When Harrington finally snaps at Billy's pigtail pulling and puts hands on him a few inches too far from appropriate, Billy's kind of still on the assumption that the spark will only go so far. Like a lighter flame before you crack the choke.
Contained.
Fucking is just another form of fighting in Billy's world, and Harrington fights like a small-town kid who's never had more than a school yard brawl. Starts off hot and heavy, a one-punch wonder, crumbles after a few hits.
Harrington's soft, too. He's lost a good chunk of the preppy chip on his shoulder, but he'd only traded in the pastel sweaters and starched polos so far. He doesn't wear the grit and knowing the way Billy does, more like Nancy Wheeler just took his spark when she took his balls, too, but.
Point is; Billy's expecting soft. Harrington's the kind of guy who looks like he thinks reverse cowgirl is experimenting, and so he's fucking delighted when Harrington finds the strength in those noodle arms of his to flip him over, grinding his face into the Camaro's hood like he's imagining its the dirt and he's a boot heel.
Barks a laugh, kicks him in the shin just to hear him swear, because its kind of like finding out that pampered little poodle down the street can still bite. "Not gonna say a hail Mary first, King?" he taunts, and Steve says shut the fuck up and decides in the same breath that Billy's not all that known for following orders, and so he shoves two fingers down Billy's throat in prompt subsequence.
Its pretty fucking stupid. Its also a steady anchor of familiarity amongst this ocean of surprising turns of events. Harrington being smart enough to put him face down but also stupid enough to still stick his fingers between Billy's teeth anyway.
And Billy. Billy's not the kind to sit-and-stay unless there's a juicy slab of steak as motivation, but part of him wants to see how Harrington handles slapping a bridle on a bronco and part of him whispers finally into the corners of his mind. This is kind of hunger no amount of boring backend bitches could sate. The kind of rough handling Billy bites down on, rides out, goes halfway to easy for.
He nips Harrington's fingers and bucks like a wild horse when Harrington reprimands him by shoving a hand into his jeans, bypassing where he wants it to go completely to pinch and twist the soft crease of his thigh. He bites down harder and is a mixture of aroused and startled when Harrington responds in kind, sliding down his body, teeth sharp and stinging his asscheek through a layer of denim and cotton.
Soft never comes. Harrington doesn't flag, doesn't need to ride a too-short wave of adrenaline for this. He tells Billy to shut up, Barbie and calls him the warmest hole in Hawkins. Gives his cheek a pat that's two steps into a slap when he shoves the tip in, and Billy's halfway to seeing God and halfway to incensed because of course it fucking figures that Harrington is the one with what he needs.
Doesn't help he's fucking drooling for it, feels like Harrington's nudging at his teeth, tips cunt up like he's in heat when Harrington laughs at him, snide and mean. "There we go," he coos, gets a fistful of his hair, twists the curls around his fingers like a bronc rigging. "Knew all it took to put a muzzle on you was feeding your pussy."
And.
Harrington's got an arm around his throat, jugular in the curve of his elbow, just enough pressure to make him feel the air on every breath, might also actually have just up and carved Billy's guts out to make room for himself, and he's teetering on the edge as it is when Harrington pulls his hand free of his hair, rears his arm back, says, tighten it up for me, babygirl at the same time as slapping Billy's ass so hard it hits bone.
Billy cums so hard he sees the pearly gates for a hot minute. Hears holy harps and all as he ruins the Camaro's paintjob clawing at it, grinding his dick into the unforgiving hold of the metal, has enough of a braincell left to scrape together and hope to god one of them has a napkin somewhere.
Harrington leaves him that way, bent over the hood like a broken doll, puts himself back together dispassionately and fixes his hair in the Camaro's wingmiror and gives Billy a reproachful once over.
"Don't go crawling to anyone else for a fix," he says, bored, like he's telling Billy to be home for dinner. "Its sloppy enough as it is. Won't even be able to feel it if you go offering yourself around."
He has the audacity to blast Blondie as the Beemer lopes away.
This is so
MEAN STEVE SO TRUE SO TRUE 🥵 the cheek pat really did me in personally I gotta say…
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