@transbillyhargrove @blurbwitch
AND HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BILLY!! (it’s 11:15 where I am so its still your bday lmao)
Billy is ftm, Steve is cis
“Did you see the new guy?” Tommy leaned over his desk, whispered to Steve.
“Yeah, saw him this morning. That car is fucking cool.” Tommy pushed at his shoulder.
He had seen the new guy, had stared at him, those thick gorgeous legs, that fucking ass. Those blueblueblue eyes.
He got another look at him in English Lit, took his usual spot at the back of the classroom, and waited with bated breath as he swaggered in, made a beeline for the empty seat at Steve’s two-person table.
He smirked at Steve, looked at him though long, thick eyelashes.
“What’s your name then, Pretty Boy.” Steve felt his face grow hot, had to turn his eyes away from those blueblueblue eyes.
“Um, Steve Harrington.” He smirked.
“Maybe I’ll stick to Pretty Boy.” He winked at Steve. “I’m Billy. Billy Hargrove.” Steve took his outstretched hand. Billy clasped his hand in both of his warm ones. “Good to meet you, Sweet Thing.”
Steve spent the rest of class flicking his eyes over to Billy, to the neat notes he took, to the way he sat low in his chair, thighs spread open.
He got a reprive from the pure sin that is Billy Hargrove during his alegebra II class before he walked into the locker before gym, saw Billy tugging unbottoning his shirt, folding it neatly and placing it into his locker. The one right next to Steve’s.
He had large scars on his chest, one under each pec. Steve smiled sheepishly at him as he began changing himself.
They scrimaged basketball for the class, played shirts and skins.
Billy was a fucking beast on the court, played skins with Steve.
They were a powerhouse, were able to work together well. Billy was fast on the court, and aggressive. Steve was agile, moved quickly and was good at faking out the other team.
“Hargrove, you gonna try out for the team?” Billy smirked at the coach, licking over his teeth in a way Steve shouldn’t find fucking hot.
“That depends. You looking for a new point?”
“Harrington’s our starting point, but you two are good together, if you wanna be shooting guard.”
“Hear that, Stevie? We’re gonna be teammates.”
Steve just grinned, didn’t know if he could handle being so close to a sweaty Billy so often, just kept thinking, suggestive things, trying to not to get hard at fucking school.
A few weeks later in English Lit, Billy passed him a note.
He looked at Billy, glaring at him.
Steve had been nodding off all class.
Just didn’t get much sleep.
Billy read it wuickly, raised one eyebrow suggestively. Steve shoved him another note.
Billy had to stifle a laugh.
Steve just looked at him, shook his head. Billy furrowed his brows.
I get really bad nightmares.
Billy made a little pouty face at him.
You wanna ditch? Steve grinned.
Billy was a reckless driver.
He sped around corners, slammed his foot down on the peddle, cackled when Steve would grip onto the handle.
They drove out of Hawkins, the windows down, cool air whipping around them, some fucking loud metal album Steve didn’t know, nor particularly like.
They stopped outside the town limits, parking by the side of the road, walking through a filed.
Steve skimmed his hands along the top of the tall grass.
“You get nightmares a lot?” Steve just nodded. “What about?”
“I don’t really like talking about it.” They were sitting at the top of a hill, were shoulder to shoulder, looking out over the flat beige land surrounding Hawkins.
“I didn’t think I’d like it here. But some parts are okay.” He knocked into Steve.
“Can I ask you about the scars on your chest? I noticed them yesterday.”
“You can ask. Doesn’t mean I’ll tell.” Billy lit a cigarette, taking a long drag.
“That’s fair.” Billy just considered him for a moment.
“You tell me about your nightmares, I’ll tell you about the scars.” Steve stole his cigarette, gazing out at the hazy skyline.
“Someone died. In my backyard. In my pool. Most of my nightmares are about her.” He looked down at his hands. “It was my fault. I didn’t hear when she fell in. Was too busy, being a douchebag.” There was a firm hand on his shoulder.
“Did you push her in?” Steve looked at him, his eyes wild.
“Of course I didn’t! Jesus, Billy.”
“Then it wasn’t your fault. If she fell in and drowned, that’s no one’s fault.”
“But if I had been paying attention-”
“Maybe you could’ve saved her, and maybe you couldn’t have. You don’t know, Pretty Boy. But you didn't, you didn’t kill her.” Steve’s eyes were flicking between his eyes, his lips. Billy licked his lips, heard Steve’s breath catch.
He leaned in, threw caution to the wind, and just kissed Steve.
His lips were soft, his mouth pliant against his own. He kissed back eagerly, made noisess into Billy’s mouth, threaded a hand in his hair.
Billy pulled back, holding Steve’s face in his hands, watched as Steve’s eyes fluttered open, staring at Billy.
“I like you a lot.” It was barely a whisper. Billy had to turn away from his sincere eyes.
“The scars are from surgery. A surgery I had a few years ago, to, to get rid of my tits.” Steve just furrowed his brow.
“But, why did you have tits?” He pursed his lips. “Oh.” Billy’s heart raced as it dawned on Steve.
And then Steve just, shrugged. Leaned back in to kiss him again.
“Wait, so you don’t, mind?”
“No. I like you. I don’t really mind what your body’s like. I mean, but I’m certainly not mad at all this.” He ran soft hands over Billy’s thick thighs, his toned arms.
Leaned in and kissed him again.
