Steve’s second favorite part of their house is the backyard.
They’ve got a big-ish plastic pool they now set up at the beginning of every summer. For the kids. For their dog getting chlorine-induced diarrhea from time to time. For Billy to just float away and soak, fancy homemade cocktail on hand, mean, silver-mirrored aviators reflecting the sun, his whole skin covered in oil and ready to fry. For Billy to grab Steve and drag him inside roaring "Oh, you mean like this?" when he calls him “One, two, three, Splash!” For Billy to look happy and accomplished while ruining Steve’s hair, making up for it right afterwards. “It would be nice to, you know, being able to walk near the pool without fearing for your fucking mermaid complex to surge from the depths and drag me down” For Billy to grin that dangerous grin of his, look like he’s enjoying every single minute of this tiny, tiny life they’ve build around them and “But, baby. You look so hot when your wet. You gotta understand. I can’t help it”
They’ve placed little bulbs all around. Repainted the wood fence. Brought Dustin’s mom’s old furniture. And Steve has planted zucchini and strawberries and tomatoes and something that’s theoretically spinach bur doesn’t look like spinach like, at all. It took a lot of try and error and a million calls to his mom and like, a whole lot of faith but, somewhere along the way the little shits stopped dying and now somehow the keep on fucking blooming and living and growing and all that jazz and— sometimes, Billy looks at them and does that smiling so hard the goddamn the sun stops burning thing he does now, mixes fondness and mockery with alchemistic precision when he says,
“You know, Harrington? You’re also the gardener of my heart. A sexy one. The kind I’d get my knees dirty for in the shed”
“Except we don’t have a shed”
“Yeeeah, but we can built one”
“Just so you can suck my dick”
Billy nods, “Just so I can suck your dick—” Billy winks real slow. Fingerguns. Fires Steve with a dirty look and the tsk of his tongue against flashy white teeth “In a shed”
And every new line he says it’s the worst he’s ever said.
But, somehow, they all keep on working.
“Guess we’ll hafta build a shed, then”
“Mmm. That’s my man. Now” he leans back with a low, lewd rumble, arms around the plastic rim, curls dripping wet, his whole body stretching, sun sparkling over the water, warm-looking and crystal clear, lapping hungry at his skin. He never wears trunks when they’re all alone and he knows Steve knows it “ Why don’t cha come ‘round here so I can drag you down. I don’t throw up my lungs into this thing every goddamn summer to not have you inside”
Steve smirks. Sometimes. The backyard is his favorite part of the house.
(But the thing is: every part's his favorite part. When it’s got Billy Hargrove in it)
~
part one: the house