#not Harringrove but it might be

[harringroveera]

You didn’t even listen to him Stevie!

[thevillainsfangirl]

There are some ships that you just know would be 100% canon if they were an M/F ship, and that's mainly what pisses people off the most in these situations.

It isn't just about the ship; it's also very much about the homophobia (whether the creators know it or not) that is preventing the ship from being canon when they otherwise would be.

(Addition.)

[fawcett-hairspray-club]

Feel like helping a boy out with his anxiety, pretty boy?

[kallousness]

[lemonhitsu]

Idk man I just really really like them together.

[sh1tbird-shantytown]

Steve had a hesitant friendship blooming with Chrissy Cunningham. She was kind and loved being around the kids, even though they were brats most of the time. And it helped that she took any excuse to stand Jason Carver up.

She sat in his passenger seat, Dustin in the back with his head down in a notebook. Something about an impossible equation.

“He’s changed this year,” she continued on about her ex-boyfriend. “He’s turned into this bully that needs everyone’s attention!” She tried to sound annoyed, but he knew she felt a lot more about Carver’s rise to fame than she let on.

He sighed when she continued to frown at her hands in her lap.

“You have to forget about him, Chris,” he turned into the school. “Go out and spend some time with someone outside of that clique of yours,” he smiled back at her pinched expression.

She suddenly perked up, he could almost see the lightbulb above her ponytail.

“What about you?”

Steve looked up from where he’d been focusing on fixing his hair in the mirror, “What?” his voice raised an octave.

Chrissy nodded to herself, long past an actual response from Steve, “The movies,” she decided quickly. “That Beverly Hills Cop sequel just came out, you like that stuff, right?”

He stuttered as she gathered her things and opened the car door, “Y-Yeah?”

“Great!” she grinned at him from outside and waved before shutting the door and merging into the sea of high schoolers.

Dustin groaned behind him and Steve felt his eyes zip up to check on the kid.

“What are you doing?”

-

Chrissy was dressed in her usual skirt and polo combo that she always wore outside of school events. She wasn’t dressed to impress, and that made Steve feel about 90% more comfortable as she practically jumped into his car.

She was a little shaky, but he bit his tongue about it when she turned the radio on and turned the southern drawl of George Strait up.

So, he politely drove them the thirty minute drive in silence.

And when they arrived, she seemed to have lost all ambition. When some girls he knew had been giving her a hard time about dumping the douche that’s called her his girlfriend, were staring at them as they walked up to the theater. Their gossip hungry eyes trained on the awkward distance they had.

For a regular couple going to the movies anyway, as far as he knew, he and Chris were perfectly fine with personal space.

But, he offered her his arm and she gratefully took it.

He ordered their tickets for them and let her pick the snacks. Let the girl behind the counter give them falsely knowing glances as she buttered their popcorn.

He fought off the urge to roll his eyes at them all as Chrissy pulled at a string on his jacket and kept her eyes trained on her Mary Jane shoes.

He got them in the theater, through the movie, and Chrissy back home before nine.

And he actually had a pretty good time. Which, he told her.

She smiled that crooked grin of hers, “I did too,” she said like she hadn’t expected to. “I thought I’d be too scared to actually do something different.”

He handed her one of the movie stubs, “Here.” He laughed lightly at her confusion. “It’s to remember that you have a life outside of high school politics.”

She laughed with him and delicately pressed the piece of paper to her chest, “Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

-

He and Chrissy hung out more often, so much so that it was messing with his schedule with Robin.

“I don’t see what’s so special about her,” she complained from her spot behind the counter.

He’d been going through the return bin before she’d kicked him out and began stress working while she ranted about how he’d been neglecting their relationship.

“She needs a friend, Rob,” he tried explaining for the hundredth time. “And she’s a good person, I think you’d really like her if you gave her a chance,” he added the last bit with a lilt to his tone.

She gave him an unimpressed response, “She’s a cheerleader and I eat my lunch by sneaking into the library. We have nothing alike.” She paused and then looked him up and down, judging. “You on the other hand….”

Steve crossed his arms and glared at his supposed best friend.

“Uh-oh,” an easily recognizable voice broke their focus, “There seems to be trouble in paradise!”

Billy Hargrove wobbled his way in on his cane and leaned himself against Steve and the counter in front of them.

Robin huffed out a nasty laugh, “Steve’s got himself a girlfriend, and has left me out like chopped liver.”

He rolled his eyes, but grew confused at Billy’s angry expression.

He side eyes Steve and quietly asked, “Girlfriend?” like the word itself was an accusation.

He shook his head in quick disagreement, already feeling safer by the way Billy’s upset demeanor deflated.

“Chrissy is my friend. I told Rob that I’ve sworn off any new relationships.”

“Ah,” Billy’s walls pulled themselves back up. But, he didn’t pull away, so that was a plus.

Robin watched them, an odd and understanding aura to her gaze, “Steve doesn’t like girls anymore.”

Steve made an assortment of mortified noises as Billy cackled at his side.

“That is not what’s happening,” he defended himself, rather lamely. Robin tilted her head at him like he was lying, and Billy ruffled his hair, causing Steve’s usually tamed hair to fly everywhere.

Billy’s hand left his head when he looked at him, the other’s mouth opened slightly as he stared at the mess he’d made. Robin rolled her eyes and ignored them, returning to the cart of tapes.

Steve blinked back at Billy, not quite ready to get back to work himself.

“Not that into girls….” Billy trailed off when Steve tucked the hairs that were tickling his cheeks behind his ears.

Just when Steve was about to say something to defend his lackluster love life he’d probably regret, Billy’s watch began beeping. Obnoxiously.

“Shit,” Billy pressed a button and gave one more lingering stare at Steve’s face before leaving their joined space. “I have to go pick up Max from school,” he explained.

Steve smiled and nodded as Billy unwrapped his arm around his shoulders and took his leave with an awkward nod goodbye.

“You’re so far gone,” Robin finally snorted when the door finally shut.

“What the Hell, Rob?”

-

Chrissy was the last person to arrive at game night.

The Henderson’s dinner table was the busiest it had ever been, and Mrs. Henderson was having the time of her life hosting.

“Steve!” She called just as he was shutting the door behind his friend. She rounded the corner and cooed at the new addition of another girl. She hugged Chrissy and patted her cheek as she looked her over. “Oh, aren’t you pretty,” she sweetly complimented. “You really know how to find the right people, Steve,” she giggled to herself and left them alone. Apparently deeming Chrissy appropriate for their traditions.

He shook his head when Chrissy looked at him in complete confusion, sending her into a fit of shocked laughter.

“I love it here,” she whispered, mostly to herself, and made her way further into the house. He followed behind her, amused by her unfamiliar hesitation.

Lucas noticed them first, desperately finding an excuse to get out of his spot between a loudly feuding Max and Mike.

“Hey, Chrissy!” he jogged over to them after squeezing out. She relaxed noticeably, finding something familiar in the kid. “Welcome to Hell,” he joked as Max hit Mike upside the head behind him. She jumped at the outraged yell Mike directed at his assaulter.

“Glad to be here,” she replied, albeit a little faint on the genuine tone.

Steve caught Billy’s fleeting eye from across the room, and turned to Chrissy to part ways. But, she was already looking at him, and not in a confident way.

“What’s wrong?”

“Could you introduce me to her?” she pointed over at Robin. And he smirked as he watched Robin catch their gazes and turn bright pink.

“Absolutely,” he offered his arm.

[cuepickle]

I’ve been reading To B, With Love by Triddlegrl on ao3 and now my every waking thought has been CONSUMED by cowboy billy

[hellcheercaine]

harringrove au where steve helps billy and max to run away from their dad, and to search for billy’s biological mother

[mothellie]

Steve: Okay, let's try this again.

Steve, pointing at Nancy: This is my wife.

Steve, pointing at Eddie: This is the love of my life.

Robin: Wait, that's not the same thing as the first one?

Steve: Eh? It's complicated. Don't worry about it.

Robin: ...

Steve, pointing at Billy: This is the homewrecker.

Robin: Why would you want that...?

Steve: Why not?

Robin: I-

Steve: I'd risk it all for him.

Robin, pointing at Argyle and Jonathan: Uh.. okay.. Why are they here?

Steve: Oh. Them? Uh, they just kinda live rent-free.

Robin: Why?

Steve: I don't know, but I'm not mad about it.

Robin, pointing at Tommy: What about that one over there?

Steve: Oh. Uhhh. Y'know how some people make a pact that if they reach a specific age and they're not married, they decide to marry each other?

Robin: ... Yeah?

Steve: Yeah, that's him.

[magniloquent-raven]

its midnight and im sleeby but i finished this thing i started scribbling out this afternoon based on @harringroveera 's post that i couldnt get outta my brain

i think i might have angsted it up a little cuz i can't help myself but its still cute so. pls enjoy

--

Billy's not super clear on where he is right now.

There are people everywhere. Yelling. Laughing. Music plays over a big fancy sound system. There's a blurry blue light glowing through glass sliding doors that he's been staring at for a little while 'cause it's…pretty. Twinkly and stuff. 

He's too many drinks past a good buzz, that much he's sure of. His head feels. Floaty. And heavy. And if he tries to move the room starts to spin. 

Whatever he's sitting on is comfy though. Soft. Softer than his damn mattress with that broken spring that's always stabbing him in the ribs. 

He's tired. Really tired.

Feels like he hasn't slept in months.

To his left a girl starts squealing as her boyfriend grabs her around the waist, to his right a speaker vibrates against the wall, buzzing to the beat of a deep bassline. Everything sounds far away, though. White noise blending together while the edges of his vision go fuzzy and faded.

He feels his head tip, just a little, and then—

With a sharp inhale he jolts, blinks, glancing around blearily at a silent, empty room.

It's still dark out. The blue glow still shimmers at him through glass. A lamp lights the room he's in. Everything's…shapes. Colours. His brain is still mushy.

He blinks a couple more times. His eyes are dry. Wobbly. All the shapes are wobbly.

"Hey, man, party's over." A voice startles him. He tries to look around, but it fucking hurts, and moving his head is so much work. Whatever, it's a nice voice. Way nicer than the jarring silence. 

Wait, why's the party over. He doesn't want the party to be over.

He wrinkles his nose. "Nooo…" 

"...Yeessss." There's a pause. "Everyone is gone, dude."

"No." Billy rubs his eyes. The chair is still so comfy. He sinks further into it, unwilling to move. "You're here."

"It's my house. I'm allowed to stay." The voice sounds amused. There's some rustling behind Billy. Plastic crinkling. Maybe. Something being moved around. "Why are you even here, anyways?" 

Hazy memories jumble together. A flask of vodka in his pocket, slipped under itchy robes. Sitting two heads away from Steve Harrington, sneaking glances between barely concealed shots. A droning speech. Another droning speech. Neil's solemn face in a crowd, watching him walk across the stage to shake hands with…the guy. The. Whatever.  

Some girl digging her talons into his arm after he slipped away from Neil's attempts to maintain a public image by acting like he gave a shit about his son's accomplishments. Beer and cheap tequila and shitty music blurring into each other as he gets dragged around like a trophy dangling off the elbow of whichever nameless girl claimed him for the night.

"Graduated," he says, picking at a sticky spot on the thigh of his jeans. Pinching the fabric isn't doing anything but he can't stop prodding. 

"Yeah, I know, with honors. Congrats." There's a huff. A silence. "Doesn't explain why you're here though." Footsteps, sneakers on linoleum, tap tap tap, meandering around whatever room is at his back. Glass bottles getting moved around. It's sort of soothing to listen to someone move around their house without any reason to be keeping track of their movements.

Well, unless…

Billy's stomach flips, and his chest goes tight. "You're not gonna kick me out are you?" he asks, his voice small. He feels sick, saying it. Thinking about it. He doesn't want to be anywhere else. This house smells sweet under the stink of spilled beer and leftover perfume. And he likes this chair.

The movement behind him stops for a second. "...Nnno?"

He breathes. Relaxing into velvety upholstery. "'Kay." 

"You sure you don't have anywhere to be? Family waiting up? Girlfriend expecting a midnight rendezvous?" 

Billy snorts. "No one gives a shit where I am." 

Neil will care tomorrow when Billy makes him look bad by pulling up hungover and in yesterday's clothes, but that's a problem for tomorrow. He won't be waiting up for him, worrying about Billy's safety or whatever.

A glass bottle clinks against something. "What about your sister?"

"Pfff…" He snickers, and gives his head a tiny shake. The movement makes everything spinny for a second and he has to pause to swallow bile. The sour taste on his tongue feels appropriate. And gross. "I fucked up. Everything. Beat the shit outta her friend. She's prolly hoping I don' come home at all. Ever."

Another glass bottle gets set down, slower this time. Carefully. "...This friend of hers…"

"Steve," Billy sighs. His eyes fall shut and he leans back into a cushioned headrest. His insides do the stupid fluttery thing they always do when he thinks about Steve. Steve and his stupid kissable face. 

"It was pretty dumb of him to pick a fight with you, huh," the voice says wryly. 

"Mnh…I guess." There's a soft snort behind him. But something prickles at Billy. Guilt, maybe. It's uncomfortable. He chews his lip as his eyes start to burn. "Nah. No. Whole thing was my fault. All my fault. S'always my fault." 

Saying it doesn't make it feel better.

"What do you mean?" There's sounds anymore. Just the voice, and Billy's heartbeat in his ears.

"It's…" Billy swipes at his eyes with the back of his hand. "It's a secret."

"I'm good at keeping those."

"You can't tell him."

"...I definitely will not tell him."

Billy hums. "He's real pretty, y'know."

"So I've been told, but what—"

"No, he's…he's so pretty. Like, I can't believe it sometimes, and I just wanna. Do something about it. All the time. But it hurts. Hurts so bad, and it's not supposed to, so I had to—I had to…I just got so mad. And I had to prove I didn't wanna kiss him, but I do. 'Cause I like him so much. Too much."

The silence is back. Ringing in Billy's ears. He sniffles quietly. 

"Oh…" 

"Please don't tell him. Or anyone."

"Billy…"

"Promise."

There's a strained pause. Billy fidgets, his insides twisting into knots. 

"I promise." The voice is so gentle, and it makes Billy's eyes sting again. He blinks away tears and listens to more bottles being moved. Plastic cups hitting plastic bags. Sneakers against linoleum, and hardwood, and carpet. And after a while, "You're not gonna spend all night in the chair, are you?"

"You said—"

"I'm not kicking you out, I just meant. There's a guest bed, man," 

"Oh."

**

Sunlight hits Billy directly in the face and he rolls over, groaning. 

The motion makes his stomach lurch, but he buries his face in…pillowcase. Unfamiliar pillowcase. Smells like honeysuckle and clean air and it's softer than any bedding he's ever touched. 

His legs are tangled in sheets just as sweet-smelling and finely woven, and his guts give another heave as he realizes he's only wearing briefs. 

Did…did he fuck someone last night?

He was definitely drunk enough to do something that stupid, if the cottonmouth and pounding headache are any indication, but he doesn't fucking remember. Which would normally be a blessing, except he usually doesn't stay the goddamn night. 

Is he going to have some girl hanging all over him for the first couple weeks of summer? Until he can figure out how to ditch her without making it look like he's too eager to.

Or maybe he'll stick around for a little while, this bed is actually ridiculous. He might be able to fake his way through one shitty summer fling if it means sleeping like a goddamn king. There are like, five pillows, and it feels like he's laying on a cloud. 

He nuzzles deeper into the pillowcase. Smells nice too.

His memories of the previous day mostly stop around Tammy Whatsherface dragging him away for a graduation afterparty. Maybe he shouldn't have started drinking at noon. 

Christ, he's not even sure how he got here, or where his car is. 

Or where here is.

It's one of the Loch Nora houses, probably. Nowhere else would have sheets like this.

Eventually he drags himself, reluctantly, out of bed. And immediately tastes bile.

Which is. Bad. 

Being upright is bad. 

And he doesn't know where the nearest toilet is. Which could be extremely bad. Girls whose carpets you puke on don't invite you back to sleep in their nice guest rooms.

So, he's very slow and careful about pulling his jeans on. And he makes sure to pause when he starts to feel clammy, sitting on the floor to stop his head spinning. 

It takes him forever to get mostly dressed, jeans and an undershirt are enough. He can't find his button-up and socks require too much bending down, which his dehydrated brain does not appreciate. 

Peeking out into the nondescript hall doesn't provide any more answers about whose house this is. It's all shiny boring expensive decor and not a single person in sight.

Oh, looks like there's a bathroom at the end of the hallway though, good. 

He beelines for the sweet promise of a place to piss and rinse out his mouth, shuffling past a couple closed doors, listening for any signs of life and hearing nothing, until he shoulders his way into the bathroom and freezes in his tracks, because—

"Hey, uh. You're awake." Steve Harrington blinks at him, standing in front of a plain oval mirror, hairbrush in hand. Which he obviously hasn't used yet, because the bedhead he's sporting is kind of hilarious. It's all fluff in every direction. Billy wants to run his hands through it. 

Worse, though, is the fact that he's bare chested, wearing an unzipped hoodie and soft plaid pants, with all that fucking chest hair, and he's looking at Billy with a curious expression that isn't remotely like any way he's ever looked at Billy before and this is…all very, very strange.

So, obviously Billy's theory about what happened last night was wrong. He's not even back to square one, he has less than no idea what the fuck is happening.

"...Yes," Billy responds after a beat too long. 

Great.

Fantastic.

Very smooth.

The corner of Steve's mouth twitches. There's something soft and warm about the amusement twinkling in his eyes and it's making Billy itch. 

"I think I'm gonna puke."

Steve snorts, and drops his hairbrush on the vanity. "Right, I'll get out of your way then." He sidles past Billy, far too close, patting his shoulder as he passes. Which does not help when he's just barely keeping his shit together.

His footsteps fade down the hallway at Billy's back. And Billy doesn't move. 

What the actual fuck.

He slams the bathroom door shut behind him, and leans his forehead against it, trying to breathe slowly through his nose. 

They didn't have sex last night. There's no way. He did not fuck Steve Harrington.

He couldn't have. Steve would never…

He's not…

That's just. Not what happened. Because that would never happen. 

It kind of looks like that's what happened, but it's not. 

He sits on the floor, head in his hands. And breathes. 

It's unclear how long he stays curled up on cold tile. Long enough that his legs start to feel stiff. Nothing about last night comes back to him. He sighs.

And gets up.

And splashes some water on his face. Drinks a little from the tap. Uses some of the mouthwash he digs out from under the counter. Takes a piss.

He's still unsteady. His temples throb if he moves too quickly. But he feels a little less like roadkill.

Steve waves at him when he spots him coming down the stairs. Waggles his fingers in the air, like they're best buds and this situation isn't the most surreal thing to happen to them since the Byers' weirdly trashed living room.

Billy rubs the back of his neck. "...Hey."

"Coffee?"

"Sure."

Steve pulls out two mugs, one of his thumbs stuck through a hole in the cuff of his sleeve. There's sunlight warming the honey-coloured highlights in his hair.

Yeah, no, this is definitely more fucked up than finding Max in a random house with a busted window and shitty drawings everywhere.

He might actually have lost his mind.

"What the fuck happened last night?" He blurts, his cheeks hot, fingers jittery. He shoves his hands in his pockets, fists balled up against his thighs.

Steve glances at him out of the corner of his eye. "Ah, figures you don't remember."

"Don't remember what?"

"You were pretty out of it."

"Yeah, thanks, I know that part."

Steve snorts, grabbing more things out of cupboards. Billy's paying more attention to his hands than what's in them. "You didn't want to leave, so I let you sleep upstairs."

"...Why?"

"You didn't say, just said you didn't have anywhere else to be."

"That's not what I meant." He knows exactly why he didn't want to leave. All the many reasons why he'd rather be here than under Neil's roof. Or anywhere else. What doesn't make any fucking sense is Steve accommodating him. 

Steve's eyes flicker to his again, briefly, before he turns back to the counter. When he shrugs the nonchalance seems forced. "You're a lot nicer when you're plastered."

"I…" Billy opens his mouth. Shuts it again. 

What the fuck does that mean. 

Steve fidgets with a spoon. "You got…kind of weepy, y'know."

Oh.

Goddamnit.

His shoulders go tense, jagged edges of a shield around what's left of his dignity. "Fuck you, Harrington," he snaps. It's all he can muster when he doesn't know what the fuck he was crying about. Every possibility is worse than the last.

"Yeah, you wish," Steve mutters.

Billy freezes. 

And doesn't recover quick enough to hide it from Steve. Steve's eyebrows shoot up. "Holy shit, it's true isn't it?" He turns around fully, the mess he's made of the counter forgotten. 

Fuck.

"I—don't know what you're talking about." His stupid deer-in-the-headlights expression is mostly under control but the sudden tremble in his voice definitely fucking isn't. 

He backs away a step and then stops. Where the fuck is he going to go, he doesn't know where his car is, where his keys are, and he's fucking barefoot. Running upstairs and locking himself in Steve's bathroom seems just a little too pathetic but that doesn't mean he doesn't consider it.

Billy clenches his jaw. It makes his head pound. "What exactly did I say last night?" He grits out, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Steve eyes him. Slowly, carefully. Deliberating. He chews his bottom lip. The silence is fucking agonizing. 

"Can't tell you," he finally replies, his voice light. One corner of his mouth lifts into half a smile, and scratches his cheek. "I promised I wouldn't tell anyone."

"That's…" Billy rubs his forehead with the palm of his hand, like he's looking for the button to restart his poor, confused brain. He drops his hand, exasperated, eyebrows creeping up to his hairline. "Steve, what the fuck."

Steve cracks a full-blown grin. "I told you I'm good at keeping secrets."

"I swear to god—"

"Aw c'mon, I can't break a promise! Especially 'cause you asked so nicely. You were so polite. It was very cute."

"I…what?"

He can't have heard that right.

Or Steve's just fucking with him. That's what's going on here. Billy let something slip last night and now Steve's holding it over his head. Because why wouldn't he, honestly. He has every reason to want to mess with Billy, and now he's got the perfect leverage.

"Billy." Steve's voice is soft, suddenly. His expression gentles, and he moves to close the gap between them. And Billy…doesn't get it. He's stalled out and stuck trying to figure out how this is gonna go wrong, how it fits into whatever prank Steve is clearly pulling.

He doesn't know what his face is doing, but he's pretty sure he's being way more readable than he'd like. 

He nearly jumps out of his skin when Steve touches him. A hand on his shoulder. A hesitant, awkward pat. Testing the waters, maybe. Trying to make sure he's real, maybe.

Is any of this real? Billy's still not convinced. He can smell Steve's shampoo and see all the little flecks of colour in his eyes and his shoulder is still burning where they made contact, but…

"I'm sorry I hurt you, y'know," Steve murmurs, his gaze dropping, hovering somewhere around Billy's crossed arms. He reaches out again, fingers grazing Billy's knuckles this time. All Billy can do is blink at him, afraid to breathe. "Doesn't have to be like that."

He tugs at Billy's hand, untucking it from the crook of his elbow, unfolding Billy's arms, and Billy lets him. One hand drops to his side and the other stays cradled in Steve's grip. He's…staring at it like he's studying for a test. Billy has no idea what's so fucking interesting, or what Steve's talking about, but he's also not bothered at this point. 

His knees feel like jello. 

"You could've just kissed me."

Billy nearly collapses. Like one of those swooning chicks in shitty romance novels. Breathless and flushed and overwhelmed. Except he just stands there like a moron, staring at Steve. And Steve's mouth.

"What?" he manages not to sound too strangled. Miraculously. 

Steve smiles at him, almost sheepishly. "You still could. I wouldn't mind."

"You…wouldn't."

"Yeah, I mean, if you had morning breath still it might be a different story, but…" Steve gestures vaguely, pulling Billy's hand along with him as he shrugs. 

Billy snorts.

And hey, maybe Steve is messing with him, and this will blow up in his face, but…

Well, he just really wants to kiss him before it does.

So he leans in and presses their lips together. 

~~tag list @spreckle @growup-thatbeautiful @prettyboy-like-you @suddenlyinlove

[harringroveera]

It’s all fun ‘til Steve arrives and be the buzzkill

[ihni]

A moment in the rain

My last fill for @harringrovesummerbingo, square C3, prompt: "Wedding party ruined by a thunderstorm"

5,3K, general audiences, no warnings.

Summary:

Billy and Steve are at a wedding, when there's a sudden downpour. While the other guests scramble to run inside, the boys both decide to escape the rain under the same gazebo.

(On AO3 here)

Fic under the cut:

With about a hundred guests, the whole backyard decked out in flowers and decorations, a band playing live music and enough food to feed twice the number of attendants, it was a surprisingly grandiose wedding for a couple roughly a year out of high school, even if their families happened to be upper middle-class. But if one scratched the surface a little, one could see that there had been attempts at reducing the costs, and perhaps not everything was as fancy as it looked at first glance. The tablecloths were old sheets, the glasses and plates didn’t match from one table to the next, and the flowers – except for the bride’s bouquet and the groom’s boutonniere – were mostly wildflowers and picked locally. Besides this, Steve recognized the wait staff as mostly teens from the neighborhood, and the guitarist in the band was Tommy’s older cousin from Canada. Steve also happened to know that all the food had been prepared in advance by relatives and friends of the bride and groom over the course of the last week or so – he’d actually been a part of it himself, spending an evening a couple of days ago scrubbing thirty pounds of potatoes for the potato salad.

From what Steve could see, the only thing they hadn’t had a hand in preparing themselves was the wedding cake, which hadn’t been rolled out yet but which he had gotten a glimpse of in the kitchen – it was a square two-tier cake the size of a small table that looked like it was more than big enough to feed everyone in attendance. Steve was currently on his second helping of potato salad – seeing as he had helped make it happen, also it was really good – but he made a mental note to leave space for dessert.

The reception was held outdoors, in a huge backyard where Steve had spent countless afternoons when he was younger. In the middle of the lawn and in the center of attention, the newlyweds held court. Tommy looked more proper than Steve had ever seen him in a grey three-piece suit and a powder blue bowtie, and Carol looked like a dessert herself in a dress that had to have had more fabric than all the tablecloths put together. Both of them were radiating happiness, and despite everything, Steve couldn’t help but be happy for them. The three of them may not have been as close as they once were, but they’d made up after graduation, and as all three of them remained in Hawkins instead of leaving town like so many others, they stayed in contact and eventually started tentatively hanging out again. Steve had even helped Tommy pick out the morning gift for Carol – a small gold circlet, a simple band that would go around her wrist. Steve knew Carol, and suspected that she would cry when she got it.

Just like Carol’s dad and Tommy’s mom had cried in the church, during the ceremony. In all fairness, it had been a beautiful ceremony, and even Steve had gotten a bit emotional and had to blink away tears.

Seeing as they were in Hawkins, and considering the fact that both Tommy and Carol had lived in Hawkins their whole lives – just like Steve – Steve knew or recognized just about everyone at the reception. It was kind of nice, actually – like a reunion only a year after graduating. And he found himself thinking that it was a wonder what a year out in the real world could do. People who Steve hadn’t been able to stand at the end of the school year suddenly seemed more grown-up – talking about college or their work, rather than partying – and he had a surprisingly pleasant and only slightly stilted conversation with Debbie, who he’d avoided for a whole school year after a disastrous second date which ended with him throwing up on her shoes.

The less said about that, the better – a sentiment Debbie seemed to share.

All in all, it was a beautiful wedding and Steve was having a good time. He’d brought Robin as his plus one – knowing full well that it wouldn’t exactly stop the rumors that they were dating – but he hadn’t seen her since Heather Holloway whisked her away an hour ago. He didn’t mind, though, as it gave him a chance to catch up with old friends and acquaintances.

There was one more thing that the newlyweds hadn’t skimped out on, and that was the booze. Considering how they both used to party, it wasn’t exactly a surprise that there was a wide assortment of alcoholic beverages to choose from – and even though Steve had stuck to the (cheap) champagne, he was feeling the effects of it, which in retrospect might be why he found everyone he talked to to be more pleasant company than he remembered. Other partygoers did not stick to champagne, though, and people were already getting louder and a tad more disorderly. Steve suspected that at least one fight would break out before the night was over – which was honestly a staple of a good wedding in Hawkins, Indiana. He doubted that the police would be called, though, as Tommy’s uncle worked for the Hawkins Police Department, and he was already one of the loudest people in the crowd.

Eventually, the cake was brought out to the delight of the assembled, and the crowd cleared an empty space on the grass. The band started playing a slower song, and Tommy reached out a hand for Carol, who took it and let herself be led to the improvised dance floor. She had kicked off her shoes so she was barefoot in the grass as they danced their first waltz together as a married couple. The two of them were beaming and only seemed to have eyes for each other. Once more, Steve had to swallow against a lump in his throat and blink away tears as he watched his old friends be so happy together. He hadn’t even known that Tommy knew how to waltz.

A while into the song, Tommy’s parents, followed by Carol’s parents, started dancing too, which signaled that the dancefloor was now free for all. As couples started swaying on the grass – perhaps swaying a little more than planned, due do the uneven surface and the amount of alcohol already consumed – Steve extricated himself from the crowd and walked off to the side of the big yard. From here, right at the tree line, he could see everything clearly. The house, the people; all familiar in a way that made his heart feel warm, like it had been wrapped up in cotton.

The song ended, and everyone applauded. The band started up a new song – a faster one – to the whoops and claps of the crowd, and the dance had just started anew when the sky was lit up by a flash of lightning. The backyard was bathed in a shockingly white light for a fraction of a second, followed by a loud boom which seemed to shake the earth and rattle the windows of the house. People screamed and ducked before realizing that it was only thunder, at which point nervous laughter spread through the crowd instead.

Then the rain started. Up until this point, Steve had barely noticed the way the sky had darkened – had assumed, in the back of his head, that it was because it was getting later – but now he looked up and saw that the reason why it was darker was that the sky was heavy with thick grey clouds. Another flash of lightning struck somewhere close by, and the rain intensified from one second to the next.

Chaos ensued. People dispersed from the yard like cockroaches; men and women both snagged whatever they could off the tables and ran for the house. Carol’s aunts grabbed whoever they could reach and directed them to carry the cake inside to save it while the band scrambled to protect their gear against the rain. Meanwhile, the air was full of the rumbling of thunder and the sound of people shrieking and laughing as they fled the open space of the backyard. And in the middle of it all, alone on the suddenly abandoned lawn, were Tommy and Carol – laughing and kissing in the downpour, still dancing to music no one else could hear and getting their fancy clothing all wet.

Steve couldn’t help but smile at the sight of them.

But then it suddenly registered how the rain wet his suit and seeped into the fabric and ruined his carefully arranged hair, and he made a run for it, too. People were still cramming into the house, though, so instead he headed for the old gazebo at the edge of the woods, where he and Tommy had played for hours and hours when they were kids. It was run down nowadays and could use a paint job, but the roof was intact and it would be enough to protect him against the rain.

Just when he ducked in under it, though, someone else came running from the other direction to take refuge under the same roof, and in the flash of another lightning, Steve found himself facing Billy Hargrove, who he up until now had only seen snippets of in the crowd. They both stopped at opposite edges of the gazebo, water dripping from their clothes and hair – although Billy seemed to have gotten off lighter, since he’d come from the cover of the trees.

“Harrington,” Billy said as the thunder rumbled, one side of his mouth tipping up in a leering smile as he shook his head to get the wet tendrils out of his face. “Long time no see.”

It had been a long time, was the thing. Steve hadn’t really seen him since graduation day when Billy had sped out of the parking lot immediately after the ceremony. According to Tommy, he hadn’t gone back to California though, like everyone had expected – no, he’d ended up in Indianapolis, of all places. Steve had been surprised to hear it, since he hadn’t gotten the impression that Billy liked Indiana. But perhaps his dislike had only applied to Hawkins.

“Hargrove,” Steve said cautiously with an acknowledging nod, and watched as Billy’s smile widened. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Nah,” the man said. “I live in Indy now.”

Steve nodded, but didn’t speak as he shook his sleeves to get rid of the excess water droplets, and they fell into silence. It wasn’t really an awkward kind of silence, despite their history, because the rain beating down on the roof was too loud for casual conversation anyway. Steve twirled the glass he was still holding between his fingers, and downed it. He put the empty glass down on the railing and looked out across the yard, considering if it was worth it to cross the yard in this weather.

Everything looked grey in the rain, and the house was barely visible due to the downpour. Tommy and Carol had disappeared, and all that was left on the lawn were the abandoned tables and scattered and overturned plastic chairs.

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve saw Billy come up next to him, but keeping a respectful distance.

“Nice party,” Billy commented, his voice more audible now when he was closer.

Steve couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not, but before the rain had hit it had been a nice party, so, “Yes,” he said simply, “it is.”

Billy huffed out a breath. “It suits them. A wedding party as stormy as their relationship.”

It rankled, for some reason, to hear Billy talk about Tommy and Carol like that, even though Steve knew that what he’d said was true. Billy hadn’t known them for more than a couple of years – what did he know? “You think you know them so well?” he couldn’t help saying.

Billy peered at him and then turned to face him. “You think you do?”

Which, as much as he hated to admit it, was fair. Steve had been the one to pull away from Tommy and Carol back in school, while Billy had spent most of senior year at their side. And Steve knew that they were still in contact with Billy, that they’d been visiting him in Indy a couple of times, even. He just didn’t like to be called out on it. But he wasn’t about to argue. The last time he’d argued with Billy, he’d ended up on the floor of the Byers’ house with a concussion. So, “Maybe not,” he said between clenched teeth and a stiff smile. He turned to Billy to say a polite goodbye, planning on making a run for the house after all – that cake had looked good, and he wanted a piece – but the words died on his tongue as it registered that Billy was shirtless under his suit jacket. Not just wearing a shirt that was half-unbuttoned, like he’d expected – no, there was simply no shirt at all.

He stared for a moment too long, because Billy let out a laugh and said, “My eyes are up here, Harrington.”

Face burning, Steve’s eyes snapped up to Billy’s, expecting to see a mean smirk or calculating eyes. Instead, he was met with a smile and eyes glittering with mischief. It made him want to relax and tense up at the same time, not knowing what to expect. “Where’s your shirt?” he blurted out, in a too-obvious attempt at distraction. He had to have been wearing a shirt earlier – Steve doubted that the priest would have let him inside the church if he hadn’t been wearing one.

“Someone spilled wine on it,” Billy replied, still smiling.

“And, what?” Steve said. “Carol just let you walk around with no shirt on at her wedding?”

Billy took a step closer so Steve could hear the purr in his voice as he said in a low voice, “Carol was the one who spilled the wine. Accidentally, of course.” He raised one eyebrow. “She was also the one that pointed out I couldn’t very well walk around with a shirt with a wine stain on it. She basically begged me to take it off. And who am I to argue with the bride on her wedding day?”

Of course. Steve wasn’t even surprised, Carol had always had a wandering eye – and even Steve had to admit that Billy was nice to look at. “And Tommy was okay with that?”

“Tommy had no complaints,” Billy said, voice low and rumbling like the thunder overhead.  “I caught him staring, too. Kinda like you, just now.”

The reminder brought a flush to Steve’s face, and he took a step back. Desperate to change the subject, he grasped for something, anything to ask.

“What were you doing in the woods?” was what he came up with.

Billy leaned back so he was half-sitting, half-leaning on the wooden railing, comfortable as you will while giving Steve his space. “Had to take a piss.”

“In the woods?” Steve asked, struggling to regain his composure after Billy had knocked him off-balance by getting so close and being so … shirtless and sultry. “Classy as always, Hargrove.”

“Have you seen the queue to the bathroom?” Billy cackled. “It was the woods, or piss my pants. And then I’d been without a shirt and pants, and then the horny little newlyweds would probably have ravaged me right there on the lawn.”

Pointedly not thinking about Billy out of his pants, Steve snorted. “You wish.”

Billy made a so-so motion and shrugged. “I mean, none of them would be my first pick, but it’d be rude to ruin their big day by refusing …”

Steve clenched his teeth. He knew he was being baited, knew he shouldn’t ask. He really shouldn’t ask.

“Who’d be your first pick, then?”

Fuck.

Billy’s eyes were sparkling with delight at Steve playing along with whatever game this was, and he flicked his eyes down Steve’s body, making sure to take his time as he dragged it up again. When he met Steve’s eyes, looking at him under his lashes, he bit his bottom lip and said, “Wouldn’t you like to know, pretty boy?”

Steve had to work to get enough spit in his mouth to swallow. Billy just stayed there, leaning back, watching. Waiting. His suit jacket was open, showing off his chest, still damp from the rain – or was it sweat? His eyes were hooded and his hair fell in messy curls over his shoulders, longer than they’d been when Steve last saw him. Steve wanted to grab a handful and pull, which was an insane urge that would probably get him killed if he gave in to it. Billy oozed danger; like a tiger in tall grass, waiting for its prey to get close enough to go for the kill. But it was a decidedly different kind of danger than he’d exuded back in high school. Back then, the end result would have been a beating. Now?

Steve was startled to realize that he kind of wanted to find out.

But playing along just to see where this would lead would be stupid, and dangerous, and Steve had had enough of being stupid and running into danger to last him for a lifetime. He much preferred to face the threat head on. Which was why he straightened up and stood with both feet steady on the ground as he asked, “Okay, what is this?”

It seemed to throw Billy off, but only for a moment. His smile faltered, but was quick to reappear. “What is what?”

“This,” Steve said, motioning between the two of them. “What are you trying to … What are you saying, exactly? What is this? Are you flirting with me?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Doubt made him impatient, and he was a second away from stomping his foot like toddler. Swallowing against sudden bile, he huffed, “Cut the crap, Hargrove. We both know you hated me in school, so what the fuck are you –“

“What? I never hated you,” Billy interrupted, looking honestly surprised.

Which just added to Steve’s ire. “What do you mean? Of course you did! You were a right asshole, you were on my case all the time, wouldn’t leave me alone at practice or in the hallways. You beat me up!”

That elicited a reaction. Billy pushed off the railing and mirrored Steve’s posture, feet planted and arms at his side. Not threatening yet, but ready for a brawl. “Okay, first of all, you lied to me about my sister’s whereabouts after she’d gone missing, when I finally found her in that weird house in the woods with you and a bunch of boys. That was super sketchy, and I won’t apologize for what I did, back then. You deserved that.” Steve took a breath – to say what, he didn’t know – but Billy continued before he could speak. “As for the rest of it …” He shrugged and turned his head so he was looking out over the lawn. Another flash lit up the world, and for that bright white second, he looked uncertain. When the rumble of thunder followed, it almost drowned out his voice. “I liked you.”

Sure he’d misheard, Steve blinked and shook his head slightly as if to clear it. “I’m sorry, what?”

Billy took a deep breath, and pulled on the mask of confidence like someone else would pull on a jacket; he straightened his shoulders and turned back to Steve with a cocky smile that was too wide to be real. “I used to crush real hard on you, man. Guess I didn’t handle it very well.”

He was pulling Steve’s leg – it had to be a joke.

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not, actually.”

“But you slept with like, half the girls at school!”

“So?”

Frustrating! Billy was so frustrating. Was he seriously standing here, telling him he used to have a crush on Steve, and that that was why he was such an asshole in school?

“I don’t believe you,” Steve all but spat.

Shrugging, again with just a little too much flair to be real, Billy took a breath and turned away, as if to leave. “Believe what you want, then. I’m out of here. Have a nice life.”

Steve’s hand shot out before he could think it through, grabbing Billy by the arm to stop him from leaving. Billy didn’t speak, just turned his head slowly to look down at Steve’s fingers around his bicep. Then, just as slowly, he looked up at Steve. There was something wary in the way he looked, but there was steel in his eyes and voice when he spoke; “Didn’t know you were so homophobic, Harrington.” Steve reeled at what he saw in Billy’s eyes; words that were supposed to be a joke, which hid a threat, which hid … vulnerability?

He pulled his hand off the other man’s arm as if he’d been burned. “I’m not. Homophobic, I mean.” Billy watched him cautiously, and Steve babbled on. “One of my best friend is a homo. I mean, she –“ Shut up, Steve! “I mean, I don’t have anything against –“

“Fags?”

The word cut through the air between them just as another flash of lighting lit up the sky. They stood in silence while waiting for the accompanying thunder to pass – it took longer this time, so maybe the storm was waning – and when the only sound was the noise of the rain around them, Steve opened his mouth to speak, but found that he couldn’t. The silence grew to discomfort, and something in Billy’s posture crumbled. He smiled, sardonically, and looked down at his own two feet. “Great talk, Harrington. See you around.”

Steve didn’t reach out this time, but he called out “Wait!”, and Billy froze. “I don’t have anything against … fags,” Steve said, rushing to get the words out and not caring if the words were right or wrong. “I really don’t. I have friends who are like that, and, and. It would be pretty hypocritical of me, actually, considering my first kiss was Tommy!” His eyes widened and he sucked in a breath – he hadn’t meant to admit to that – but it worked, as in that it drew a surprised laugh out of Billy.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.” In for a penny, and all that. Steve braved a smile and gave a one-shouldered shrug that probably failed at making him look indifferent. “We were like, nine or ten, and he was crushing hard on Carol even then, and we got it in our heads that no girl would want to kiss someone who didn’t know what he was doing. So … we practiced. With each other.”

Billy still looked guarded, but there was a small smile playing on his lips even as he said, “Kid’s stuff, Harrington. It doesn’t count.”

“Well,” Steve said and swallowed in preparation for taking the plunge. “We continued practicing until our second year in high school, so …”

That got a reaction. “No shit? You and Hagan?”

“Why are you surprised? You just said that Tommy ogled your bare chest when Carol got you shirtless. You have to have suspected.”

“Tommy being at least half gay doesn’t surprise me, I’m pretty sure he and Carol are plotting to try to get me into bed with them on their wedding night as we speak … But you! King Steve.” He looked honestly flabbergasted, but there was delight tinting the surprise. “You’re shitting me.”

It was a thrill to be able to throw Billy’s words from earlier back in his face. “I’m not, actually.”

“Huh,” Billy said. He didn’t look like he was planning on leaving any time soon. “How about that. The biggest womanizer in the history of Hawkins’ High … playing for the other team?”

“Now, now,” Steve said, holding a hand out. “I wouldn’t say that. I like girls. I just …” He thought about everything he and Robin had been talking about, and finally decided on, “I’m just an equal-opportunity guy, I guess.”

“Really?” Billy said, and looked almost impressed.

Steve felt warm under his gaze. “Yup.”

“So …” Billy said, and that mischievous glint was back in his eye. “Did you ever …” He made some lewd gesture, complete with raised eyebrows, “… with both of them? Tommy and Carol?”

Steve was pretty sure that the way he blushed at that question was answer enough. By the way Billy threw his head back and cackled, it was.

“Shut up! It was one time!”

“Oh this is too good! Wow! You are such a slut.”

“You’re the one to talk!” Steve said, but he couldn’t help smiling because this felt … this felt more like friendly ribbing than anything else.

Billy ignored him. “Oh my god. You should have brought that up in a speech during the dinner.”

Steve actually hadn’t done a speech. Instead he’d bought the happy couple a set of expensive kitchen appliances, and called it a day.

“Yeah, well. It’s not exactly something that one should speak of out loud in Hawkins.”

That had a sobering effect on Billy. His smile dimmed. “Don’t I know it.”

Their whole conversation had been a roller-coaster and Steve still didn’t feel all too stable in it, but Billy looked almost wistful – so much unlike the Billy he remembered from a year ago – that he couldn’t help but ask. “Is that why you …?” When Billy looked over, he made a face. “You know. Went out with all those girls?”

Billy exhaled and tilted his head to the side. “I mean, yeah. There’s no better place to hide than in a crowd.”

Silence descended on them again, but it wasn’t so awkward this time. And this time, Steve was the one to break it.

“So … are you also an equal-opportunity … player? Or …?”

“Oh,” Billy said, then shook his head. “No.” And for a second, Steve felt a thrill of fear run through him, suddenly convinced that Billy had been lying in order to get blackmail material on him. But then Billy continued, “No, I was never really into … girls.”

Steve raised his eyebrows, mind whirring. “Huh.”

“Yeah.”

It was weird. There must have been something about this particular place, and this particular moment. The two of them were standing in a run-down gazebo, rain beating down on everything around them and separating them from the outside world. It was like they were in their own little bubble, outside time and space. It felt as if everything revealed here was … safe. In that way, it didn’t feel real.

“Why are you telling me this?” Steve asked, softly. Because he suddenly had a lot of things that he would have to think about, but that question was on the forefront of his mind.

“Because …” Billy started, and hesitated. Like he wasn’t sure himself. “Because I don’t live in Hawkins anymore,” he decided. “No one here can hurt me.” His eyes flicked to Steve at that, as if to make sure that Steve didn’t mean any harm. When Steve didn’t move, he relaxed a fraction. “And because … I saw you today, and.” He cut himself off, looking down at his shoes. Scuffing one against the wood underneath his feet. “And I think I might have lied to you, just now.”

Furrowing his brow, Steve tensed up. “What?”

“I said I had a crush on you,” Billy said, and Steve had time to feel crushing disappointment in the split-part of a second before Billy added, “But I think that I still do, actually.”

And before he knew it or could react, Billy was in his space and his hands were in Steve’s hair on either side of his face, and that was Billy’s lips on his and –

– and time stood still. Like if lightning had stuck him where he stood, the world lit up with white light and electricity. Gone was the sound of the falling rain and the rumble of thunder, gone was the house and the woods and the lawn, gone were the whole world outside of this gazebo, outside of this moment. His heartbeat made its way through his body drumming like an army marching to war. Steve didn’t breathe, didn’t blink – just existed in this moment where there was only Billy, and Billy’s lips on his.

And then the world turned white for real and shook with a boom, and they jumped apart. Billy swore and ducked over the railing to check the sky.

“Shit,” he said. “That was a close one.”

Steve’s whole body was tingling, the hairs on his arms standing up. The air smelled crisp, and he wasn’t sure if it was because of the lightning, or because of the kiss. Maybe both.

“We should …” he said, a bit shakily. “We should get inside. It’s not safe out here.”

Billy glanced at him, with a hint of apprehension that might as well have been a blaring neon sign pointing at his head. He was obviously nervous about Steve’s reaction to the kiss.

“You worrying about me, pretty boy?” he said, but his voice shook a little, as if he was struggling to hold on to the confident façade. And Steve marveled, because had he always been this transparent? He couldn’t believe he’d been fooled by Billy’s cocky attitude back in school.

“Well,” Steve said, and pointedly looked down at Billy’s bare chest. “It wouldn’t do to deprive Tommy and Carol of their eye candy on their wedding day, now would it?”

Relief, in the form of a smile. “Eye candy, huh?”

“Well,” Steve said, and gestured kind of helplessly to Billy. All of him.

The smile grew. “I’m staying at Motel 6 when I’m in town,” Billy said, apropos of nothing.

They both drifted forward, and were suddenly in each other’s space. The thunder rolled over the sky, but without a flash this time. The rain wasn’t coming down as hard anymore. The storm was abating.

“Uh-huh.”

“So I was thinking …” Steve watched, mesmerized, as Billy bit his lip; watched with bated breath as his Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed. “If you want to, you could stop by tonight … after the party …?”

“Yeah?”

“And we could …” He exhaled on a laugh. “Practice kissing some more.”

Steve leaned back, if only to attempt an insulted gasp. “You think I need the practice?”

Billy honest-to-God giggled. Fuck, Steve was screwed.

“I don’t know, Harrington. You don’t exactly seem to be a hit with the ladies these days.”

“Hey!” Accurate, but still. “I get around.”

“Uh-huh,” Billy said with a smirk. “You do know your date is a lesbian, right?”

That actually had Steve take a step back, mouth open. He didn’t think he’d let that particular cat out of the bag, Robin was going to kill him –

“Relax, I saw her smooching with Heather in the pantry after dinner,” Billy said, which – huh. Way to go, Robs. “And also, I clocked her on my first week in Hawkins. No straight girl draws boobs on her shoes.” He gave Steve a significant look. “Like knows like, I guess.”

Steve didn’t have time to answer, before another lightning lit up the sky – further away this time, though, and the rumbling of thunder took some time to reach their ears. When he turned to look at the house, he could clearly see the lit-up windows and the people milling about inside. When concentrating, he could hear music coming from inside, and he realized that he could only do that because the rain had slowed to a drizzle.

Their bubble was gone.

“We should probably …” He gestured towards the house.

“Yeah.”

Not knowing what to say, he only managed an awkward, “So …”

Billy rescued him with an all-too-aloof, “So, I’ll see you later?”

Steve could feel himself grinning. “Yeah. Room 10, right?”

Billy matched his grin. “Room 10.”

“It’s a date,” Steve said, heart fluttering, and grabbed his empty champagne glass. “Now let’s get out of this rain. I want some cake!”

[steviespanties]

Woke up in the middle of the night just to frantically note down the thought of swim club co-captain Steve getting his pubes shaved by Billy as some form of hazing or bullying, but it ends up so much more humiliating for Steve🤭 Having a big guy between his legs with a razor close to his dick, telling him to hold still and then just pinning him down when Steve can't stop squirming.

[female-woman-wiffman-lass]

Though in think tank:

It's just the two of us (three actually, its a tricycle now)

harringroveson, metalsandwhich

just the two of them wanting the same guy and finding each other

while said guy is trying to be filling. they're having the feels and steve is horny. he's fine though. I'll decide if I can keep this going. they will fuck nasty. in like, the next parts.

Billy Hargrove and Eddie Munson are hooking up. They've got a good thing going on.

They're into each other, they have stuff in common, be it music, the fashion, their preferences. They're fast and quick. Furious and sharp, all teeth when they're together. Get a thrill and kind of comfort with how consistent and similar they could be. They bounce off and work each other to heights. It feels like it's only the two of them, like steel sharpening steel. In this small hick town.

Billy's always felt a lot, even more now he's stuck here. Always ran hot now he's stuck in a chilly, dreary town, used to feel like he could breathe slow and easy out there but not when he's stuck here. And with Eddie. Well, Eddie always wanted more, knows he's made for more. He's flagging half-heartedly in a small town, and now Billy has to tuck himself in. They both always feel bigger on the inside. No one is like them. Not in the way they know.

No one else feels jagged or rough. Neither Eddie nor Billy know anyone who can stop the itch, the aches in their jaw, the tightness.

Enter Steve Harrington. Just, not really.

Now, Steve seemed exactly nothing like either of them. Yes, he's masculine. A man. But he's not.. like them. Not dark or sharp, probably not what either of them would experience, probably doesn't feel like a whirlwind in his body, doesn't scratch. But it doesn't stop either of them from ogling. Shooting the shit with each other, letting out comments and thoughts on guys the've seen. And even if Harrington was open, or experimenting, or anything that would lead preppy jocks astray, he probably wouldn't be any good. Wouldn't be fun, no matter how pretty. No matter how soft.

Billy and Eddie's standards on the anyone in Hawkins, any man they might think of in the sense they'd think of each other. None for now, just them. Clocked each other so fast and collided with each other like a car crash. But both can agree, yeah. Steve's hot.

Billy's been knowing about it, having been hanging out with Steve. Knowing who he is, mostly on the court. Gets a kind of satisfaction being able to push this boy around.

And Eddie, who's there with his comments as they talk, will also have assumptions. He's known the guy longer. (If he ever really knew him. What more do you need when everyone else knows some.)

"Bill, he's just the usual, man." He takes a drag out of his cigarette, leaning on the side of his van. "Harrington. He's just a dude. I mean we're in Hawkins. Pretty boys like him got to be repressed. One way or another."

He scoffs, turning his head to him, eyebrows raised and hands waving vaguely in front of him, "have you seen him with Tommy? Before you came around those two were—" he puts up a tight fist and shakes it, like it would mean something. "Y'know? Tommy boy's been trailing after him since eighth grade."

Billy let's out a sharp laugh, stealing Eddie's cigarette, "calling me a homewrecker, Munson?"

"Is it homewrecking when you 'wreck' both parties? You ensnare Tommy away from the King and then you come round to have a chat with Harrington in the showers?" He let's Billy have the cigarette, crossing his arms as he leans in closer, "which, what was that about?"

(Eddie's been in this town, longer than the fresh meat Billy was supposed to be. Has seen the King parading around, stuck in his own little world. Head up in the clouds and not bothering to look down and check if his feet were even touching the ground. Til '83 that is.

It was weird. After Nancy Wheeler, sometime in November with all of them being gone for a while after two people go missing —one was Byers' little brother he remembers, he wasn't sure who the other one was, a girl?—only to come back with Wheeler on Jonathan Byers side of all places. Sweet and looking at each other like they've found someone who understands. Found someone who knows life outside. As if they knew there'd be more out there.

And Steve. Steve looked settled. Looked normal and still moving even when he looked at either of them, the couple. Like he knows he's small in this stupid town but doesn't feel tight in his own skin. That even though he hasn't found anyone like that, and even lost something he's still fine. That he's seen more and knows better even when he stood still. He's found out about the same things Byers and Wheeler had. Went through the motions. Was just waiting for a pin drop to be able to live. It fascinated, Eddie. He envied it. He scoffs in his mind, what would Steve Harrington know?

Will he ever get to know? The boy and the why?)

Billy rolls his eyes, taking one last drag from his cigarette before putting it out, dropping it on the concrete for hi to stomp, "fucking nothing, Edward."

Not nothing. He heard Eddie and his 'normal dude' rant. But he can't fool Billy. He knows the guy saw the same thing in Harrington he did. He was different and radiant in this stupid town while also fitting in perfectly. He was fucking lame and didn't know a single thing. But. He also knew some things. Makes it seem like the things he knows were life altering

Harrington was an enigma. A person with thoughts and feelings and in some kind of state. He was your average fucking prep. Image obsessed, vain, and so impossibly normal. And a flea who only knows the jar can't jump over the cap. But Steve. It's like he doesn't care. He doesn't know why he only knows this side of The King's rebrand. How he only knows one side to the story. How he knows Tommy and his weird obsession with Steve and how he left, and turned fucking bitch. Acted like he was now bottom of the barrel. But the King (although Billy has a feeling he isn't one anymore) is fine. Acted like dropping his nuclear friend group and demographic was nothing. Which in the grand scheme of things, maybe it wasn't. But it's supposed to be something, to boys like Steve Harrington. He doesn't know why he cares.

"Ouuh, fucking nothing, Edward, blah blah. Also, don't call me that." He huffs. "You're not the only one thirsting, William. Everyone wants, envies, covets at a piece of Steve Harrington. But again, he's just a dude. Hell, I had the hots for him too. Besides," he knocks shoulders with Hargrove, finger going up to flick at his piercing then to loop around a blonde curl.

"Ya got me right now."

Billy looks at him with considering gaze, before smirking. He straightens up off the van, "you wish, freak." He goes round to the back of the van, opening it up, before crawling in.

Eddie grins, scampering off after him. He pushes the both of them obssesed with Steve Harrington bit away from his mind. He's hanging with Billy.

Steve frowns a bit as he sees both men hop into the back of Munson's van. He was just passing by the parking lot. He sighs, scratching his head. He needs to go to another fucking bar. His nightmares are acting up again. Who knew the eerie light of the pool and his own house lights would make him twitch? What a life. He's okay though, pretty sure.

He smiles as he hops in the car. A night in Indy will fix him up. Surely. It always does. (And although Nancy –and Jonathan suprisingly– were worried, he assures them both as sweetly as he could that it was definitely not alcoholism. It's either more or less better than they expected. But he's glad his new friends slash two wheels he third wheels slash co-monster fighters were worried.)

As he drives off, he takes a glance at the rear view mirror, before shaking his head. Why would they hook up out in the open, in that back of the guy's van in a parking lot? Sure they could be hotboxing or some shit and smoking the weed in that dweeb Munson's lunchbox but Steve doubts that. With how hot the both of then are and how intensely they were looking at each other they were for sure fucking. He thought at least Hargrove would know better.

"Shame, shame," he shrugs, even though no one can see him, his expression set in 'it is what it is.' He wonders what he should wear and what he should order. He licks his lips and hums happily. He gets to feel alive for the weekend.

[praxisia]

After hearing people (harringrove lovers) talk about Joe Keery as gator tillman in Fargo to then hearing about Joe Keery’s love interest in Marmalade, I’m honestly kinda convinced he’s lowkey obsessed with Dacre Montgomery.

I still remember all of those clips and gifs about how joe talks about dacre, and seeing the two interact in interviews. Like, I’m not the type to read too much into relationships actors have with each other, nor am I the type to ship real life people but like…

Like you see it too right?

[thissortofsorcery]

Billy’s just put his jacket back on. His boots go on next. His earring dangles in his ear with the movement, and his back and ass ache when he rises back up. Sore.

It’s dark in the entryway of Harrington’s house at three in the morning, quiet and still hours before the sun rises. Billy hadn’t meant to fall asleep. But Steve had barely rolled off of him, one leg tangled between his, nose in his hair, and Billy was so warm and comfortable- He hadn’t meant to. It was a mistake.

He shouldn’t be there when Harrington wakes up, Steve would regret it for sure.

Steve wouldn’t want anything serious with a guy. With Billy.

He’s got his keys out of his jacket pocket when he hears it,

“Where are you going?” Steve’s voice comes from the stairs, hoarse with sleep, making Billy jump.

Steve’s in the middle of the steps with only his underwear on, the line of hickeys down his chest and halfway to his stomach that Billy put there fully exposed, a grumpy confused frown on his face. Arms crossed like he’s cold.

“I’m just heading out,” Billy says softly, unwilling to break the cover of the dark. It feels like they’re inside a dome, here in the entryway, close together but far apart.

Steve comes down the steps slowly, and his feet barely make any noise on the carpet. Billy doesn’t look away from his eyes. They’re not clouded with sleep, anymore, and they’re honed in on Billy like lasers.

“It’s the middle of the night, man,” He says, like Billy hasn’t left in the dead of night countless times before. Like they’re not used to hookups in their cars.

“Yeah,” Billy steps back, because Steve just keeps coming closer. “I’ll get out of your hair, princess. Go back to bed.”

He means to say it mean, but it comes out- soft. Like a whisper.

“Billy,” Steve says, and he’s smiling. Why is he smiling.

Steve’s hand touches his chest where Billy didn’t bother to button his shirt, his pinky nudges a nipple on purpose. Billy’s breath hitches.

Billy knows his eyes are wide, his mouth is open. He looks up from Steve’s hand to his face, and Steve looks so fond, so- He’s looking from Billy’s eyes to his mouth like he wants to kiss him.

He does kiss him.

Billy drops his keys. The need to get his hands on Steve’s face is sudden, urgent, like he has to hold on to him or he’ll fade away, or change his mind. He needs to hold Steve’s face to his or he’ll lose the press of Steve’s soft lips, lose the tongue pressing in to curl against his own.

Steve’s hands are clutching at his jacket tightly, pulling Billy in at the same time his body wants to press Billy into the door. It takes Billy a minute to realize Steve is trying to yank off his jacket, pulling roughly at his shoulders. He has to let go of Steve’s face to take it off, but he does it one hand at a time, and he trades it for pressing biting kisses into Steve’s mouth at the same time. He’ll hold on with his teeth if he has to.

Distantly, he hears his keys jangle against the floor, like they’ve been kicked away.

“Stay,” Steve pulls back to pant into his mouth. His eyes look right into Billy’s. There’s a look to them, half-scared, half-shy. Steve’s hands are tight on Billy’s waist. “Stay with me.”

He presses a kiss to the corner of Billy’s mouth, licks between his lips. Billy surges up, catches his bottom lip in his teeth, bruises a kiss on his mouth so intense Steve’s head moves with his nod.

“Yeah,” He says, and rests his forehead on Steve’s. Their noses brush together. “Okay.”