billy's without even discussing it.

Steve's not brave enough to admit it out loud yet, but he's started thinking of this place as 'home' as much as he hopes Billy thinks it is. And maybe he does. After all, Billy did say, "Let's go home?" didn't he? Not "Let's go to my place" or "Let's go, we'll pick where later" or even just "Let's go". He said, very specifically, "Let's go home." So maybe he meant it.

Or maybe it was just a casual slip of the tongue and Steve is overthinking things.

There isn't time to talk about it, though, even if Steve had wanted to, because Billy starts directing him towards the bedroom the second Max opens the front door and Steve is asleep the second he lies down on the bed and his head hits the pillow. 

[gideongrace]

5 & 23 from the ace prompts 🤩

5. "I have been waiting for you my entire life." 

+

23. "You are not allowed to die first, got it?" 

Okay, this one had me stuck for like, a week. I just couldn't come up with anything for it that wasn't super cheesy and tropey and cliche. But then I just decided to be cheesy and tropey and cliche instead anyway. 

(And to everyone else that sent prompts, sorry! I did get them, I am getting to them! I just also sorta got carried away by plotting out that amnesia steve fic…)

//

Billy runs in through the front doors of the hospital at full speed, ready to roar and to scream and to tear the place apart but instead of any of that, he takes a deep breath, adjusts the strap of his duffle bag that he suddenly realizes he had no need to drag inside and looks around for the front desk. This isn't the hospital he's used to, so he has no idea where it is. 

And he can't find it.

He looks and he looks and he looks and still, he can't find it.

This isn't the hospital he's used to, he doesn't know anybody who works here and he's fresh off a really rough, really long shift. 

He hadn't even gotten to go home and shower, he'd only just stepped out the door into the bright, warm, mid-afternoon sun, taken a single, deep breath and only just decided his plan of action was he was gonna go home, shower, then maybe go surprise Steve with a pizza when he'd gotten the phone call.

And he hasn't taken a single deep breath since. He just ran straight for his car, drove all the way across town to this neighborhood he doesn't know and this hospital he doesn't know and he tries to think of everything, of anything El's ever told him about PTSD or panic attacks, stuff she's said help people calm down when they're experiencing things like that, because he's experiencing something like that right now, he's got enough sense left to know that much but none of what she's said is sticking, none of it is applicable and -

The rage he's gotten so good at tamping down boils over in his blood and swims in his skin and he feels like he's gonna scream but instead he pulls at his hair, but he only manages to grab at too-short, freshly shaved sides with not near enough left on top and he takes a breath, and he's going to scream, he's going to scream - 

But then there's a hand on his shoulder and a soft, sweet voice saying, "You need some help?" and everything in him crumbles as he turns to see a sweet-faced and tall (very, very tall) man in poorly-fitting light blue scrubs behind him. 

"Uh, yeah," Billy says, somehow managing to get the words to push out past his numb, numb lips, "do you, uh, do you know where the, uh, front desk is?"

The guy nods, shaggy brown hair falling into his big, brown eyes. (It doesn't make Billy think of anybody. It doesn't.)

"Sure," the guy says, his hand still clamped to Billy's shoulder. "I'll show you." 

He directs Billy towards a slightly labyrinthine-looking set of corridors that Billy had distinctly avoided and he does it still with his hand on Billy's shoulder, guiding him like a captain guides a ship, like he'd seen the look on Billy's face, the terror and the panic and he'd recognized it. It makes sense. El and Mike are always telling him people panicked about - about loved ones, those who really, truly care, they almost always have the same look, even if it's contained itself to just their eyes, it's always there, it's always present, that panic, that fear. And Billy guesses this guy, working in a hospital as he does, he's probably as familiar with that look as EMTs like El and Mike would be. 

"Just right here. Ellen'll help you find who you're looking for," the guy says as he deposits Billy in front of the front desk with its big, red 'reception' sign, the one Billy wishes he could've - knows he should've - found on his own. 

"Yeah, thanks," Billy says as the guy claps him on the back and wanders off, probably to help some other poor soul like the good, good dude he is. 

Ellen, the nurse behind the desk, on the other hand, looks Billy up and down appraisingly, cold green eyes assessing, assessing, assessing and clearly finding him wanting somehow. Maybe it's the rough haircut he'd given himself, maybe it's the sweatpants and grungy white tank top he's wearing, maybe it's the big, fat, homemade "Station 52" logo patch on the front of his duffle bag that Max had custom made for him. Maybe this woman hates firefighters. Maybe she can tell that he's gay, can smell it on him and maybe she's homophobic.

Or maybe, the last five percent of his brain capable of rational thought tells him, maybe that's just her face and it's not personal.

"Who're you looking for, dear?" she asks, even though she clearly thinks he's anything but dear. 

"Um, uh," he stammers and god, he hasn't been this awkward, hasn't said um and uh this much since middle school, "Steve Harrington?"

Her face tightens, her tall stack of thick gray hair wobbles just a little and Billy's stomach prepares itself for free fall, for bad news, for - 

"Alright, he's in Room 357, just on the third floor-" and she keeps going, keeps giving instructions after that, but Billy doesn't hear them, is too overwhelmed with the taste, the feeling, the rush of sheer relief that hits him with the knowledge that Steve has a room number, which means that Steve has a room, which means that Steve hasn't died in the time it took him to drive here or in the time he spent wandering, lost. It means Steve isn't in surgery and these are both very, very good things.

That surge of joy fades out with a mewling whimper after Billy gets lost another two times looking for Steve's room, as it occurs to him, What if Steve's only not in surgery because he's too weak to survive it? and, Just because he wasn't dead however many minutes ago, doesn't mean he's not dead now.

And he still can't find the room, isn't even sure he's on the right floor anymore, but there is one thing he knows for sure, one thing he knows for certain:

Whenever he sees that partner of Steve's, Dustin whatever, he's gonna tear him limb from limb, gonna tear him apart, gonna rend flesh from bone for not telling him more over the phone than, "Steve's been shot and we're at St. Mary's, you should get here like, now."

As he wanders down yet another meaningless white hallway, he feels that rage boiling again, feels like he's going to lose it again until he turns a corner and sees a row of feet all clad in plain, dark, sensible shoes and looks up to see a line of officers, most still in uniform, all sitting stuffed end over end, just one too many in a row of old, creaky, metal and ugly navy felt hospital chairs. 

He almost smiles at having finally, finally found them - because of course there's a whole crew of people waiting for his boy, of course there is, that's probably why the nurse at the front desk got so annoyed, there's at least ten people sitting and jamming up this small hallway and here he is, adding to it, but -

Then it occurs to him:

Why are all these people waiting here? 

Why are they all…

He looks around at all their faces and each and every one of them has that pinched look, that capsized-rowboat-in-the-ocean look that Mike's told him about, that panicked look that loved ones get that El's talked about, that restless, hopeless rage that he's been feeling on and off since he got that call and if -

And if they all look the same way then maybe…

Then maybe those feelings he's been feeling aren't an overreaction like the last five percent of his brain capable of hope has been hoping, praying, wishing for it to be.

That last five percent shuts down and dies a quiet, lonely death as his eyes connect with those of one of the guys sitting in the middle of the row and he sees fear there, sees panic, and sees rage there. 

He feels himself capsizing in the ocean of this near stranger's sad blue eyes and as his terror over this spreads he feels his stomach pick itself up and ready to launch at his lungs which have suddenly decided to forget what it is they're supposed to do, like they've ever had more than just the one job and now maybe they're just a little confused. 

Billy himself is a lot confused, because he and this guy just keep staring at each other and nobody is saying anything.

Why is nobody saying anything? 

Then someone comes stumbling into him from behind, saying, "Well, it certainly took you long enough," and it's Heather and the way she says it sets Billy's teeth on edge because he can't figure out her tone, can't figure out what she means and - 

She points him in the direction of Steve's room, even if it's almost right in front of him and he's grateful, really, he's grateful (he's grateful and he's terrified) as she pushes him inside, not giving him the space nor the time to chicken out or run away. 

And he lets out a sigh at the sight of Steve lying before him, lets out a sigh even as his heart ripples and creaks under the weight of his exhaustion. 

He pulls a smooth, blue, and terribly squeaky plastic chair up to Steve's good side and tries to hold his breath, tries not to smell that cloying, abrasive antiseptic smell that fills the room, tries instead to imagine Steve's favorite cologne, that woodsy, citrusy one. 

He tries not to focus on the IV in the back of Steve's hand, tries not to focus on the cannula in his nose, tries instead to think of Steve pressed up behind him in bed, of Steve's hands warm and comforting on his chest and Steve's nose pressed into his hair or the back of his neck and inhaling deeply.

He tries to ignore the thick, white, starchy-looking bandages covering Steve up from his left shoulder to his elbow, he tries to ignore the way Steve's eyes are closed and what that might mean, he tries to ignore all of that and just see Steve -

He tries to but he can't. 

"I have been waiting for you my entire life," Billy says. He grabs Steve's hand and grips it tight. "You are not allowed to die first, got it?" 

Steve surprises him by squeezing back and saying, "I'll try my best," and being an idiot and trying to sit up with a freaking bullet wound in his freaking arm.

Billy pushes him back to the bed with his free hand on his good shoulder and winds up positioned very awkwardly for a moment before Steve finally relents and lays back down.

What he says next makes it worse. 

"I'm fine, though, you know." 

Like it's nothing. Like getting shot is nothing. Billy supposes it's meant to be comforting, to be reassuring, but instead it makes Billy see red. 

"You're in the hospital." Billy tries for soft, he really does. He wants to cradle Steve's face in his hands and press sweet, quiet kisses to his lips, but instead Steve said that and now he's snarling.

"Yeah," Steve says, voice either forced calm or drugged oblivious and Billy isn't sure which, "but it's okay, it didn't hit anything vital and the doc says I'll be fine in about a month or two." 

"You're in the hospital," Billy says again, louder this time. He can feel himself growing claws and he feels overwhelmed, feels a need to claw at something, to scratch, to bite. To destroy. 

Lucky for him, this is exactly when Dustin strolls in carrying flowers and looking particularly guilty.

Unlucky for him, Dustin says, "What the hell, man? I barely got to telling you we were here and you told me you were coming and hung up. Me and Heather tried calling you back like six times and no answer. We  were just about to send someone out looking for you." 

And. 

"Oh." It's all Billy can think to say. Then, "Sorry."

But then Steve just has to pipe back in with, "See? If you'd let Dustin get to it, he'd have told you that I'm fine, too." 

And boy, is that ever the wrong thing to say because it has Billy roaring with, "You are in a hospital with a bullet in your arm, Steve, you're not fine."

And Dustin politely interjecting with, "Okay, woah, woah, nobody said anything about you being fine. There's a lot of distance between you and 'fine' right now, Steve."

Steve's eyes narrow, that medicated calm sliding from his face even as Billy sees the last drops of whatever medication they've got him on dripping down from the bag and into the IV line. 

"You literally came home with your hair singed last week," Steve says, like he thinks the fact that they both have dangerous jobs is somehow going to win him this argument. 

"Yeah, and that was just my hair! You're in the hospital!" Billy shouts. This time, he fully shouts because apparently, Steve's not going to get it unless it's screamed at him.

"And I'm fine!" 

Or maybe he's just not going to get it at all.

From the doorway, Dustin laughs and Billy is on him in a second.

"What's so funny?" he snarls but Dustin keeps laughing.

"Just…" he says, unable to stop laughing even as he's trying to speak, "Just say 'I love you' and get it over with, already, both of you."

Steve's face goes as tomato red as Billy's suddenly feels. 

But neither of them says it. Neither of them says anything. 

fic tag squad:

@a-magey @xgardensinspace @myboyfriendsteve @haxpr0cess @thinger-strang @nagdabbit @demi-don @lissieisspacey @tracy7307 @ihni @yourneighborhoodace

@harringrovetrashh

[gideongrace]

4 am

It's four am, long past the time of day anybody would be capable of making good decisions. Not that Jaskier is ever any good at making decisions, regardless of things like time of day or level of sobriety and actually, he's made some of his worst decisions when the sun was high in the sky and he was completely sober, thank you very much, so four am, four pm, six drinks or no drinks, it would never have mattered, he'd have wound up here in front of Geralt's door either way so he takes a deep breath, pushes his shoulders back and knocks politely on the door.

But it's four am, so Geralt's probably asleep (asleep or being stubborn as usual) and there's no response so he knocks a little louder.

Still, again, there's no response so Jaskier takes a second, puffs himself up a little, gives himself the best, most convincing pep talk he can manage even though his brain is taking a second or longer to come up with each individual word and again he knocks a little louder. 

There's still no response even to that so he drops all pretense of politeness, of propriety (after all, it is four am) and he resorts to banging his non-dominant hand on the door like he means to break it. The door, not his hand - he's not an animal. And he still sorta needs both hands to play his lute - as well as for other pleasurable things - so. 

He bangs on the door without a pause; his fist starts to hurt but he keeps going anyway, determined in his mission.

BANG! 

His fists hit the door. No response.

BANG! BANG!

Still no response.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Nothing. 

He's about to add yelling Geralt's name to his repertoire when the door slowly cracks open to reveal a… well, Jaskier would say to reveal a very cross and put out looking Geralt, but then that's just sort of his face's default state now isn't it?

"It's four in the morning," Geralt says, his sleep stiff voice so deep and rumbling the people on the floor below them can probably feel it in their bones and he says it like it's an answer to some question Jaskier didn't ask rather than the simple statement of fact that it is; this leaves Jaskier thrown off, his alcohol soaked brain scrambling to come up with something to say, but he winds up going with: 

"We almost got eaten by a dragon today! We were almost barbequed!" Because, well, they were. And don't get him wrong, it's great song material, he knows that he'll come with something brilliant by tomorrow but - they almost died today so he has other thoughts on his mind right now than songwriting.

"And this brought you to my room because?" 

"Because we almost died today!" 

Geralt sighs in that world weary, woe-is-me, the weight-of-the-whole-world-is-on-my-shoulders-even-though-I-pretend-I-don't-care way that only he seems to be able to pull off and he says, "You're not going to leave me alone tonight, are you?" But, even as the words leave his lips, even as his words are laced with a heavy, iron-weighted sort of disdain, he's swinging back from the door to let Jaskier in, like he's accepted that this is his fate and at this point he's just going to give in to it.

Jaskier follows him in, wishing fate was that kind but it isn't. He knows it isn't, because it just isn't, hasn't ever been but here he is anyway because the second Geralt had shown up in his life the only thing he'd been able to think was, "So I think I have to follow you now," and that's the way its' been on and off since that day, where Geralt goes, he follows. And the off?

That's never been Jaskier's idea.

But then, Jaskier's never really been what you'd call a man of ideas, he's more into action, more into just doing whatever moves him in the moment and right now… right now… well, right now he can't stop staring at Geralt's lips. And it's been years. And they're alone in a room in an inn and they almost died earlier today and - 

Fuck it.

He strides across the room, getting closer to Geralt than maybe he's ever been and he intends to kiss him, to kiss him and to never let him go, but once he's there he hesitates, he hesitates, just breathing in the same air as the man he's been obsessed with for years, written songs for, would die for - he hesitates, but Geralt doesn't. 

Geralt groans in this way Jaskier is sure he'd better understand if he were less drunk and he wraps his arms around Jaskier's waist, pulls him close, closer, slides a hand up his spine and kisses him with a sort of force that's just this side of bruising and -

Jaskier feels himself roll over, feels his face make contact with the edge of his pillow and his eyes open slowly, so slowly it's like his brain doesn't want to give up his dream - because that's what it was - a dream. That's all that it was - a dream. A dream is all it ever is.

He's in bed in his own room and Geralt is still down the hall in his. 

Jaskier licks his kiss starved lips and sighs. 

He doesn't get up.

[gideongrace]

11, 48, 51 for the ace prompts please and thank you! ☺️

11. "Fuck the avocadoes! We're leaving!" 

48. "But see that's kind of the problem: I love you. Like crazy, stupid love you." 

51. "What do you mean, they were flirting with me?"

I got 48 and 51 as a matched set twice (once from an anon and once from bisexual-cupcake), so I'm going to do them as the same scene in two different povs, one from Billy, one from Steve. 

//

"Fuck the avocadoes! We're leaving!" 

Billy looks up from the avocadoes he's currently hunting through - they're all as hard as rocks and normally he'd just say fuck it and buy them anyway, leave them in a cupboard for a few days to ripen but he needs to make guacamole and get to a party in a little less than an hour, half an hour now, probably, so there isn't exactly time for that. 

"Did you hear me?" Steve yelps loudly, all frustrated. "I said fuck the avocadoes! Let's go!"

Billy bites down on his bottom lip but he bursts out laughing anyway. 

"What?" he asks, smiling wide at his big, dumb idiot. 

He can't help it. Steve's adorable. He's got ugly, black sweatpants on, an old navy blue t-shirt with this stretched out neck that's just exposing some of his shoulder and his hair's all flat on one side because his left arm still doesn't quite work right since he got shot a week ago and he refuses to let anybody help him with his hair. Or with his clothes. Or with his anything, really, so Billy, Dustin and Heather as well as Steve's non-cop friends Nancy and Jonathan have all been taking turns being with him, helping him out with as much as they can, whether he wants them to or not. 

He won't let anybody touch his hair, though. No matter how many times anybody offers, not even Billy. 

Instead he just sulks and moans and complains about it endlessly, flopping onto the couch and complaining like this is all just such an inconvenience to him.

If it were anybody else, it'd be annoying. But with Steve it's somehow endearing. So of course the words, "I love you, you big, dumb idiot," almost come flying out of Billy's mouth, like he can practically taste them, can feel them pressing up against his teeth and fighting to claw their way out but Billy shakes his head and holds them back. 

Now is not the time. 

"I just," Steve goes to cross his arms across his chest, thinks better of it halfway through and winds up with his good arm slung across his chest awkwardly and his bad one still hanging limply at his side. "I just want to go. Now."

With a closer look, Billy notices the way the garish, bright lighting of the little neighborhood grocery store they're in is bringing out the bags under Steve's eyes and the paleness of his skin and it sends Billy's stomach lurching sideways, has him thinking about things he doesn't want to think about. Things like Steve in that hospital bed and how it could have gone so, so much worse, so, so easily. 

So he puts the avocado in his hand down on the pile and takes Steve's hand in his. "Okay," he says. "We'll go." 

He lifts up his other arm - the one with the bulky black plastic grocery basket balanced in the crook of his elbow and he shakes it slightly. "Just gotta pay for this first." 

Steve's face screws up unpleasantly, his nose crinkling and scrunching. "Okay," he says, not looking in the least like he agrees with what he himself just said. "Fine."

Billy squeezes his hand once then twice before dropping it and turning around. They walk to the front of the store and put their things on the little black conveyor belt thing to be scanned, then they fight over who gets to pay and Steve loses. 

Partly he loses because his argument of, "Come on, I'm not doing anything else right now," pales in comparison to Billy's, "Because you got shot last week!" and partly because after Billy says that the cashier with the dyed cherry red hair and blood red, lacquer-bright lips ever so slightly angles the debit machine towards Billy and looks Steve over, eyes wide and suddenly very interested. 

And Steve, of course, just stares right back with his big, brown Bambi eyes, clueless and not getting it, not at all. 

So as soon as he's done paying, Billy grunts, grabs his thankfully already bagged groceries, loops his arm through Steve's and drags him out towards the Camaro, suddenly feeling a very strong need to kiss him, to claim him right in front of this stupid, little store, right out in the open where that cashier can turn around from their spot at the register and watch him doing it because Steve is his and everyone needs to know about it.

They just barely reach the car before Steve drops Billy's arm and starts to laugh. "Now what's got you so bothered?" 

Billy jerks the car door open and carelessly, gracelessly chucks his bag of groceries into the back seat then throws himself into the driver's seat with just about as much finesse, which is to say none at all. 

Steve gets in the passenger side much more carefully, almost gingerly and gives him a look that says even if he didn't get what that cashier was doing, he knows what Billy is doing. 

"Okay, now what's bothering you?" he says, each word enunciated like it's being bitten off into its own sentence. 

Billy looks away. 

"That cashier was flirting with you," he says. He can feel his face heating up with the words, with the shame of it. He doesn't like being jealous, but he still can't help feeling it anyway.

Steve laughs again. "What? What do you mean they were flirting with me?" He sounds completely and fully confused, just like he always does because Steve literally never gets it when anyone is flirting with him. 

He never notices when he's doing it, either. Just does it, easy as anything; people think that Billy is a shameless flirt, and he is, he absolutely is but Steve is worse, just turning on the charm full blast at random like he does with no cause for it or sense to it.

"They were," Billy says, insistent. 

He spins around in his seat, shoulders twisting, body turned completely towards Steve, completely open, absolutely all of him wanting to spill out the words, "I love you," and, "It's why I'm so jealous," all over him, like a big, old bucket of paint, just douse him with it, mark him with it and be done. But the words stay carefully locked behind and between his teeth, stay there itching and scratching like miniature razor blades and cutting just as much.

Steve shrugs. 

"If you say so," he says, as disbelieving as ever and that… oh, that has the razor blades digging in deeper, has them carving up Billy's gums and his tongue and his cheeks, has them replicating, duplicating, multiplying, multiplying, multiplying until the words, I love you, I love you, I love you, are filling up all the space in his mouth, all the little cracks and crevices in Billy's fractured, war-torn soul, until they're cutting him to pieces, splintering him into ribbons, until - 

"Billy?"

Steve looks concerned, has those big, brown eyes trained on Billy's face in that way he just knows Billy is powerless against, that has Billy swallowing all the blood in his mouth. 

"I, well, you," Billy stammers. 

He wasn't meant to love. Wasn't built for it, doesn't know how. He hadn't even meant to, hadn't meant to love Steve, it had just sort of happened on accident, like one day he was just sorta there, then one day Billy had just sort of loved him and it's irrevocable now, irreversible, he's incomplete without it where before he'd been totally fine, totally fine and happy on his own, thank you very much and now Steve with his big, stupid eyes and his big, stupid heart and…

Billy had almost lost him. 

Billy rubs his sweaty palms on his jeans and looks down. 

"You, you just…" He can't get it out. He doesn't know how, but the razor blades won't go down, won't go away, no matter how many times he tries to swallow them down, they just won't go away. He can't go back, can't stand back, can't unknow what he knows now is unequivocally the truth. He loves Steve. Like loves him loves him.

"Hey, hey," Steve says, all warm, all soft, all melty chocolate chip gooey. He runs a delicate hand under Billy's jaw and drags it up, makes Billy look him in the eye. "Whatever the problem is, we can deal with it together. Right?"

That softness, the softness Steve is always saving up and using on him, just on him, it shatters him, has him choking out: "But see that's kind of the problem: I love you. Like crazy, stupid love you." 

Steve's whole head twitches on instinct, either like he wasn't expecting to hear that or… Billy doesn't want to think about 'or'. 

Either way, Steve says, "And why is that a problem?" as his hand trails from Billy's jaw down the side of his neck to grip at his shoulder. "Because I love you, too." 

For a moment, Billy sits with that, swallows it, lets the words and the feelings sink deep and fill him up whole, lets them strip away the razor blades and heal the cuts, soak up the blood they've left behind. Lets them until they go sour, bursting and bristling and bitter. So, so bitter. 

"You really shouldn't," Billy says.

He looks away again, looks back towards the store and sees the cashier from earlier staring at them, makes eye contact and doesn't look away. 

"Why not?" 

Steve's hand sits perfectly still on Billy's shoulder and Billy knows him well enough to know how much effort that stillness is costing him, knows how badly Steve wants to squeeze him, wants to force him to turn and look and face him. But he doesn't. Because like always, he knows just what Billy needs. Knows Billy needs to be given time to come to it himself. 

"Because you shouldn't," Billy says, still looking at the cashier, still daring them to look away. They don't. The words, because I'm broken go unsaid, but Billy knows Steve hears them just the same. 

Steve sighs and this time his fingers grip tight to Billy's shoulder, digging in deep. 

"No, you're not broken, don't even try and start with that," Steve says, voice suddenly shifting all the way from gooey to gravel to stone in a split second. 

Billy chuckles but it's mirthless, devoid and hollow and cracking and wretched. "This isn't an ace thing, Steve," he says. 

"And who said it was?" Steve's fingers dig so deep it's like they're trying to find bone. 

"I know what this is about -" His voice pitches into inky blackness, becomes dark as the night sky without a single star to light it and he says, "I know who this is about and he's wrong. That bastard that had the nerve to call himself your father? He was wrong. About absolutely every-goddamn-thing. There is nothing wrong with you, Billy Hargrove. Nothing. Alright?"

Billy shuts his eyes slow, lets his breath shudder out of him. All he's got is one word. "Why?" 

"Why what?" 

Billy squeezes his eyes shut tighter as Steve's grip loosens, as his fingers start stroking gently up and down his arm.

"Why are you -" Why are you here? Why do you love me? Why do you care so much?

Even unasked, Steve answers. "I love you because I love you." Steve's hand trails down from his shoulder to his chest, rests over his heart. "You're so much better than you think you are. So much more deserving than you think you are." 

Billy opens his eyes to see Steve leaning in towards him, pressed in as close as he can be without just fully climbing into Billy's seat and sitting on his lap, not that he'd fit. 

Steve's hand over his heart tightens, fingers digging in like they're scrambling for purchase and that's when it clicks - Steve's afraid. 

Not of him. But for him. He's made Steve afraid. Steve cares enough to be afraid for him, Steve wants to love him, wants to care. Steve does. 

Billy feels himself letting out a deep breath in a way he hasn't since just before he got that phone call and he leans forward, presses into Steve's touch. 

"Okay," Billy says softly.

"You have a better heart than you think you do," Steve says, like he hadn't heard him, like he thinks Billy still needs convincing. 

So Billy takes Steve's hand, plucks it from his chest and intertwines their fingers. 

"Okay," he says. 

And he kisses him.

fic tag squad:

@a-magey @xgardensinspace @myboyfriendsteve @haxpr0cess @thinger-strang @nagdabbit @demi-don @lissieisspacey @tracy7307 @ihni @yourneighborhoodace

@harringrovetrashh

(I can add or remove people from this list just let me know in a comment or whatever.)

[gideongrace]

Ahh I want 17+27 please?

Ohhhh, this is a good one! This is gonna be some kinky shit! 

//

"Steve," Billy sighs his name more than he says it. "Please." 

"I know, I'm just…" Steve, turned painfully away from Billy, roots around in the complete disaster that is his closet. He knows he's got some rope in here somewhere…

"Steve," Billy says, all but begging this time. "Come on…" 

"I know!" Steve says again, more desperate, more wild. "Just…" 

The rope's not here. He could've sworn it was in here. He knows he has some, he can even picture it exactly, it's this beautiful pale green and it's the super soft silk kinda rope made explicitly for kink. He can even remember the last time he used it…

Shit.

The last time he used it was at that girl Anna's a couple months ago - he must have left it there. 

"Steve?" Billy's suddenly at his side, all concern with his big, warm hand on his shoulder and Steve doesn't have to look to know that the same concern coloring his voice is coloring his face, too. 

He looks anyway and he finds that - yep, Billy looks just as concerned as he sounds. 

Steve, in response, sighs. 

"What'd I say?" 

Billy gives him the most disarming grin he's got in his arsenal and it's almost damn near blinding. Almost, but Steve's been doing this Dominant thing for a while now and he knows how to deal with a bratty Sub. 

He gets to his feet with a raised eyebrow and pushes back his head and shoulders, making himself appear larger, even if Billy's still got a good bit of muscle on him; that Billy is still kneeling on the floor and he's standing helps a little.

"I believe the words I used were 'stay here'," he says, pointing with an index finger towards his bed. 

Billy scowls. 

"Fine," he grumbles as he half shuffles-half crawls back to the bed, dragging his feet so they squeak along the hardwood along the way. 

Steve sighs again as he watches Billy set himself squarely in the center of the mattress, looking like a golden-haired, angelic island in the middle of a navy blue sea. 

It's beautiful… but it's also all wrong. 

He walks over to the bed with the walking speed and countenance his first police captain had taught him - slow but determined, calm but not friendly. 

He crawls onto the bed and pushes Billy back, tips him over with one finger to the chest and Billy goes without complaint and without a struggle, tips over as easy as blowing over a feather but he also sprawls out like an octopus when he lands and he's got the biggest, most shit-eating grin on his face as he does it and Steve isn't quite sure if he wants to kiss him or hit him for it.

But, instead of either of those, he grunts and grabs Billy's hands one at a time and drags them up to the bottom rung of his metal lattice headboard and holds his hands there until his fingers uncurl one by one and he wraps them around the cool, cold metal. 

Then finally, finally, with that finally done (even though Billy still has his legs spread wide and that grin on his face) Steve says, "Stay here," and goes back to looking for something to tie Billy up with because lord knows, Billy's not going to stay where he's put. Not for long. 

"I just want cuddles and obedience," Steve grumbles, more to himself than anything, "Is that so hard? Cuddles and obedience. And rope." 

He's strongly considering using the one and only tie he's got hanging limply off a deserted tie rack lingering in his closet - he's never really liked the thing anyway and barely ever even needs it - when he spots a spare pair of handcuffs dangling out of a shoe sitting in the corner and he thinks, Perfect. 

Of course, when he turns to face Billy with them, Billy is lying with one hand spread lazily over his stomach and the other only just barely clinging to the headboard by the barest touch of a pinkie. 

And Billy's still got that fucking grin, the one that he just knows lights a fire in Steve's bones, the one that he just knows sets all Steve's edges to razor blades and his insides to barbed wire. 

But instead of saying anything even half that challenging, Billy says, "Really, Stevie? Handcuffs? A little cliche, isn't it?" his voice a soft and gentle purr that fights tooth and claw against that grin. Fights tooth and claw and loses.

And it makes Steve want to roar, makes Steve want to become like thunder and crack the sky and rattle the windows, but instead he remains calm, instead he holds the handcuffs gently in his hands like there's nothing threatening about them, like there's no threat at all and he says, "Oh, right, 'cause I'm the cliche," all delicate, gentle teasing as he prowls towards the bed. 

"Last week you wore your fireman's pants to the grocery store on your day off just to see if you could get a discount," he says as he climbs up and over his navy blue comforter - the one that matches the sheets he'd bought when he'd started dating Billy. 

In response, Billy snorts and the tension breaks and falls away as easily as snow sliding down a roof in the middle of winter. "Yeah, I guess we're both cliches, huh?" 

Steve rolls his eyes. "Sure, an asexual gay firefighter and an asexual bi cop, super cliche." 

He holds the handcuffs up questioningly, giving Billy a last chance to back out if he really wants to. 

When Billy's grin morphs into this dopey, happy look and he wraps his hands up around the middle rung of the headboard as tight as they'll go, when he nods and holds his body perfectly straight and perfectly still, when he does all of that, Steve advances, closing the distance between the two of them to lay himself over Billy as he chains his wrists up to the headboard. 

"There," he says, leaning back to admire his handiwork and the way that now that he's got what he wants Billy is perfectly behaved, perfectly still, perfectly obedient just like he knows Steve wants. 

Steve lets out a breath as he watches Billy breathe heavily underneath him and he can't help it, he needs to feel it so he drags his hands down Billy's chest and groans, stopping just over his nipples and thumbing them gently. 

"Alright," he says, once he's looked his fill, once he thinks the pattern of Billy's breathing has been imprinted into his skin, "Let's get started."

fic tag squad:

@a-magey @xgardensinspace @myboyfriendsteve @haxpr0cess @thinger-strang @nagdabbit @demi-don @lissieisspacey @tracy7307

(I can add or remove people from this list just let me know in a comment or whatever. 😁)

[gideongrace]

THE GAY AWAKENS

"I'm just saying, Steven," Billy says as they walk through the stiff and heavy front doors and man… that's it. That right there is it. That is the limit for the day. Steve can't even let Billy finish that sentence before he snaps:

"Man, could you not?"

Billy, of course, rolls his eyes and uses his entire face to do it. He asks, "Could I not what?" even though it's clear from the spark trapped just behind those eyes that that's not really all he wants to say just like standing here and talking clearly isn't all he wants to do, if the way his fingers are gripping the belt loops on his ridiculously tight, almost literally painted on jeans is any indication.

It makes a big, fat sigh unfurl and push itself through Steve's lips without his meaning for it to happen. Even so, he barrels on anyway. "It's always Harrington, or Steven, or Stevie or Pretty Boy. Can't you once, just for once, call me by my actual name?" he says, almost pleading and feeling ridiculous for it and it comes off sounding mostly like he's just exhausted, he's pretty sure, but still.

"And here I thought I was," Billy says and something in his tone makes Steve twitch and Steve desperately does not want to know why. 

Still, Steve can't help himself, he fires back with: "You know, if you ever really did call me by my actual name, I think I might actually just have a freaking heart attack and die on the spot from the shock of it," because if there's anyone that can get under his skin, can drag that old camera-smashing, ruler-of-the-school, fuck-you-I'll-do-what-I-want-when-I-want attitude out of him, it's Billy. Especially lately.

Billy, of course, only ever sees this as a challenge and it's only maybe half a second before Billy's eyes light up in that way that Steve's grown to realize means that's exactly how he's taken it. "Alright," Billy says, voice debaucherously low. "Steve." 

Steve huffs loudly through his nose as Billy stares at him dead on like he's actually waiting for Steve to keel over. 

A couple of seconds roll by and when Steve doesn't clutch his chest and fall to the floor Billy laughs and grins and shouts, "Look at that! Ladies and gentlemen, he's still standing!" It's on Billy's use of the word 'ladies' that Steve notices what Billy clearly hasn't yet. 

There are no ladies anywhere in sight.

Billy moves to grab Steve's hand and raise it up in the air in mocking victory but Steve dodges out of the way. The hurt look that spreads on Billy's face like blood spilled on the sidewalk hurts like a punch to the gut but Steve ignores it. "Billy, look," he says.

Billy looks around them and notices the same thing Steve did. There are no women in this bar. 

And then the club's name quickly and violently takes on new meaning for the both of them.

The club is called The Rod. 

There are no women present. 

This is a gay bar.

Somehow, they've stumbled ass backwards into a gay bar. 

Or maybe ass backwards is a poor choice of words considering it's a gay bar. 

Which, of course it is, it's called The Rod for fuck's sake. What else was it ever going to be?

And somehow, what comes out of Billy's mouth first is, "Holy shit! It's a gay bar, Batman!" and then he cracks up laughing like past the initial shock he's not at all bothered or grossed out to be here. Like somehow in the past two seconds Billy has morphed into this completely different person and even though Steve's been watching him this entire time, somehow he's still surprised.

Because Billy is giggling. Usually, Billy's laugh, rare as it might be, is this low, deep, throaty thing but this is something else. This is something new. This is Billy lighter than Steve's ever seen him.

And he's… looking. At everyone. Like… he's looking looking. 

"We can… stay? If you want? For a bit?" Steve says, his own voice cracking, betraying how uncomfortable he is to be here. 

Not that he minds, of course. He's best friends with Robin so he's cool with it. And Billy can like whoever he wants, no issue, no judgement, no nothing.

Just…

Steve bites his lip.

He's never seen so many attractive men all in one place.

---read the rest of the fic on a03---