Billy Hargrove who finds himself on Steve’s couch late at night for the millionth time. Who needed somewhere to go but can’t imagine going anywhere else.
Who says “sure” when Steve suggests staying up late to watch a movie, because Steve can’t sleep sometimes too, and Billy is a lot of things but he tries not to be a hypocrite.
Who suddenly finds himself tucked into Steve’s side because Steve’s touchy. And Billy doesn’t really know how to deal with this.
Steve’s wrapping an arm around Billy’s shoulders, shoving so close that Billy’s right arm doesn’t really have anywhere to go and his hand ends up on Steve’s leg. Steve’s fingertips are curling gently around the back of his neck, his thumb brushing up, down the tip of his spine, along the base of his skull under his hair and back again. It’s maddening. Billy’s going to die.
Steve doesn’t even seem to realize he’s doing it. Too focused on the movie, occasionally chuckling to himself. It’s embarrassing, actually, that Steve can be touching Billy this much and not even seem remotely bothered. Billy doesn’t like that.
Then Steve’s shuffling again, and his thumb pushes into the side of Billy’s skull right there between his spine and his ear, to tip his head so Steve can nudge their temples together. Like it’s nothing. Like it’s normal.
And Billy allows himself a shaky sigh and tries to relax into it. Shifts so his head is leaned more comfortably against Steve’s, tries to breathe into the gentle stroking motions instead of feeling like he needs to crawl out of his skin to escape how soft it all is.
Finally manages to say Steve’s name, to try and get his attention. Just – because he needs it. He’s completely plastered to Steve’s side and his heart is thumping against his ribs and he needs Steve to just look at him.
“Steve,” he says, and it’s way softer than he meant it to be. It’s practically fucking delicate. He wants to choke himself.
Steve looks at him, though, which makes it worth it. Blinks at him slowly, lashes low, the only light from the tv. The colors are all odd, the shadows cast funny from Billy’s perspective. The blue line of his nose, the brown of his eyes turned black. “Billy?”
Billy can’t stop looking. It’s like Steve’s eyes have him in a death grip. The scene must change, because suddenly his eyes go from bottomless black to an amber that might as well be glowing from the inside, warm and molten.
“I…” he has to say something. Anything. He’s suddenly extremely aware of his hand that ended up on Steve’s leg – when had that happened, again? “This is… nice.”
A tiny smile curves just the corner of Steve’s lips. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Billy echoes, suddenly breathless. Out of words. He’s gone. He’s so fucking gone. Steve has to stop looking at him.
The hand on Billy’s neck moves and for a moment Billy thinks Steve’s going to let go, and his stomach twists. But no, Steve’s just moving again, half-facing Billy at this point, keeping him close as the arm on Billy’s shoulders curls around his neck. Keeping him still. Billy’s arm is suddenly freed and it feels wrong, so he twists his fingers up in the fabric of Steve’s shirt. Holding on, because if Steve’s going to trap him here, then Billy’s not going to let him go, either.
Steve’s eyes keep moving, flicking over Billy, who can tell because his lashes keep fluttering. Steve nudges closer, knocking their temples together again, then pulls back just enough to slot their noses together instead. Billy can feel the heat of Steve’s breath on his mouth.
“Steve,” he whispers again. He can’t close his mouth all the way, lips parted, fucking waiting like a girl. “We shouldn’t…”
“Shouldn’t… what?” Steve’s thumb has moved from Billy’s neck and is now caressing the underside of his jaw.
Billy closes his eyes. “You’re too close.” It’s the worst lie Billy’s ever told. Steve’s not close enough. “Can’t… be this close.”
“Why not?” Steve’s voice is a low murmur, this gentle, warm thing. “We’re not doing anything.”
Billy’s breath is rattling in his chest. Can’t even fucking breathe smoothly.
“I’m not moving unless you tell me to.”
Billy squeezes his eyes shut tighter. Steve’s just killed him, with those words. Billy can’t tell him to move, Steve must know that.
Something brushes Billy’s half-open mouth.
“Don’t,” Billy manages. His fingers have sunk into the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck, and he doesn’t remember doing that. He sounds broken, even to himself. “Don’t move.”
Steve’s so close that their lips are brushing on every exhale. His eyes are closed, just holding Billy close. Not kissing him, just... resting, with their mouths together. It’s torture. It’s perfect. Billy wants to live here, in the space between Steve’s open lips. He’s clinging to Steve’s shirt and the back of his head, begging him not to go anywhere.
Steve’s breathing is quiet and slow, like he’s content to just be here, to hold Billy so close. Billy feels like he’s dying, but that’s fine.
Billy’s not even sure he kisses Steve.
His mouth moves a little, trying to form words, but Steve’s mouth is like – inside his own, so there’s nowhere to go and his lips press closed around Steve’s bottom lip and Steve does the same thing at the same time and Billy’s fucking kissing him. He’s kissing Steve Harrington.
It stays like that for longer than Billy would ever be okay with, normally. But Steve’s so clearly savoring it and Billy just lets him. Feels helpless to do anything but let him. Steve kisses him in these little brushes, like each kiss is still an accident, like their mouths are moving and just happen to be around each other’s.
Billy’s still clutching at him like he’ll disappear at any moment, and Steve must take pity on him or something, because he finally cups Billy’s face in both his hands and kisses him properly. Kisses him with such intention and slow, aching affection that Billy might as well be a puddle on his stupid expensive couch.
Steve’s fingers find his own then, gently prying Billy’s hand out of the fabric of his shirt. For a moment a surge of panic floods Billy’s system, because no, no no no, Steve’s pulling away. He grips Steve’s hand desperately, kissing him again, hasty and hard.
Steve laughs, then, a breathless little sound. “Hey.” He nudges their noses together again, like before, then nuzzles Billy’s face, the curve of the bridge of his nose fitting just right against Billy’s cheek. “I’m not moving, remember?”
Billy closes his eyes, and feels the strands of Steve’s hair beneath his fingers. Nods.
“Not going anywhere unless you say so.”