Okay. Listen. I’m only doing this because I love you.
(And also because it’s hilarious to think about. But will have to be short and sweet because I’m doing it on fly at work and on mobile, so…)
The best part about having a fake baby with Billy Hargrove is probably just how annoyed Billy is with the entire situation.
“I am NOT taking that sack of flour home with me,” Billy insists, shoving it into Steve’s arms at the end of the day while they’re waiting outside of the middle school for the rugrats to get out of AV club.
Steve cradles it to his chest, eyes wide and horrified. “I can’t believe you’d talk about our child that way.”
“Jesus Christ, Harrington.” Billy’s nostrils flare, and he pinches the bridge of his nose.
“I know little Charlie was unexpected, but that’s what you get for not using protection.” Steve says, biting his cheek as Billy’s face and ears go red. “You know what they say: don’t be a fool, cover your tool.”
Billy’s jaw works. Steve thinks he’s about five seconds from having to use his flour baby as a flour shield.
“Charlie?” Billy asks, voice tight with disbelief and maybe a bit of disgust. “You named it Charlie?”
“I named HIM Charles. Charlie for short.” Steve says. “Why? What’s wrong with Charlie?”
“I’m starting to think a lot of things,” Billy runs a hand over his face.
“Watch it, Hargrove, or you’ll be out on the street paying child support before you can blink.”
“Look, Harrington, I get that you’re… super into this weird pseudo-baby thing, but I’m not taking it –”
Billy takes a slow breath. “Him. I’m not taking him home with me.”
Steve nearly cracks right there. “You would leave me to raise our child, alone, without his father?”
Something in Steve’s face must give him away. Because Billy’s eyes narrow. Because he frowns, first at Steve and then at the sack of flour he’s cradling oh-so-carefully in his arms. Because then Billy’s blue eyes are lighting up, irritation bleeding from his face, replaced with a terrifying, devious glee.
Thumbs hooking in his pockets, Billy shuffles forward a step, and Steve can’t help but sway back – until he meets the cool metal of his driver side door. Billy’s grin is charming. Sly. Dangerous.
“You implying that you’re the mother, pretty boy?”
Steve nearly chokes on his own tongue. “No. No, that wasn’t–”
“No, no. I’m pretty sure you did.” Billy’s eyes are hot on Steve’s face, and Steve feels a little warm, feels a flush spread down his neck to his chest as the toe of Billy’s boot knocks against his sneaker, as he braces a hand against the top of the car behind Steve and leans in. “What was it you said? Something about covering my tool?”
“Sorry, sweetheart. But can you really blame me?” Billy’s teeth are white and sharp as he leans in to mutter in Steve’s ear. “You always get so wet when I don’t put one on.”
Steve’s throat works. He doesn’t know how his own joke got turned on its head like this.
“What’s the matter, Harrington?” Billy asks. “No pithy reply?”
Cheeks pink, Steve curls his fingers tighter into the paper sack, and says:
“Either start working on your pullout game or stock up on rubbers. No glove, no love.”
And Billy snorts. Jerks back in surprise and laughs, eyes bright when he catches Steve’s gaze.
“You’re fucking ridiculous, Harrington. And I’m still not bringing that thing home with me.”
“You’ll hurt his feelings.”
But Billy is already shoving away from Steve and Steve’s car.
“Later, Harrington. See you tomorrow.”
“What, no goodbye kiss for your son?”
“GOODBYE, Harrington.” Billy says, turning away.
Steve can’t help but call after him as he goes. “You’re a terrible father, but Charlie loves you anyway!”
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