#Balli without cheek

[katarena]

Can't Hold His Liquor

Follow up from this post.

“Can I help y’to some more mead, Skarlath?”

“Thank you.”

Fordpetal poured the liquid into the tankard, trying not to look at the newcomer’s piercing hazel eyes. If she did, she’d start blushing and she didn’t want to make a fool of herself in front of Lord Sunflash’s best friend. He may have been handsome, but he looked a bit scary.

“I say, steady on, Fordpetal, before you overfill it!” Fordpetal’s best friend, Lilybright, caught her arm. Quickly, Fordpetal put the jug down.

“Sorry, sir,” she mumbled.

“There is no need to call me that,” was the reply. “I am simply Skarlath.” He took a measured gulp of the mead.

Fordpetal’s curiosity got the better of her. “If y’don’t mind me asking, Skarlath, how did y’meet his Lordship? He’s spoken of y’often, and we’d like to know how you became friends!”

A surprisingly warm smile blossomed over Skarlath’s face, softening his eyes. “I was unconscious after a snowstorm and woke up close to Swartt Sixfinger’s camp. He was going to kill me at first, but then decided to let me freeze to death instead of finishing me off with his knife. Then he pushed Sunflash out of the warmth to punish him for…something, I cannot remember what it was. Sunflash’s hands were tied but the moment everyone was asleep he was crushing me against him. I thought he was going to suffocate me, but he was warming me up instead. When I could move my fingers again, I untied him, and he snapped a bough off a hornbeam tree…”

“Was this his mace, si-Skarlath?” Fordpetal asked eagerly.

“Yes it was! The very same. Then he laid into the camp, crushing Swartt’s hand, and we escaped like…”

Skarlath swept a hand over the tablecloth, sending his knife clattering into his plate. His hair was slightly dishevelled, his cheeks flushed.

“I…I say, Skarlath, old chap,” Lilybright asked, “how much of that mead have you had?”

He didn’t seem to hear her. Instead, he seemed to be trying to suppress a laugh.

Lilybright and Fordpetal looked at each other in alarm.

“Oh, lack a bally day, he’s squiffy.”

“I think he’s more’n just squiffy, Lily.” It was a well-known fact that inhabitants of Salamandastron were not only notorious eaters with excellent metabolism, but they could also hold their liquor admirably well without suffering hangovers.

Unfortunately, this meant they sometimes forgot that not everyone could tolerate alcohol as well as they could.

Fordpetal thought quickly. “I’ll find his Lordship. He’s got a bally good head on his shoulders, he’ll know what t’do!”

She quickly made her way towards Lord Sunflash’s chair and discreetly cleared her throat. It wasn’t long before he looked up.

“Everything all right, Fordpetal?”

Nervously looking around, Fordpetal murmured, “Well, that’s the thing, Sire. There might be a bit of a situation, if y’take my meaning.”

“Situation? What kind of…”

A wild laugh interrupted Sunflash, and he turned his head to see Skarlath leaning back in his chair, shoulders shaking. He couldn’t seem to stop giggling. Sunflash hadn’t seen him this relaxed in the company of people he didn’t know; it had taken him a while to be properly at ease when staying with the Lingl and Dubbo families.

Then Sunflash realised what had happened. He pushed his chair back. “Thank you, Fordpetal. Excuse me, Sabretache; I will return soon.”

*****

Most of the inhabitants of Salamandastron were happily eating and drinking, so it was easy getting Skarlath to leave the table, and to manoeuvre him away from the hall while keeping his dignity intact. Sunflash had one of Skarlath’s arms around his shoulders, while he himself kept a secure hold around his friend’s waist, preventing him from swaying too much.

After a few minutes, they reached the bottom of a winding flight of stone stairs.

“Sorry about this, Skarlath.”

Sunflash hoisted the slighter man over his shoulder; Skarlath yelped with surprise but didn’t struggle. Sunflash made his way up and up until they reached the quarters that had been set aside for when Skarlath came to visit.

“I don’t envy you the headache you’re going to have in the morning, Skarlath.” Sunflash gently placed his friend onto the bed and set about removing his shoes. Perhaps he would ask Dewfleck to make a poultice or a compress for Skarlath, if she had time.

“Rest, friend.” Skarlath’s eyes were closed, his voice barely audible. He seemed to be halfway in a dream. “Then we go far away.”

He hadn’t weighed much that cold winter’s night, either.

Sunflash sighed fondly, shaking his head. “My wandering days are over. Salamandastron is my home now – and it’s yours too, if you’ll have it.”

[imaslutforremusandsirius]

Ik you've done something like this but can u pls do a smut were me, remus and Sirius are in a relationship and I'm remus's good girl and he's a soft dom with me but he's all strict w Sirius

Good girl and bad puppy

Or

Sirius getting wrecked and you treated like a princess

Enjoy darling <3

Warning: 18+

---

“You do know he loves me more right?” Sirius asked slowly, as if he was talking to a daft toddler.

“Shut up Sirius” you hissed, “I know you‘re doing it on purpose.”

You hid your head behind your book again, desperately trying to block out his annoying face.

“He loves me moreeee” Sirius sang, his voice breaking midway and you snorted.

“Yeah right, especially with that voice.”

Sirius grinned, his tipical eye-crinkling, teeth showing grin. It let you know that he did not mean anything he had said earlier. Both of the boys loved you just as much as you loved them.

“It wouldn’t hurt for you do behave every once in a while though.”

Sirius’ face fell, as if you just said the most ridiculous thing in all those years you’d know each other.

“And why would I do that?” He looked genuinely spooked.

“Because he would be nice to you as well?” you said slowly, this time him being the daft toddler.

His face was horrified as he yelled out with utter disgust in his voice. “That is absolutely outrageous! Why would I want Moony to be nice? Ew! You take your vanilla shit and leave me out of this mess-”

“Alright I get it! Jesus Christ, you need anger management!” You cut him off, angrily turning back to your book.

“Vanilla shit, huh?”

Sirius closed his eyes, silently cursing under his breath. Putting on an exaggerated smile he turned in his chair, hugging Remus around the waist. 

“Moony!” he said, overly cheery, “Oh I’ve missed you! Sit, sit.” Sirius ushered him to sit and gave you a pleading look. Caving, you put your book down.

“Hi Rem” you smiled and he leaned over to kiss you after he kissed Sirius.

“Hi sweetheart, what were you talking about?”

You shrugged, cheeks tinting pink. Fuck, you are a terrible liar.

“Oh um nothing. You know, the usual...” Your voice trailed off and Sirius nodded ethusiastically. 

“Exactly!”

Remus smirked and turned to Sirius, raising a brow. “So you were discussing how vanilla I am?”

Busted.

You immediately responded. “I didn’t say that, Sirius did!”

Sirius gaped at you, mouth opening and closing a few times before he spluttered, “You - You utter bit-”

“Padfoot.” Remus warned, expression turning strict instantly. Remus hated insults out of the bedroom.

Sirius turned to him, a pleading look in his eyes. “Moony, I swear I didn’t mean it like that!”

Remus tilted his head to his right. “How did you mean it Sirius?“

Now it was Sirius‘ turn to blush. „I just said that I like you being“ he cleared his throat and rushed the last part “um- roughwithme.“

Remus smirked at Sirius and nodded to himself.

„Bad puppy.“

Sirius melted.

---

„Moony?“ Sirius stuttered as Remus looked him up and down, a thoughtful look on his face.

„Can‘t decide if I want you to fuck her or if I want to fuck you...“ Remus said with a coy smile.

You bit your lip when you felt your cunt clench at his words, already wet from the way Remus was staring at the both of you. Like he just wanted to wreck you.

„I certainly wouldn‘t mind fucking her“ Sirius smirked, but Remus just hung his head and chuckled.

„I don‘t care if you mind Sirius.“

Whenever Remus said your boyfriends actual name you knew that the scene was starting. It was a warning, if you will.

You pinched his hand to make him shut up and for once he listened.

„What do you say pup?“ Remus looked at you, a gentle smile on his face when you shyly played with your fingers. „Tell Remmy what you want.“

„I want-“ you licked your lips exitedly ��I want you to watch us fuck, Remmy.“

Remus‘ smile widened and he nodded his head. „If that‘s what my baby wants...“ He opened his arms and gave you the signal to start, leaning back on the chair to watch you. His two precious subs, both the most gorgeous beings in all of Hogwarts.

Sirius took the reigns and pulled you on his lap, lips eagerly smashing on yours and he kissed you sloppily. Your hands wandered under his shirt and you traced his soft skin with your fingertips, savoring his soft moans and shivers. He flipped you over, craling between your thighs and continued to kiss you soundly, hips grinding on yours. He slowed down, his clothed cock grinding over your bare cunt, slow and teasing.

“Stop showing off and fuck our girl.” Remus said between grittet teeth and Sirius smirked at the dom. Turning back to you he put your hands on the waistband of his boxers.

“Undress me” he drawled.

You tugged his boxers down and his hard cock sprang free, already flushed and leaking. You tried to wrap your legs around him and pull him close, but he blocked your attempts and forced you into a different position.

Your were on your hands and knees with your fae towards Remus when Sirius pushed in with a hard thrust, not even giving you a second to adjust before he pounded into you. You fell forward and let out moans and shrieks when he hit that spot inside of you over and over again. God, it felt so good. The veins of his cock were rubbing at your sensitive walls, his balls slapping your ass. The sight was obscene, being watched by one boyfriend as the other one just watched with a self-satisfied grin. Watching you get fucked like a slut.

Remus made his way over after a particular loud cry from you and took your face in both of his palms, thumbs smoothing over your flushed cheekbones. Your hands instantly clasped on his wrists for some stability.

He chuckled. “Look at my darling girl, getting fucked by our puppy, hm?” Both of you groaned at that, Sirius starting to get aggressive, fingers digging into your hips with one hand on your clit. 

“Ah there!” you gasped, thrusting back against him “Right there Siri please!”

Sirius growled low in his throat. “Oh? There?” He pushed so deep your eyes rolled back, mouth falling open. 

“Make my good girl cum, puppy.” Remus barked out, leaning in to swallow your moans.

“Yes, Sir.” 

Sirius pushed you further down with one hand between your shoulder blades and kept you there, adjusting his hips and oh. Hit punded your spot over and over again, his sweat dripping on your back as he fucked and fucked. 

“Is my beautiful girl gonna cum for her Remmy? Yes?”

You were gone at this point, babbling absolute nonsene as your desperately clawed at the sheets for some stability. 

“Cum, baby.”

You screamed out when your release hit you like a brick wall, your entire world turning white. Legs trembling, fingers shaking and your cunt clenched so tight Sirius was forced to stop moving. So full, you felt full to the brim. 

“Out, puppy.” Remus commanded and Sirius pulled out, sitting back on his knees, cock steadily leaking cum. Fuck, he had been so close. 

“Princess” Remus turned to you “Prepare our boy.”

You grinned and crawled over to the bedside table, pulling out a dildo. Sirius hated lube, the masochistic fucker said he loved the burn of the stretch. Remus sat down and pulled Sirius up until his back was resting against his chest and spread his legs, holding them up for you.

Remus kissed the side og his head and nipped at his ear harshly. “Don’t you dare cum, puppy.”

You pushed the dildo against Sirius lips and he spat on it, taking it in his mouth until it was completely wet. The dildo wasn’t exactly big, only a preperation before Remus fully stretched Sirius with his own cock.

You rubbed the tip against his tight hole and watched as he began to open up. Remus put his hands around his cock and bally, squeezing hard to keep him from cumming. Sirius let out a loud groand whe the tip slipped it, back arching with the delicious pain of the stretch. 

“You fucking slut” Remus mocked “Getting fucked with a fucking dildo like a whore. Thank her for pleasuring you!”

“Thank you!” Sirius cried out when you fucked him in a steady rhythm, the dildo gliding in with difficulty, making it feel oh so better.

You kissed his legs, biting at the flesh of his ass and went faster. You fucked him until his legs trembled and he couldn’t talk, before you ripped the dildo out. He chased you with his hips and begged shamelessly.

“Please no! Please Moony, please! I’m a good boy!”

Sirius was crying, his cock fucking hurt and his prostate throbbed with irritation of being yet again robbed from another orgasm. 

“Come here baby and wet my cock. Wanna fuck my little puppy.”

You took Remus in your mouth, suckling gently and wet him with your spit. He twitched at pulled away, too sensitive from watching you both the entire time without touching himself once. 

“Sit on his face.” Remus told you gently and you quickly straddled Sirius’ pretty face, effectively shutting him up by pressing your cunt on his mouth. Remus spit on Sirius’ hole, a degrading sight but Sirius relished in it, watching Remus push inside his tight clench.

Sirius nails scratched your thighs and he gladly tasted your pussy, his groans going straight to your clit. His tongue was everywhere, in your hole on your clit, sucking and slurping liek a starved animal. You were maoning loudly, your huips grinding on his face with sharp movements, hsi nose catching on your clit and making you cum for the second time. 

“Yes! Yes, lick it all up!” You cried out and gushed all over his mouth and Sirius whined, truly like a puppy, and lapped everything up diligently. You felt another pair of hands on your waist and Remus pulled you back, your tits pressed against Sirius chest and Remus fucked you.

Sirius was crying now, his third time being denied to cum, while you were getting your third in a row. 

“I can’t Remmy!” you shrieked “Please! Too much!”

Sirius and you were holding onto each other as Remus made a mess of you. He knew exactly what he was doing to reduce you to a blubbering mess. Giving Sirius nothing and you too much.

Sirius tugged you down to press a punishing kiss on your lips, angry that Remus treated you so gently and him like a slut. His teeth sunk into you bottom lip and you came again, falling against his chest. Remus growled and pulled out, jerking Sirius off in a fast pace and fucked into him deeply. With one hard thrust he came deep inside of Sirius, and Sirius shouted, voice raw as he finally came for the first time. His cum coated your fronts and Remus fucked his release inside of his tight clench, making it leak out from the sides.

“My precious loves” Remus cooed and kissed your cheeks. “So good f’me. Love you so much, c’mere.” 

Remus laid down in the middle, pulling you both to his chest and stroked your hair softly. You were a sticky mess, dried cum and sweat, but you didn’t care.

[dex-xe]

I'm so proud of you. Cap and Alison 😊

Alison & Captain Fluff #11: “I’m so proud of you”

(This ended up being more angsty than I wanted it but its still super fluffy and sweet and  I’m really happy with how it turned out,, the obvious answer was I think for Alison to say it to Cap about coming out but I decided to flip it a little!! Thank you so much for this ask, this was a really fun one!!)

TW:// grief, death, etc

Prompt list

Inbox

It was the opening night of Button House Hotel. The entire day had been filled with Mike and Alison rushing frantically around the house arranging and rearranging the flowers, making and then remaking beds, placing the little finishing touches to their masterpiece, their life’s work. Five long years of hard graft was finally about to pay off as the arrival of the very first paying guests was imminent.

Alison dashed through the corridors in search of Mike, clutching a red ribbon in her fist. Her husband had taken a backseat for much of the opening night preparations but had made one single demand: he wanted to cut a thick red ribbon over the front door with a pair of novelty-sized scissors, to be met with mediocre applause from the crowd. So there Alison was, mere hours before the first guests arrived, sprinting through the house to try and make Mike’s dreams come true.

“Alison!” Someone called after her as she ran. “Alison!, Alison!” She spun around dramatically to find the Captain jogging down the hallway trying to catch her attention with his swagger stick. “Alison! Wait a minute!”

“What, Captain? I’m a little busy, if you can’t tell,” Alison huffed, continuing to march away from him towards the stairs. “I’ve gotta stick up this ribbon so Mike can have his ridiculous ‘small town mayor opening a leisure centre’ moment. Thank the Lord it’s before the guests arrive and only in front of family, hey?”

“I would just take a moment of your time, Alison,” the Captain quickly overtook Alison’s marching and stopped abruptly in front of her, blocking her path to the stairs.

“What is it?” Alison asked turning the ribbon over in her hands.

“Are Michael’s family making an appearance? For the grand opening?” The Captain asked.

“Yeah, they should be here soon,” Alison said. “They wanted to come for, and I quote, ‘the best day of their son’s life’. So, you know, it’s good to see how much they value our wedding day.”

“Right. And your mother and father shan’t be here?” He enquired.

“That would be a little difficult,” Alison mumbled.

“They should surely be here to witness their little girl’s achievements, yes?” The Captain cleared his throat and smiled down at Alison. “They should be able to relish in the success of their darling girl.”

“I’m not sure Eastwood Cemetery really allow their residents day trips,” Alison smirked.

If the Captain had any blood, he was sure it would drain from his face, and neck, and chest, and all the way down to his toes. Perhaps it would have drained right out of his soles and left him a mere pool of anxious WWII commander on the corridor floor. Alison clocked the horror on his face and chuckled at his agape mouth and wide eyes.

“It was a long time ago, it’s alright to joke about it now,” she said with a mischievous grin.

“You’ve never said anything?”

“You’ve never asked.” An awkward silence fell between the pair, with the Captain not quite sure of an appropriate response. “Is that all you wanted, Cap?”

“No,” he said quickly. “I- this house, I mean- I think it will make a rather wonderful hotel.”

“You’ve changed your tune since we first moved in,” Alison said, a smug smile overtaking her. Despite the time pressure, she couldn’t help but want to relish in the usually authoritative and disdainful Captain eat his words so she leant back against the wall, satisfied to rejoice in his grovelling.

“Well yes, I understand I was hesitant at first. But I know yourself and Michael now, and I respect that you are doing what is best for yourselves and this house. And us too. I just wished to say that I-,” he trailed off and glanced down at his shuffling shoes.

“You wanted to say what?” Alison asked.

“That I’m so proud of you,” he finished meeting Alison’s gaze, blue eyes boring into her soul. “I am so very proud of you.”

Alison’s lip began to quiver, her face crumpled and fat tears threatened to spill over onto flushed cheeks. She sniffled and rubbed at her eyes with her sleeve, not wanting the Captain to react irrationally at her emotion, as he was prone to doing.

“Oh dear!” The Captain floundered. “Alison, I’m afraid this hasn’t quite had the desired effect. Do not cry! I shall fetch Patrick, he’s rather better at this than I am.” He waved his arms dramatically around Alison, as if trying to comfort her without touching and making himself feel ill.

“No!” Alison tried to grab his arm, moving straight through him. “No, it’s okay! I- thank you. No one has said that to me in a little while, Captain, that’s all.”

“Well, hmm. Yes, I understand that now, what with your parents being- I mean to say that I am proud of all the work you have dedicated to a house I’ve seen neglected for so many years. I was rather apprehensive to place the house in new hands, especially such young and inexperienced ones. But you have taken us ghosts into consideration and given us appreciation we have not seen in many a decade. Your hotel will be wonderful, and you have done a bally marvellous job these past years.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Alison sniffled quietly and gazed up at the Captain.

“No need to say anything. My musings are finished now, you may return to the party planning.”

“I- Captain. I know I get on your nerves, you don’t exactly hide that well.” The Captain moved to interject, but was left opening and closing his mouth like a confused fish. “I know we argue, but I really appreciate your support. I’ve never really had- I’ve not had that for a long time.”

They smiled at each other, ethereal in the beams of dusty sunlight coursing through the window.

“I love you, Captain,” Alison whispered, afraid of what the Captain might say. “I wish I could hug you, this is so unfair. All I want is to hug you!”

The Captain chuckled and wrapped his arms around Alison’s shoulders, not touching her in the slightest but kidding them both into appreciating the physical affection.

“And I, you.” He muttered, quiet enough they could both ignore it had ever happened. Nobody need know the secretive affection the Captain held for Alison: he had never been a father in life but in death was more than willing to take that role and hold her the best way he could, if only for a fleeting moment.

[v-thinks-on]

Jeeves Gets Sick - Part 2

Previous

A small warning: This installment includes some referenced/implied past violence and the resulting scars.

The next morning, I awoke with a rummy feeling that not all was well with the world, call it a premonition, if you will. My dreams had been restless ones that had me tossing and turning in the night and I awoke none too cheerily to the morning sun streaming in through the window. I took only a minute or two to blearily blink into awareness, hoping, but not expecting Jeeves to come rippling in through the door at any moment, tea in hand, but I could have told myself it was all in vain, and I believe I very well did say to myself that Jeeves would not appear.

All was probably well with the man - as well as it had been the night before, that is. In fact, it was a good sign that he was still sleeping, resting away his illness, but I couldn’t shake the suspicion that the man had taken a turn for the worse in the night. I slipped out of bed, flung on a dressing gown, and toed it to the man’s quarters, just to be sure. I didn’t pause to knock, perhaps that was my first mistake. I pulled the door open and found myself face to face with the broad, sturdy back of my man, Jeeves.

Now you may be saying to yourself, what’s so remarkable about the sight of Jeeves’s backside, certainly he must occasionally turn away from his employer in the course of his usual duties? To answer that, a few points must be clarified; it was not merely Jeeves’s back, but his bare back, not precisely in front of me, but only a couple feet away - plainly I had caught the man mid-dressing. But it was not the bareness of his back that really caught my attention, but the scars. Every inch of his skin was covered in scratches - most long and thin, but some deeper and more contorted - as though the surface had been cut up and reassembled.

I did not stare for long. Jeeves didn’t so much as have a chance to turn around and greet me with a weary “Sir?” I stumbled back away and shut the door behind me with rather more force than was strictly necessary. I may have shouted an apology as I retreated.

I hobbled back to my room and was myself in the middle of fumbling with a tie when Jeeves rippled in, as silent and sure as ever. He put aside the tea tray and deftly took the tie from my hands to tie it into a perfect knot. I tried to stand dignified and unaffected, but my eyes acted of their own accord, flickering back to Jeeves’s torso, now glaringly aware of what lay beneath his starched suit. I could only wonder how he moved so effortlessly despite the fabric chafing against raw skin.

“My apologies, sir, for my tardy appearance. I assure you it will not happen again.”

I waved it off eagerly, relieved to be back on familiar ground. “Not at all, Jeeves. You’re sure you’re clear to be up and about? I don’t want to run any risk of relapse, what?”

“Yes, sir.”

I tried to subject the chap to my strictest scrutiny, but the man was inscrutable as ever. By all appearances, he seemed to be back to his usual self, the very image of health without a single hair out of place. His movements were silent and efficient. But now I knew there was something lurking beneath his impeccable appearance, that even though his illness had passed, all was not right with Jeeves.

“Why don’t you take it easy today, what? Just to be certain, I mean.”

“Sir, that is hardly necessary.”

I shushed him. “No, Jeeves,” I said firmly, “you should rest. Work a little if you must, but take it easy, will you?”

“Very good, sir.”

After breakfast, I went for a long rambling walk, echoing the shape of my thoughts. I wandered to and fro, eventually, inevitably winding up at the Drones for a rather earlier lunch than is my usual wont. The place was on the quiet side, most of the Drones presumably not yet out of bed, but Bingo was in on account of Mrs. Bingo Little - the celebrated novelist of romantic drivel known to her public as Rosie M. Banks - being occupied with authorly duties, as Bingo had informed us at the revels the night before.

“What ho!” I shouted upon seeing him, and he shouted back the same, and waved me over to his table.

Bingo and I, if you don’t know, are old chums, going back years and years, and as such know each other only as such pals do. He was truly a sight for sore eyes, especially under such circs. He was just the chap to lend a sympathetic ear in a fellow’s time of need.

“Tish,” I declared as I took a seat, by way of letting him know things were less than rosy in the life of Bertram W.

“Girl trouble?” Bingo asked with a knowing smile.

I shook my head. “Jeeves.”

“Dictating your wardrobe again? What’s it this time, a tie? Or those trousers?”

“My trousers are perfectly fine, thank you. I’ll have you know Jeeves picked them out himself.”

“What is it then, if it’s not a girl and not clothing?”

I hummed and hawed a little over this part. Bingo is a lifelong pal and all, but there are some things a chap doesn’t even tell to a pal like that. I knew well enough to tell that I wasn’t supposed to see Jeeves’s injuries, I couldn’t very well go telling the rest of the world.

“Jeeves came down with a horrible illness!” I said at last, sticking to the truth, just not all of it. “Well, he’s better now, but it was touch and go for a time.”

“Oh! No wonder you were so mopey last night. The lads had a bet going after you left. Gussie’ll be disappointed; I convinced him to put his money on you having fallen in love at last.”

“No, nothing like that,” I insisted.

“But if Jeeves is back to his problem-solving self, then what’s there to beef about?”

“I’m just worried about the chap, that’s all. Getting sick isn’t like him, you know? What if he’s been out over-exerting himself or somesuch?”

“Jeeves, over-exerting himself?” Bingo asked skeptically.

“I know, but there must be something! Maybe he’s been sneaking out at night fighting bears in the woods.”

“What, and he caught the flu from the bear?”

I hastily added, “What if it rained while he was out? Or maybe he’s a secret agent and got attacked by enemy spies - in the rain!”

Bingo gave me a skeptical l., “Bertie, what’s gotten into you? Jeeves is a remarkable cove and all, but I doubt he’s doing any of all that. What does it matter anyway, if he’s back to form already? Nothing’s ever gotten in the way of his work before.”

“I suppose not. But it’s my responsibility, isn’t it? He does the feudal thing and gets me out of the soup, and I’m supposed to do the feudal thing and give him a fiefdom and what not.”

“A fiefdom, Bertie? In your London flat? I know it’s spacious, but that’s a bit much.”

“Not exactly, but you know, all the things you’re supposed to give a vassal, protection and justice and all that. And I know his quarters aren’t exactly the height of luxury, but I have plans to fix that.”

“And he’ll go fight for you in the Crusades?”

“Bingo,” I protested.

“So not fighting for you in the Crusades. But so Jeeves got sick once in - how many years has he worked for you? And?”

“It’s-” I stopped myself short of revealing Jeeves’s secret, whatever it meant. “Oh, it’s nothing,” I said moodily.

“That’s the spirit! Now, you have to hear what happened last night after you left! I’m sorry you missed it, leaving early.”

Bingo chatted eagerly about the later part of the previous night’s revelries, but my heart just wasn’t in it. After we finished eating and such what, I made my excuses and set out across the city - while half-listening to Bingo prattle, I’d come to a decision.

It wasn’t too far from the Drones to Dr. Watson’s practice. I knocked haltingly at the door, still rather out of my depths, but no longer in such a frantic rush as when I stood on that very spot the morning before. Again, the maid ushered me in.

“What ho!” I said as she directed me to a little waiting room of sorts. “Dr. Watson about?”

“No, sir,” she said. ”He’s on his rounds, but he should be back shortly, or I can take a message for him.”

I settled in to wait and the maid biffed off for some tea. It felt like a rather long while before the good doctor returned, but in fact, the clock informed me that it wasn’t more than half an hour that I waited, sipping at a cooling cup of merely passable tea - when a fellow is accustomed to Jeeves, any alternative seems rather lackluster in comparison.

“Mr. Wooster, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Dr. Watson asked as he appeared at long last.

I jumped to my feet to greet him. “It’s Jeeves,” I explained without even a “what ho” in greeting.

“It may take him a day or two to recover,” the doctor cautioned.

I shook my head. “It’s not that. He’s all better now, but well-” I hesitated.

The doctor showed me into his office and took a seat behind the desk. I belatedly perched on the seat across from him, too keyed up to make myself comfortable as he suggested.

“Now, what was it you were concerned about?” the doctor asked patiently, though he seemed a little wary of what I might say.

“Well, it all started when I woke up this morning. You see, Jeeves didn’t come in with the tea - thinking back on it now I suppose I was up a bit earlier than my usual fashion, but after everything, well, you can understand my being a bit worried about the chap. So, I went to check on him, I know I shouldn’t have barged in, but-” - I faltered a little in embarrassment, my cheeks flushed red - “well, I’m afraid I caught him in the middle of changing. I didn’t see anything, just his back, but it was covered in the most horrible scratches, and I don’t know what’s caused it; if he’s fighting bears or secret agents or what not, but dash it all! Plainly something’s wrong with the man and I don’t know what to do. But you’re his doctor, you must have seen them when you checked on him the other day - it was only yesterday, wasn’t it? So much has happened between then and now that it feels like it’s been a bally week.”

Dr. Watson nodded as though he’d somehow managed to follow the outburst - a remarkable feat given that I wasn’t even sure I could follow everything I was saying. It seemed to take him a bit of a while to compose his thoughts, however, before, at last, he said, “I am aware of Jeeves’s scars and I don’t believe there’s any cause for concern. To my knowledge, none of them are recent; he’s had nothing more than ordinary scrapes and bruises in the past ten years. I doubt he’s been fighting bears or secret agents.” He gave me a somewhat indulgent smile, but I let it slide.

“You mean to say they’re all old wounds? From long before I met him even?”

“I would say so,” the doctor answered.

It should have been comforting, but I found I only had more questions. “That’s an awful lot of them. What was he doing?”

The doctor sighed. “I’m sorry, Mr. Wooster, but I can’t say.”

“You mean to say you know?” I demanded.

He grimaced. “Yes, I know. But it’s up to Jeeves to tell you if he wants to, and I doubt he’ll want to, not if he’s anything like…” the doctor trailed off. After a moment’s thought he picked back up the thread not too far from where he left off, “It’s not a pleasant thing, but thankfully it’s all in the past; there’s nothing to worry about any more.”

“But what is it?”

The doctor only shook his head. “Try not to worry about it, Mr. Wooster, and don’t worry Jeeves about it either. He’s come a long way since then, his fondness for you is a clear enough indication of that.”

I nodded and agreed not to trouble too much about it, but I was still very much troubled when I left the doctor’s office. I took a meandering way back home, torn between wondering what horrible accident had befallen the man and trying to pluck up my courage for what I knew must come next.

When I arrived back at the flat, my slippers were waiting for me at the door and everything else was back in its place, bearing all the tell-tale evidence of Jeeves’s renewed efforts, though the man himself was nowhere to be seen - the chap could never be heard, his recent illness notwithstanding. I stopped at the door to the kitchens with some trepidation, but it was too serious a matter to let I dare not wait upon I would - or whatever the expression is exactly - like the cat in the adage. Still, keenly aware of my fraught errand, I knocked at the door.

Jeeves opened it with a curious, “Sir?” With the door open, I could still smell the aroma of a recently lit gasper, and the Spinoza sat bookmarked on the table, no doubt interrupted in the middle of the scene where the detective discovered the second body.

“What ho, Jeeves,” I said without my usual pomp.

“Is there anything you require, sir?”

“Well, um, actually, I was rather wondering if I could perhaps have a word,” I managed to stumble out the words.

“Very good, sir.” He waved me into his lair, where I had spent an awful lot of time of late - I found myself almost missing the place, though I was happier than anyone to have Jeeves back up and about.

I stood about awkwardly, shifting my weight from foot to foot as I cast about the room in search of a place to start. It’s not an easy thing to talk about, walking in on your valet while he’s changing and finding that he’s got more scars than a fellow who ended up on the wrong side of a tiger.

At last, I blurted out, “I went to see Dr. Watson.”

“Sir?” Jeeves asked, sounding a bit concerned now. His eyebrow raised about a quarter of an inch.

“About those scratches, those scars, I mean. I know I shouldn’t have walked in on you without knocking, but once I did, well, I just had to know what was wrong - to do something, what?” I stopped short, preoccupied with Jeeves’s expression and out of words besides. He was watching me warily, with an actual frown rather than that usual stuffed frog expression he does sometimes.

When it was clear I was finished, he asked, more composed, “May I ask, sir, what Dr. Watson told you?”

“Nothing. He said I had to ask you and not to bother if you didn’t want to tell me.”

He nodded. He seemed relieved, though it was hard to tell behind that mask of his - figuratively speaking, of course. “If I may say so, sir, Dr. Watson is a very honourable gentleman.”

I could tell I was trying my luck, but still I had to ask, “But what happened? What gave you all those scars?”

“I prefer not to speak of it, sir.” Jeeves spoke with a solemn air of finality that made it perfectly clear that further inquiry was not welcome.

“Oh. Right-o, then.” I didn’t bother to hide my disappointment, but I knew better than to harp. “Been taking it easy, what?”

“Yes, sir.” Jeeves’s lips twitched a fraction of an inch upward, signifying his approval of the change in topic, and I didn’t have the heart to begrudge him it - or anything for that matter.

One morning, some days later, I was sitting, picking at my breakfast, when Jeeves shimmered over to the table.

“What is it, Jeeves?” I asked.

“I have procured something which may be of interest to you, sir.” He held out a bound manuscript, written in an unfamiliar hand.

I took it from him and read aloud the title, “An Unpublished Adventure of Sherlock Holmes, what?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You mean to say this is the real thing?”

“Yes, sir, penned by Dr. John H. Watson himself.”

“Jeeves this really is the top! How did you manage a bally thing like that?” I stopped. “Are you saying that old doctor is the Dr. Watson?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Of all the rummy things, Jeeves! How did you get to know a chap like that?”

“As I said, sir, he’s my family physician.”

“Does that mean you know Sherlock Holmes too?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why, Jeeves, this is beyond belief! How did you get Dr. Watson to part with one of his manuscripts?”

“I asked him, sir. Given your appreciation for his work, I thought it would be a fitting expression of gratitude for your assistance during my brief illness, and Dr. Watson was happy to oblige.”

“I say, Jeeves! I don’t know what I could ever do to thank you enough.” It seemed a little thick to me that Jeeves was going so far out of his way to thank me for doing practically nothing when I already owed him so much for everything he does for me. I added a little belatedly, “And it’s awfully kind of Dr. Watson to give me a peek at a Sherlock Holmes story.”

“Dr. Watson has taken something of a liking to you, sir. However, he did request that you not distribute the manuscript, as he has deemed it unsuitable for publication for personal reasons.”

“Personal reasons, Jeeves?”

“Yes, sir.”

I delicately paged through the manuscript, all the more intrigued at what it might hold that Dr. Watson had deemed suitable for my eyes only. Probably nothing terribly interesting, but a fellow could only wonder.

“Will that be all, sir?” Jeeves asked, the corner of his lips turned up just a smidge in the suggestion of a fond smile.

I beamed back. “Yes, Jeeves, thank you!”

“Thank you, sir.”

Part of The Mysterious Mr. Jeeves

[jj-lynn21]

Snow in Hollywood Chapter 1

@tephi101​ This reimagining of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs takes you through an emotional and sometimes painful journey but it does include everyone in the Skarsguard family in one way or another. This first chapter warnings: Death of a loved one, Father/daughter issues, Wicked Queen, angst. In future chapters there will be extreme cuteness and adorableness, brothers teasing each other, extreme delayed affection(yes, I feel bad for my characters but its just how it has to be for the appropriate outcome.) 

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Snow in Hollywood Chapter 1

With your ruby red lips, black as night hair and porcelain completion your Father had a hard time even looking at you without crying after your mother’s passing. The one thing that seemed to cheer him up made you angrier than Hell, his new girlfriend. This whore who your mom used to call his work wife moved right in on him at the funeral. One day your father calls you into the living room. As you enter you see her smirking at you as she plays with your father’s hair. It makes you want to puke the way she finds the need to touch him in front of everyone especially you.

Your father says, “We have some good news. I have proposed. Regina is going to be the queen of the house. Your beautiful Mother always liked her. I hope you will be happy for our family.”

Regina says, “Yes, I always loved your Mother like she was my mother. It’s a gift that your Mother brought us all together to continue to be a family.”

Your mouth dropped wide open. How could she feel your Mother was like a Mother to her? She is older. Much older. She is vile. She is wicked.

You say, “I can’t even believe this. It has barely been a month since Mom died. I can’t even…”

You run off upstairs and fall on your bed crying. Your Father gets up to start after you, but Regina stops him.

Regina says, “I think you need to let me take care of her. Some time a girl just needs a woman to talk you.”

He can’t handle seeing you cry so he agrees Regina will help you understand how in love he is with her. He doesn’t even remember when he really started loving her but his heart aches when she is to far away from him.

Regina opens your door. With her arms cross in front of her she glares down at you not saying a word. You don’t notice her with your face planted in your pillow bally your eyes out. She slams your door. You look up startled.

Regina says, “Listen you little Bitch. I am the fairest of them all in this house, so you must go. You might as well run away now because I can make your life miserable. Your Father will never believe anything mean you say about me so you might as well never tell him about our little conversation. If I ever see you again you are dead.”

She turns around and leaves you without listening to anything you would possible say.  You hear her crying. To you it’s the fakest cry you have every heard. But you hear your Father consoling her.

Your Father says, “Its alright honey. You tried to keep us all together. Maybe Snow will be happier on her own. She might even find her happily ever after like we did.”

You are pissed at your Father as much as at Regina. His happily ever after was with your Mother. You throw cloths in a backpack and stomp down the stairs. You take a breath at the bottom of the stairs. Even though you are angry you still love your Father so with tears streaming down your face you go to him and kiss him on the cheek before heading out the door.

You hear him say, “Goodbye Snow. Take care of yourself and find your happily ever after.”

He sounds like you are going on vacation not leaving forever. You start walking to who knows where at ten O’clock at night when the rain starts to pour. You see car lights behind you and move out of the way. The car pulls near you and the driver rolls down his window.

He says, “Hey, you need a ride somewhere little lady? You shouldn’t be out in this weather.”

Thunder booms and you jump. You don’t usually take rides from strangers, but this storm seems to be getting worse and this man, who is about your Father’s age has kind eyes.

You say, “Yeah, ok. What’s your name.?”

He said, “Stellan is my name and hunting for hire is my game.”

You get into the car and notice a beautiful husky with eyes as blue as yours in the back seat. She puts her nose on your shoulder. Then she licks your cheek. She tries to come up to the front to sit on your lap. Stellan swerves. Then he pulls over. He pushes the dog back in the backseat.

Stellan said, “Sorry about her and I’m very sorry I have to…”

He pauses as you look at him innocent. Your blue eyes still sad from your ordeal.

He said, “Shit, I can’t do what she hired me for. You seem like a nice girl. Not evil at all. It was ridiculous that I even said I could.”

You said, “What do you mean Stellan? “

Stellan said, “Ok, Snow White this is what I want you to do. If you follow my instructions, we will both live. Regina hired me to kill you.”

You said, “What the Hell. I will disappear.”

You try open the door, but he has control of locks.

Stellan said, “No need to panic. Just listen. I’m not going to kill you. I have kids of my own and I can’t imagine what I would do if someone killed one of them. Well, I would probably hunt them down and kill them. But I agree you must disappear. I will give you some money to get yourself to Hollywood, California. My boys live in a huge home in the hills there. I will contact them, and they will keep you safe. Well the older ones will. You can help take care of the little ones while my wife and I are on holiday.”

You say, “How many kids do you have?”

Stellan said, “Eight but only seven are living in Hollywood. They range from age five through forty-three.”

He pulls up to the airport drop-off and hands you some cash.

Stellan said, “Go quickly. I’ll take care of the blue eyes Regina needs as proof you are dead.”

You grab your backpack and head in quickly to find a flight.  There is a red eye to LAX that you will have just enough time to catch. 

[platypanthewriter]

Strangest: 10

The actual chapter, not another clip.  It’s so long, guys.  I’m peterqpan on A03.

Piggybacking would have been easier, Steve thought, if Billy was either out cold, or in any kind of control of his limbs.  He yanked a leg loose, waving his arm towards the door of his Camaro, and Steve hissed “You--drunk ass.  Knight.  Hold it--hold the hell up--Hargrove--lemme get the door open, you’ll fall.”

“Gonna let me fall, Harrington?” Billy giggled in his ear, in a gust of alcoholic breath, but threw his arm back around Steve’s neck and shoulder.  “Ssssh.”

Steve rolled his eyes, leaning back to squish Billy’s butt against the side of the Camaro, so he could  rummage through Billy’s bag for his keys. “I hope your keys are in here, you goddamn trespasser--”

“Thought I was your knight,” Billy flapped an arm at the bag, whispering against Steve’s neck.  

“Sir Knight,” Steve agreed, his attention catching on Billy’s bruised, bloodied knuckles.  “Shit, your hand--”

“Killed the door.”  Billy stuck his hand out, so they could both admire it.

“You sure did,” Steve grabbed it, waggling the swollen fingers, and Billy didn’t try to escape--just hummed in his ear--but then he was probably numb to the world.  He patted Billy’s bag down, rifling through the outside pocket, then sticking his hand in to bump into what turned out to be half the bottle of cherry vodka, and an unopened bottle of scotch.

“S’bad, it should go in the trunk,” Billy muttered.

“What?”

“In the trunk in the dark, where the bad shit goes,” Billy laughed, and Steve stopped shaking the bag, listening for keys, to squish Billy harder against the side of the car, and lean in to kiss his face.

“Where are your keys, Baby Ruth?  Knight?”

“Dumbshit nicknames.  Sir. Babe,” Billy slurred, letting go of Steve’s shoulders to lean back against the car and pat the pockets of his jeans down.  “Here.” He yanked a few times, then dropped his keys in the snow, and Steve sighed. “Shit,” Billy giggled.  “Dropped ‘em, your--your kingship.”

“Yeah, yeah you did.”

“Don’t put me in the trunk.  Harrington. Majesty.  Don--don’t throw me in.  There.”  His voice dropped to a stage whisper. “’s dark.”

“Christ.  Hang on, babe.”  Steve gritted his teeth as he slowly crouched to retrieve them, his thighs protesting the additional weight of Billy Hargrove on his back.  “The hell d’you mean, that’s where bad shit goes?”  The snow numbed his hands further, and he had to grab at them twice.  

“Garbage goes in the trunk,” Billy whispered again.

“Well, glad you cleared that up,” Steve rolled his eyes, almost dropping the keys again just as he grabbed them, because Billy shifted sideways on his back, feet kicking, and almost tipped them both over.  Steve grabbed the car, panting, and unlocked the door, scrabbling to open it. “Here you go, Sir Beefcake, god, you weigh like--”  He staggered back as Billy yanked on his head, kissing his ear. The car roof froze his fingers as he flailed at it, steadying them, before carefully turning and crouching to nudge their butts in the open door, and deposit Billy in the passenger seat.  Problem was, Billy didn’t let go, and Steve ended up sprawled on top of him across the front seats of the Camaro.

“...ow,” Billy muttered into his ear.  “Nng. Gearshift.”

“Let go, dipshit,” Steve wrested himself free from Billy’s biceps, and Billy grabbed at his hands and clothes.

“No, Harrington, you--you said,” Billy laughed, swallowing.  “Wait, wait, Harrington, don’t, come on--”

Steve widened his eyes at the roof of the car, then squeezed them shut, clenching his jaw, and didn’t say anything, particularly anything that involved yelling about the hour and his feet in the snow and Billy Hargrove being himself.  He let himself go a little limp.  Billy’s claw-fingers loosened against his shirt and neck, and Steve kept his voice even.  “Whatcha need, banana-dick?”

“...no...that was Tommy, not--I think I was some fruit.  Some other fruit?  Watermelon?  Chair.  Cherries?  You smell like...mm, coconut, Harrington--”  He let go to count fruits off on his fingers, and Steve grabbed the edge of the open door to pull himself out, then leaned in again, running a finger along where Billy’s back hit the gearshift and handbrake.  

“It’s my shampoo,” Steve snorted, shaking his head.  “You break your spine, there?”

“Yeah.”  Billy’s smile was soft under the streetlights, and Steve resisted the urge to crawl back up and kiss him, even if he was fucking annoying, and covered in jizz.  

“I’m gonna put all this booze you stole in the trunk like you said,” Steve leaned in to press a kiss where Billy’s stomach showed, then tug the sweatshirt down, and tuck it between him and the handbrake.  “You--you know you’re the good shit, right.”

“Don’t put me in there,” Billy tried to smack his hand away, and missed.

“No, listen.  You’re good, okay?  You’re--you’re...top shelf?”  Steve screwed up his mouth, thinking hard, and Billy cracked up, turning his head to giggle into the back of the drivers’ seat.  “Besides, come on, the trunk? I was out cold, but that had to be your sister’s idea, she’s a little gangster, remember, I bet--she probably always wanted to shove somebody in a trunk, you’re lucky it wasn’t, like, cement shoes, you’re lucky you weren’t next to some dead horse’s head--”

Bally cackled harder against the seat, but waved a hand at him, and Steve grabbed it, and gave it a squeeze.  “Come here. Harrington. You’re so dumb,” Billy whispered. “King Steve, King Steve--”

Steve groaned.  He picked up Billy’s legs and pom-pom socked feet, dusting off a little snow, and tucked all of Billy Hargrove into the car.  When he shut the passenger’s side door, both yellow socked feet pressed against the window.  

The lock on the Camaro’s trunk was frosty, and the car bounced on its tires a couple of times, jarring the key out of his numb hand as he tried to turn it.  The bouncing wasn’t rhythmic, so he hoped Billy still had pants on, at least. Finally, the trunk popped open--like Billy would even fit in there, Steve thought, frowning in at the scattered textbooks, and half-squashed bag lunch taking up nearly  the entire trunk.  I’d have to leave it open, bungee-cord him in, and put a warning flag on his feet.  He tossed the bottles in.  The picture album was still in there, and he paused, biting his lips, then slammed the trunk shut and shivered.  

 Carol’s bedroom light came on, and he could hear voices.  He rubbed his arms, crunching around to the drivers’ side, wiping the snow off the windows to find Billy rummaging in the glove compartment.  He got the key in the door, and it wouldn’t turn, so he knocked on the window. It wasn’t too frosted over, but in the dim light of the streetlights, he had to squint.  Billy waved him away, bent over a little notebook, and Steve banged harder with the flat of his hand. “Trespasser William,” he hissed through the window. “Open up.”

Billy frowned at him, wrote another word, and shook his skinned-up hand in the air, wincing.

“Billiam Hargrove,” Steve smacked the window some more, “--lemme in, come on, shit, it’s cold as ass out here--I’ll shampoo your hair.  Babe.  Come on.  Come on come on come on--”

Billy twitched.  He bit his lips, frowning at the notepad, and Steve blew on his fingers, wishing he’d brought gloves.  

“William Whatever Hargrove, open this goddamn door, or--or I’ll--I’ll microwave an orange.  So help me god.”

Billy flashed over a grin, trying to grasp the pencil with his scabbed hand, and Steve rattled the handle, stomping his feet.

“Come on.  Just reach over and unlock it.  Lemme in.”  The key still wouldn’t turn, and he grimaced, trying to test its limits without being left with a broken chunk of key.  When Billy still ignored him, he stuck the key in his mouth, and started stomping in a circle in the snow, wishing he hadn’t handed over the bobble hat.  Every time his hands got warm enough to pull them from under his arms, he knocked some more.

Finally, Billy scooted his butt over, thumping his legs into the gearshift, and licked the window under Steve’s hand.  “My pencil broke,” he said against the window.

Steve took the key out of his mouth, trying it in the lock.  It didn’t turn. “Sir Idiot Hargrove,” Steve smacked the window again, “--open up.”

Billy scooted closer, batting at the seatbelt, and pressed the notepad to the window.  His handwriting was suffering, what with his scabbed-up, swollen hand, but he’d managed to scribble Steve thinks falling in love yo, ending in a long dark smutch.  Billy pressed a broken-tipped pencil next to it.  Steve dropped to a crouch in the snow, rubbing his face with a groan.  

Billy knocked at the inside of the window--the car rocked as he clonked his knee into the steering wheel--and pressed his face against the window, calling “Harrington!  Where did you go, come back--” and Steve stuck a hand up and waved, rifling the backpack.  

He stepped back from the window, waggling the Sharpie he’d found at Billy, who thumped around trying to roll down the window, then finally opened the door, nearly falling out in the snow.  Steve caught him with a hand on his back, and pushed him back inside, while Billy tried to grab the Sharpie. Once he got them both inside, Billy leaning awkwardly against his shoulder, the bobble hat tickling his cheek, Steve yanked the door shut.  He leaned back against the seat, rubbing his hands together and blowing on them.  

“Gimme the marker, Harrington,” Billy whispered, patting at his arm.  “Unless you want me to forget.  Dickhead.  Shitface.  Liar.”

Steve tucked his chin to kiss Billy’s head.  “Y’know actually, you’re right, I change my mind.  Hell with you.”

“Have--have to tease you tomorrow.  Tommy, Steve says he loves me.  Loves me more--”

“Let’s write ‘you had sex with King Kong,’--”

“No, fuckhead, you--”  Billy lowered the notepad, grimacing.  “...fuck you.”

“I meant it,” Steve whispered against his ear.  “I’ve been in love before, I know what this is.”

“I need evidence--full of shit--” Billy growled, batting a hand for the sharpie.  “You--you’re just saying shit ‘cause you know I’m so--I’m so fucked up--”

“Jesus.  Here, lemme get it.  What do you want me to write?”

“What you said,” Billy snorted, whacking him with the notepad.  “Can’t just say this bullshit to me, face consequences.  Mom loves me.  You l--” he snickered, rubbing his stubble against Steve’s neck, along with a sloppy kiss.  “You--you’re an idiot.  Does Hopper love me too, pretty boy?”

“Not much,” Steve’s cheeks flamed as he carefully penned ‘YOUR MOM ♥ YOU’, and Billy took a shaky breath, biting his lips as he side-eyed Steve.  Steve went with ‘HOPPER KNOWS’ underneath, the coward’s route, and Billy swung his right arm over, smacking it into Steve’s hands. Steve swallowed, studying Billy’s swollen, bloodied hand, and Billy elbowed him.  

“...not gonna say something like that if I’ll remember, your majesty?”  His voice was rough.

“No, what?”  Steve swallowed, laughing.  “No, I--I’m on it.” He grabbed Billy’s wrist--slightly warmer than his, since he’d gotten Billy inside the car--and wrote ‘U R MY KNIGHT’.  Billy laughed, and Steve squeezed the Sharpie, shutting his eyes.  

“Go on.”

“...yeah,” Steve nodded, opening his eyes to stare at the Sharpie, and Billy’s arm.

“Screw you,” Billy pulled away, grabbing at the keys, “--don’t lie, Herring--Harrington.  Get out, go around, you--you can’t drive stick, remember, my--my king.  Harrington.  Don’t--say anything else, don’t say shit to me, I’ll--I’ll feed it back to you--”  He rubbed his face, swallowing, and smacked his sore hand over Steve’s face when he opened his mouth.  

Steve tried to shake his head away, then just grabbed Billy’s unresisting arm, and wrote ‘STEVE HAS FEELINGS’ except something tickled towards Billy’s elbow, and he jerked.  

“Try again.”  He stuck his hand out, and Steve rubbed his face, groaning. 

“If I--if I write--that, you’ll just beat me up tomorrow thinking it was some asshole joke.”

“Good, you--you fucking liar--”  Billy elbowed him, flailing his busted hand at the Sharpie.  “Consequences.”

“No, listen--” Steve grabbed his face, “--listen.  Dickhead. What do I even write?”

“It’s not like it’s true, just--just fucking--” Billy yanked at his hands, trying to pull away, and Steve pulled him closer, remembering at the last moment that Billy’d drunk some horrible hodgepodge of hazelnut and mint liquor, probably the cherry vodka Carol’d mentioned earlier, and possibly bananas, and then puked it, and he redirected his kisses to Billy’s freckles, and the soft curls hanging nearly in his eyes.  

“Hargrove,” he whispered, and Billy nodded, tipping his head to try and kiss his mouth, “--Sir Hargrove.”  Billy laughed against his cheek. “I--I do, I--” Steve gritted his teeth, swallowing, and ran his thumb up Billy’s smooth-shaven cheek.  “I--god damn it.  I like like you like a fucking third-grader, okay, tell me what to say.  To you.  Tomorrow. ‘Cause right now I sound like a fucking idiot.”

“What,” Billy snorted.  “You’re an idiot.”  He curled closer, squishing his ribs between Steve and the steering wheel, and Steve realized they were absolutely going to freeze to death in the car.  “Guess--I guess telling me sweet shit so I won’t remember’s better than--” Billy cut off, laughing against Steve’s neck, and Steve hugged him out of habit, before trying to push him back.  

“Lemme get us going, dingus.  It’s freezing--”

“Could warm you up,” Billy whispered, running his fingers down Steve’s throat, and biting gently against his jaw.  Steve’s dick twitched in his pants, his whole body turning toward Billy Hargrove like the moron had switched on an internal electromagnet.

“Holy shit,”  Steve panted back, glad he hadn’t been driving.   “Shit, no, I mean, later, maybe. Let’s go home, okay?”

“No, don’t--not home--don’t throw me out--” Billy laughed.  “No, your house, Steve Harrington’s house. It’s nice,” he let himself be pushed back towards the passenger seat, biting at Steve’s fingers, “--come on, Harrington, fuck me in--in the fort.  You don’t...we’ll have to be so quiet in my room, majesty.  Fuck--fuck my mouth to keep me quiet.  Ssssh.”  He giggled, pulling at Steve’s jacket.  “He’s gonna hear us.  Crash in with an axe all ‘here’s Johnny!’”

Steve stared at him.  “Holy shit. No, my home, where you live, asshole.”

“Like The Shining,” Billy mumbled.  “Break the door.  Kill us.”

“I hate your dad.”

“He just wants what’s best for this family,” Billy snorted, then started giggling.  “No.  No, he wouldn’t kill us, he can’t--he can’t lemme make him that mad, it’d upset Susan.  He doesn’t--he doesn’t wanna be the husband who upsets his wife, Harrington.”

“Murder is upsetting,” Steve agreed, wide-eyed and shivering, and started the car, and Billy cackled.  

“It’s upsetting,” he tipped to laugh against Steve’s shoulder.  “Axe in my head.  Why do I gotta upset...things...everyone...all the time, Steve Harrington?  You upset?  You upset with me?  Had to come out at--” he stared out the window like he’d never seen snow before, “--godfucking--forsaken o’clock, shit, your majesty.  Sorry.  Sorry I don’t give you a--any choice.  Just--I just force your hand, right--” he laughed, clearing his throat, “You’ll have to teach me a lesson now--”

“Jesus,” Steve whispered again, staring ahead through the rapidly-fogging windshield.  “Okay. Sweet--sweet potato?”  Billy started snickering, hunching over to hide his sniffles.  “Hey.  Hey, Drunk Billy Hargrove.”

“Present,” Billy swung his legs toward Steve, flailing his arms around until his scabbed-up knuckles hit the glove compartment--he didn’t seem to notice--and his back was against the door.  “Here.  Yo.”  He wiped his nose, trying to snort hard enough to clear his nostrils, which sounded disgusting.  

Steve shook his head.  “You need to help me surprise sober Billy Hargrove, okay.”

“Bzzzt, that person does not exist,” Billy laughed, letting his head fall against the seat.  

“He will tomorrow,” Steve saw Billy opening his mouth, and added, “--mostly.  Mostly sober Billy Hargrove.  We need to give him a present, okay?  Help me--”

“Give me it now, and he’ll forget.”  Billy flipped his hands palm up, and Steve grabbed the uninjured one and twined their fingers.  

“I have to tell you I love you, remember?  So you’ll believe it. And also--” Billy took a shaky breath, half a laugh, as Steve squeezed his fingers,  “--also you have to tell me how to drive us home--I can’t drive stick--”

“What the hell--”

“I could read you poetry.  We read some sonnets in--”

Billy snorted.  “You gonna--'m I a California day?  Not very temperate.”

“...what?”  Over the next few minutes of Extremely Scientific Investigation, Steve managed to determine that any mention of normal dating activities made Billy mutter about Nancy, he kinda wanted a crimping iron and a huge, rideable pet goat to ride into rock concerts, and Drunk Billy was useless at romantic advice.  Steve patted his hand. “You said you’d teach me to drive stick, remember?”

“Shit,” Billy whispered.  “Fuck. You sure we can’t sleep at--”  He cocked his head the other way, rubbing his bobble hat across the window, and hummed, “--back in there?”

“Pretty sure,” Steve grimaced, “--I think Tommy wants to fight me, he’s been--”

“He tried to fuck me with Carol’s cherry vodka,” Billy snickered, and Steve’s mouth fell open, wondering if you survived being filled up with vodka.

“Jesus.  Are you okay, seriously?”

“Told him you like me better now.”  Billy grinned over, and Steve drug his hand down his face.  

“God.  Tell me how to drive your car, asshole.”

“There’s a gas pedal,” Billy started giggling again, and Steve leaned forward to groan against the steering wheel, “--there’s--there’s brakes--”

“Yeah, you--goddamn--trespasser,” Steve moaned against the weird plastic finish.  “I got that, when do I use the clutch?”

Billy lifted their joined hands, then dropped them, thinking.  “O-Okay.  Engine’s got--it’s got four...zooms.”

“Speeds?” Steve laughed, eyeballing the gearshift.

“No.  Yeah?”  Billy ran his thumb up his forearm, where Steve had written that his mom loved him.  “It’s…”

“Zooms, okay,” Steve squeezed his hand again.  “Like Max?”

“Max,” Billy narrowed his eyes.  “Max...es. One is big strong Max.  Two’s...two smaller Maxes.  Three…” 

“More and more Maxes, okay.”  Steve nodded, wondering whether he should just piggyback Billy’s drunk ass home, and pick up the Camaro in the morning.  

“Littler Maxes are faster, but they aren’t strong,” Billy squinted at him, “--like.  Like hummingbirds.”  

Steve nodded slowly.  “So like, up a hill, we need less Maxes?”

“Start...one Max,” Billy nodded, “One big strong Max.  One Max to rule them all.”  Steve rolled his eyes, and put a foot gingerly on the clutch.  “Floor the clutch.  S’switch.”

“Right, okay,” Steve pushed it in, and the gearshift slid smoothly into single-Max position.  Is she an ostrich, then, he wondered, imagining one harnessed to the front of the vehicle, and trying not to giggle.  He lifted his foot off the clutch, and the car made a horrible grinding noise, and died.  

“Fuck’s sake,” Billy snickered.   “Clutch.”

“Shit, I killed Max,” Steve told him, and he laughed harder, finally scooting back around to face front, so he could hold Steve’s hand on the gearshift.  

“Clutch,” Billy said.  The gearshift was plastic, but still like grabbing something out of the freezer, and their breath fogged.  Billy’s fingers were warm where he’d had them in the pocket of his sweatshirt. “Start it again.”

Steve did, making it nearly out of the parking space before he hit a ridge of snow, rolled backwards, and it died again.  He pulled his hand away from Billy’s, and started it again, then slid their fingers back together.  

“Why d’you want me to...why should...thinking you love me?  Sober me, y’know,” Billy asked.  “Clutch.”  

Steve killed the engine again, startled, but then made it to the stop sign, sliding a tense few inches to the side as be braked, and drew a breath of relief.  “I guess I--”

“He loves you too,” Billy told the road ahead, “--clutch.”

“What,” Steve whispered, staring over, and Billy smacked his hand.  

“Drive.  Clutch.”  

“Jesus.  Really? I mean--”  Steve lurched through the intersection, letting Billy shift him into Max Second after another muttered “Clutch.”  “You--he does?  I mean--it’s not just, like, compared to Tommy and Carol, and your dad--”

“Screw you, I know the difference,” Billy rubbed his face, swallowing, “--clutch.”

Steve made it through an entire intersection without the engine dying, and yanked his hand free to plonk it on top of Billy’s, squeezing it around the gearshift.  “Christ.  Really?  I mean, not--not that you--” he tried to take a deep, sobering breath, and his voice cracked.  “I just.  Why--”

“The hell d’you mean why,” Billy growled at him, and jerked his hand free to squeeze Steve’s.  Steve fought back giggles, feeling carbonated, like little shimmery bubbles were rising from his toes and filling his brain with more air than usual.  “We should go on a date.”  The car died, and he restarted it, juddering forward to kill the engine in the middle of the intersection.  His frantic stab at the clutch let it coast to a slow spinning stop over a patch of ice on the other side, and Billy stared over.

“Fucking christ, are you drunk too?!”  

Steve leaned to kiss Billy’s hand on his, and lean his cheek on it, closing his eyes.  Billy just muttered a stream of nonsensical profanity, tucking his legs up, and leaving his hand where it was.

After a long moment of just grinning at the dashboard, his body curled around Billy’s hand, Steve pulled the Sharpie back out of his pocket.  “Gimme your other arm.”

Billy eyed him, but held it out, and Steve started drawing a series of hearts from Billy’s wrist up to his elbow.  Billy leaned against him, squirming. “Tickles like hell, Harrington--”  He kicked out, laughing, and Steve finished off with a big heart with H+H in the center, and smacked a wet kiss on Billy’s cheek.  

“D’you believe me?” he asked, and Billy laughed, lowering his head.  “Hargrove,” Steve growled, flicking his earring aside to nuzzle his neck.  Billy let his head loll aside, grinning, and Steve kissed up across the hickeys Tommy or Carol had left, blowing across the damp skin he left to feel Billy shiver and curl into him.  “Honey-Hargrove.  Sir Honey Mustard.  Prickface.  Sugar beet. Noodle pie--”

They both shook with Billy’s cackles.  “You--your petnames--holy shit, they’re terrible, they suck--”

“You call me stupid shit--”

“Not that stupid--”

“Love you.”  

“Sure, yeah,” Billy snorted, trying to catch Steve’s mouth and kiss him back, and Steve angled to kiss the corner of his mouth, and pulled away, running his thumb up and down the marks on Billy’s neck.  He wondered whether they were from a mouth, or somebody’s fingers.  

“What do I say?”  Steve restarted the car, then caught Billy’s fingers, interlocking them with his.  “Hey.”

“Listening,” Billy squirmed around to face him, face reddening in the light from the streetlights, “--go ahead.”

“I did,” Steve groaned.  “I said so much dumb shit, you don’t--you never believe me.  What the hell do I need to do, propose?”

Billy’s mouth fell open, and he squeezed Steve’s fingers so hard they stopped hurting after a couple seconds, and went numb.  “--I--I’m--I’m leaving, you--you asshole.  You--you want me gone, you don’t--”

“Doesn’t matter--”  It did, obviously, but Steve swallowed that thought down.  “I mean, I don’t, I don’t want you to leave, shit.”  He took a deep breath, squeezing Billy’s fingers back, and beginning to smell carbon monoxide from sitting in the car in the still air.  “Tell me what to tell you, dickbag.”

“What--what the--you--”  Billy started laughing hoarsely into his hand.  Steve ground the gears, and Billy yelled “Clutch!  Fucking christ--”

 By the time they got back, it was nearly four am.  Steve peeled his drunken parcel out of the bobble hat, and scarf, and sat him up against the kitchen cupboards while he turned up the thermostat.  They worked out a system--Billy would drink five more swallows of water for every kiss Steve pressed to his fingers.  By the third glass, Steve was laughing and kissing his ears, or elbows, and Billy was trying to drink though a wide grin, pointing next to his jaw.  Steve leaned in to kiss the soft skin under it, feeling it warm. He hugged Billy’s head to his chest, taking a deep breath.  

“Christ, gonna explode in--in piss,” Billy mumbled against him, and Steve snorted.  

“Go pee, babe.”  Steve got an arm around him and levered him upright, and they tottered to the bathroom.  

“‘Zit morning?”  Billy frowned around.  “Breakfast?”  

“Not for a couple hours.”  Steve tried to retreat to get a sweatshirt, and Billy yelled after him. 

“Dinner? You eat dinner? Harrington!”

Steve stopped to lean against the wall of the entryway, laughing so hard he had to wipe his eyes.  “...you hungry, sweetie?”

“Whaddaya want for dinner,” Billy muttered, and the toilet flushed.  

“You should probably sleep it off, Trespasser William.”  Steve went back in to steady him while he struggled with his jeans.  

“Did Steve eat?” Billy squinted at him, teetered, and fell against his chest.  He still smelled good, somehow.  

Steve rolled his eyes, scooped up his blitzed boyfriend, and Billy’s jeans slid off, catching on his foot.  He cackled, kicking them off, and Steve got a handful of naked butt trying to keep him from flailing away.  

“Hold it--hold on--hold on-- Hargrove--” he yelped, trying to keep all six feet of bulky basketball player in his arms, pressed to his chest.  Billy helped by pressing sloppy kisses to Steve’s neck and shoulder, and trying to hug Steve’s head.  “Fuckhead--Hargrove--I’m gonna drop you--”

“You won’t,” Billy mumbled, yanking at Steve’s shirt to press a raspberry against his neck.

“I will,” Steve assured him.  “There’s a mattress, and pillows, so it wouldn’t hurt.”

“Mmm,” Billy pulled his arm from around Steve’s neck, and let it flail, and Steve shuffled to compensate.  “...nah. Won’t lemme fall.”

Steve smacked a couple loud kisses on the parts of Billy he could reach.  “Not here,” he rolled his eyes, staggering out to the fort to crouch and roll him onto the pile of bedding.  “Onto the wood floor, jesus, you’re banged up already, don’t kill my house, you already killed my door--”

“...kill you,” Billy muttered, curling up.

“I’m gonna get some food, okay?  You stay here.”

Billy nodded, slumping into a pile of pillows.  “Eat--eat a damn orange, majesty. King.”

Steve leaned to kiss his naked knee, and Billy let his legs fall open, grabbing Steve’s shirt and pulling him in.

“Wanna fuck?”

“You’re half asleep,” Steve pointed out, after the first dry-mouthed moment where he thought of how ridiculous and soft Billy looked, his dick poking under the edge of his borrowed sweatshirt, with bare legs, and little pompom socks.

“Mmm,” Billy grinned up, sending a zing down Steve’s dick, and he bit his lips.  

“You’re pretty drunk.”  He smoothed his hands up Billy’s calves, feeling the goosebumps, and pulled some blanket over him.  

“Drunk as shiiiiit.”  Already forgetting his worry over Steve’s meals, Billy grabbed his sleeve and pulled him in, so Steve settled next to him, on his side, with his Neighborhood Menace curled up against his chest.  He stroked Billy’s hair, accepting the sleepy nuzzled kisses at his ear and neck, and ran his fingers up and down Billy’s sweatshirted shoulder, and then, under the blanket, his side. Billy squirmed against him, and Steve’s hand slid under the sweatshirt, up his naked side, and he curled closer--which was all weird, Steve thought, because he’d had his hands on Billy, all over him, he’d had his hand on Billy’s prick, and felt him come, but sliding his palm up over Billy’s ribs, and then his knuckles down Billy’s stomach felt different, with Billy half-asleep, occasionally humming to himself like a purring cat.  Steve slid his hand lower--not to Billy’s dick, which he was pretty sure was as drunk as the rest of him, but down his hip and thigh, smoothing his hand over warm skin.  Billy mumbled something, and tossed his leg over Steve’s side, and Steve suppressed snickers, feeling like he’d met a bald koala. He slid his hands up Billy’s sides again, memorizing the feeling, and unzipped the sweatshirt, so he could run the back of his fingers up the soft, curled-up skin of Billy’s stomach, and across his pectorals, and collarbones.  

By that point he half wanted to jack himself off, and half wanted to cry, so he rolled on to his back, swallowed a few times, and stared for long minutes up at the Christmas lights.  They behaved themselves as long as he had his eyes open, but as soon as he let them shut, the air in his nose got colder, because the glass in the door outside was broken, because Neil had been there.  He opened his eyes with a gasp, blinking away the image of Neil using Billy’s corpse to distract the demodogs.  Billy was warm and mumbly against him, curling closer when Steve gave him a squeeze. He reached out a hand to feel the cushions around the side of the fort--nothing like the tunnels, or the bus--or what he’d seen of Billy’s room, where his father probably hit him.   Is that why his room was around the back? Steve wondered, so he could hit him out of sight of the road?  Did he ever try to get away?  Probably not, he stared up, the lights going star-pointed as his eyes watered, trying not to blink, Max said he just took it.  If Mr. Hargrove hit him too hard, I’d never even have known.  He’d have said they fought.  He’d have said it was an accident--Steve grabbed a trailing end of the Christmas lights, squeezing the plug until it bit into his hand, and took a shuddery breath against Billy’s curls.  Billy Hargrove didn’t work as well, anymore, as a reminder that Hawkins was safe.  

Steve jerked awake a few more times, throwing a hand out to touch the fort, banishing the tunnels, and then a car pulled up outside, its headlights flashing across the walls, and he was disentangled from Billy and in the doorway with his bat before it had finished turning around and pulled away.  He leaned against the door frame for a long moment, rubbing his face, before tugging his coat and gloves on, and going out to circle the house at a slow jog. He finally grabbed a branch at about the height of his face and yanked himself up to sit against the trunk, watching his house. From the side could see the front porch, and the stairs to the back, and when his arms started to go numb, he tossed the bat back and forth between his hands.  

 By the time Billy staggered out, swathed in the flowered comforter off his bed, and followed Steve’s footprints to circle the house, it was getting light.  Steve kicked his legs, hoping they’d take his weight, and jumped down, as Billy tromped over. Steve braced himself against the tree, and Billy stomped the last few steps to steady him.  

“Did you fucking spend the night in a tree,” Billy asked flatly, scooping up a handful of snow, and pressing it to his head with a grunt of relief.  He had circles under his eyes, and still sounded a little slurry.

“I guess.”  Steve shrugged, crouching to try and rub some feeling back in his legs, “--I mean, not really, I didn’t pick you up until three, what time is it?  I mean, it’s not--it--it hasn’t been that long.”

“You spent the night in a goddamn--you--” Billy rubbed his face, wincing.  “You--shitbird.  Moron.  Asshole.  Did you--”  He punched Steve’s shoulder.  “What is this shit?”  Billy shoved his forearms in Steve’s face--not the sides with the Sharpie, his outer arms, with bruises, and Steve tripped stepping backwards, and nearly fell.  “Did...did you fuck me while I was so goddamn drunk I wouldn’t remember?”

“No!  No. I didn’t--”

Billy punched his shoulder again, then threw an arm around Steve’s neck, pulling him under the blanket.  He was damp, and warm, like he’d showered. “I’m all bruised to hell.  What finally did it?”

“What?”  Steve slid an arm around Billy’s waist, pulling him close as they walked, and Billy laughed.

“What the hell--you beat me up before you screwed my ass, or during?  D’I say something wrong?  Wait ‘til you got off to--”

“Jesus, no, no, look at my hands, look at my knuckles--”  Steve stopped, pulling his arm from around Billy yank his ski gloves off.  “I didn’t--I--I think you had some wild monkey sex with Tommy and Carol, you were talking about banana flavored condoms--”

“...shit, you’re right,” Billy grabbed both of Steve’s hands, turning them in his own, and Steve grabbed at the comforter as it fell in the snow.  “I do...kinda remember that.  Shit.  It’s all--” he waved his hand, “--hazy.  He made monkey noises, christ. Is that all that happened?  Who the hell was punching me?”  Billy dragged the elastic of his shorts halfway down his hip, and Steve covered a snort, then stopped to frown at what looked like fingermarks.

“Tommy or Carol, I guess.”  Steve made a face, and Billy shivered, in his shorts, in the snow.  “And you fell on the gearshift.  Shit.  And you’re freezing, I’m sor--”

“Don’t be sorry, dipshit, you didn’t do it,” Billy rolled his eyes.  “How come it’s fine for you to sit out here and freeze?”

“I���m in skiwear,” Steve snorted, wrapping the comforter around them again.  “And I walked around every time I got numb--” He staggered, flailing an arm, as his left leg started to wake up, and Billy leaned down to grab him around the waist and hoist him over one shoulder like a fireman, comforter and all.  Steve squawked, kicking, and Billy smacked his ass, walking back towards the house.

“The hell is wrong with you.” 

Steve’s face was flaming, all the blood that had congealed in his veins over the hours outside heating to a boil as his heart pounded over the arm holding him on Billy’s shoulder, and the warm hand on his thigh, just under his ass cheek.  He tried to prop himself up, flailing a foot and digging his elbow into Billy’s back, and Billy smacked his butt again.

“I will fucking drop you, shithead.”

Steve laughed, covering his face, and feeling the heat like burning in his gloveless fingers.  “No, you won’t,” he snickered, and Billy tripped, nearly tipping them over.  “Plant your feet, Hargrove,” he laughed aloud, and Billy growled, smacking him again, so Steve felt the heat rising against the chill air on his jeans.  He slid his numb hands down the back of Billy’s jeans, and he yelled “Fuck” even louder than he had in the grocery store.

Billy thunked him back on his feet just inside the door, tossing the comforter on the floor, and yanking the velcro open on Steve’s ski jacket to get to the zipper.  

“Shower,” Billy muttered, tossing Steve’s hat after his gloves, and kneeling to try and untie his boots with his banged-up hand, but Steve yanked him back up for a toothpaste-flavored kiss, and Billy laughed into his mouth.  Steve let go of Billy’s sweatshirt, running his thumb under Billy’s jaw to tip his head for a better angle, and sinking his fingers into soft curls. He slid his other hand under the elastic of Billy’s shorts, over where he’d seen the fingermarks, and squeezed.  Billy pressed him back against the wall, rocking their hips together, and swallowing a moan. “Ha-Harrington,” he panted. “Shower, you’re freezing. You’re like ice--”

Steve pulled him into a deeper kiss, trying to see around him to the clock, wondering whether there was time to tip him back into the fort, and leave his own kiss marks on every part of Billy’s body.  Billy turned his face away, laughing. “What the hell. Come on, you can fuck me in the shower.”  

It was a long cold walk up the stairs, as Steve finally started to shiver until his teeth chattered, and Billy stayed just out of reach.  “Don’t go too hard, I’m sore from last night--” he said over his shoulder, yanking the shower knob around to HOT, and Steve swallowed, surveying the bruises and scratches with a less-horny gaze.  He waited until Billy turned back, already half-hard in his shorts, and reached out to hook two fingers in the waistband, pulling them down further to expose fingermarks on both Billy’s hips. Billy dropped his hands to cover them--the bruises, not his half-hard dick--but Steve crouched, pulling him close to kiss along the finger marks.  

“Christ,” Billy whispered, his dick hardening so fast he staggered.  “Get--get in the shower. Your balls are gonna freeze off, man, come on.”  He grabbed Steve’s hands and pulled him up, backing through the shower door.  

Once under the spray, Steve got a handful of conditioner.  Billy turned to face the wall and brace himself, but Steve turned him around and wrapped his hand around both their cocks, shielding them from the water with his other arm braced against the wall.  Billy relaxed into his kisses, and Steve echoed his grin, stroking his cupped hand up and down both their dicks kinda haphazardly, between shivering, and kissing every single mark on Billy’s neck.  He grabbed a scribbled-on, bruised up forearm, and kissed those marks too, and then Billy made a weird noise in his throat and threw both arms around Steve’s neck and yanked him close, shaking as hard as Steve was.  

Steve slid his free hand down Billy’s back, grabbing his ass and pulling them so tight together his other hand on their dicks could barely move.  Billy groaned in his ear, grabbing a handful of Steve’s hair, and Steve mouthed at his neck and the side of his face, trying to press the awareness of Billy Hargrove, laughing and intact, through his senses into his brain.

“Say you’re okay,” he finally asked, tucking Billy’s hair back to bite gently at the shell of his ear.

“...’m fine,” Billy panted.  His blunt nails scraped Steve’s back.

“Tell me,” Steve asked, leaning in for another deep kiss.  He licked the last of the toothpaste flavor out of Billy’s mouth, letting his eyes flicker shut at the feeling of Billy laughing against his chest, and grinning against his mouth.  

“--good, ’s good--” Billy whispered against his mouth, his knees starting to sag, and Steve steadied them against the wall as Billy shuddered against him, moaning and clenching his fingers in Steve’s hair.  Steve muttered a lot of garbage, clenching his eyes so tight his vision went all colors.  He breathed against Billy’s neck, grabbing him closer.  The shower pounded down, hot around them, but Steve still shook, forcing his lungs to expand and contract as they jerked and shuddered.  

“T-talk to me, Hargrove,” he asked, burying his face against the wet skin of Billy’s neck.  “You--you’re--fine, you’re--” he swallowed down what was probably his imagination, but felt like both of his lungs and maybe his stomach, trying to force their way up his esophagus.  It was hard to talk, shaking so hard, and he remembered suddenly that his fingers were the ones clenched around Billy’s ass, and digging into his side, and he tried to stagger back.

“Jesus, your record’s fine, you didn’t lose anybody.”  Billy pulled him back with an arm around his waist, and Steve imagined breaking that record--Dustin’s screams having cut off in the tunnels, or Lucas and Max left in the bus to die alone, because Steve (The Idiot) Harrington had walked out and gotten surrounded and eaten, or finding Billy dead in a pile of his own vomited vodka.  Finding him in a pool of blood and cooking sherry, as his dad drove away.

“Hey, I’m okay,” Billy was whispering, when Steve’s brain flickered back on, disoriented like a VCR after a power outage.   

Twelve, twelve, twelve, Steve thought, shaking his head to clear it.  

“I’m fine--I’m okay, christ.  What the hell, Harrington, I’m here, I’m all right--”

Steve held him tighter, waving his jizz-covered hand in the shower spray before sliding it around Billy’s shoulders.  “You sure you’re all right?” he asked, hearing his voice crack, and Billy took a deep breath, hugging him back just as tight, and running his fingers through Steve’s hair.  

“Shit, yeah, I’m hungover as hell, but christ.  I’m just--I’m a little banged up, but it’s not on you.  Calm the fuck down, I just left for a night--”

“Thought your dad took you,” Steve took a slow breath, and his lungs hitched.  “Thought he took you, and I wasn’t here, you fucking asshole, I told you to wait for me and I wasn’t here, there was--there was blood on the goddamn door, Hargrove, I thought--”

“Shit.”  Billy’s arms tightened until Steve felt like his bones should break, but the pain felt good.  “I left a note--”

“I know--”  Steve tried to control his breathing, then just pressed his face to the side of Billy’s neck again, trying to muffle it.  “I--I found it, shit.  S-sorry. Sorry.  You--you left a note, you’re right, I’m--I just--”

“Ssshhh.”  Billy kissed the side of his head.  “I’m--I’m okay, Harrington.”  He laughed, a little high pitched and shaky.  “I’m fine.  Sorry.  I didn’t mean to freak you out.  Christ.”

“Sorry I’m losing my shit,” Steve mumbled into his neck, feeling his heart slowly stop thudding, under the hot shower, with Billy squeezing him until his bones creaked.

“It’s okay,” Billy breathed back.  

Once Steve finally pulled himself away from under the hot water--his usually-reliable tear ducts seemed to be over their mutiny, for the moment--Billy sat on the toilet, pressing his fingers against the bruise on his face from where the bottle had slipped out of his numb hand.  “Wonder what the hell I did that got me this one,” he grinned up at Steve, and Steve leaned in to push Billy’s hand away, and kiss the bruise.

“That was you, you fucking.  Sugar beet.” He set his jaw, and Billy snorted, leaning in for a kiss.  Steve relaxed, crouched naked in the warm bathroom, and let his eyes close, opening his mouth for Billy’s tongue.  

“Pissing people off?” Billy asked, against his lips, and Steve shook his head, pulling his head back to run his thumb over the mark.  

“You were lying on your back swinging a bottle around, and you dropped it.”  Billy burst out laughing, leaning into Steve, and Steve turned to inspect the hand that had broken his door.   It was swollen, and Billy winced as Steve gently moved the fingers. “You want me to help you make up your face, Knight Hargrove?”

“What,” Billy stared at him, sounding hoarse, and Steve considered.

“Oh.  I’m supposed to tell you you’re King Harrington’s favorite knight, and that sweatshirt is my favor--” 

“Holy shit,” Billy breathed, his cheeks going pink in the way that meant he’d either try to climb on Steve’s dick, flee, or throw down, so Steve talked faster.

“--and if you want that covered up, your hand’s a mess, you’ll have to talk me through it.”

“What?!  Hell no, I’ll look like John Wayne Gacy as Patches the Clown,” Billy snickered, wide-eyed.

“I’m good with my hands,” Steve grinned up, “--I think I can take a crack at it.”

“Really?!”  Billy leaned his face in his good hand, laughing, and Steve dropped to sit crosslegged, trying to catch his eye.  

“You’ve got a bruise on your cheek, and some down your neck,” he pointed out, and Billy put his hand around his own neck, pressing at them, before Steve pulled it away.  “Don’t do that. Sorry, I already darkened ‘em up. Sorry. Can I help?”

“Yeah, I--I guess,” Billy glanced up at Steve’s face, then down again, at the marker on his forearms, “--if you want to.  Should be hilarious.”

“Sounds fun.”  Steve shrugged.  “If I do a shitty job, you can always wash it off.”  Billy was just sitting, tracing the letters on his arms, so Steve leaned up to kiss his cheek, before trotting off to pull on jeans and a sweatshirt, and root around for Billy’s bag.  

 To smooth the foundation over the throat bruises, Steve cupped his hand under Billy’s jaw, sliding his thumb in to lift Billy’s head, and Billy jerked backwards, swallowing.  “Watch it, jesus.” Steve slowed, tentative with the little sponge, and Billy twitched, growling. “...you fucking grab my throat and I’ll tear your damn hand off,” he hissed, and Steve nodded.

“Somebody grabs your throat, I’ll hold ‘em down for you,” he muttered, distracted by the effort of matching skin tone.  

Billy laughed, his fingers clenching the letters on his forearms as he tried to hold still.  “You--you would, wouldn’t you.”  

Steve nodded, cocking his head to inspect his handiwork.  

“What the hell.  I’ll--I’ll help with your--gremlins.  If they need...something.”

“What?”  Steve frowned up, makeup sponge poised, and Billy snorted, grinning.

“I’ll help your kids.  It’s--I can help you do your--your stupid dangerous ‘superhero of goddamn Hawkins, Indiana’ gig.  I know I’m not here long, but if they need help and you can’t--mmph.”

Steve was careful not to smudge his bruise-covering efforts, kissing Billy--he dropped the sponge in the sink, and sank his fingers into the curls at the base of Billy’s head, pulling him close.  “Holy shit I love you.”

Billy smirked.  “I am even hotter than lasagna.”

“What?  No, no, I--I meant--”

“You’re good at this,” Billy snorted, eyeing himself in the glass door of the shower.  “I’ll call you up the next hundred times I get fucked on some floor, drunk off my ass.  You can buy a makeup kit and swing by my apartment.  Peel the condoms off my face.”  

The clench in Steve’s stomach, and the taste of bile in the back of his throat were familiar to him, from the day he’d fought Jonathan Byers--who had been looking for a missing child-- and spraypainted awful things about the smartest, most beautiful girl he knew, thinking she didn’t want him.   She sure didn’t after that, he thought numbly, staring vaguely between Billy’s neck and the makeup sponge, then clenching his jaw, and pressing the pigment over the bruises Billy had from someone else’s mouth on his neck.  “Why the hell you having sex with a hundred other people?”  He cleared his throat. “I just mean--”

“Sometimes you aren’t there.”  Billy shrugged, combing his fingers through his curls to hold them out of the way of Steve’s little makeup sponge.

“What am I, then, an appliance?”  Steve tried to laugh, swallowing, and busied himself dabbing the wet sponge at the bottle.  “Like a washing machine.”

“You’ve got a great agitator,” Billy snickered, sliding his foot along Steve’s jeans, and over his dick.  It leaped to attention like the traitor it was, and Steve huffed a laugh, his lungs feeling heavy.  

“Sometimes you want the laundromat anyway?” he asked, and Billy leaned in to kiss him again, laughing against his mouth.  

Steve did a pretty good job, he thought, even though he didn’t know how to do the fancy stuff.  He figured he���d probably put Billy’s eye out, trying the mascara, but the only difficulty with smoothing the watered foundation on to Billy’s warm skin was his dick twitching against his leg as he imagined messing it up afterwards--dabbing it off the circles under Billy’s eyes with a warm cloth, as he waited patiently, eyes closed.  Afterwards, in the bedroom, Steve’d peel him out of his school clothes, and kiss the last traces off his neck. “...you’ll just wear long sleeves, right,” Steve frowned at Billy’s fingers, clenching white-knuckled against his forearms over Steve’s letters, “--you’re gonna give yourself more bruises, man, come on.”

“What is all this shit.  Why were you writing on me?”

Steve stared at the letters visible around Billy’s clenched nails, and picked the safest option.  “El told Hopper. I--I think he knows that--I--um. I think he knows it’s you, shit.”  He grimaced up.  “That I’m gay for.”

“...well, yeah,” Billy snorted, grinning.  “What did you think, she’d tell him you were in a threesome with your ex and her new squeeze?”

Steve stared at him, heart pounding.  “No, I mean, he knows it’s you.”

“...who the hell did you think it’d be?  Anybody you told you were giving it up the ass to a dude was gonna know it was me.”

“...but it was just me, I was gonna protect Will--I didn’t mean to--”

“And when you say you’re into dick now,” Billy raised his eyebrows, mouth quirked, “--nobody’s gonna notice me?  Staying in your house?”

“But--but you’re just here because of your dad,” Steve squinted back, watching Billy’s jaw flex.

“Right.  Just because you’re afraid my--you think he’ll--”

Steve stood, stepping back.  “Check your face, we gotta leave soon.”

 He focused on driving, getting to school, mostly letting Billy’s conversational starters lay where they fell, and then hauled him out and to the nurse’s office.  She clucked about Billy’s fingers, and Steve saw him setting his jaw to be Billy, so he told her the victim had been a dumpster, and left them to it.

 Steve dropped into the chair to face Nancy, ostensibly to study, but actually to bury his face in his backpack, and make an anxious noise deep in his throat at the friend closest to “intelligent adult”.  

“Everything’s terrible,” he told his textbooks, through his bag, and she narrowed her eyes at the grid she was neatly lettering.

“Oh, here we go, just a minute, almost done--” she held up her pencil, squinting at the page, and then stabbed it down to squiggle in one last square.  “Right.  Done.  I think.  What now?”

“He’s--” 

“Who’s?” said Billy’s voice, over his shoulder, as he pulled out a chair and dropped into it next to Steve.   Steve wrapped his arms around his head, wishing he could crawl under the table, listening to Billy’s amused “Good morning, Wheeler,” and Nancy’s startled “Hello.”  It didn’t seem likely that a Looney-Tunes hole would open and swallow Steve up, but he wished hard for it for a long second, took a deep breath, pushing everything back down, and raised his head.  Billy’s leg was warm against his. Nancy’s eyebrows were nearly in her hairline. She clicked at her automatic pencil, pushed the lead back in, and clicked it back out, as Billy dug around in his bag, before pushing a sandwich baggie of apple slices over to Steve.  

Steve eyed the apples, feeling the everything he’d shoved down start to come back up, and, to his horror, a burning in his eyes.  

“So you don’t get scurvy,” Billy pushed the apple pieces closer, “--since you didn’t have breakfast, and you forgot to grab lunch--”

“Thanks,” Steve grabbed them, and his backpack, and shoved away from the table, stalking as fast as he could to the library door, and passing the closest restrooms.  He was fine, if he kept moving--he tried to think of the least likely place he’d be found, rounding a turn in the hallway as he heard the library doors open in a scuffle of squeaking shoes.  Billy’s shoes are wet, because he left these apples in the car, he realized.   He went out in the snow.  The apples were cold in his hand as he spotted the teacher he owed an essay on The Grapes of Wrath through the mesh security glass of her classroom door.  He knocked, taking a deep breath and resetting his face as she poked her head out.  

“Could you let me study in one of the dressing rooms?” he asked, keeping his smile casual.  “I’ve got lunch and a free period, and my friends are really great, but--” he winced, grinning, and she laughed.  

“I guess I can trust you not to mess up the costumes.”  He followed her to the next doorway down, and she unlocked it, then shook the keys at him.  “But if I find all the dresses ripped, I’ll know who was trying them on!”

Steve realized that was funny a second late, and laughed.  “Thank you!  Finally, time to get that essay done.”

She slapped his shoulder, his eyes stung again, and he swallowed it back.  She pressed her lips together.  “You look like you could use some quiet.”

He kept the grin on as she locked the door after him, then sank down against the wall behind the table, where he and his sneakers wouldn’t be visible through the security glass panel in the door.  The everything he’d been pushing down swelled up and squeezed tears out of his eyes, and he took a deep breath, closing them, and let his head thump back against the wall.  Squeaky shoes ran by, and the bell rang as his lungs jerked. He pressed his fists against his mouth, feeling them judder through a few shaky, wet breaths before settling into a kind of accordion action he tried to muffle in his arms.  Once they’d stopped--he felt the sharp pains he usually had after too fast a run--he slumped against the table, wiping his eyes on his sleeves, and wrinkling his nose in disgust as he squeezed it, and wiped his fingers on his jeans. Instead of getting up and checking the time, he ate his apples.  They weren’t as cold, and they’d gone a little brown, and looking at them still made his sinuses burn, as he pictured Billy in California, chopping apples.  

They were sweet.

 Rounding the corner past the cafeteria on the way to physics, Steve found himself mashed against the drinking fountain, Billy’s bandaged fist in his jacket, his breath minty.  “Behind the gym, Harrington.  Five minutes.”  Tommy whistled, and Billy shoulder-checked him on the way by.  

Billy was waiting past the dumpsters, hidden in the cement-walled dead end between the gym, band, and the back of the auditorium.  He shoved Steve against the wall as he came around the corner, leaning in to grab the collar of his shirt, his bandaged arm braced over Steve’s head.  The foundation was holding the line against the darkness under his eyes, but without his steady hand on the mascara and whatever else, he looked weirdly pale, and he smelled like he was sweating alcohol.  “So you can hear the shit coming out of my mouth.  Harrington.  The fuck did I do.”

“No,” Steve held his hands up between them, and forced himself to smile at Billy, and not just make an excuse about class to cover his escape.  “No, you didn’t--”

“Three strikes, I’m out?  You want me gone?  Give me three strikes, Little League champ.”

“What?”  Steve swallowed.  

“Before I’m out.  Give me another chance--”  

“No--it’s not--”

Billy let go of Steve’s collar, and rubbed his eyes, swallowing.  “At least you’re talking to me.  What did I...did I--did I kick your ass again?  It’s something--”

Steve drew a long breath, half wanting to kiss him, half wanting him to have already left for California, so Steve could be a mess without having to account for himself.  “Not--no, damn it.  It wasn’t a fight.”

“So there was something.  Perfect.  Did I gross you out?”  Billy grinned, reaching across to clench his fingers where Steve had written on his arm--again.  He has to be giving himself bruises, Steve thought, reaching out to tug at Billy’s hand.  He allowed it, watching where their fingers touched, then glanced back up at Steve.  “Will’s not here, you don’t have to pretend.”

“Not pretending, jesus.”  Steve slid his fingers up the sleeve of Billy’s borrowed sweatshirt, stroking the soft skin of his inner wrist.

“What’d I do, cry some more?  D’I beg for something?   Something made you look through me all morning.”

“Not--not all morning,” Steve protested, watching Billy’s splinted fingers.  

“Gonna knock you on your ass in gym,” Billy bared his teeth, “--climb on your cock--bite your fucking jugular-- pretending I don’t exist,” his voice cracked, “--what is this shit, you wish I didn’t fucking exist?”

“Hell no.” Steve squeezed his wrist, staring into Billy’s red, teary eyes.  “No, Hargrove, I--of--”

“--because there aren’t a hell of a lot of wishes I can grant,” Billy laughed, swallowing hard, “--but that one I got, your majesty--”

Steve grabbed him around the shoulders and pulled him into a tight squeeze, rocking them together.  “No, no, no.  No.  Hargrove.  Trespasser.” Billy huffed a laugh, his tense muscles making it break and sound kind of like more than one note at the same time.  “Jesus.  Dickhead.  You--you--you can just--just say my name, christ.  Punch my shoulder.  Get my attention, asswipe.  Sweet--sweet.  Pie.  I’m just--I just tune out--”  

“Get bad reception?” Billy laughed against the side of his head, shaking.

“I do, I get all knotted up in my head--” Steve let himself squeeze Billy against himself nearly as tightly as he wanted to, before leaning back against the wall to clear his throat, “--about--lots of shit, it’s--”

“Screw you, it’s different today, you--” 

Steve thought of a way to ask about that morning, without dropping his neediness on Billy’s head like a dump truck load of garbage.  “You, uh, just--you told me you loved me.  I just--” Billy went entirely stiff against him, before his lungs started bucking control in the way Steve recognized, and he grappled clumsily, trying to grab and hold as much Billy Hargrove as possible.  “I--I said it back!  Hargrove!  I said it back, I wrote it on you--because you wouldn’t remember--you--you told me to write it--you wanted to give me shit about it later--”

“What, this?!” Billy laughed disbelievingly, reaching up to shove his cuff back to his elbow.  

“Yeah, yes, ‘Steve has--’”

“Steve has FEEBLINGS,’” Billy read, and Steve grabbed his arm to look.

“...feeblings?” he read, starting to snicker himself, as his eyes stung.  “Y--you were so drunk, sweet--sweetbread--”

“I was?!”

“You were, dickhead, you yanked your arm--”

Billy snorted.  “What feeblings do you have, Steve Harrington?” 

“Lots of feeblings,” Steve cackled, leaning into Billy’s shoulder.  “So many feeblings, I’m--I’m just--you said you loved me, and then you didn’t remember, asshole, and it--it’s shitty, it was shitty--that’s it, that’s why I wasn’t--”

“...glad it went well, I guess,” Billy stared at his arm, glanced at Steve, and started laughing again, wiping his eyes.  He made a show of licking his lips.  “We should cut class, and--”

“I can’t,” said Steve, who couldn’t take more of this conversation, though he did lean in to give Billy a hard kiss, on his mouth, and the unbruised side of his jaw, and then his neck.  He breathed against Billy’s skin for a moment, smelling cologne.  “--sorry. Sorry.” The bell rang, and he pushed Billy away hard enough he staggered back, and then went to class.

 When Steve wandered out--well after the last bell, and after staring into his locker for long enough that a freshman, their face entirely glasses, asked him whether he was okay--Billy and his car were missing.  

Max, bundled in a coat and mittens in uncharacteristic pink and grey, glared him up and down.  “...wait, if he’s not with you, and he’s not with us--”

“Maybe he’ll be back,” Eleven frowned around.  Her coat and mittens matched Max’s, but in pink and white, and Steve forgot his car-stealing home invader to grin at them.

“You guys buy matching outfits?”

“Yes!” said Eleven, at the same time Max said “No!”

“They’re nice.”  Steve fought a grin, for a moment wishing Billy were here to tease his stepsister, and then wondering whether that would ruin it.  

“Max is teaching me to skateboard, and it’s--” Eleven began, but Lucas’ voice cut her off, coming abruptly from behind them.

“Erica says she’ll ‘return him when she’s done.’”  Steve swiveled on one foot to face him, and Max ran up to Lucas, jaw set.  He had his walkie-talkie in hand.

“What?!  Is--what--”  Steve sputtered.  “Your little sister’s with Billy?”

“I--she seems fine?!”  Lucas flailed, and bit his lips, frowning back at Steve.  “She’s alive, or she was--”

Steve cleared his throat.  “Uh.”  Why does Billy keep getting kidnapped by children?  “What’s going on?  D’you know?”

“I don’t like him around her without El,” Max hissed at Steve, and he hesitated, pretty sure she was thinking about the same night he was, when Billy’d been so rattled and furious he’d threatened bodily harm to a child.  

He took a deep breath.  “--yeah.  Yeah, do you know where they are, Sinclair?”

“No, they won’t--they aren’t answering--”  Lucas took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose.  “I just know she and her friend Tomika stomped out at lunch, and told her friends they were coming over here--and then I couldn’t get either of them to--he gave the walkie-talkie to her, and before I could answer it, the teacher confiscated it until after class--”

“She left at lunch?”  Max grabbed him by the upper arms, then pulled back, patting at him awkwardly, while Lucas stared into her face.  “I just mean,” she swallowed, glancing at Steve, “--that’s hours ago.”

“Look,” Steve put in, cautiously.  “I’m not saying we shouldn’t find him, but he’s been fine with Will, and Eleven--”

“Eleven has superpowers!” Lucas yelled, as Max shouted “You were with them all weekend!”

“I know, I’m--I just mean, don’t panic yet?” Steve tried, as Lucas tried the walkie-talkie again.  

They all waited for an answer.  After several minutes of Lucas’ increasingly intense “Hello?  Anyone? Over,”s, and Max yelling, Erica’s voice came through.  

“Shush up, guys,” she whispered.  “You’re scaring it! Give us a minute!”  

Lucas stared at the walkie-talkie, and after that, nobody could raise her.  “...she must have clicked it off.  She doesn’t even have a walkie-talkie--this one’s mine--”

“She must be using Billy’s,” Steve shrugged, then blinked back at the stares, “--what?”

“Why does Billy have one?” Max hissed, and Steve raised his hands.  

“Uh, Dustin.  He, uh, he gave us a set.  Why don’t we go back inside,” he suggested, and Max grabbed his elbow, dragging him onward to the doors.  

In the library, Matt hauled Lucas over behind a bookshelf to whisper fiercely, and Eleven sat at a table, folding her hands.  Without her having to look up, Steve felt the expectation that he’d sit down, and he succumbed to the pull.  

“I told Hopper about liking waffles or spit,” she said, as he dropped into a chair, and he choked on air, before smacking a hand over his mouth.  

“What,” he gasped.

“He said he doesn’t want to know--”

“Oh my god, what did you say?!”

“And we’ll talk about it when you’re older--”

“Oh lord.”  Steve buried his face in his arms, wishing Billy would answer his walkie-talkie.

“He was trying to tell me what to do if I bleed from different places,” she rolled her eyes, “--get a first aid box, duh.  You get a first aid kit if you’re bleeding from any of the places.”

“Oh nooo, Hopper, I’m so sorry,” Steve told the table.  

“He said to go to the nurse even if I’m embarrassed, and I said I’ll just stand up in class and say ‘Help!  I’m bleeding!  It’s everywhere!  Blood!’ so she knows it’s urgent. ”

It sounded like the librarian dropped something, but Steve was laughing too hard into his arms to look.

“The first aid book Jonathan had said you could use anything that would soak it up, as long as it wasn’t dirty.  Like bread.  I could ask if anyone’s lunch had bread.  You have to wrap it in something, so you don’t get bread in the wound--”  She cocked her head, considering, and Steve tried not to die imagining her trying to trim a PB&J into a maxi pad.  

Hopper, Billy, I’m manning up, before Eleven does anything horrible with a breadstick, he told himself, and cleared his throat.  “You--you should, uh, ask Nancy. Girls, uh, they--” he looked up to see Max and Lucas walking up, and swallowed, feeling his face heat like a stove burner.  “--ask Nancy, okay, just talk to her.  Or, um, or Joyce?” 

Eleven narrowed her eyes at him, then turned her laser concentration on Max, and Steve smacked the table.  

“Any word?!”  

Max narrowed her eyes at him, but he thought if he knew the conversation he’d just spared her, she’d understand.

“None,” Lucas said, his voice steady, but he folded his arms and stared at Steve.  

Probably, Steve thought, thinking of what he’d do to him, if Billy--he rubbed his face, sliding down in his chair with a groan.  Billy’d seemed sober, earlier, not that that meant anything.  Max started drumming her hands on her skateboard, and what Steve could see of Lucas’ arm shifted.  Max’s drumming ceased, and Steve again wished Billy was there, or that he was the kind of brother Steve could tell that Max was holding hands with a boy under the table.  

“Look, um, I--I did Billy a favor.  He said he’d help out you little shits.”

“He what?”  Max squinted, shaking her head.

“Why ask him?”  Lucas stared.  

“Maybe she thinks he’s okay because of me,” Max laughed, leaning her face in her hands.  “He’s my brother, right, he’s probably fine--she doesn't--she wouldn't--”  She was clenching her fists in her hair when the walkie-talkie came on with Billy’s voice.  

“On our way back--augh, jesus, careful--”

“Put my fucking sister on,” Lucas said calmly, and when Erica’s voice came through, he dropped his head in his hand, drawing a shaky breath.  

“We’re on our way, god.  Oh--” she cracked up, as an explosion of profanity came through in Billy’s voice, and peals of laughter from another little girl voice.  “We--we’re--oh my gosh, oh no--” It cut out on them both laughing harder, and Billy still muttering things he probably shouldn’t’ve, but Steve let himself relax, somewhat.  

Lucas got up and ran outside, followed by Max, and Eleven shrugged, checking the clasp on her bag.  “...Lucas...is afraid of Billy,” she told it, and Steve grimaced.

“Uh.  Um, Max too,” he ran his fingers through his hair, then tried to fix it, “--he’s, uh, you know how you--if you--if you have to get out of a bad place, sometimes you just don’t--care anymore?  How you get out? He’s, um, he’s kinda…”

She listened, watching his face.  “...I wouldn’t hurt friends.”

“No, um, he didn’t--he shouldn’t have done that, he--he didn’t know he--” Steve sighed.  “He’s trying to do better?  He is, he’s doing better, he’s--he’s choosing--” He thought of the King Kong threesome, and winced.  

“That’s why you want me along,” she nodded, pursing her lips.  “Is...is that why Max…” She bit her lips, clicking her bag open and closed.

“No!  No,” Steve waved his hands.  “I don’t--Max--she’s pretty honest--if she didn’t like you, you’d know!”

She nodded, frowning, and swung her bag over her shoulder, tapping her foot.  He drug himself up, and they wandered out of the doors just as Billy parked. Two little girls piled out of the passenger seat, ran around, and started tugging at him, and Lucas tried to grab his sister.  The other little girl elbowed her way in, and Billy smacked at her hands, and Steve saw blood. He yanked her out of the way by the backpack, and reached out to Billy’s torn and bleeding hand--it was smearing blood all over the steering wheel--and the front of his bloodied pullover sweatshirt.  

The pocket of Billy’s sweatshirt meowed.  

“Holy shit.”  Steve leaned his face in his arms on the roof of the car.  “Jesus fuck. I thought you were dying.”  

Billy scooted the seat back, froze, and yelled “Damn you, fucking sabertooth monster--” as the pocket of his sweatshirt writhed.  “--demon beast--christ--”

Steve tried not to laugh, a little giddy with relief--Billy had his hands raised, blood dripping from the heel of his hand, and down his fingers.  “D’you--um, do you need help--?”

The little girl that wasn’t Erica elbowed her way back in.  “It’s okay, Marcenia!  We’re almost there!  Get out!”  She grabbed Billy’s arm, yanking at him, and the cat yowled.  Billy made it out, but stumbled back against the car again, muttering under his breath.  

“What the fuck,” said Max, stalking over.  

“She doesn’t like you,” said the other little girl. 

“Eleven gets rides all the time, why can’t I?!”  Erica joined the fray. “Tomika was going to look all alone-- by the old Shireman house--”

“You were looking for that cat?!  By the Shireman house?!” Lucas put in, “--couldn’t it have waited ‘til after school?!  With backup?”

“It’s cold out there,” the other little girl, Tomika, apparently, hissed.  “She’s little.”

Billy rubbed his face, and shot a glare at Steve, waving at Erica and the other little girl, who was apparently Tomika.  “Are these two even yours?”

“Not mine,” Steve blinked back.  “Uh, welcome to babysitting, I guess?”

Billy jabbed him with two fingers.   “I want a divorce.”  

Steve started snickering, Lucas’ frown intensified, and Tomika tried to stick her face in Billy’s pocket, only to be met with a swipe from a tiny, fluffy, orange-and-brown splotched paw with blood on its claws and fur.  

“Marcenia Lyle Alberga,” Tomika hissed, holding her hand on her cheek, “--this is why you have no friends.”

“Can we--could I sort of--lift it over your head?”  Steve waved at the roiling sweatshirt, and Billy winced, nodding.  

“God, try.  Please.”

“...why is she in your pocket?” Max asked, eyes narrowed, stepping in, and rolling up her sleeves.

“He got her out of the tree,” Erica announced, and Lucas snorted, but stepped in with Max to grab the bottom hem of the sweatshirt and lift it--at arm’s length--while Steve pulled Billy’s sleeves over his bloody hands and lifted the whole sweatshirt off, yanking him away from it as Tomika grabbed the growling, thrashing bundle.  

Eleven ran up.  “I got a first aid kit,” she said, reaching towards Billy’s hand, then pulling back.  “I can practise now.”

“The fuck are you practising for,” Billy muttered as she drug him over to sit the aid kit on the trunk.  

“I need to know what to do with a lot of blood,” she said matter-of-factly, and Steve rubbed his face, before peeling out of his jacket to drop it over Billy’s shirtless shoulders.

“Why,” Billy pressed, frowning at her, and Steve left him to it, turning back to Max, Lucas, Erica, Tomika, and her kitten.  

“I can’t believe you skipped school to find that thing,” Lucas groaned, “Mom’s gonna kill both of us--”  

Tomika’s chin jerked up, but Erica threw an arm between them.  

“All right, every one of you little gremlins missed the bus, who needs rides home?”  Steve frowned at his backseat, and then the child posse.  Tomika narrowed her eyes, and blew a massive bubblegum bubble at him.

“Erica can sit on me,” Lucas sighed.  

“El can sit on me, I’m not getting close to Marcenia.”  Max crossed her arms, apparently familiar with Tomika’s cat, and Tomika sniffed.  When Billy wandered back over, his hands thickly bandaged, and gauze over his entire stomach like he’d been attacked by a demogorgon, Max glared up at him.  “So you do know how to be a big brother,” she hissed, punching his shoulder, and stomped around the other side of the car.  He set his jaw.

“Sooo it’s cold out here, everybody pile in,” Steve rubbed his jacketless arms, nodding at his car.  El was stuffing her first aid kit back in her bag, but Billy walked around and pawed at the passenger seat door, until Max roared from inside and got out to help him, slamming the door after her.

Lucas scrabbled at his hair, turned a truly vicious glare on Steve, and piled in, and Erica clambered after him, rolling her eyes.  Max was shoving Billy into the front seat with her foot, kinda looking like she wanted to laugh, or cry, and when Steve climbed in the driver’s seat, Billy was biting his lips.  

There was a mass crush away as Tomika climbed in with Marcenia, still wrapped in Billy’s bloodied sweatshirt, and emitting a creepy arcing rusty-hinge-like noise, but Steve just reached over and squeezed Billy’s knee, and backed out of the parking space.  

“Where am I going.”  He glanced at Lucas’ glower in the rearview mirror.

“The Sinclair’s,” Tomika leaned between the seats, and Marcenia yowled at the motion, “I can walk from there--”

“Hell no,” Lucas shoved her back over, “--we’re delivering that thing to your doorstep, so you can lock it in.”

At Tomika’s house, Erica piled out to help her extract her cat, and Lucas scooted over, letting El slide off Max’s lap.  They all stretched, groaning.  Tomika’s mom came out to clasp Billy’s hand through the window. “I’m sorry,” she said, wide-eyed, and showed him deep scratches on her arm.  Her voice dropped to a whisper.  “This cat, it only like her.  I call it bakaneko, a demon cat.”

“Yeah, it is.”  Billy frowned over her shoulder at Tomika in the doorway, her tortoiseshell kitten on her shoulder, grooming the blood out of its claws.  Erica waved, and he lifted a bandage mitten at her.

“She will not sleep without Marucenia,” she huffed, and patted his hand, grinning.  “Thank you.”

Max kicked the back of his seat, and he hunched his shoulders, nodding, as Tomika’s mom trotted back into the house, stopping to kick at a patch of thick ice on the walk.  

“Fucking hell, asshole,” Max muttered.  “Kittens out of trees.”

“That wasn’t a kitten,” he shot back, and she was silent for a long second, before she started sniggering.  Lucas didn’t say anything as they dropped he and Max off--though he gave Billy’s seat a kick--and once everyone else was gone, El settled in the middle of the back seat, leaning forward.

“No waffles.”  Billy glared over his shoulder, narrowing his eyes, and she dropped back against the seat with a sigh.  “I’m not going anywhere like this.”

“I did a good job, though,” she hugged her bag, “--with all the blood.”

“What the shit,” Billy squinted at Steve, then at her, “--what’s with the blood thing--”

“No, don’t--”  Steve waved a hand, too late, as El restarted her description of Hopper’s aborted lecture, and dumped the explanation of the female reproductive system back in their laps.  As they pulled up to Hopper’s trailer, Billy was gleefully relaying stories of his mom’s coworkers reactions to the White Pants Incident, and Steve had entirely too much information to ever look the woman squarely in the face.

“Ohhh,” Eleven rolled her eyes, “--that’s why I shouldn’t use a waffle.  You could have just said so.”

“Wait, what,” Billy cackled.

 When they got back to Steve’s house, Billy tried to talk to him again, and Steve grabbed his white-knuckled hand and yanked it off the letters on his arm again, and busied himself about replacing most of Eleven's piles of gauze with bandaids.  “Okay. I--I wrote your mom loves you, because--because I called her, and she does, okay.”

“...what,” Billy stared back at him, “--what--Harrington, if--if you’re screwing with me, I’ll--”

“C’mon, shit,” Steve shoved Billy towards the fort, and grabbed the phone--when he took the base off the side table and scooted it along the floor, the curly cord juuuust stretched into the fort, and he dialed from memory.  “Ma’am,” he said, and Billy scrambled to sit next to him, the phone pressed awkwardly between their ears.

“Is my kid listening?” she hissed.  “You better have both ears pressed to this phone, boyo, ‘cause I need to yell into ‘em--”

Steve winced, trying to pull the phone away from Billy, but he jerked it back, grinning.

“You listening, kid?”

Steve yanked at the phone, then registered Billy’s relaxed slump against his neck and shoulder, and waited.

“Yeah, mom.”  Billy’s voice was hoarse, and it sounded like she lost hers for a second, clearing her throat with a growly whine in the back of her throat.  

“Do--do you remember why you were born at eight months, Billy?”

“You fell?” he whispered, and Steve realized Billy was laughing--not in the furious way he had in the trunk, but relaxed, with tears running down his cheeks.  Steve flapped a hand for the napkins they’d brought out with Will, and handed one over.  

“I--I did not--no?!” she sputtered, and Steve couldn’t help snickering with Billy at how indignant she sounded.  “I did not--carrying valuables--did not fall--I’m obviously better at making children than most people!  You were done!  You were perfect, and I stuck a fork in--”

“That image is still gross--” Billy cackled, and she shouted over him.

“A mommy fork, and you were perfect, and I wanted to meet you.  I couldn’t wait.  You have heard this story.”

“Yeah.”  Billy’s voice cracked. 

“I wanted to show everybody in the world the very best baby, that’s why I put up with you showing up at the beach--I can’t believe you, there was water at the beach already, but no, I gotta dump my own--you know all the places I had sand--”

“You shouldn’t surf when you’re eight months pregnant,” Billy laughed, wiping his eyes, and Steve stroked his thumb up and down through the curls at the nape of Billy’s neck.  

“You--I hadn’t--I hadn’t even gotten near the water, I was just--you better admit you wanted to meet me too, buster--there I am yelling for everybody to appreciate my baby, be jealous of this absolute gift in front of their eyes--little sand monster--”

“Yeah, Mom.”  Billy’s voice was gravelly, and Steve squeezed him, feeling his eyes burn, and his lungs ache.  “...maybe I just wanted to surf.”

“Well yeah you did, you think my kid has bad taste?  And then taking forever to learn to swim--” she snorted, and Billy choked out a laugh.  

“I didn’t, come on.  I’m just not a ff--a sea turtle--”

“You are definitely my little land turtle.  Hey.  Other kid!”

“Steve?” Billy laughed, grinning over, and Steve worked the muscles in his cheeks to smile back.  

“Steve,” Steve confirmed, and she huffed.  

“--I can hear he’s still a huge crybaby.  I did that on purpose too.”

“Shut up, I forgot how embarrassing you are,” Billy muttered.

Steve fought down the same urge he felt watching Nancy’s mom coo over her little sister, or listening to Joyce’s fury through the phone over Will, or Hopper touching Eleven’s shoulder all the time, just to make sure she was still there--he wanted to fling bottles, or hit trees with his bat, or just call his parents over and over and scream as loud as he could down the line.  Billy’s mom didn’t wait for his reply.  

“Oh yeah I am, I’ve been saving up how embarrassing I can be--”

Billy huffed a laugh.  “That’s scarier than--”

“He’s a crybaby so I know when to scoop him up, and carry him around--”

“I don’t think you’ll be doing a lot of that,” Billy put in, grabbing a napkin and blowing his nose.

She replied through gritted teeth.   “I absolutely will--”

“He’s pretty tall,” Steve put in, and cleared his throat.  “I could--”

“I will lift him anyway,” she growled, and Steve remembered he wasn’t actually necessary for this conversation, and shut up.  “I bench 160, kiddo--”

“Whoa there,” Billy sniffled, “--don’t give yourself a--”

“How tall are you,” she wailed suddenly.  “I don’t have any pictures, you didn’t send me anything, how am I supposed to humiliate you in front of your girlfriends without little chubby Billy in braces--”

“What?!” Steve snorted, and Billy elbowed him, pulling the phone (and Steve, attached) closer to his head to yell back at her.

“Where the hell was I supposed to send them, it’s not like you--”

“To the prison?”  She sounded startled, and Billy went still.  “I waited every visiting day for you, you ungrateful--”

“What,” Billy choked.

“I...I took you across state lines, kiddo.  Don’t you remember?”

The plastic was starting to hurt Steve’s ear, wedged sideways so both he and Billy could listen, but he kept quiet.

“I--I remember g-getting pulled over,” Billy stumbled over his words.  “I, uh, I remember packing up the Camaro, I remember you hauling me out in footie pajamas--”

“I don’t--I won’t drink anymore,” she cut him off.  “I haven’t, I--I went to this--it was so boring, I had to bring your pictures and laugh at them in the waiting room to remember why I was there--”

“You--you laughed at my pictures?!  You look--looked like one of the Beatles, okay--” 

“You be careful there, son o’ mine.  An-anyway.  Honey.  I’m--I’m better, I--I’ve got a good job, I’m making payments on this place--I don’t know what to put in your bedroom, Turtle, I have--I haven’t--”  She’d started crying as hard as Billy, and Steve listened to the one and hugged the other, widening his eyes at the wall, and wishing he wasn’t the kind of person to hate someone, just a little, because they were the most important person in somebody else’s life, and he wasn’t.  “I don’t know you anymore, do you still--”

“He told me you just left,” Billy cut her off.  “I thought--you--I mean--”

“Oh no,” the phone went fuzzy and muffled, but they could hear her yelling.  When she came back, she took a couple deep breaths.  “I’m so sorry, I--you must have thought I died--”

Steve cocked his head at the wall, grimacing, and wondering how that followed-- maybe her brain’s just as jacked up as Billy’s, he thought, before she exhaled another long, shuddery breath.  “I’m--I’m so--I’d never--”

“You were scared,” Billy said, his voice even.  “--you were crying, you were--”

“I’m sorry, honey, I’m so--” she choked off, sniffling in what sounded like a full-on lung and sinus rebellion, and took some wet wobbly breaths.  “I--I’m so glad you’re okay--are--are you okay?”

“You got drunk because we weren’t going anywhere,” Billy said through clenched teeth.  “You made me grilled cheese, and then you had work to do, but you never got drunk if--if I had to get to school, or--”

“I didn’t--yeah.  We were home for the night.  I took some shots, and--” she sighed, and sniffled.  “Thought--thought it’d be fine, I was filling out--this is a long time ago, lil’ critter, you sure you--”

“Yeah, Mom, I wanna know!”

“I was pretty drunk, and drunk people are stupid, never be an alcoholic, son-o’-mine--”

Billy turned his head to kiss Steve’s jaw, and turned back to listen, leaving Steve even more confused than he’d been seconds before.  “Yeah, okay, definitely,” Billy agreed.

“I was--your dad left this--it was just insurance paperwork,” she laughed, her voice a little shaky.  “It wasn’t anything--I mean, I was his wife.  He--he needed to be able to take care of you, if--if anything happened to me.  I--I knew that--I know that, but I was drunk, and--”

“...Mom.”  Billy’s grip on Steve’s hand went numbingly tight.

“--and you didn’t see, but, uh, he’d been--he’d had a stressful week, he’d been--that morning, he didn’t--I’d already had a little vodka in my V-8, you know--”  Billy shook his head, and Steve pulled him closer. “--he’d--just--he’d been really--disappointed, in me, in--he’d--he just--”

“Yeah, I get--I know how he gets--” Billy cut her off, swallowing hard.  

“So I was--just--”

“Scared,” Steve said automatically, and they both went quiet, and he wished he was anywhere else.  “Sorry.”

“What was in the paperwork, Mom?”

“Life insurance.”  

Billy tried to scramble up off the bed.  Steve yanked him back, and when they had the phone pressed between their heads again--Steve half on top of Billy, lying across the bed, and feeling Billy’s heart thudding through both their clothes--she was taking slow breaths.  

“I know it’s dumb, it was stupid to get so--so upset-- I’m--I’m just--” she took another shuddery breath, “--it was just--he’d--he’d gotten all these--options-- it was so--it was such an--expensive policy, it--it said if I died in an accident, he’d get seven hundred thousand dollars, I thought--baby turtle, I--I should never have driven with you in the car, I--I was so--I was so completely drunk that I drove drunk with--with my baby in the car, I’m so, so sorry--”

“It’s okay, Mom, jesus,” Billy whispered.

“Yeah, He musta been watching that night,” she said dryly.  “Kept us on the road until the police saved you from your mother.”

“And took you to jail,” Billy swallowed hard.

“I understood why he decided to press charges.  I should--I should not have--” she took another deep breath.  “I--I was not--doing my--you were safer.  I--understood why you didn’t get in touch--”

“He was not safer,” Steve cut her off, smacking Billy’s hand away from his mouth so he could talk.  “Neil Hargrove’s a shit, he’s a--he’s a monster, I get why you both got drunk.”

“...hrm,” she hummed, and Billy tensed under him and rolled him off.

“Why, thank you, Harrington,” Billy turned to grin down at him, shoving him flat on the bed with a sweaty hand against his collarbones.  “Thank you so much for telling my mom I’m a fucking drunk.  I’m a fag too, were you gonna mention that one?  I’m screwing Steve here, Mom, isn’t that nice? Isn’t that what you wanted to hear?”

“The--the booze was me, kiddo, sorry, I didn’t mean to pass that on--whoops--” her laugh was as high and brittle as Billy’s, tinnier, with the phone at a few inches distance.  “--I can--I can send bad photos--for you to laugh at in waiting rooms--” 

“I can hear you crying over your drunk fag son--”  Billy bared his teeth down at Steve, shoving to punctuate his words.  Tears rolled down his cheeks.  “Didn’t I grow up nice, Mom?  I bet you’re proud, huh, lemme tell you about last night--” 

“Wha--what--ye--yeah!”  She yelled over him, and he stopped, rubbing his nose and sniffling.  “Just--just as I--” she took a deep breath, “--just as I--I expected!  Planned!  Proud!  You--your b-boyfriend?   Steve, right?”

Billy flopped to curl around Steve, still hitting at his ribs, but it didn’t hurt.  He pressed the phone back between their ears.  “What the hell are you--”

“Turtle.  He--he tracked me down, right, because you were sad, right?   Because you missed me.  Neil told you some--some garbage, and you--”  She sounded shaky, and Billy opened his mouth with a snarl.  “Is--is Steve good to you?”

Billy smacked the phone itself, jarring Steve’s ear, and growling “What the fuck, Mom, the hell is it to you, shut up--” and she hummed again.

“...is he nice to you, kiddo?  He--he treats my kid right?”

“He’s king goddamn Steve Harrington, he’s good to everyone, he’s not my boyfriend--”  Billy glowered into Steve’s face from so close he was blurry, both of them hunched around the phone.  

Steve leaned to press their lips together, silently, and mouthed ‘Love letters.’

“That’s not--shut up, Harrington--”

“What about my feeblings,” Steve whispered.  “Honey-mustard, you said you--”

“He’s really fucking good to me,” Billy said over him, his voice raw, and Steve squeezed him closer, kissing his hair.  “Fucking Prince Charming bastard, he--he does this shit--he carries me like--”

Steve swallowed back what felt like a weight, his eyes tearing up.

“Okay, yeah,” she cut in when Billy’s voice failed.  “Okay, that--that, I--I meant for that, okay, that whole eight months, all right, that was--that was the big thing.  My baby was gonna fall for somebody good to you, that’s on purpose, okay, you--you send me pictures, of you two.  I made you right, you’re perfect, how--how dare you--how da--” she was crying as hard as Billy was, folded into Steve’s shoulder.  “You--you saying my kid isn’t perfect--fight you, I’ll--I’ll take you out, you say my kid isn’t right--”

Just as Steve was resigning himself to being wedged between furious, bawling Hargroves for the rest of his natural life, Billy drew enough breath to let out an ear-shattering whoop.  He rolled onto his back, punching the air, and cheering like he’d made the winning play at a championship game.  

Steve could barely hear over the noise of Billy shouting, and kicking the air, so he pressed the phone entirely to his ear.  

“Billy!” she shouted.  “He isn’t listening, is he,” she asked.  “Send me some pictures, Steve Harrington, I need wallpaper.  I gotta show up all the other parents. Okay?”

Steve could only nod into the phone, but she seemed to get it.

“Keep an eye on my kid for me, okay?”

“I--I’ll do my best,” he whispered back, watching Billy roll to bury his face in a pillow and scream some more, and suddenly it was too much, so he shoved the phone at Billy, clambered to his feet, and stepped over him on the most direct route to the door.  Billy shouted after him, maybe--he was shouting, anyway, probably about his great mom, who was actually happy and proud to hear from her drunk violent kid with no friends, and wanted all his nerdy school portraits, and probably still had crayon artwork stuck all over her fridge.  

Steve yanked his shoes on without untying them, considered finding a jacket, and then heard Billy call his name, and grabbed a hat, scarf, and the doorknob.  

 He trotted unsteadily down the street, his heels brushing the snow through his socks, feeling like he was running in high heels.  He didn’t look back when he heard the door open and close behind him, but when Billy didn’t jog up alongside, he stopped to yank at his wet, knotted shoelaces until he could put his shoes on properly.  He ran from the urge to go back and cling to Billy like flypaper, like he’d wanted to cling to Nancy--like he always wanted to cling.  He wondered how much relief his mom had felt, in her own apartment, away from his stickiness.   I wanted to ask Nancy not to go to college, he admitted, finally, huffing a laugh, and imagined it--him returning every day after work, her keeping house as his wife, raising children, stuck to flypaper.   His breath clouded as he pulled on the hat, and reworked the scarf into more layers around his neck. The run got his lungs working, stiffly, like they were trying to expand against cold wet cement, and he tried to think about something other than Billy’s mom, and how she probably was at this moment adding weights to her bench press so she’d be able to lift him and spin him around, when he pulled up in her drive, sugar song blasting.  

He could suppress his stupid stickiness for the rest of the week, and be happy for Billy reconnecting with his mom, and being probably--now--much more enthused about getting back to California, and his beach, and away from Neil.  The thought of Billy backing out of the drive had him doubling over, and he wheezed shakily for a long minute, hands braced on his knees, then pushed himself back upright, and kept running.  

 By the time he stomped back into his entryway, he was mostly numb from running around in his t-shirt like a moron, and needed to blow his nose, so once he had his shoes kicked off, he pushed by Billy and ran upstairs.  He lifted his broken door by the knob to swing it inward on its single hinge, then sat it back in the frame, before running his fingers through his hair and pacing around the room, shivering.  

“...Harrington,” Billy’s voice came through the gap where his door hung against the frame.  

Steve cleared his throat, swallowed, and stalked off to the bathroom to blow his nose on some toilet paper.

“Hey.”  Billy knocked at the broken door, and Steve’s lungs clenched again, listening to the floor creak as Billy Hargrove waited for him to respond.

He tried to take a deep breath, and it sort of worked, so he tried again, closing his eyes, and thinking fixedly about disliking plaid.  “S’fine,” he managed, finally.

“...can I open the door?”

“Don’t,” Steve blurted, and then laughed under his breath, tucking his tingling hands under his arms.  “I--I’ll be right--I’m not--” he snorted, trying not to just open the door and slide his hands up under Billy’s shirt, and crawl in, “--I’m not ignoring you, I just--I need a minute--”

“...want some hot chocolate?”

Go away, Steve almost yelled, clapping a hand over his mouth to cover something really embarrassing, probably a whine.  “No,” he said hoarsely. “Thanks.”

“...you looked cold.”  

Steve stalked over and let himself thump face-first into the mattress.  “Cold out there,” he replied, wishing he was--someone else, somebody in the mafia, maybe, he buried his face in his arms, trying not to laugh aloud at the idea of Al Pacino emptying a revolver into Neil Hargrove, and then a swell of movie music, and Billy turning to say something idiotic, like Steve Harrington, you’re more than an appliance.

After a few minutes, the stairs creaked, and Steve made himself sit up, and get his homework out.  He didn’t get much done.  

 It had started to get dark when he heard something thump at his window.  He gathered up the towels he’d wrapped up in--since blankets meant going downstairs--and trundled over to the window, waiting as another snowball fell away before opening up.  “...Hargrove.”

“Harrington.  Come on, remember, ‘let’s sit down and have some hot chocolate, we’ll figure it out’?”

Steve laughed, leaning his face in his hand.  “Shit. Sorry.”

“You want me to bring you some dinner?”

Steve stared at him, his lungs suddenly airless at the thought of the memories he’d have every time he looked out his window.  He shook his head, swallowing, and forced a couple shallow breaths, while Billy stomped in place, taking a drag on his cigarette.  “I--I’ll come down,” Steve managed, finally. “Thanks--thank you. Shit.”

Billy shrugged, watching him, his head cocked, and Steve took a shaky breath.  

“Be--be right down.”  He slid the window shut, and hung up the towels, cursing himself for wasting one of his last days with Billy staring at the plaid walls of his room.  The hallway was warm when he opened his door, and he registered that his fingers had started to go numb, with his door shut against the heat, and Billy.

 Billy was grilling cheese sandwiches, and Steve knocked against the counter before sliding his arms around Billy’s waist, and burying his face in Billy’s curls.

“What, did you miss me, from all the way upstairs?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, in a moment of honesty.  

“You get lost up there?!” Billy started snickering, but Steve could feel the ear against his cheek heating, and kissed it.  

 The first bite of his sandwich was nearly as good tasting as kissing Billy himself, hot, crisp, and savory, and then Billy said “I’m gonna head home,” and Steve’s stomach decided it was already too full, and inclined to climb up his esophagus.

“...what.”

“It’s been fun playing house, Harrington--”

“What,” Steve kept his eyes fixed on his sandwich, lowering it to his plate, “--wait.  Wait.  What--what are you--”

“What did you think, your majesty,” Billy snorted, his sandwich crunching as he chopped it in half.  “I’m--I'm just gonna drive off into the sunset, answer your long and riveting letters--”  

Steve’s stomach clenched harder, all his organs feeling he’d pumped them full of ice water--stiff, and too full for sandwiches, or breathing.

“You gonna tell people you got a long-distance girl, B-I-L-L-I-E?”  Billy laughed, crunching into his sandwich again.  “I could be your bachelor party mistake.  Call me up, I’ll fly in...wherever. Shit happens at bachelor’s parties, right, nobody needs to--”

“What the fuck, Hargrove,” Steve smacked his sandwich down, “--you’re--you’re not a mistake, jesus.”  

“What’s in this for me?”  Billy kicked his foot under the table, and Steve looked up.  Billy’s eyes were still red, but he was smiling.  “King Steve?  You don’t like my dad, so I drop out of school--he’s not gonna transfer me, y’know.  You know how many jobs line up for a highschool dropout?  I’ll work at McDonald’s for life.  Weren’t you the one saying I wasn’t dumb?  I get okay grades, y’know.”

Steve nodded, swallowing, and got up to get himself a glass of water, mostly to give himself an excuse to face the other way.  Billy just kept talking.

“I get there and go to my mom before I’m eighteen, she’ll be back in prison for kidnapping a minor.  I can’t even get out of here, I’d need chains, and snow tires, and four wheel drive--”

“Wait,” Steve tried, and Billy did, raising his eyebrows.  “Wait, wait, no--Hargrove--wait, he--he hits you--he hits you in the head--”

“Steve Harrington the hero,” Billy took another bite, blinking rapidly.  “Gotta make sure everyone’s safe, so you can sleep at night. Give yourself a pat on the back, you’ve got me caring whether I graduate.”

“...so you don’t need me anymore.”  Steve felt stupid staring at his sandwich, so he picked it up, and shoved some more in his face.  

“Nah.”  Billy shrugged, watching his face, and Steve nodded, and took another bite.  It just felt like eating hot glue, now, difficult to swallow, and the edges harsh against his mouth.  

He took another bite after that, hoping if he kept eating, it’d force down whatever was blocking his throat.  “So when are you leaving?” he asked, proud of his even voice, and Billy dropped his sandwich, the chair creaking as he leaned back.

“What, you eager to see me gone?  Just waitin’ for that big party you’re gonna throw?”

Steve shrugged, eyes on his sandwich.  

“...you still…” Billy trailed off.  “Shit.  Harrington.  We can still fuck, you can haul me upstairs instead of mailing--”

“Great,” Steve rolled his eyes, and Billy slapped his hands on the table getting up, and stomped over.  

“Harrington.  Come on.”

“Stop trying to fuck me out of being pissed,” Steve sat his sandwich back on the plate, and slid around Billy to set it on the counter.  “I hate this talk, I’m going back up--”

“Wait, wait--” Billy grabbed his arm, pulling him into a rough kiss, and Steve let him.  “Let’s get drunk and fuck.  Come on.” His fingers dug into Steve’s arm, but kissing him felt good, as always, so after a moment of stiffness, Steve pressed back into it, letting Billy push him over to the counter.  “Come on--” Billy whispered, “--come on, come on--”  His lips and tongue were hot, and Steve let his eyes close, ignoring the clinks as Billy reached around his head into a cupboard.  Billy tried to keep kissing while flailing his hand at another cupboard, and Steve finally grabbed both his hands and pulled them together, leaning his head back and away.  “I’m not leaving, I just don’t--”

“Harrington--” Billy made a soft noise in his throat, chasing after Steve’s mouth, and Steve hugged all of him, tightly.  

“Easy, easy, jesus.  Easy.”  Slow that shit down, he told his heart, thudding in his chest at the memory of Billy just as wild-eyed, banging on his door with a black eye and glass in his hair.

“Screw you,” Billy laughed shakily.  “I don’t--I don’t know what works, you keep getting pissed off--”

Steve hugged him tighter, sliding an arm up for a handful of curls.  “‘M just--I’m mad at--everything--again, not--I mean--you’re right, about school, this is--this is bullshit.  Fuck.  I’m sorry, I--I just--I think--”

“Don’t run off again,” Billy pressed up for another rough kiss, biting at Steve’s jaw and lips, and rocking against his hardening dick.  “--there, you’re getting into it, let me--just--just--” He backed away, eyes flicking from Steve’s hands to the sink.  “Jussec,” He opened a cupboard, fumbled with a massive water glass, and nearly dropped it before yanking down the bottle of cherry vodka and pouring most of its contents in.  “Drink up first.”

“What?!”

“It’s just vodka, Harrington, come on--”

“It’s like half a bottle.”  Steve blinked at him, stepping closer.  

Billy jerked back, folding his arms.  “Drink the fuck up, your majesty.”

“I’m not--why do you want me drunk,” Steve held his hands up, trying to look harmless.  “You gonna set me on fire?”

Billy stumbled backwards into the fridge, edging back into the front room.  “I didn’t fucking set anything on fire.  You didn’t have to hit me so damn hard, I didn’t fucking--I didn’t use the tequila--”

“Fuck you, you fell!  It was an accident, I didn’t--”

“Yeah, fuck you.  Drink the damn liquor, asshole,” Billy sat on the edge of the table, teeth bared.  “When I tell you how I wanna fuck I don’t want you accidentally shoving my hands in the garbage disposal.”

“What,” Steve swallowed, feeling a throb of attention zinging between his stomach and his dick, “--no.  What.  Why would--”

“Or whatever,” Billy growled.  “Drink up or I’m out. Get blurry.”

“...won’t take this much,” Steve eyed the glass.  “I’ll--”

“Fine.” 

“Wait, Hargrove, c’mere,” Steve flapped a hand at him, and he edged closer.  “C’mon. I know you--you’re--”

Billy raised his eyebrows, folding his arms, and leaned back against the cupboards by the stove.  He smiled the way he had before he’d broken a plate on Steve’s face, in the Byers’ house. “Where you going with this, Harrington?”

“Look, I’m sorry I didn’t try harder to catch you when you clonked you head on the door, but--” he flailed a hand at Billy’s snort, “--maybe I coulda caught you?  I don’t know? I just mean, come on, you meant to beat the shit out of me, can’t they like--cancel out, or something, I’d try harder to catch you now, asshole.”

“...I did chuck bottles at your house,” Billy laughed, rolling his shoulders.

“That--that didn’t hurt anything,” Steve squinted at him.  “Don’t--okay, you beat my face in, you slammed me around the basketball court--” he rolled his eyes, “--can we just--can we just start fresh, from there, I’m sorry I didn’t catch you before your head hit the door--I didn’t think--god, I didn’t think you’d--I thought you’d just hit the edge, get a bump--”

“Sorry I played basketball, your pussyship--”

“Shut up.  Hargrove. You really think--” he grimaced at the sink, and Billy clenched his fingers on the edge of the counter.

“I won’t know what you’ll do until you’ve done it, genius.”  He raised his eyebrows. 

“Shit, yeah, okay.”  Steve turned to consider the vodka, and Billy snickered, stepping over to press a kiss against the side of his mouth, before tromping upstairs.  Steve tipped back the glass. He took a couple swallows, then poured the rest down the sink, running his tongue over his teeth with a grimace.  

When Billy tromped back down, he was naked except for his socks and Steve’s sweatshirt, and he shoved by to grab the vodka bottle and tip it back for a long swallow.  Steve grabbed it, and him, pulling them apart.  

“Hargrove, if you have to be bombed, I don’t think--”

“Shut up,” Billy yanked the shirt Steve was wearing up over his head.  “--I’m ready, we can just go, c’ mon, your majesty--”

Steve wriggled out of the shirt, but held Billy out by the shoulders.  “Hey, hey, hey--hey.  We can--we can do something that doesn’t freak you out--”

“I’m trusting you enough to take a fucking risk, okay,” Billy breathed against his mouth, and Steve kissed him, stroking his palms down the sweatshirt material, over Billy’s shoulders and ribs.  He rubbed the edge of his thumb over the head of Billy’s dick a few times, to hear him grunt “shit” and push closer, and slid his hands up under the sweatshirt, along Billy’s hipbones.  “You like it, when I grab your hair, right,” he whispered across Billy’s ear, feeling him shudder.

“Do it.”  His voice was husky.  Steve got distracted, though, by the look of him, circles under his half-lidded eyes and lips red with kissing, in a loose sweatshirt, and the expanse of warm skin underneath.  He smoothed his palms up Billy’s back, pressing him closer for a kiss, then got a double handful of his butt. Billy laughed, sliding both arms around his neck, and wrapping a leg around his waist.  “--it’s--it’s not lingerie, moron--I’m just cold--”

“It’s soft,” Steve slid a handful of the sweatshirt against Billy’s side, and he hummed, his arms tightening.  Steve pulled Billy’s other leg up, lifting him out to the front room--Billy started laughing, leaning in for more kisses.  

“Don’t drop me,” he whispered, against Steve’s lips, and Steve shifted an arm around his waist, kissing him to cut off his “--after all that vodka--”, and knelt on the edge of the mattress to tip a snickering Billy back into the covers.  He blinked up, smile shaky, and Steve crawled over him to slowly unzip the sweatshirt a few inches, and lean down to taste his collarbones. As he left an even, shiny trail of hickeys, Billy laughed harder, squirming under him and patting clumsily at his hair and shoulders.  His bandaids caught in Stev's hair.  Steve’s thumb, pressed against Billy’s cheek, started catching tears, so he stopped for a kiss.

“You okay?”

Billy bit his lips together, nodding and swallowing, and Steve kissed his inner wrist, sliding the sweatshirt sleeve up so he could kiss all the Sharpie hearts.  It wouldn’t slide over Bill’s elbow, and there was an unkissed heart in there--the H+H one--so Steve just stuck his tongue between the cuff and Billy’s arm, going “MNEEEH,” and Billy smacked his face away, shaking with laughter.  He had tears running across his face. Steve kissed a few of them away, and then down his throat, lowering the zipper a couple extra inches to see more Billy, and kissed across from armpit to armpit, while Billy laughed too hard to shove him away, and pulled his legs up so his knees nudged at Steve’s butt.  

“You still cold?” Steve asked, grinning, and ignoring how hot his face was.  “I could zip you back up--”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Billy cackled, tucking his fingers in the top of Steve’s jeans.  “How the hell long does it take you to unwrap presents, jesus chri--”

“--no, I’m--I’m faster at that,” Steve slid a hand down to the bottom of the sweatshirt, rubbing up and down the cold skin of Billy’s butt and thigh.  “There’s never anything as good inside--”

Billy grabbed him by the hair, yanking him down for a long kiss, and then just pressed their foreheads together, panting.  “Jesus you’re sweet when you’re drunk.  Don’t sober up.  Christ.”

“Not that drunk,” Steve whispered back, and Billy started snickering again.

“You’re bombed, you’re all into my sweatshirt.”

“My sweatshirt,” Steve corrected, kissing across his flushed cheeks.  “You want me plastered so I’d be sweet?”

“Want you to fuck my ass,” Billy whispered back, lifting himself up on his elbows to deepen the kiss.   “Come on, I’m gonna die of old age here, I’m wide open,” Billy jerked at the zipper of Steve’s jeans, “--I’m so full of lube I’m lying in it.  You can just shove in, I’m all wet and soft like. Like a fucking--get these off, Harrington--”

Steve swallowed, grabbing at Billy’s hands, then swallowed again as his saliva glands reacted to Billy’s description like he’d just been handed a steak.  “Jesus.  Does--does that--does it feel good?  W--wait--”

Billy leaned up for a kiss, running his thumbs over Steve’s collarbones.  “Take your jeans off...Harrington.”

“You smell like some lady’s perfume,” Steve snickered, giggles rising in him at the thought of the vodka he’d downed.  He ran his fingers through Billy’s damp curls, drawing him closer to smell his head.  “Unless it’s you?”

“Fuck you, Harrington, it’s my conditioner, I’ve got conditioner up my ass,” Billy panted into his neck, and Steve started giggling helplessly.  

“Your conditioner?” he asked, running his fingers through the feathery curls, and feeling Billy’s cheeks bunch in a wide smirk.

“Shut up, it works--” 

“How come you got four thousand weird condoms and no lube,” Steve whispered, and Billy cracked up laughing, smacking a hand over his face.  “It was this edible shit--”

“No--” Steve snorted.  “No, no, no--”

“They ate it, Harrington, your friends are animals--”

Steve kissed him, toothy with laughter, as ever noticing Billy’s mouth tasted so much sweeter than it sounded.  It tasted like smoke, cherry vodka and peppermint chocolate, actually, and Steve licked his lips, running his thumbs over Billy’s cheekbones before getting batted away.  “You got a condom?” he whispered, sliding his hands down to push Billy’s legs up--they’d warmed, his whole body flushed and hot--and ran a thumb along his inner thigh.  Billy’s feet jerked.

“Just shove in,” he panted, “--hurry the fuck up, Harrington.  He ran his fingers through Steve’s hair, tangling them where the hairspray stuck it together.

“Come on,” Steve snickered into the kiss, “--don’t you want--I think I picked up a leopard print one at Carol’s--”

“Bareback.  Come the fuck on, fill me up--”  Billy wrapped his legs around Steve’s waist.  

“What the fuck, I know you were--you were being--careful--with Tommy and Carol--”  Steve started to pull back, and Billy tightened his legs, and grabbed Steve’s hair--not yanking, but holding him in place.

“No, you said,” he leaned up for a kiss.  “I needed tests, and I need to stay clean, if I’m gonna keep crawling in your lap.  That--that’s the rule.”

Steve stared down at him.  “So you’re gonna screw your way through the--through the whole laundromat, but I shouldn’t suit up, because..?”

“They’re so we can fuck bare,” Billy yanked him closer again.  “Come on, do it--”

“What?”

“I gotta be clean, if I want you, right,” Billy whispered against his mouth, squirming so their dicks brushed, and Steve grunted, closing his eyes.  “Or you won’t get near me. I’ve been safe, I carry ‘em, you can just sink in--come on, your majesty, I’m clean, I’m clean, I won’t get you dirty--”

Something didn’t seem right, and Steve tried to think what it was, running the backs of his knuckles down Billy’s stomach to feel him shudder.  “How come I don’t have to wear one, sweet--sweet cream--” he leaned in for a sloppy kiss, squeezing a handful of Billy’s ass, and felt his pulse thud through his veins, heating him like a furnace.

“...thought I told you last night,” Billy laughed unsteadily, squirming against him.  “Remember?”  

He unzipped the sweatshirt before him, like parting the tide.  “Remember what,” Steve whispered against his dick, and Billy’s hips jerked.

“You prick, stop it, I’ll come--” he hissed, and Steve laughed. 

“You--you sure you don’t want me to bag it?  I’ll do whatever you want.”

“The fuck is wrong with you, whatever I want,”  Billy punched his shoulder, “--what if I had a corkscrew?”

“What the fuck,” Steve stopped, staring down at him.

“Lemme roll over, you don’t really want all of this in your--” Billy started to roll, then yelped out a “Jesus fuck,” as Steve struck fast, like a cobra, bending to kiss down Billy’s stomach.  He was starting to glisten a little, in the Christmas lights, and Steve unzipped the sweatshirt the final couple of inches, scooting to kiss the line from Billy’s bellybutton down.  Billy laughed, clenching his legs around Steve’s head and shoulders.  

It felt kinda dirty, having sex in the fort Will built, and Steve felt his face flush further.  He’d forgotten Billy was a little ticklish--his legs flailed as he yelled “Harrington!” a few times, alternating with “bastard” and “jesus”, before Steve spread the sweatshirt away from Billy’s sides, and mouthed down his belly to lick firmly up his dick, root to tip.   

It’d be faster, Steve thought, to just jack it myself, and lick his.  Billy looked so close, head back, eyes fluttering shut, sweat glistening across his chest, the slow drip of precum gleaming in the Christmas lights as he writhed under Steve’s tongue.  Steve slid a hand down Billy’s butt until he felt wetness, recognizing the smell of the conditioner, and unzipped himself with his other hand, shoving his pants down.

“Come on, Harrington.  It’s just a hole. Just use it--doesn’t make you--god,” he grunted as Steve slid a finger inside, where Billy was hot and tight and starting to go sticky where the lube was drying.  “I’m the--I’m the piece of shit--begging for it.”  

“You’re the best shit,” Steve mumbled, kissing Billy’s bent knee, and sliding two fingers in in fascination.  “Jesus, look at you.” 

Billy whined, jerking against him, then elbowed him in the ribs.  “Get your hand outta my ass, I’m gonna-- christ.” 

“Sorry.  Sorry.  You okay, though?”

“Fine, it’s just.  It’s sore. ” Billy lowered his lashes as Steve knelt awkwardly between Billy’s legs, their dicks brushing.  

“You kinda whined,” Steve leaned in to run his thumb up Billy’s cheek with his cleaner hand, and Billy leaned into it, closing his eyes.  His chin jerked up as Steve’s stomach pressed their cocks together. “Hey,” Steve propped himself on his elbows. “We could just--”

“It’s fine, jesus.”  Billy rolled his hips, his firm thigh muscles and abs lifting himself and Steve an inch off the bed, and Steve choked, letting himself fall forward to bury his face in Billy’s neck.  Billy huffed, laughing.

“...god, you feel good,” Steve whispered, licking the salt off his neck.  

“...you’re lying on a guy’s dick,” Billy cackled.  “You’re so drunk, Harrington, jesus.”

“Not that drunk,” Steve let their dicks drag against each other as he hitched himself up for a kiss.  “You just feel good.  You’re--you look all happy.”  The pulse under Steve’s fingers sped up as he bit at Billy’s chapped lips, and licked into his mouth.

“God, you’re so drunk,” Billy kissed back, fingers clenched in Steve’s hair, and jeans.  Steve tried not to move too suddenly, but he reached out for a pillow, and Billy grabbed his wrists.  “Gonna give me some more bruises?”

“No, yeah, you don’t need any more bruises,” Steve paused, watching him pant.  “You...you sure you’re, uh, ready for this?”

“Shove on in, just--just lemme roll over.”  

Steve paused, leaning in for another taste of Billy’s mouth as he thought, then bit gently at Billy’s stubble and the delicate skin under his chin until he started cussing and kicking the air.  “What--”

“Fucking --move. Let me flip over, you don’t want my--,” he snorted, waving a hand at his cock.  

Steve bit his lip, thinking.  “What if I do?”

“You fucking don’t, you’ll--you’ll wake up tomorrow and--” his breaths were coming faster, and Steve leaned his elbows on either side of Billy’s head, sliding his fingers in the feathered waves as Billy squirmed underneath him.  Every time his brain started to haze into physical sensation, Billy winced, or swallowed hard, and Steve had to remind himself Billy wasn’t gonna be like having sex with anyone else.

“Hey,” Steve whispered, kissing him openmouthed.  “If you really want somebody in there again. What if I just push your legs up and sink in.”  Billy made a raw noise deep in his throat, his eyes going shiny, and Steve slowly scooted himself over to crouch alongside him.  “Is that what you want? Jesus. You--you sure?  You’re not gonna be able to sit down tomorrow.  Want me to just jack you off?”

“Look more like a chick from the back,” Billy laughed up, and Steve rolled his eyes and swung his leg over Billy’s waist, sitting across his chest and arms, and leaning in for another kiss as Billy made a noise in his throat that might have emerged as a yelp.  

“Shit, shit, sorry,” Steve scrambled to hands and knees, trying not to hold any of Billy down.  “I know not to pin you, but I keep forgetting, sorry--”

Billy took a shaky breath, then reached up and rested his hand around Steve’s neck, swallowing.  “You fucking--you--if you beat on me I’ll slice you open with a broken bottle, Harrington, if you put your hands on my neck--”

“Shit, I won’t.  God damn.” Steve leaned in to kiss him, sliding his un-lubed thumb in the side of Billy’s mouth as an additional gag.  “I’m not gonna kick your ass, dude. You had a better idea,” he grinned at Billy’s snort.

Billy jerked his head away to talk.  “Get in me, fuckhead.”

“Yeah,” Steve whispered back, clenching his hand in Billy’s hair to feel him slump, groaning eagerly into his mouth.  When he lifted his hand, Billy flinched away, so he put them back down and didn’t lift them, sliding his fingertips down Billy’s side, and following them with his lips along Billy’s warm, toned skin as he crawled backwards.  When he cupped Billy’s butt, he found the conditioner. It was more sticky than slippery. “...you sure you aren’t too sore?” he asked, pushing Billy’s legs apart with his elbow, and rubbing his finger over the reddened, shiny skin.

“Shit--” Billy’s voice cracked, and his legs jerked, so Steve did it again, watching Billy’s eyes flutter shut, and his panting make his chest flex and gleam under the Christmas lights.  Steve reached down to rub some precome over his own dick, wishing he had some lotion or something, and at the motion Billy’s jaw flexed, and he grabbed at the marker on his arms, digging his nails in.  He’d gone from his relaxed sprawl to breathing shallowly, and Steve stopped, rubbing his thumb up and down Billy’s rim. It didn’t smell, or anything, which was a relief, and he wondered if Billy’d washed it earlier.   How’d he get soap in there? he wondered, stroking the smooth skin, and Billy smacked a hand over his face to cut off a moan.  Steve leaned in, and Billy’s legs twitched again--towards each other, like his arms.   Like he’s trying to protect himself.   Steve bit his lips, then leaned in and swiped his tongue over the tip of Billy’s prick.  

“WAAH don’t!” Billy yelped, as his dick leapt against Steve’s mouth.  “Shit, I’m sorry, shit, Harrington, please, please--”

“What are you begging for...Billy--,” Steve breathed across it, and Billy came all over his face.  He propped himself up on his elbows, eyes already tearing up, and Steve patted his knee, trying to wipe the jizz out of his eye, and firming his lips against the liquid dripping down them.  

Billy started muttering under his breath, shaking his head, and Steve snorted, patted his knee again, and staggered off to the kitchen.

“Shit god damn it fucking whore bitch bastard--” Billy yelled.  “Harrington, c’mon, please, I’m sorry, come back, you can still--I’ll suck your dick, whatever you want--”

“Just a minute,” Steve yelled back, getting the stuff in his mouth, and wrinkling his nose thoughtfully.  “...not too bad, really,” he called over his shoulder, before sticking his head under the faucet. When he lifted it again, Billy was still saying something, but it sounded like he’d stuck his head in the pillows.  “Hey, knight, you want me to just jack off? Since--”

There was another explosion of something in the pillows, and Steve grimaced.  “I’m not mad, just sayin’--” 

Billy had his head buried in pillows, but he shoved them away as Steve dropped next to him.  

“Shit,” he mumbled, his voice gone high.  “Fuck, fuck, fuck--”

Steve pulled him in, their skin sticking together, and pressed his cheek to Billy’s sweaty hair.  “Breathe.  Come on.  Breathe in.”

“You’re gonna murder me,” Billy choked out a laugh.  Warm water dripped in Steve’s ear.  “Once you sober up. You--you been pissed all day--you’re gonna fucking--drag me behind your car.  Fucking--fucking fag just--”

Steve yanked him closer, kissing him open mouthed.  Every time Billy took a breath to speak, he held their mouths together again, until Billy shoved him off to roll away and use his wrists to wipe his nose.  “...you’re licking my snot, you dumb shit,” he gasped out, and Steve grabbed a handful of sheet and scrubbed it over his face, then Billy’s, before letting him bat it away.

“What the hell are you doing, Hargrove,” Steve spooned up behind him, sliding a hand around to run up and down Billy’s shuddering stomach.  

“Shoulda drunk the other half the bottle,” Billy snorted, blowing his nose in the sheet and shoving it away.  “Christ.”

“...because...if I see I’m fucking a guy, I’ll lose my shit or--”

Billy exploded in a rage of profanity, and Steve clamped a hand over his mouth, feeling the buzz of words against his palm, and tears pooling and spilling over between the web of his thumb and Billy’s nose.  

“Shut up so I can move my hand, or you’ll drown,” he whispered, and Billy snorted, snickering into the bedclothes when Steve pulled his hand back to wipe it against the bottom sheet in front of Billy’s face.  

Billy mumbled something, elbowing him.

“What?”

“...nothing, just.”

“...what?” Steve ran his palm over Billy’s ribs, feeling the muscles.

“Your dick’s digging into my ass.”

“What?!”  Steve scooted back, taking a calming breath.  “Sorry!  Sorry.  Shit.  I just--I’m not--I’m not mad, I’m--not always mad, sometimes I’m just...”  He sighed, watching a trickle of sweat run down Billy’s shoulderblade.  He wanted to lick it.  His dick twitched.  “Sorry.  Damn it.  Shit.”

“What the fuck’s been wrong with you,” Billy muttered.  “All day.  What--what the hell d’you want--I was gonna cheer you up with a good lay,” he sighed, his breath coming easier.  “Something I practised a lot, y’know--”

Steve pushed away and rolled onto his back, sighing.  He rubbed his face.

“Screw you!”  Billy reached over and smacked his arm.  “I’m sorry, the fuck did I do now.”

“It’s stupid,” Steve sighed, staring up at the Christmas lights.  “Sorry.  Sorry I keep freaking you out.”

“What is it,” Billy rolled to flop chest-to-chest, staring into Steve’s face from inches away, and Steve squirmed under him.  

“God, lemme jack off--”

“Maybe.”  Billy licked his lips, grinning, and Steve’s hips jerked.  “Tell me.”

“I--I don’t want to, it’s dumb,” Steve forced a grin, “--you’ll laugh.”

Billy opened his mouth, then shut it, cocking his head.  “Tell me. Or I’ll sit across you and let my ass just brush your cock--”

Steve jerked underneath him, trying to whine and laugh at the same time.  His throat felt raw, and he swallowed. “You--you just--you keep--you keep talking about--”  To Steve’s horror, his eyes started stinging again, and his lungs bucked in his chest, and he bit his lips, squeezing his eyes shut.  He could suddenly barely breathe through his nose, so he held his breath.   Get it together, get it together, he told himself, swallowing over and over.

Billy scrambled closer, and Steve felt him pressing kisses over his face.  He lost control of his lungs and started actually crying for the third time in one day when Billy yanked him close, pressing Steve’s face into his naked shoulder.  “Jesus H. Christ,” Billy whispered in his ear, stroking his hair.  

“Shit,” Steve muttered, trying to pull away and wipe his face, but Billy hugged him tighter.  

“Don’t make me take drastic measures,” Billy laughed shakily.  “Spit it out.”

“I don’t want to be an appliance,” Steve blurted out, sick with his own over-emotional clinginess, and Billy went perfectly still.  “Fuck.  I told you it’s dumb--”

“No, wait,” Billy slid his fingers into Steve’s hair, holding him close.  Steve avoided looking into his eyes, dark under only the strings of Christmas lights.  “M-maybe I got it wrong.  You--you want me to be just--just King Steve’s?  Just your knight.”

“That’s not--I wasn’t--” Steve reached up to stroke his thumb over Billy’s cheek while he closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.  “I didn’t--think about it. I thought--”   I thought I’d be enough, for once.  He snorted, squeezing his eyes shut to stop the burning sensation.  “I didn’t--I wasn’t trying to like--lay down a law. I just--it’s whatever.  Keep using all your--all your fruit flavors, I don’t care.”

“You don’t care,” Billy repeated, and Steve nodded.  There was a sharp pain in his lungs, and he tried to breathe around it.

“Yeah, it’s--fine.”

“You don’t sound fine, Harrington, jesus.”

“I’ll get over it.  It’s your life. Whatever.”  He could hear the bitterness creeping in, and took a deep breath.  “Whatever you want to do.”

Billy bit his lips, surveying Steve’s face.  “...yeah, okay, you look pissed.  Just--just tell me what you want.”

I want you to think I’m enough, Steve thought, wondering whether it would come through, if he shouted it loud enough in his head.  I want you to want me more than anyone else.  God, Steve, way to be selfish, he hasn’t even gotten away from his dad, like he needs you trying to-- he looked at Billy’s shirt.  His sweatshirt, that Billy was still wearing.  “...I don’t--I don’t want anything, I don’t wanna order you around.  Do--do whatever, I won’t get pissed.”  At Billy’s frustrated growl, he forced a grin.  “I mean it.  I’m not gonna tell you what to do.”

“You wanna be my only washer, right?”

Steve cringed.  “God, I’m such a piece of--”

“Like a boyfriend,” Billy’s intent eyes came into sharp focus as Steve blinked, “--Harrington.  Harrington.  Is that what you want?”

Steve sighed, and took another steadying breath, trying to get himself together.

“Is it you don’t want to share anybody,” Billy leaned sideways to watch his face, “--or is it me.”

“S’why I fought Jonathan Byers,” Steve huffed a laugh, wiping his nose on his arm, “--I thought Nancy was sleeping around--she was just--she was trying to find her friend, and her boyfriend just shows up and starts throwing punches--”

“Yeah, I figured.”  Billy nodded, fingers clenching his forearms again.  

“Hey, jesus, stop, you’re gonna be covered in bruises--” Steve grabbed a sweatshirted arm, and pushed up the sleeve, running his thumb up Billy’s forearm with a grimace.  “Shit, I thought this was a good idea, why d’you keep picking at them?”

“What the hell was I even doing last night,” Billy snorted, watching Steve’s face.  

“I--I do need to--”  Steve took a deep breath, leaning his face in his hands, processing the inner stickiness that reminded him Billy would probably try to feel like Steve wanted him to.  “I should--I mean, you said a lot of shit while you were--”

“Oh fuck, of course I did,” Billy sighed.  “Probably begged for it.  You can ignore all that--”

“No, no, I’m not ignoring you, just--shit.  I--you were happy with the shit I said last night--why’re you--”

“Let’s fuck,” Billy pulled away.  “I don’t need to hear this.”

“No, wait,” Steve wiped his eyes, grabbing Billy by the sleeve on his shoulder and pulling him back face to face.  “What--what do you want?  You didn’t say anything bad, what do you--”

“Screw you, okay, you pissed on my leg already, you know what I want, you said I told you that shit--like a fucking idiot--”

“I what--?”

“You don’t want me, you just don’t want me bringing anything gross home,” Billy snorted.  “I get it--”

“Shit no, no--”  Steve rubbed his nose again, “--eugh.  You, uh, want me to want...you?  As--as--like you said, like a boyfriend.  You--would you want to--do that?”

Billy shrugged, and Steve’s heart thumped a little.  “Thought I, ‘uh,’ spilled my whole heart last night,” he snorted.  “You said I--”

“Shut up, dickhead, you just said--you said sober Billy loved me,” Steve rolled his eyes, “--and then you said you wanted a bearded black goat so you could ride it into, like--uh,” he squinted, “I can’t remember the name of the band concert thing--”  

Billy choked, coughed, and burst out laughing, and Steve leaned in to kiss his cheek, biting along his stubble.  

“You said my nicknames were dumb, you--you kinda tried to teach me to drive stick--”

Billy laughed harder, sliding his hand down Steve’s stomach, and Steve jerked away, though his hard-on was coming back now he was over his crying jag.  

“You said a bunch of crap, basically, Hargrove, you got more to say to me?” 

“...the goat sounds pretty rad,” Billy smirked, leaning into a kiss.

“Pretty sure you said I was a jelly sandwich while you were falling over in the snow, trying to grab my ass,” Steve said flatly, feeling like an idiot--the kind of idiot who passed notes with checkboxes saying ‘DO YOU LIKE ME? Y/N’.

Billy huffed a laugh, swallowing.  “...you wanna know I’m not going anywhere.  That’s--that what this is.  Billy going to fuck off, or--or just hang around.  Shit.”

“No, it’s fine,” Steve laughed unsteadily.  “I know you’re gonna fuck off--”

“Shit.  No, okay, I won’t.  I’ll--” Billy took a breath as shaky as Steve’s.  “I--I’m staying, Harrington, I’ll--I’ll be at the other end of the phone when you want a fuck, I’ll--I want pictures of you in your goddamn prom suit, I’ll--I’ll be forty fucking years old and hoping you get off work early and horny and wanna drop by, christ.  I’ll be dodging my boss asking why I’m so fucking stupid after lunch because you drove by and you smiled, you fucking idiot moron.”  He flinched away from Steve’s hands pulling him close, and Steve hugged him sideways, as tight as he could.  He couldn’t tell which of their hearts was pounding harder.  “Don’t make me be your best man,” Billy muttered into his collar.  “My wedding present’ll be not driving off a fucking bridge--you want me to love you so goddamn much, why the hell are you pissed I wanna stay--”

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” Steve buried his face in Billy’s shoulder, “--I don’t want you to go, but I don’t--your--your dad’s gonna--” he took a deep breath, and Billy grabbed his shoulder and pulled him to fall backwards halfway into Billy’s lap and into a hug.  Steve let himself relax into it, laughing.  “Sorry, shit. I didn’t--” Billy bit his ear, and Steve kicked, trying to elbow him. “Augh, asshole--”

“So are we dating?”  

Steve leaned his head back, yes narrowed.  “Will you go on a date with me?” 

“Hmm.”  Billy licked Steve’s ear where he’d bitten him, breathing across it.  “Do I get to blow you in the back of the theater?”

Steve twitched.  His dick thought that was a great plan.  “I don’t wanna go to pick you up and--and find you having--I mean--no banana man sex with, um--”

“No fucking Tommy?  Eugh.” Billy snickered.  “You sure?  I bet he’d let you join in.  You don’t wanna lick Tommy’s banana, Harrington?”

“How come you did it, but I have to remember more about it,” Steve groaned.  

“You don’t want me to get any banana prick,” Billy yanked Steve’s chin up for a kiss, “I don’t need any banana prick.”

“What,” Steve snorted.

“You want this ass all to yourself, it’s yours,” Billy shrugged.  “Just don’t fucking--don’t start dating some bitch without telling me.”

“What,” Steve asked again, leaning his head back to blink up at Billy’s chin, and the Christmas lights.

“You get back with Nancy, you better come tell me that shit, don’t--don’t just let me find out, asswipe--”

Steve squinted up at him.  “...if I wanna date somebody else I have to break up with you first?  I mean...yeah, Hargrove, that’s kinda how it’s done--same here--”

“Was that all of it?”  Billy leaned to mouth down his neck, biting his jugular, and Steve’s whole body jerked back to full attention. 

“What? Christ,” he snorted, leaning his head to the side so Billy could leave marks all the way down his shoulder.  

“You want me all to yourself,” Billy squeezed him, humming, then let go, “--you want me to--” he cleared his throat, “--love you, so I won’t leave you lonely, right--but was that all?  You threw my mom at my head, just about--”

Steve did not want to explain he’d been jealous of Billy Hargrove’s parental situation, definitely not so jealous that he’d then hidden in his room all day in a nest of towels.  He cleared his throat.  “...she have anything else to say?”

“She’s gonna start lifting more,” Billy snorted.  “I told her I could always carry her around if she was weak in her old age, she quoted some commandments at me.  I told her respecting your parents also means not giving them a hernia.  I dunno.  She said there was somebody at work she had to ask a ton of questions.”

“She’s got a Nancy,” Steve grinned at his fingers, interlocked with Billy’s, and didn’t hate him for how relaxed he sounded, talking about his mom, who carried his photos everywhere.

“Yeah, I guess.  Was that it?”

“What?”  Steve leaned up for a kiss, but Billy pulled back.

“There’s a rule, your fucking majesty.  You gotta tell me why you’re pissed.  Was that all?  Just had to know this dumb drunk was wrapped around your little finger?”

“...Will said you took those Polaroids and hid ‘em in your music.”

“That little fink bastard,” Billy’s ears reddened, “--how that didn’t clue you in--”

Steve stared, biting his lips, and didn’t say you’re the only person who’s ever--, coming out instead with something that had been sitting on the back of his tongue since Billy had trembled underneath him.  “You should fuck me, actually,” was what came out of his mouth.  He sounded weirdly hoarse, to himself, but Billy just squinted at him.

“What the hell?”

“Sober,” Steve took a deep breath, pushing his successful derail.  “Fuck me.  Sober. Then you’ll know it’s fine, you won’t have to flip out every time over whether things are too gay.”

“Jesus,” Billy stared at him, swallowing.  “Keep talking.” He grabbed the back of Steve’s head and let himself fall backwards, yanking Steve on top of him.  Steve caught himself with one hand on the mattress and his forearm across Billy’s chest. At Billy’s pained “--shit, Harrington--” Steve flailed around, bracing himself over his trespasser, and leaned in to kiss him.

“Keep sweet-talking me,” Billy whispered, between kisses.  “Tell me I’m good again.  Good boy,” he laughed, stroking his fingers through Steve’s hair.  “Be nice to your fucking dog, King Steve.”  He wrapped his legs around Steve’s waist, pressing him close, and Steve finally shoved his jeans down, and kicked them off, kneeling in the pile of denim and belt.  “Shove in, it’s fine, it’s fine--”

“Christ,” Steve whispered back, as Billy tried to manhandle him into position, and his dick rubbed across the sticky remaining conditioner.  “I’m slipperier than you are--”

“Fuck me,” Billy panted, reaching down to grab Steve’s cock and try to maneuver him inside.  “Come on, your majesty, not gonna get wet, I can’t do that--” 

He was hot and sticky inside, and he braced himself as Steve pushed in, his knuckles clenching white in the sheets.  

Steve shifted back, wincing as he pulled out and Billy’s voice cut off in a whine.  “Just a minute, christ, shut up,” Steve slid his hand down to rub Billy’s stomach, frowning around.  

“You fucking asshole, d’you want me to beg--tell me--tell me what to--”  Billy sat up on his elbows, snarling, and Steve clambered up from between his legs and stroked his thigh.  

“Just a minute.”  He trotted into the kitchen, glad no neighbors were close enough to see his dick a-swingin’, and grimaced around the kitchen, checking cupboards.  He bit his lips as he frowned into the fridge, and ended up laughing silently with his head against the refrigerator door before running back to kick his jeans aside, and kneel again between Billy’s legs.

“Fuck you,” Billy kicked at him.  “Get back here--”

“Hang on a second, jesus,” Steve fumbled with the tub of Parkay margarine, scooping up a fingerload and rubbing it up Billy’s ass.  

Grunting softly, Billy let his head loll back.  “...I coulda taken it.  Don’t have to...jesus, Steve--” he lifted his head to grin, glanced at the tub in Steve’s hands, and dropped back to the bed, wheezing with laughter.  “The--margarine--that’s fucking--you’re--” he cackled, wrapping his legs around Steve’s waist and dragging him closer.  “You’re buttering me up,” he whispered, and Steve tried to kiss him, but they were both grinning so hard their teeth clacked together.  

“That was horrible,” Steve informed him, making a face as he dug his fingers in the tub of Parkay.  “...it’s all up under my fingernails.”

“Fucking cut them off, then,” Billy’s head shot up again.

“You can’t fucking tell,” Steve rolled his eyes.  “They’re short!  It’s just gross!”

“Oh, it’s so nice for me, that shit’s cold,” Billy smacked his arm.  “It was fine.”

“Yeah,” Steve rubbed it in, his thumb catching against Billy’s rim, and Billy relaxed back on the bed, flopping his arm over his face.  Steve could still see the flush deepening on his cheeks, and down his neck and chest. “What do you mean sweet talk?  Whaddaya want me to say?”

Billy snorted, grabbing a pillow and hugging it to his face.  “Nng.  Shut up.”  He flinched back, then let his legs fall awry against the bed with a groan as Steve rubbed another dollop of margarine on his dick, just slowly smoothing it on with his callused thumb.  “Wh-what the--Steve--I’m not gonna--I can’t--”

Steve watched his abs flex, blushing to realize he was grinning away.  “What am I supposed to say?”

“Nothing,” came Billy’s muffled voice.  “...fffuck off, god, jesus, Harrington,” he moaned, as Steve rubbed slick fingers up nearly into his ass--and then stopped.  “Shit, what, what’s wrong,” his voice went lighter.  

“What were you gonna ask for,” Steve ran his thumb up and down at the point Billy’s thigh began, watching as his legs started to shake.

“Fuck you!” Billy smacked at him with the heel of his hand, but between the pillow over his face and his whole body shuddering, there wasn’t any strength to it.

“Ask me,” every time Steve spoke, Billy’s dick drooled a little, so he leaned in to breathe his words across it.  “Maybe I’ll listen.”

“SHIT FUCK, please,” Billy yelped.  “Say your fucking boyfriend bullshit, say it--”

Jesus god, Steve paused, feeling his face flame up red.  What?!  Remembering Billy’s usual  violent reactions when he got embarrassed, he got his thumb moving again as a distraction, ducking his head with a grin as Billy’s legs locked around his arm the second his finger slipped inside.  “Haveta lemme move, babe,” he dodged the flailed blow.   “What should I say? Talk about my feeblings.” 

“Fuck you,” Billy whispered.  “That’s enough, stop.”

“Batting cage date, maybe,” Steve grabbed another wad of margarine, holding his breath as he oiled himself up.

“Fucking stop,” Billy’s voice got thready as Steve worked another dollop up inside him, melting it into hot flesh with his thumb.

“I wanna take you whitewater rafting,” Steve cocked his head, trying to decide how much of the muffled grunting was pain.  “You still okay?”

“Fuck you,” Billy’s voice sounded hoarse and wet.  

“I will,” Steve steadied his cock with one hand, pressing in as his other hand squeezed a long stroke up Billy’s dick.  

Billy curled around his pillow, but locked his legs tighter around Steve’s waist and thighs, and Steve stalled out for a long second just inside, feeling like Billy’s car, stunned into engine failure and rolling back off the ice.  He took a deep breath, trying not to come--not that he hadn’t already made it longer than Billy, he thought, snickering.

“You--you okay if I move?” Steve asked, and the pillow nodded.

“Shut up, jesus,” Billy bucked his hips, and Steve almost fell on top of him again, then rocked forward, his brain barely aware of anything other than the hot tightness around his cock.  

“Thought you--thought you wanted to hear about my--my feeblings,” Steve panted, sliding his hand down to stroke Billy’s dick, and Billy jerked under him.  “Since--since you basically proposed earlier.” Steve kept his movement slow, feeling his eyes flutter shut.  

“...shut the hell up,” Billy laughed, his voice raw.  

“Yeah, okay,” Steve tried to summon more words.  “Sweet. Stuff.”

“Stop fucking lying to me, shut up.”  Billy managed to sound cynical and wrecked at the same time, pushing the pillow off to breathe.  He wiped his eyes, leaving his arms over his face.

“I’m not, I’m not, shit--” Steve let himself tip forward a bit, squishing Billy in on himself, to try and see his face.

“Harrington--” he batted Steve’s hands away, and Steve grabbed his fingers, twining them with his.  Billy sniffled, eyes shut tightly, and Steve swore under his breath.

“Babe.  Hargrove.  We’re idiots.”  He shuffled his knees backwards, breath stuttering at the friction on his dick as he pulled out.

“What the fuck-- what--Harrington--” Billy growled, trying to yank him back, but Steve dropped next to him, panting.  

“You get on top.  Come--come on, then you aren’t pinned.  C’mere.” He dropped back to his elbows, his dick bouncing ridiculously as he breathed, shining red, and Billy frowned at it, then at him, then huffed a laugh, pushing himself up.

He sank down on to Steve’s dick with a soft grunt, his eyes sliding shut, and Steve made himself take a long shaky breath.  It was hard to breathe with Billy’s weight astride him--heavy, hot, and tight, the melted oil Billy’d been filled with warm between them, then chill as Billy lifted himself to press back down.  

It was grinding Steve’s brain to a halt, watching Billy’s abs flex, then his thighs tense to push himself up Steve’s cock.  Steve tried to return the favor, but Billy smacked his hand away, watching him intently. “Don’t, I’ll come again.”  

His thighs should be okay to touch, Steve hoped, swallowing, and slid his hands up, feeling the muscles flex.  He yelped as Billy grabbed one, yanking it to his face and biting along the side.  Steve curled his fingers, feeling Billy’s tongue work against them, needing something to draw his mind away from putting his other hand on Billy’s dick.  It was dripping across his stomach, bouncing with every motion.

They both passed out after.  Billy shoved off him, groaning about the heat, and Steve stayed on his back, panting.  When his brain started to engage again, he rolled his head to see Billy’s back, then scooted over to spoon him again.  “Hey.”

“...hey,” Billy mumbled back.

“Christ, that was,” Steve snorted into the back of Billy’s neck, feeling him snicker, then licked thoughtfully at the salt along the muscles of Billy’s shoulder, around bruises that looked like fingermarks.  

“...good?” 

“Fucking amazing,” Steve tucked Billy’s hair off the back of his neck, and kissed along it.  

Billy snorted, slumping back against him.  “You get over...whatever the hell?”

“Eugh,” Steve groaned, leaning his face into Billy’s sweaty hair.  “Shit.  I just--it’s not--”

“Great,” Billy muttered.

“No, shut up, it’s just--you--your mom’s awesome,” Steve swallowed around what felt like shards, and cleared his throat, grimacing.  “I just.  I’m jealous as hell.  Sorry.  It’s dumb.”

“...what,” Billy laughed against him.  

“It’s stupid.  She just--she loves you so much, and--and I’m not--”

“What,” Billy repeated, before pushing himself up with a groan, rolling his shoulders, and swinging his leg over Steve again.  Steve felt his cock twitch, and was hoping Billy hadn’t noticed, as Billy grabbed his face. “Your--your parents suck, right.”

Steve huffed a laugh, trying to look away, but Billy kept firm hold of his jaw.  

“They’re shitty, all right, it’s not you.  I know I’m not--anything--but--”

Steve jerked back to attention, blinking at Billy’s set expression.  “Wait, what?”

“I know I’m not important,” Billy hissed, “--shut up, I’m talking--”

“What, no, what the fuck,” Steve grabbed his wrists, and Billy smacked his hands away.  

“Get your ass-hands off me.”  He put his thumbs over Steve’s mouth, setting his jaw.  “Those kids all trust you.  They’re all worried as hell, you know how many shovel talks I’ve gotten?  Dustin was slinging threats while you were drooling on my shoulder--”

“He doesn’t even know!”

“...everybody knows, Harrington.  I got a shovel talk from Will, Harrington.   Will Byers.”   

Steve swallowed.  

“Your ex is just glad I’m feeding you, I think, though when you fucking stormed out of the library earlier, she told me she had a gun.”  

Steve snorted, wide-eyed, thinking of Max chanting ‘Fight of the exes!  Fight! Fight!’ in the car.  “Uh.  Sorry?”

“Your fucking town sheriff pulled me over to tell me you’re a good kid--”

“He said what?!”

“I went into Radio Shack and some lady chewed me out, I didn’t even get my batteries--”

Steve started giggling in disbelief.  “Oh my god, Mrs. Byers, it was--it was Will’s mom--”

“Yeah, okay, Jonathan Byers had to get a word in too, dipshit, he says if you vouch for me he’ll wait and see, but he has bear traps--”

Billy started looking a little blurry as Steve cackled, sniffling.  A tear slid out the side of his eye, and Billy wiped it away.  

“Max is gonna nail my feet to the ground if I so much as stop making you pancakes.  And--and they’re all good people, right.  They matter.” He raised his eyebrows, and Steve nodded as much as he could, swallowing hard.  

“Y-yeah.”  Billy sat back, eyes narrowed, and Steve yanked him back down.  The idea that Steve mattered to anyone particularly when he wasn’t in the room was something he pushed away to think about later, when he could stare at the ceiling and feel a little shaky, and maybe bury his face in Billy’s sleeping back.  “C’mere, shit.”

“Doesn’t matter about your shitty parents, they don’t know what they’ve got,” Billy informed him, at close range, and Steve took an unsteady breath, and kissed him.  The toothpaste had worn off, so he just tasted like Billy, warm, sweaty, and still giving Steve a deep frown.  

Steve wiped his eyes with his arm, and grinned up.  “And you--” he kissed him again, “--right?”

“Yeah,” Billy pushed the kiss deeper, then pulled back, licking his lips.  “Yeah, sure.  Dig myself the six foot hole.  I can hit Nancy up for the gun--”

“No, jesus,” Steve shook his head, leaning up to kiss him again.  “Shit.  No, not--not--that’s stupid, don’t shoot yourself to make me happy, dumbshit.”

“What then,” Billy breathed against his mouth, flopping down on top of him.  “What can I--” he laughed into another kiss, “--what the hell can I do?”

“You know what you’ve got, right?” 

“You gonna keep making me say this shit?” Billy lowered his eyes, letting go of Steve’s face.  “I wouldn’t leave town, that’s for sure.”

Steve grinned back at him, a little giddy.  “Because you have feeblings for me.”

“Yeah.  I do.  Screw you,” Billy’s laugh was uneven, and he rubbed at the marker again.  

“You love me back,” Steve whispered, leaning up to kiss him again.  

“Oh, is that what your feeblings are?” Billy snorted.  

“What?”

“You feel something, great,” Billy rolled off him, rubbing his face.  “You want somebody around that would--I’d--whatever, Harrington, fuck you, stop laughing at me about this, jesus.  You don’t--you’re not usually--” he took a deep breath, and Steve yanked him back down against his side.  

“Shit, no, christ.  I told you.  I told you, I said it back, I love you too.  I swear.”

“You pinkie-promise?  What are you, twelve?”  Billy wrinkled his nose, and Steve smacked him with a pillow.  

“No, no, no, no--you didn’t--Bi-- Knight.  Knight.  I mean it, I--”

“Shut up,” Billy groaned, curling up.  Steve curled around him, kissing the back of his reddening neck.  

“You, uh, you--it didn’t--you didn’t just--say you loved me.  Out of--out of nowhere.  Bleah.  I, um.  I was trying to find the keys--”

“What?!” Billy turned to try and frown over his shoulder, and Steve laughed, leaning to hide  his face in Billy’s neck.  

“You were so fucking drunk.  You--I was piggybacking you out of Carol’s, and I couldn’t find the keys, and so I was trying to--I was going through your bag, and there was this--this sticky--”

“God damn,” Billy was snickering against him.  “You shoulda just dumped my drunk ass in the snow--”

“--I put my hand in and there’s this sticky condom on a banana--”

“Oh, jesus christ--” Billy cackled, tugging Steve’s arm around him tighter, and interlocking their fingers.  

“And I was looking at it, and thinking, like, the stuff I’ve done to help you, it’s not--that’s person stuff, you’re a person, you get that help.  But I don’t--I don’t wanna lick your freckles because you’re a person, I don’t get all--bubbled--inside--when you wear my sweatshirts because you’re a person, I just lo--I want Trespasser Hargrove to steal my clothes and curl up on me like--”

“Bubbled,” Billy repeated, mouth quirked, and Steve kneed him in the butt, face flaming.  

“Shut up, you’re so annoying, jesus--I’ve got this--gross--banana in my hand, and you drunk hugging my neck, and I just--I thought shit, I’m--I’m in love with you, what the hell, I’m not--I’m not even mad, I just--I was so happy you called, I was so--so goddamn worried about you, and then you were telling me all this drunk silly bullshit, it was--”

“You are shitting me,” Billy laughed shakily.

“I told you, I knew you wouldn’t remember, I was like okay, this is practice, I convince him now, at championship I hit it out of the park--”

“Basketball is not played in a park.”  Billy sounded a little stunned. “The fuck are you even saying--”

“--so anyway,” Steve kissed his neck, “--I--I spilled, I didn’t mean to say it with a--a fucking--sticky condom in my hand, okay, sorry about that--”

“Not sure any of this is happening, honestly,” Billy snorted, swallowing hard.

“--we got in the car, and you wanted to remember, so you were trying to write it down with your busted hand--”

“--sounds like me--”

“--so I wrote it on you.”

“You wrote ‘Steve has feeblings’, right, that makes perfect sense--why the hell didn’t I put that together, everyone knows what feeblings are, Harrington--”

“You yanked your arm--”  Steve started giggling, squeezing him harder, and Billy shook his head.

“Maybe you just can’t spell, your majesty.”

“Fuck you.  Anyway.  That’s--” Steve took a deep breath.  “That’s--that’s why.  You said.  You didn’t just--barf that out there, I did.  I was talking all this shit about how much I loved you, and how I could let you know, and you--you got kinda pissed off, actually?  But you--you did--you said it back.”

Billy took a deep breath, and let it out, then laughed as Steve started uncertainly kissing his shoulder.  “...shit, you... shitbird, you made it sound like--I thought--” he took a shaky breath, squeezing Steve’s hand tighter, “--I thought I just spilled my guts like a fucking--like some--”

“Like me,” Steve snorted, and Billy elbowed him.

He was quiet for a long time, and Steve finally leaned back and pulled him over by the shoulder, so he could frown at the face of his weirdly still home invader.  “Did you die?”

“Shut up,” Billy shoved his face away, sitting up.  “So that’s it, right, you freaked out ‘cause my mom’s awesome and yours ain’t shit--”

“Shut up, asshole,” Steve snorted, rolling onto his back.

“--and everybody in the goddamn world thinking you’re great isn’t enough, I guess, and--and your true banana-flavored love was leaving, and--”

“Thanks.  My head’s in my ass, okay.  Yeah. Sorry.” Steve’s lungs still felt a little splintery, but it was better, listening to Billy rant, still holding his hand.  “Don’t go home.”  Steve waved their interlocked hands.  “You can just--just stay here.  For--for as long as, uh--you can stay with me, I like--”

“You’re not listening, dipshit, you’ve got, like, a whole family of idiots that wants you happy--”

“Stop, jesus, I already fucking-- bawled today, shut up--”

“That what you were doing in your room,” Billy grinned down, “--crying in your pillow ‘cause this little teeny bitty percentage of the people you know don’t love you--”

“I was not,” Steve said, with dignity, yelping as Billy shoved him.  “I wasn’t! My pillows are down here, dickwad--”

Billy burst out laughing.  “Crying into your naked scratchy mattress--”

“I had towels!”  Steve batted him away, oof-ing as Billy collapsed across his stomach, gasping with laughter.  “And I wasn’t crying!  Then!”

“Oh, shit, the library.”  Billy propped himself up to see Steve’s face, and Steve forced a laugh.  “You--what the hell, you freak out and run to Nancy--”

Steve cupped his fingers over his face, breathing deeply.  “I was freaked out about you, shut up, I’m gonna--I’ll lose my voice, or something, if I keep just--having toddler meltdowns, god damn --” 

“Is that what it is?” Billy asked dryly.  “That what it is when I lose my shit?”

“No!  No, you’ve got like--actual problems,” Steve laughed, sniffling.  

Billy stared at him.  “...like...monsters?” 

“You see any monsters?”  Steve waved a hand. “I don’t see any monsters.  Just me, wanting…”

“You’re feeling like a whiny bitch,” Billy assessed, and Steve snickered, nodding, and wiping his eyes, again.  “I’ll fucking decide when you’re being annoying, christ.  Just tell me.  God damn.  If I do something.  Don’t get all--” he waved his hand, and Steve laughed harder.  “New fucking rule, Harrington,” Billy grabbed Steve’s other wrist, glowering into his face.  “Tell me first, and I’ll tell you if it’s dumb, okay.” 

“Okay,” Steve rasped, and cleared his throat.

“Repeat after me, ‘if I want a fucking boyfriend so bad I better talk to him’.”  Billy narrowed his eyes, and Steve nodded, dissolving into sniggers again.  “Say it,” Billy shook him by the arms, and Steve nodded, crying and laughing too hard to answer.  “Shit.”  Billy pushed himself upright, dragging Steve along, “--c’mon, shower, I’ll shampoo your damn hair.” 

Steve grabbed him from behind, wrapping his legs around Billy’s waist, and Billy carried him upstairs. “If anything happens to you, your mom will murder me,” he whispered, and Billy huffed a laugh.  “Stay here.  Maybe he’ll--maybe--we can talk to Hopper.  Just--just stay here.”  

After a pause lasting clear up the stairs, Billy sighed, and nodded.  Steve hugged his head.

 The next day in ceramics class, Steve had staked out a table to himself, and stuck headphones on with something not too screamy of Billy’s.  He was starting a new, hopefully less hideous project, when Max and Lucas walked in, followed by El dragging Billy, and then Nancy edging her way in--after a wary glance around for the teacher, who had her feet up in the office.  He was squinting at that procession when Dustin thumped against his back, chin abruptly digging into his shoulder.  Steve nearly stabbed him in the eye with a clay scooping tool, and yanked his headphones down.  “Christ. Don’t just grab people, rugrat.”

“Eleven’s bringing Billy to see your present,” he whined.  “Why didn’t I get a present?!  I’m your best friend, Steve!  He’s just your embarrassing secret sex friend.”

“Oh my god.”  Steve dropped his head into his hands as Nancy dropped into the seat across from him.  

“What is going on,” she whispered.

“A Shriner’s convention,” Dustin whispered back, beaming.  “We’re all here to see the present Steve made for Billy.”

“Oh no,” Steve stared over at El, dragging Billy determinedly around.  

“Did he ever give you a handmade present?” Dustin demanded of Nancy, who shook her head, eyebrows raised.

“Shit,” Steve waved his hands at her, “--no, it’s not--it’s--um--”

“We see how it is,” Dustin harrumphed.  

“What the hell do you want,” Max stage-whispered at Billy--more and more of Steve’s class were paying attention, out of the corners of their eyes--and Billy hissed back “I didn’t want anything here, I don’t know what’s--” 

After a bit of glaring at each other, Max sighed loudly, grabbed his arm, and drug him out the side door, and El came over with Steve’s horrible, mustard yellow, lumpy coil-built clay monstrosity.  

“Wow,” Dustin stared.  “Y’know what, he’s welcome to it.”

“You’re perfect for each other,” Nancy nodded, obviously trying not to laugh, and Steve felt himself flushing.  

“It’s a joke,” he hissed.  “It’s a stupid hilarious joke present--”

“Yeah,” Dustin grimaced.  “It’s, ugh.”  

“It looks like a piece of shit,” Lucas put in, having wandered over, his eyes on the side door, where they could see Max waving her arms at Billy through the glass panel.  He followed her around, and then they were talking, intently. After a few minutes she stormed back in, wiping her eyes, and Eleven and Lucas ran over. Steve caught the words “life insurance” in their fierce whispers, and locked eyes with Billy, who shrugged, jaw set.  Eleven turned to frown at him, then at Steve, and took a deep breath, setting her shoulders. She put an arm around Max, and Steve started to stand up, thinking he better talk to Eleven before she skewered Neil Hargrove on a handy treetop like a psychic shrike, not because Neil Hargrove didn’t deserve worse, but to save Hopper trying to derail a really newsworthy murder investigation.  

“...is that thing my present,” Billy asked, rubbing his red eyes.  

“It is, aren’t you lucky,” Dustin shoved it across the table, and Billy grabbed for it, but missed.  There was a definite crashing sound on the floor.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry!  Shit!”  Dustin scrambled up and ran around to help Billy gather the mostly-whole hideous thing and the couple chunks of coil that had cracked off the bottom corner.

“Oh no, it’s broken,” Steve rolled his eyes, “--I guess it goes straight in the trash--”

“Oh no, did it break?!” Eleven ran over, dragging Max.

“No, it’s okay,” Dustin pressed it back together, “--we can glue it, it’ll be fine--”

“Wow, it’ll be even uglier--” Steve snorted.

“It’s got ‘H+H’ in a heart on the bottom.”  Billy grinned over, looking delighted--both at the thought, and Steve’s humiliation, Steve was sure--and Steve groaned.

“I will find glue.”  Eleven trotted over to bang on the teacher’s open door, and Steve was glad most of the class was listening to headphones, or skipping class.  

“You could use hot glue,” Lucas suggested.  “Not like it was gonna hold water anyway.”

Dustin drug Billy and the broken piece of shit off to the teacher.  

“What is happening,” Steve moaned, to Nancy, and she grinned at him.  “Don’t touch it,” he warned her, “I think Tommy rubbed his dick on it, or something, he was being really loud over there.”

Eleven, trailing Lucas and Max, drug Billy back with a surprisingly speedily-fixed clay horror, now sitting unevenly and bulging with greyish hot glue.  “What?” Billy asked, cradling the thing.

“...nothing,” Steve stared at it, then at Nancy, who bit her lips.  “I’ll tell you in, like, thirty years.”

Billy almost dropped it again, shooting him a wide-eyed glance, and cleared his throat.  “That’s--that’s a long time, Harrington.”

“I’ve got googly eyes,” Dustin suggested.  “We could cover up the glue--”

“Give ‘em here,” Billy nodded, and Dustin whipped out a bag of multi-sized googly eyes.  They sat shoulder to shoulder, and the kids leaned around Billy’s chair.

“Put some big ones on the front,” Max suggested, sniffling, and Lucas snorted.

“Which even is the front?”

Max was trying to wipe her eyes with her shoulders, and Steve realized Eleven was holding her hand on one side, jaw firm, and Lucas had the other, and she was leaning against Billy’s chair.  He looked up and mouthed something, and Max huffed a laugh, her shoulders relaxing a little. She kneed his chair, and he grinned a little at the awful present.

Dustin was sticking on a line of little eyes along the crack, and Nancy leaned in to prod at the pile of googly eyes, then stopped to dig around in her purse.  “If you use a couple of those big ones, I’ve got some fake eyelashes.”

“Oh my god,” Billy laughed harder, leaning his head in his hand.  

“It’ll be just horrible when I accidentally knock it on the floor,” Steve kicked his leg, “--what a tragedy--”

“I’ll tell everyone you’re a murderer,” Billy hissed back.  “I’ll call Hopper and tell him you killed her--”

“Denise--” Dustin put in, cackling.

“Everyone will know of your crime against Denise, Harrington--”

“I put her on this earth,” Steve snickered, “--I can take her off--”

“Why’s your boyfriend so happy about that awful thing,” Dustin whispered, while Billy, Eleven, and Nancy tried to get the fake lashes on.  “It looks like Jabba the Hutt. Or Slimer. Or Jabba the Hutt had sex with Slimer--”

“He’s just laughing at my art skills,” Steve rolled his eyes.  “I can do better than that,” he said, louder, pointing at Denise, and Billy raised his eyebrows.

“You sure?” Max snorted.

“Fuck yeah I’m sure, that was a joke--”

“Big words, Harrington,” Lucas said, as Billy held Denise up, shaking her a bit so the eyes would waggle from side to side.  “You sure you can back that up?”

Max cocked her head.  “Yeah, we’ve got big expectations now.”

“It’s almost Valentine’s Day,” Nancy pointed out, and Steve resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at her.

“I’ll make an awesome present, okay--”

“Okay,” Billy grinned at Denise, eyes flicking to Steve’s, and Max kicked his chair again, smiling crookedly.

Next chapter

[magicalmischel]

A Legacy Let Go

merthur fanfic written for the Merlin Memory Month 2019

prompts: bruised (path 1), a legacy let go (path 3)

wordcount: 2159

SUMMARY:  Merlin gets threatened by a group of new knights who don't like the fact that he and Arthur are together. Gwaine, Lancelot, Leon, Percival and Elyan find him and bring him back to the king, who's quick to assure him that their future is bright.

also posted on FFN and AO3.

A LEGACY LET GO

It was late afternoon in Camelot, and Merlin was still in the armoury, where he had been polishing all the pieces of Arthur's armour for at least an hour already. He would have used his magic, which was something he usually did for this chore, but he'd promised Arthur he would use his gift sparingly, for his own safety. Yes, Uther was dead now, but that didn't change the law. Magic was still illegal and under the penalty of death.

And Merlin knew Arthur didn't want anyone to catch Merlin red-handed, so Merlin had promised to use his magic only if it was absolutely necessary. And that included even the most frustrating chores, which polishing Arthur's armour always was.

The last thing Merlin wanted was to lie to Arthur that evening. They had planned a dinner in Arthur's chambers by the fire. It wasn't often that Arthur had the evening for himself, spared of all his responsibilities, and so both he and Merlin wanted to make the most of it and spend the evening together.

Merlin had already informed Gaius that it was unlikely he'd return to sleep in his own bed that night. Gaius had answered with a smirk and a raised eyebrow, which made Merlin smile now as he was polishing Arthur's breastplate.

Merlin sighed as he put the last piece of Arthur's armour - now polished - away and he admired his work with his hands on his hips. Merlin had hoped that his chores would come less often now that he and Arthur were together, but he was wrong. He was still Arthur's manservant after all, and they didn't want anyone besides Gwen to know about their relationship. But this time Merlin didn't mind working, as long as he and Arthur could spend that evening together as promised.

The door to the armoury opened and three knights walked in. As Merlin glanced at them, he immediately recognised them - they had been training with Arthur for the past few months and had only been knighted two days before. They were the newest knights of Camelot.

"Hey, Merlin," one of them addressed him.

Merlin smiled at them. "Hi." It wasn't unusual. Merlin followed Arthur everywhere, which meant that he had been present at most of the training sessions. All the knights knew who he was at this point, and it had never been hard for Merlin to make friends.

"Polishing the king's armour, I see," the same knight pointed at Merlin's proud work.

Merlin nodded. "Yeah, Arthur wanted it to be shining for tomorrow's training session."

"That's not a proper way to address the king, Merlin," the knight told him rather harshly. Merlin kept his smile but frowned in confusion. Yes, calling the king by his first name was nowhere near proper, but no other knights ever cared. They knew that he and Arthur were friends and that Arthur didn't mind, and that he, in fact, welcomed it.

"Tell me, Merlin," the knight stepped closer to him. At that moment, Merlin's smile disappeared and his friendliness was replaced by hesitant fear. The knight glanced at his two companions with a smirk, before looking back at Merlin. He folded his arms on his chest and with a nod and his eyes pointed between Merlin's legs. "Do you ever polish something else that belongs to the king?"

Merlin's cheeks reddened and he took a step back. Perhaps they were only joking, Merlin tried to calm himself down. He didn't know them that well yet, so maybe this was their way of joking, which, yeah, Merlin didn't like or appreciate, but it wasn't meant to be taken seriously.

He laughed nervously. "Yeah," he pointed behind the armour on the bench. "Arthur's sword, obviously. I'm his manservant."

All the knights stepped closer to him, blocking his way to the door and making him walk closer towards the corner of the armoury. "Is that how you call it?" The knight snorted together with his two friends. "A sword?"

"Well, it is a sword," Merlin swallowed.

"You know what I mean, Merlin."

This was precisely the moment that Merlin would usually choose to use magic. He'd fake a cough or look down so that they wouldn't be able to see his eyes, and then he'd make a shield fall down to distract them while escaping the room. But it was a risk, and he'd promised Arthur that he wouldn't use magic unless it was absolutely necessary.

He looked at the knights and at their determined eyes. Without his magic, he suddenly felt so small compared to them. But they wouldn't hurt him, would they? They couldn't, unless they wanted to fight Arthur, who would absolutely fight for him.

They wouldn't hurt him.

"You're not fit for the position of the king's servant," the second knight said. "He only keeps you around because you provide him with physical pleasure."

"Distasteful."

"You can't mean anything to him, he's a king."

They approached him and surrounded him in the corner of the room. One of them grabbed his arms and held tightly until it started to hurt. Merlin didn't move as the knight stared into his face.

"You'll address the king properly from now on, do you understand?"

"You will no longer distract him from his duties. He needs to take care of the kingdom and produce an heir. That's how it always was and how it always should be."

"Don't ever think that you two are equal. You're not."

Merlin's eyes filled with tears as the knight tightened his grip on him. It hurt, and it would definitely leave a bruise that Merlin would remember. He'd never had to deal with anything like this, he was usually liked among the knights.

Thankfully, the door to the armoury opened once more and Sir Leon, Sir Elyan, Percival with Gwaine and Lancelot all entered the room together, laughing.

Gwaine was in the middle of some story, "and then I told him, 'Not on my watch, mate!' and you know what he repl-"

He immediately stopped when they all noticed what was going on. Their smiles were replaced by angered frowns.

"What's going on here?" Sir Leon asked with a strong and authoritative voice, while Gwaine even unsheathed his sword.

The knights let go of Merlin and smiled innocently. "Nothing is going on, we're just teaching Merlin here a lesson."

"Merlin doesn't need to be taught anything," Lancelot frowned at them. "And definitely nothing from you, Sir Toren."

"Of course," the knights bowed to Sir Leon and disappeared out of the door. Percival and Elyan stared at them harshly as they walked by, and Gwaine with Lancelot immediately rushed over to Merlin's side.

"What happened?"

"Are you alright?"

"Did they hurt you?"

Merlin winced as they touched his arm in support. "A little bit," he admitted. They let go of him carefully, all looking sorry. Their worried voices and faces all reminded Merlin that he did have friends and that those three knights were only three in more than a hundred. He'd be fine.

Probably.

"They had no right to do this to you," Gwaine gritted through his teeth, his hand touching his sheathed sword restlessly. Merlin noticed it.

"No, Gwaine, it's fine." Merlin smiled at him, not very sure of whether he was right or not. "They're new knights, they'll learn."

"They should," Leon said. "And they should know that there is no honour in hurting the innocent."

"We'll take you to Arthur," Lancelot decided. "Do you need-"

"No, I can walk," Merlin reassured him with a smile. "Do we need to bother him with this?" He asked nervously. He didn't want Arthur to worry, especially not when they were supposed to spend the evening together. It was supposed to be perfect, not spent worrying about Merlin's safety, he wanted their date to be problem-free.

"We must," Leon decided. "It's our duty."

With that, they all left the armoury and led Merlin all the way to the courtyard, up the stairs and into Arthur's chambers. They knocked on the door and waited until Arthur opened. Merlin hoped that Arthur wouldn't think it was Merlin alone waiting behind the door and wouldn't embarrass himself, but he never knocked, so it should be fine and the knights hopefully wouldn't find out about their relationship.

The door opened and Arthur's smile faded as soon as he saw Merlin and the others.

"What's the matter?" he asked, looking at Merlin up and down, probably holding himself back and not taking Merlin's hand, which he already would have done, had Merlin been there alone.

"We found Sir Bally, Sir Pein and Sir Wigh harassing Merlin in the armoury, sire," Leon informed his king.

"They bruised his arms!" Gwaine said, his tone clearly indicating that he was very upset about it. Merlin was grateful for his loyalty and friendship.

"What?" Arthur frowned in worry and this time didn't hesitate to take Merlin's hand and lead him inside. "Are you okay?"

Merlin nodded. "I am now." He turned to the knights and smiled in gratitude. "Thanks."

"I think you should debase them," Gwaine told Arthur. "They don't deserve the title, Arthur."

"Thank you all," Arthur nodded at them. "I'll give it a thought."

"You'll give it a thought?" Gwaine asked incredulously. "Just do it! They can't hurt innocent people if they're knights, they-"

"Gwaine," Arthur looked at him sternly. "I'll think about it. Thank you for informing me."

Gwaine frowned, but eventually, he left with the other knights, and the door closed behind them. As soon as Merlin and Arthur were alone, Arthur took his hand and squeezed it in worry.

"What did they say? Why did they want to hurt you? Are you sure you're okay?"

Merlin laughed softly. "Wow, so much attention, all of a sudden."

"Merlin, this is serious." Arthur didn't smile. "I can't have knights that I don't trust. What did they say to you?"

Merlin sighed and slowly led Arthur over to his bed. They both sat down on it, still holding hands, and only then Merlin realized how much the situation had shaken him and how he was using humour only to mask his true feelings. He welled up and shrugged.

"They, um, they said that I didn't deserve you and that I was distracting you from your duties as a king. They implied that we were . . . sleeping together."

Arthur blinked at him in disbelief, but before he could say something, Merlin continued.

"They said that we weren't equal and that I should address you properly because you were a king and you shouldn't care about me."

Arthur squeezed his hand and entwined their fingers to comfort Merlin. Merlin appreciated that.

"Tell me you don't believe that."

Merlin smiled at him briefly. "You wouldn't go into all this trouble, finishing your paperwork ahead of time in order to spend one evening with me, if you didn't care about me."

Arthur lowered his head as he hid his fond smile and then he nodded, looking into Merlin's eyes. "That's right," he said and brushed Merlin's tears away. "I care about you way more than I should, Merlin. I'm glad you know that."

Merlin leaned in to kiss him without any warning, seeking comfort. Arthur returned the kiss and as Merlin pulled away, he whispered, "I love you."

It took a few seconds for Arthur to respond to that, but when he did, it was with another kiss, more desperate this time. "I love you, too, Merlin."

"Glad we've established that, then."

Arthur laughed softly against Merlin's mouth, and pulled away, capturing his cheek with his palm. "I want to make Camelot safe for you."

Merlin sighed. "That will be very hard."

"But not impossible." Arthur brushed his thumb up and down Merlin's cheekbone and then put his dark hair behind his ear. "I don't want to continue my father's legacy of fear. I want everyone in Camelot to feel safe, and I mean everyone."

Merlin was enveloped in such a deep feeling of love and appreciation that he didn't think he could take it. "Do you mean that?" He asked, still incredulous.

"I mean it, Merlin," Arthur confirmed. "And I'll need your help. We'll work together to rewrite the law in order for the kingdom to be safe for everyone. How do you like the sound of that?"

"I'd love that."

They smiled at each other and kissed again before Arthur stood up and held out his hand for Merlin. Merlin took it.

"Now, the dinner is already prepared, and I believe I have a promise to keep."

Merlin grinned at him and stood up from the bed. Arthur led him to the table and they both sat down, officially starting their well deserved evening of love and meaningless conversations that would make them laugh and dance and completely forget about Merlin's misfortune of meeting the knights in the armoury.

But that was okay. Because together, they could beat anything.

*the end*

[toolsofthechef]

Instant kharvas । सॉफ्ट खरवस बनाने की आसान विधि | Soft Kharvas In Pressure Cooker

Instant kharvas । सॉफ्ट खरवस बनाने की आसान विधि | Soft Kharvas In Pressure Cooker

Kharvas Recipe, Ginnu Recipe, Junnu Recipe, Bari Recipe, Khees Recipe, peyous Recipe, Posu Recipe, kila Recipe, Nolen Gurer Doi Recipe,

Ingredients: Full cream milk- 1 cup (250 grams) Hung curd- 1 cup (250 grams) Condensed Milk- 1 cup (250 grams) Cornflour- 2 tbsp Nutmeg- less than ¼ tsp Green Cardamoms- ¼ Tsp Pistachios- 6 to…

[cheshirelibrary]

14 Books That Are (Almost) as Good as Taking a Vacation

[via BookBub]

Sadly, we can't always be on vacation. Luckily, there are books that can help us feel like we are, even if we're simply sitting on our living room sofa. From quaint Parisian streets to the glamor of 1940s New York, this list of books to read this summer ensures that you'll never be without a vacation destination.

Nine Perfect Strangers by Liane Moriarty

The Unhoneymooners by Christina Lauren

The Unlikely Adventures of the Shergill Sisters by Balli Kaur Jaswal

Where the Crawdads Sing by Delia Owens

When We Left Cuba by Chanel Cleeton

Lost Roses by Martha Hall Kelly

Cape May by Chip Cheek

Walking on the Ceiling by Aysegül Savas

City of Girls by Elizabeth Gilbert

Leading Men by Christopher Castellani

Red, White and Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston

Tomorrow There Will Be Sun by Dana Reinhardt

The Old Drift by Namwali Serpell

The Island of Sea Women by Lisa See

[besidemethewholedamntime]

Sing Me A Song

A fluffy Fitzsimmons family fic set in the near future because I couldn’t help myself. I know I still have prompts to do, and I absolutely promise I’m in the process of writing them but I got stuck and this popped into my head. I hope you enjoy it! 

Read it on Ao3

“Shh, it’s okay. It’s alright.”

Fitz bounces with his six-month-old daughter, cradling her gently against his chest. His words fall on deaf ears, and his daughter continues to cry mournfully into his shirt. Teething has begun in recent days and has been hard on Sarah and both of her parents.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he soothes, but his voice doesn’t sound convincing even to his own ears. He holds Sarah away from his chest; her cheeks are flushed and her impossibly blue eyes are wide and melancholy. His heart breaks in a strange way for whenever she cries it cuts somewhere deep inside of him.

She’s only teething, he reminds himself. Everyone on the planet has gone through this and got through it, she’ll be fine. The rational, non-father part of himself knows this. It’s the other part that doesn’t; the part of him that’s a father and cannot stand seeing his daughter hurt.

Wearily, he cradles Sarah to his chest again, and sits down in the rocking chair usually used for feeding. It’s been a long few days ever since her teeth had began appearing. Nothing has seemed to help: not the teething rings or the teething gels or even the special baby painkillers bought for especially for this event. Sarah is as stubborn as both of her parents, utterly refusing to be settled or comforted by things that Fitz is sure normal children would be.

That’s what you get for having two parents who aren’t normal Fitz sighs. His daughter is the love of his life, apple of his eye and he would gladly die for her without a second’s hesitation. He adores her unique-ness that shows even at six months old; the way her eyes are infinite and seem to understand everything of what she sees, the way she smiles and the whole world gets brighter, the way she laughs like laughter has only just been discovered… but just for this one thing, Fitz thinks he wouldn’t mind if she was a little more… average.

(Except that this is just his tired brain and of course he doesn’t mean it – he wouldn’t change Sarah for all the world, crying fits over milk teeth and all.)

Rocking back and forth softly, Fitz begins to hum a tune that comes so naturally to his mind in this state. A song his granny and his mum used to sing to him when he was small, when he was crying so much that he should barely hear them over his hiccups.

To his own surprise, he even begins to sing.

Ally bally, ally bally bee, Sittin' on yer mammy's knee

Fitz isn’t even entirely sure how he’s remembered the words, it’s been so long since he’s heard them. Sarah’s sobs begin to quieten. He carries on:

Greetin' for a wee bawbee, Tae buy some Coulter's candy. 

Sarah’s cries are now only soft sniffles and he’s so amazed that four lines of a simple song his granny used to always sing have done what nothing else has been able to, that he doesn’t even hear Jemma come in until she says quietly:

“That was quite lovely. I haven’t heard you sing that song before.”

He grins up at her, happy to see her even though she’s only been working a few hours. “Didn’t even realise I’d remembered it.”

She comes over and kisses him a greeting, gently kissing her daughter also before sitting on the bed opposite him with a sigh that can only mean she’s had a hard time at work. Her smile, though tired, is still bright. Fitz could never tire of that smile.

“Where is it from?” Jemma asks in an almost-whisper.

He looks down to his chest and sees that Sarah’s eyes have begun to droop and her cheeks are no longer as flushed as they once were.

“Uh…” He thinks back on how he actually knows the song. “My granny used to sing it to me when I was younger. My mum too. I’d be crying til I was hiccupping and my granny would sit me on her knee and sing until I wasn’t crying anymore.” Looking down at his daughter, he smiles. “Must run in the family.”

Jemma’s eyes have taken on that soft look that comes with whenever they talk about his family. “That’s very sweet, Fitz. Your granny sounds adorable.”

“Aw yeah, she was the best. Looked after me a lot when I was young. My mum was working all the time, and before my dad left he was too,” He frowns, the mention of his father bringing a crease to his forehead. “I stayed with her a lot if mum was on night shift, and even if I wasn’t upset she’d always sing the song before I went to sleep.”

Now that he’s thinking about it, Fitz begins to remember a lot about those days when his mum was working all of the time and his dad never seemed to want him around, or his gran never wanted him around his dad he realises now. He remembers the way her house smelled like lavender and she always wore flower prints and always called him honey.

“When was the last time you saw her?” Jemma asks softly, reaching over to squeeze the hand that isn’t supporting their daughter.

“I don’t even know,” Fitz whispers. When did tears appear in his eyes? “Haven’t been back in so long. I don’t even know what’s happened to her, if she’s…” he swallows, unable to say it. “If her and my mum are okay. I haven’t even phoned in so long cause so much was going on and now I can’t.” Fitz breathes deeply but slowly, not wanting to disturb Sarah who has fallen asleep on his chest. He blinks back the tears in his eyes and looks down at her. “I wonder what they’d think of us.” He beams at Jemma. “What they’d think of her.”

“I’m sure they’d be so proud of you, Fitz,” Jemma whispers to him, fiercely but so full of love. “They’d be so proud to see the father you’ve become to our daughter.”

“Thanks, Jemma.” He loves her so much that it’s indescribable. And they have a daughter. Even after six months, he still hasn’t been able to get over the wonder of it all.

“As soon as we’re able we’ll go to Glasgow,” she says decisively.

“My granny would like that,” he says, deciding to be hopeful. “And mum, too.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do. We’ll introduce them to Sarah and they’ll lover her just as much as we do.”

Fitz doesn’t think that anyone, apart from Jemma, could love his daughter as much as he does but he knows their love will come awfully close.

Sarah begins to stir against his chest, and soft mewling cries begin to emanate from her.

“Oh dear, are her teeth still giving her a hassle?” Jemma asks, her features rearranging into a look of worry.

“Yeah.” Fitz begins rocking gently once more. “She’s really not getting a break with it.”

“Perhaps your magical singing will help, Fitz,” Jemma teases. “It did work last time.”

He rolls his eyes but takes no notice and begins the song from the beginning. There are other verses, he’s sure, but his granny never sung them to him. She always only sang these lines, and it was always enough.

Ally bally, ally bally bee,

Almost at once, Sarah begins to quieten again.

“Well would you look at that,” Jemma comments, marvelled. “Our daughter must be the only person who does like your singing.”

Sittin' on yer mammy's knee

“At least my musical talents are appreciated by somebody,” he faux-grumbles.

Greetin' for a wee bawbee

He thinks of his granny and what she would say if she saw him here with his wife and daughter now. He thinks that she’d be over them moon, happy with how it’s all turned out. Fitz knows that he is, that he wouldn’t change any of it for anything.

Tae buy some Coulter's candy. 

[cherryb0yri0t-blog]

Secret Santa Gift to Peachu-Doodles

This is for @peachu-doodles for the @jjba-secret-santa. I had a lot of fun and trouble writing this. I hope this is a decent length for a gift I feel like I should’ve done more tho. Nonetheless, I hope you like it! ^^ 

With his chin being held up by a propped arm, Josuke tried to listen to the lecture but after a long night of playing Earthbound his consciousness was fading in and out.

“-ead line 14 Higashikata.” He heard his name and he dazedly looked up at his teacher. His teacher frowned and sighed at him before he repeated the order. “I asked you to read line 14.” Josuke sighed inwardly before standing up to read the English text. He knew he had an accent with it, but compared to his peers he felt more competent in regards to the subject. Maybe it was when his father was around that he picked up how to speak it better. The old man did have trouble understanding Japanese and would switch to his native tongue for most of his stay.

Once he read the line he sat back down and returned to his earlier position until he felt a tap to his back. Making sure the teacher wasn’t watching he looked behind and saw Okuyasu give him a huge thumbs up. It looked like he had something to say so he leaned backward and let him speak.

“You’re so good at English Josuke! I could hardly understand what you were saying!”

He felt his cheeks turn hot and with the excuse that they were going to get caught he turned back in his seat and looked outside. He tried to think of anything besides the cute smile his best friend wore. Best friends… That is what they were and were probably going to be that way for the rest of their lives. Josuke was content with being friends, but he also wanted something more. Too often he had dreams where him and Okuyasu would be hanging out and then they would suddenly kiss and hold each other. Those dreams left him waking up flustered and unable to do anything but curse the fact that it was a dream.

He tried to focus his attention to a bench outside to quell those emotions, but that was stopped when he felt Oku grip his shoulders softly. He nearly jumped out of his skin at the touch and then Oku leaned over his own desk to get closer to him.

“Josuke look! It's snowing!” Josuke glanced back out and smiled at the white flakes that began to cover the bench he previously watched. Nearly everyone else joined in at watching the first snowfall in Morioh and over spoke the teacher in their excitement. It took quite a while for the teacher to gain his student’s attention once more but he was eventually able to continue his lesson. However, Josuke looked back to watch the snowflakes cover the ground

 Just like always, Josuke and Okuyasu met up with Koichi and Yukako at the school’s front doors.

“Hi guys!” Koichi called out while Yukako finished wrapping the handmade scarf around his neck. “It sure is snowing. I'm surprised they didn't let us out early.”

“Yeah. True.” A revelation suddenly hit Josuke and he yelled. “Oh come on! My poor shoes are going to get snow in them!”

“Why is that any different than the rain?”

“You don't understand Koichi, these Bally shoes are expensive. They took numerous allowances to even afford.”

“They don't look that expensive…” Josuke gasped and pointed to them.

“Lemme teach ya something Koichi. You see, these Bally shoes are genuine leather and just look at this craftsmanship. Absolutely beautiful!” Koichi rolled his eyes and started to walk out, Yukako in hand.

“Whatever you say Josuke. C’mon we better get going before we’re snowed in.”

Josuke agreed but with a sigh. He really wasn't looking forward to walking in this snow. Okuyasu noticed Josuke’s sad demeanor and decided to try something. He knew he wasn't as smart as his two friends, but he thought that this might work.

He ran ahead of the group, and trekked through the snow until he was on the sidewalk. Then he called The Hand and erased the snow covering it. It was as clean as if someone had been asked to professionally shovel it. He then turned back to his smiling friends. Josuke wore the largest smile and he ran over to Okuyasu and pulled him into a side hug.

“Thanks man! You're the best!”

Okuyasu felt his face burn from the praise; he always loved it when Josuke would give him compliments.

“Aw it's nothing. I didn't want you to get your shoes ruined, bro.”

“You're too thoughtful but that's what I love about you!” The two boys laughed and held each other until Yukako walked past them.

“Let’s go Koichi, it's cold,” she said and Koichi turned back to the others.

“Are you two coming or not?” The other two let go of each other and ran towards the couple, only slowing down when they were right behind them.

“Hey Oku, you wanna hang out? We can play some Super Mario World. You wanna hang too Koichi?”

Koichi shook his head, “Sorry Josuke, but I already promised Yukako a date.” He looked up to his girlfriend who smiled and blushed. Josuke shrugged and told him it’s alright.

Josuke and Okuyasu turned to go down the street leading to their homes and they bid Koichi and Yukako goodbye. Okuyasu decided to take the lead so that he can use The Hand to keep cleaning the sidewalk. Meanwhile Josuke bent over and silently packed a snowball in his gloved hands. Then without warning, he threw the cold ball at Oku’s back who ‘oof’ed’ at the sudden action.

Okuyasu turned around and stared at Josuke, “Oi! Did you do that?!”

“Do what?”

“Uhh,” Okuyasu thought for a moment. “Something hit my back and I don’t know who did it.”

“Pfft,” Josuke had to hold back his laughter. “Wasn’t me. I have no idea who would hit your back dude. Maybe you imagined it.”

“Maybe.” Feeling content with the answer, Oku turned around and Josuke threw another one resulting in the other teen yelling and turning around once more. This time Josuke whistled to contain his emotions.

“There’s someone targeting me! Josuke help!”

“Are you sure it wasn’t the wind?”

“Then that’s some hard wind, but maybe you’re right.” And once again Oku fell for Josuke’s trap as a third snowball hit him straight in the middle of his back and he yelled. “There’s a Stand user after me!” He growled and The Hand got in a battle-ready stance. Josuke couldn’t help it anymore and he laughed hysterically. He nearly doubled over when Oku cocked his head to the side in confusion.

“O-Oku, it was me all along. S-Sorry,” he wheezed. Okuyasu stood still in thought but then he bent over and grabbed a snowball, pelting it at Josuke’s chest which landed with a hard splat.

Okuyasu chuckled but stopped when he saw the dark look Josuke had.

“Oh shit, bro I’m sorry if I hurt you. I didn’t mean to throw it so hard,” he tried to apologize but stopped when Josuke looked up with a micheivious glint in his eyes. Suddenly he had a whole pile of snowballs in Crazy Diamond’s arms and Oku knew he had to run or be decimated.

As Josuke threw the balls, Okuyasu used The Hand to shield him as he made his own ammo. Both boys laughed at the fight and Okuyasu ran into a neighbor’s yard to find more snow. Josuke yelled at him that he was cheating but the shorter boy refused to get out of the snow and used Josuke’s weakness against him. He wanted to get one in Josuke’s face but he aimed too high and it was like time stopped as it hit the holy pomp. Okuyasu internally screamed as Josuke suddenly stepped into the snow and ran towards him.

It was too late for poor Oku as Josuke easily picked him up and threw him in the snow. “Don’t kill me! I wasn’t meaning to bro!” he pleaded as the taller teen stood over him. Right as Okuyasu started to pray to the gods for forgiveness, Josuke’s kind demeanor came back and he laughed.

“Got you!” he teased. It took a moment for the words to register, but when they did Oku gave a huge sigh in relief. “I didn’t go overboard with the joke, did I? You did look a little pale,” he smirked and held a hand out for Oku who used it to pull Josuke into the snow with him. “HEY!”

He pulled himself up from the frozen ground and shook the remainder of snow off his hair. “Now you asked for it!” He joked and playfully pushed Okuyasu into the snow and before they knew it they were both covered in the cold material and worn out from the jovial fighting.

They relaxed in the snow close together for a moment. A moment that Josuke took straight to his heart. He was a natural romantic and it occurred to him that what just happened would probably be similar to those cheesy Christmas movies his mother sometimes watched. Okuyasu turned his head to his and smiled that dorky but genuine smile that made his heart soar. They’ve been through so much and Josuke knew that what he felt was true, but he didn’t want to ruin their friendship. It hurt him so much but he told himself that hiding his feelings was for the best. The snow underneath chilled him and he reached out and grabbed Okuyasu’s hand before standing up, and by extension Oku, up.

“Let’s get going before Mom comes home and sees our soaked uniforms.”

 The two teens sat side-by-side and shoulder-to-shoulder while playing Super Mario World. Usually Josuke played as Mario, but anytime Okuyasu was over and wanted to be Mario Josuke would let him. At first, Okuyasu was terrible at the game but with enough practice he became just as good as Josuke was and now the two were breezing through levels. They were at the level before Bowser’s castle and the atmosphere was tense. Their lives were low but they were so close. Sure they could always load a save if they died, but defeating a game when the odds would be stacked against them like at this very moment was part of the adrenaline and fun. Finally it came, the battle against Bowser himself. Now, Josuke played this game before and read on how to defeat the koopa king, but he always got stuck at this part. He just moved a little too closely to a fireball when…

“Oh no!” He exclaimed and pouted. “I guess it’s all up to you Okuyasu.”

“Me? Jeez Josuke I don’t know if I can. Maybe you should take charge you’re better at this than I am anyway.”

“No way! We’re doing this fair and square. Besides I believe in you.” They looked at each other for a moment and the shorter teen sat straighter.

“You’re right Josuke! I can do this!” With renewed hope and belief in himself, Oku took full control of the situation. The air felt frozen in time as the music intensified and fireballs were thrown in Mario’s direction. Mario shrank for a moment until Peach came in with the most needed mushroom and Josuke sighed. He watched the screen for a while until he began to watch Okuyasu’s facial movements. His tongue slightly poked out to wet his lips in pure determination and Josuke wondered just what those lips would taste like. His thoughts were just thinking about how much he thought of Okuyasu and how wonderful and beautiful he is that he didn’t hear the sounds coming from Bowser’s clown car or the happy music signifying that the princess was saved.

Okuyasu turned his head to Josuke with a bright smile, “I did it! I beat Bowser!” Hearing this, Josuke snapped out of his thoughts for a moment and looked at the screen in awe.

“You did it!” He cheered and without thinking nor hesitation he did the first thing his instincts told him to do and that was to kiss the winner. Their lips melded awkwardly and just like that, Josuke quickly pulled away. “Oh..shit s-sorry I-I didn’t mean to I-“ he couldn’t believe he just did that and he wanted to die right then and there as he felt that he just ruined everything.

Okuyasu’s eyes were wide and one of his hands went up to touch his lips, his cheeks were dusted with a light pink which Josuke was sure was pure anger, however Okuyasu’s next words dispelled these worries.

“H-Hey that felt kinda nice…”

“O-Oh yeah, it did..”

“Can we do it again?”

“Really?” Josuke was sure his heart was going to pop right out of his chest.

“Yeah bro.” With a shaking hand, Josuke gently held the other teen’s cheek in his hand and he glanced into his eyes for a moment before bringing his lips upon the other’s once more. The kiss had more direction this time and Okuyasu got into it by bringing his arms around Josuke’s waist. Josuke wanted to cry and he hoped that this meant that his feelings were reciprocated. The kiss went on for a minute or so, time seemed to cease to exist in this blissful state, until Josuke pulled back.

“Okuyasu, I like you.”

“I like you too.”

“No. I mean I really like you,” he emphasized and for a split moment he believed he was a fool.

“Josuke, I may be dumb, but I know what you meant and I mean it when I say that I like you,” Oku grinned and was instantly pulled into a large hug.

“I’m so glad! I was so afraid I ruined my friendship with you. You’re the best friend a guy like me could ask for!”

“What about Koichi?”

“Well Koichi’s great too,” the pompadour proud lad smirked. “But he’s not as cute as you Oku.”

“Aw shucks Josuke, you flatter me too much!”

“Good because you deserve it! And I mean it, I really mean it.” He watched in humor as Oku’s cheeks darkened and then covered as Oku became too embarrassed to show his face.

 Later that night, Josuke ran to the phone and called Koichi.

“Hey hey guess what?”

“What? Did something happen?”

“Yep! Okuyasu and I are now dating!”

“It’s about time.”

“Huh?! Why don’t you sound surprised?”

“Oh I saw this coming months ago.”

“Oh…”

“Yeah.”

[wri0thesley]

y'know that one post where it's like *best friend calls me and asks abt what color my dress is for prom so he can get a matching tie and i asked "since when were we goin to prom and he's all like "fuck i forgot"*? how about that but with josuke bc i can totally see that happening with him, sweet precious babby (please and thank you, i need more josuke fluff in my lif e)

Having a crush on your best friend isn’t easy.

Having a crush on your best friend, who happens to be one of the most popular boys you’ve ever met, who has girls falling over his feet and friends hanging on his every word and a cool and mysterious aura that makes people just want to be around him - that’s even harder.

You’ve long since accepted that Josuke Higashikata would never be interested in someone like you. You’re awkward and he sees you as a friend and sometimes when he looks at you too long you blush and pray he doesn’t notice - he treats you like he treats Koichi and Okuyasu. You don’t think he’s ever imagined you in a romantic way in his whole life.

Still, it doesn’t stop you from dreaming. You think about holding his hand and going out for ice cream together, about running your hands through his hair when he takes it down from the pomp and playing with the zippers on the front of his shirt. Sometimes he puts his hand on your shoulder and it’s so warm that you feel like you’d die if you ever got to cuddle him. Sometimes he smiles so widely it makes your heart hurt.

Josuke Higashikata is a ray of sunshine in your life and you’d never, ever tell him how you really felt in case it makes him act . . . strangely around you. Sure, it hurts a little that you’ll never get to feel quite how soft those full, pillowed lips are, but it’s worth it to be able to call him a friend. Josuke’s the best friend anyone could ever ask for.

You know it’s hopeless, but as prom approaches you can’t help but think about what it would be like to walk into the room on Josuke’s arm, as his date. You think about wearing little golden peace clips in your hair, about how handsome he’d look in formalwear, about it would be to kiss him whilst you slow danced--

After you’d found the date, you’d tried to teasingly lead Josuke into revealing who he was planning on taking to prom and what he was wearing. You’d mention it and he’d go pink, mess with his hair, try and laugh it off - after a week, you’d dropped it. Maybe he wasn’t going at all? It wouldn’t be like Josuke to miss a party, but you guess he probably did have girls begging him to accompany them--

For the past three months, he’s mentioned prom exactly once, when he’d sent you a text saying he wouldn’t be able to meet you for lunch at the cafe like he’d said because he was going prom suit shopping with his mother. Your heart had done a funny little twist - he’d just out and out told you he was going, and he was taking it seriously enough to buy a suit, and you had no idea which girl was about to be on the lucky end of Josuke Higashikata’s presence. It had stung a little that he hadn’t said, but you guessed you got it - maybe he didn’t want the poor girl to be the object of jealousy.

He’d added a smiley face to the end of his text so you’d added one to yours, telling him it was fine and you’d take a raincheck, and then you’d bought a pint of ice cream on your way home and watched a sad movie and kidded yourself you were crying because the impossibly pretty lead actress had just been dumped.

You buy a deep purple dress without even realizing it because apparently you have Josuke on the mind.

* * *

It’s two in the afternoon and you’re still in bed, but when your phone starts ringing you groggily begin to grasp around for it, hands closing around nothing a couple of times before you locate the source of the noise.

“H-hey?” You mumble into it, without even checking who the caller is. “Hey?”Josuke’s voice comes through the speaker, chipper.

“Hi!”

You’re instantly awake hearing his voice, a smile obvious in his tone even though you can’t see. The way he talks just makes you imagine an excitable puppy on the other end of the line.

“Oh! Josuke! Hi!”

He says your name with a light laugh that’s almost teasing, and repeats a greeting to you in a way that’s affectionately teasing and makes your heart twist with desire to hold him and tell him how you feel.

You don’t know when you turned into such a romantic sap or what it is about Josuke Higashikata that makes you act like your brain and heart have both turned to jelly, but whatever it is they should bottle it and sell it in stores.

(You think about the first time you’d teased him, when you’d first met him, about the way he’d blushed when a pretty upperclassman had asked him if he was alright and how he’d blushed and held up his hand and protested; “N-no! I’m not like that! I’m a love kinda guy!”)

“Why are you calling me?” You ask him. “Not that I mind! But aren’t you supposed to be out with shopping in S-City today?”

“Yeah! I’m out right now! I bought the best new pair of Bally shoes to wear from prom, I can’t wait to show you them--”

“Josuke,” you say, laughing, “come on. I know you didn’t call me to tell me about the shoes. I know you well enough to know that you’d wait until we were all together to make a big deal and bask in our adoration.”

“They’re really good, in fairness!” He says, cheerfully. Josuke always manages to be cheerful.

He’d mentioned he was going shopping with Tomoko this weekend, to pick up some final bits and pieces and because his Dad had sent over some money from the US to celebrate him getting good exam results.

“Come on, then, Fashion Boy,” you say, “what’s the situation?”

His tone takes on a shyness.

“I. . . uh. I guess I forgot to ask you? Or I forgot what you told me. Um.”

“Spit it out!” You say, shaking your head and grinning. His unsure voice is so fucking cute. You think about the lucky girl who he asked out to prom and how she got to hear that voice directed to him and you want to die. Does she even know how lucky she is?

“I forgot what colour your dress is and I need to get a tie to match so uh-what-colour-is-it?”

His words all come out in a garbled rush, so quickly that at first you think you must have misheard it.

“Josuke?” You ask, and he makes a frustrated noise. “I. . . don’t understand?”

“What colour’s your dress?” He asks, again, obviously trying to be a little slower. “I want to get a matching tie.”

“Josuke,” you say, eyebrows drawing in in confusion, “That’s. Generally a couples thing?”

“Yeah? I know! That’s why I’m askin’!”

“Josuke,” you repeat, trying to process. “You should probably maybe call your date and ask her? We don’t all like, convene to plan dress colours? She might be wearing something entirely different to me.”

“I’m talkin’ to my date right n--!” He starts saying, frustrated, but then his voice cuts out. You hear a very soft; “Shit.”

In the distance, Tomoko rebukes him for bad language.

There’s a moment between you two where nothing happens and you can practically see Josuke in your mind’s eye, biting on his plump lips and toying with the tails at the back of his pompadour, cheeks beginning to flush red.

“Josuke?” You ask, as the silence begins to get too much for you.

“Shit.” He repeats. “I can’t believe I didn’t ask you--”

“Ask me what?” You say, even though a traitorous part of your mind has already begun to celebrate. This can only mean one thing, right? Is Josuke going to--

“Willyougotothepromwithme?” Josuke says, voice out in a rush, words tumbling over one another so quickly you can barely make them out. He takes a deep breath. “Sorry. Will you go to the prom with me?”

You bite your lip to stop the smile from sounding too obvious over the phone, even though you’re longing to beam out to the world what just happened to you. This kind of thing doesn’t happen outside of a romance movie cliche, does it?

“It’s deep purple,” you say, and then promptly slap your hand over your mouth to stifle the excited giggles that seem to want to issue forth. “A-ahh,” Josuke says, “I-is that a yes?”

You want to scream out. Of course it’s a yes. Anyone who said no to Josuke would be a fool. But instead you just make a coy little noise of agreement and you swear you hear the whoosh of air moving quickly as Josuke presumably fist pumps.

You hear one last thing before he disconnects the call - the voice of who is unmistakably Tomoko, Josuke’s mother hissing;

“You FORGOT to ask her?”

[jojo-storys]

“Getting cocky are we” He whispered in my ear, when he had me pinched against the wall.

Y/N: -Pushes him off- “No you’re the one who’s getting cocky! Asshole”!😡 HS: Excuse me...😨 Y/N: HUH! -Arms crossed- “How dare you do this to me when you don’t even like me! Do you think you’re funny”?!😤 HS: *sigh* -Looks at you- Y/N: Well! Explain yourself!😡 HS: -Comes closer_Puts his hand next to your head_Looks at you_Brings his face closer_Whispers-: “I can do what I want if something belongs to me”. Y/N: Ohhhh! For real. -looks him in the eye_Pinches his cheeks with one hand- “For your information, I’m not a thing, I’m a person”. -Bitchslaps him_Arms crossed- “ Maybe you can do this with all the bitches who follow you around, but not with me. Got it”! Now Move! -Pushes him away_Goes back inside-.

Hyungsik stood a couple minutes more in front of my door, after I closed it. But what he didn’t know was that Kang Joon saw what happend while standing in their doorway.

KJ: -Whistled- “ She really hates you doesn’t she”.😂 HS: -Looks irritated- “ Shut up will you”!😠-Storms back inside-

While I was cooking I was thinking of all the things Hyungsik did to me. But without realising it, my food was burning. Quickly I got my pan of the stove, but then a big fire came suddenly from the stove, with a lot of smoke. Without hesitating I ran outside and knocked hard on the door of Kang Joon and Hyungsik. Kang Joon openend the door and asked me what was wrong, before I could answer he saw that there came smoke out of my apartment. “ Bro call the fire department. Balli (Quickly)”. He said. Hyungsik came running to the door to see what happend. “MWO”!(What!)😦. 

KJ: Dude what are you standing here for! Call the fire department. Balli jinja. Her house is on fire! HS: Arrassssseooo. -Looks for his phone in panick- “NAE JEONHOA EODDISEO” (WHERE IS MY PHONE). 😰 KJ: AISSSSHH JINJA. Take mine! HS: OH. -Takes his phone_Makes the call-

When Kang Joon saw that Hyungsik was calling, he quickly ran and got the fire extinguisher to extinguish the fire. But the suddenly I passed out. When I woke up again, I was in a hospital bed. Hyungsik was laying with his head on my bed, while holding my hand. I looked at his sleeping face. He looks so cute and innocent whenever he is sleeping.  When I tried to touch his hair, Kang Joon came running into my hospital room. “Y/N, you’re awake”! He said.

Y/N: Oh... KJ: Gwaenchanha (Are you okay)?! Y/N: Oh..

“DOCTTERRRRRRR” Kang Joon screamed while running out of the room.

Y/N: *sigh*

Hyungsik woke up from all the noise and looked confused around him. Then he looked at me and saw that I was awake.

HS: Oh. Ommo. You’re awake. Gwaenchanha? 

I took my hand back and said: “Nan gwaenchanha-yo (I’m fine)”.

HS: *sigh* You know how worried I was about you?! Y/N: “Molla (don’t know)”-turns head- HS: HAH! Arrasseoo. Jinja. -Looks irritated-

Kang Joon came with the doctor so that he could explain what happend to me. The doctor said that I passed out from the shock and that needed to rest a lot.

“How long was I out”? I asked the doctor. “You were out for 12 hours” The doctor said.

Y/N: *sigh* Doctor: “ But the good news is that you can go home now. HS: JEONGMAL?!😮Thank goodness😊 Y/N: -Looks at him- Doctor: It looks like he’s happier that you are. *laughs* HS: 😳 Doctor: But when you’re home, take a lot of rest and more importantly, don’t stress out. Y/N: Ye, arrasseo-yo (yes I understand). 

Couple hours later I stood in front of my door. The houseboss was talking to a fireman. When they saw me, the fireman went back inside and the houseboss came talking to me. “Your whole kitchen is burned” She said.

Y/N: Mwo?! Houseboss: You were lucky that it was solved very quickly, it could’ve been worse. You can’t go into your house yet, because it’s possible that there are still dangerous substances roaming around.  Y/N: But how? I was just cooking. Houseboss: The fireman said that the stove is the bad man in this. It was a very old stove. And old stoves are quick to catch fire. Y/N: Okay, but can I still sleep in my house? Houseboss: No. The fire department still has to look into the possible dangerous substances. Can you stay elsewhere? Y/N: No. My parents live in Busan. Otttokkee😣 HS: She can stay with us. Y/N: -Looks at him- “Mwo”? Houseboss: Good! Y/N: Jamkkan( wait a minute). 

Everyone ignored me, and that’s how I ended up living with two guys.

When all the commotion was over I sat together with Hyungsik and Kang Joon on the couch watching tv. “Where can I sleep”? I asked. 

HS: We have two rooms. Both are in use. So you can sleep on the couch or on the floor. I wouldn’t care less. Y/N: How could you say that when I sick! HS: Easy. Guys, I don’t know about you, but I’m going to sleep in my warm and cozy bed now. Johun bam bonaeyo (Goodnight). Y/N: Asshole! HS: I heard that. Y/N: Good! Kang Joon?

I tried to look Kang Joon in the eyes with puppy eyes, but he already brought me a pillow and a blanket. He gave me a kiss on the cheek and ran back into his room. These things are not men. They’re dogs! Aigooo.

The night was very cold, so I went to Kang Joon’s room to ask for a extra blanket. But he was in a deep sleep. Then I went to Hyungsik’s room. When I saw that he wasn’t reacting either, I tried to walk out of his room slowly. But then he suddenly grabbed my arm, and pulled me into his bed. “Mwohanya (What are you doing)”? I screamed. 

HS: Ssssssh. You’re loud.

He wrapped his arms around me and hugged me very tightly from behind. I could feel his breath on my cheeks. He also threw legs over mine. I could feel his thing stabbing against my butt. I tried to wrestle myself out of his arms, but he was too strong. “Calm down”  he said.

HS: I’m trying to sleep, you know. Y/N: Then let me go.  HS: Silheoo (don’t want to)

I tried to wrestle myself out again, but when I grew tired of wrestling, I actually fell asleep in his arms.

[timclymer]

How Brushing My Teeth Improved My Blowjob Technique

People ask all the time, “How do you give good head?” and “How do you keep from gagging?” I tell them that I learned from unusual sources. I’m no expert on oral sex, but I learned mostly by brushing my teeth.

I had a hairy partner who used to give so much instruction on how he wanted it done that I felt like I was in school or in the military. After what I thought was a less than mediocre fellatio performance, I would always go into the bathroom to brush my teeth to get his little hairs and him out of my mouth. I brushed and brushed and brushed. Not so much for oral hygiene, although I did want to get him out of my mouth, but partly because I could practice my gag reflex while brushing my tongue. It was either practice in private, or practice on too many guys who would not appreciate my efforts. So armed with my toothbrush and my ego, I would take my toothbrush and brush the back of my tongue so far back, I would almost throw up. I did it so much that eventually, I was able to hit the little bally thing in the back of my throat without gagging.

Next, I would wet my mouth to get my lips and entire mouth dripping wet. Yes it is sexy they way the water drips down. Then I would stretch my lips and open my mouth as wide as I could while trying to look sexy. Don’t waste your time, there’s nothing sexy about that look.

Then came the part my dentist could appreciate. I brushed my teeth. You know some people would keep the foam from building in their mouth because it looks nasty? Well that wasn’t me. The foamier, the better. That’s when I practiced my “slurps” I would spit the frothy spit over the sink, then slurp it back up. Yep, it was that simple.

After all of that diligent oral hygiene, I was ready for the next time. When the next time came, I was nervous I had dry mouth. So I popped a curiously strong mint into my mouth and went to town. I forgot to spit the mint out. WHOA! As soon as my mouth went down on his head, I knew that I had him! He moaned in what could only be ecstasy and I watched his toes curl, his hips thrust strongly and his moaning grunts of passion urging me to keep going. My ego had skyrocketed and I remembered the tips I got from my dear Gay friends. Boldly I put both hands on him and they went to work stroking him like I was twisting and churning butter. My hands had a mind of their own. It was as if they were working independently, yet together with my mouth. Again my dear ego jumps in and want to show off. I suck in my cheeks to get a mouthful of spit, cup my hands and fill them with all the wetness my mouth can produce and spit, not that dainty dribble either, I mean really spit all that moisture on him so I can stroke his head and shaft smoothly. That’s when I would confidently, with the experience of a pro, delight and entertain him by lifting his penis ever so gently and inhaled his balls in my mouth. Captivating him with my newly found blowjob skills. Caressing his nuts in my mouth as if they were delicate quails’ eggs all while moaning, slurping & humming to my own beat.

Did I look up at him like they did in the porno’s? Well, before I was armed with this powerful oral awareness – No… I mean what would I look at him for? But now? Hell yeah. I glance up, not to really look to see “if” I’m doing a good job or “if” he is enjoying my performance. I glance up to look at him and let my eyes tell him, “yeah, I know I’m amazing”.

I guess you’re wondering what happens when he finishes? Do I swallow? The answer depends on my mood. Sometimes, I like to see my handiwork and let him shoot it wherever (I, too believe it’s great for the skin) and rub it in or play with it. Other times, I swallow. The trick to that is, let him see it in your mouth first. Your mouth will naturally water up the longer you hold it in your mouth, which will make it easier to swallow. After you got it all down, open wide and show, “All gone.”

Source by Sheridan Burton

from Home Solutions Forev https://homesolutionsforev.com/how-brushing-my-teeth-improved-my-blowjob-technique/ via Home Solutions on WordPress from Home Solutions FOREV https://homesolutionsforev.tumblr.com/post/188118064025 via Tim Clymer on Wordpress

[homesolutionsforev]

How Brushing My Teeth Improved My Blowjob Technique

People ask all the time, “How do you give good head?” and “How do you keep from gagging?” I tell them that I learned from unusual sources. I’m no expert on oral sex, but I learned mostly by brushing my teeth.

I had a hairy partner who used to give so much instruction on how he wanted it done that I felt like I was in school or in the military. After what I thought was a less than mediocre fellatio performance, I would always go into the bathroom to brush my teeth to get his little hairs and him out of my mouth. I brushed and brushed and brushed. Not so much for oral hygiene, although I did want to get him out of my mouth, but partly because I could practice my gag reflex while brushing my tongue. It was either practice in private, or practice on too many guys who would not appreciate my efforts. So armed with my toothbrush and my ego, I would take my toothbrush and brush the back of my tongue so far back, I would almost throw up. I did it so much that eventually, I was able to hit the little bally thing in the back of my throat without gagging.

Next, I would wet my mouth to get my lips and entire mouth dripping wet. Yes it is sexy they way the water drips down. Then I would stretch my lips and open my mouth as wide as I could while trying to look sexy. Don’t waste your time, there’s nothing sexy about that look.

Then came the part my dentist could appreciate. I brushed my teeth. You know some people would keep the foam from building in their mouth because it looks nasty? Well that wasn’t me. The foamier, the better. That’s when I practiced my “slurps” I would spit the frothy spit over the sink, then slurp it back up. Yep, it was that simple.

After all of that diligent oral hygiene, I was ready for the next time. When the next time came, I was nervous I had dry mouth. So I popped a curiously strong mint into my mouth and went to town. I forgot to spit the mint out. WHOA! As soon as my mouth went down on his head, I knew that I had him! He moaned in what could only be ecstasy and I watched his toes curl, his hips thrust strongly and his moaning grunts of passion urging me to keep going. My ego had skyrocketed and I remembered the tips I got from my dear Gay friends. Boldly I put both hands on him and they went to work stroking him like I was twisting and churning butter. My hands had a mind of their own. It was as if they were working independently, yet together with my mouth. Again my dear ego jumps in and want to show off. I suck in my cheeks to get a mouthful of spit, cup my hands and fill them with all the wetness my mouth can produce and spit, not that dainty dribble either, I mean really spit all that moisture on him so I can stroke his head and shaft smoothly. That’s when I would confidently, with the experience of a pro, delight and entertain him by lifting his penis ever so gently and inhaled his balls in my mouth. Captivating him with my newly found blowjob skills. Caressing his nuts in my mouth as if they were delicate quails’ eggs all while moaning, slurping & humming to my own beat.

Did I look up at him like they did in the porno’s? Well, before I was armed with this powerful oral awareness – No… I mean what would I look at him for? But now? Hell yeah. I glance up, not to really look to see “if” I’m doing a good job or “if” he is enjoying my performance. I glance up to look at him and let my eyes tell him, “yeah, I know I’m amazing”.

I guess you’re wondering what happens when he finishes? Do I swallow? The answer depends on my mood. Sometimes, I like to see my handiwork and let him shoot it wherever (I, too believe it’s great for the skin) and rub it in or play with it. Other times, I swallow. The trick to that is, let him see it in your mouth first. Your mouth will naturally water up the longer you hold it in your mouth, which will make it easier to swallow. After you got it all down, open wide and show, “All gone.”

Source by Sheridan Burton

from Home Solutions Forev https://homesolutionsforev.com/how-brushing-my-teeth-improved-my-blowjob-technique/ via Home Solutions on WordPress

[myselfinserts]

“ you’ll be the filth i wash away. ”

It’d been two days since her brother caught her. Suellen had no idea where she’d been taken. All she knew was that it was much nicer than the old warehouse before. Her room was much nicer. Almost too nice. Too white. Barely any color, and far, far too clean. Almost reflective in a way. On the bright side, she wouldn’t get as sick as often anymore. 

But she’d gladly die of the plague if it meant she be allowed a window.

I want to go home, she thought. I want Nursie. I want to go home to Nursie. 

She hugged her knees, leaning against the wall as she held back tears. She closed her eyes, trying to remember the garden and Nursie, and her gentle blue eyes and beautiful green hair. The way she smiled. The softness of her voice. 

She’d give anything to be back singing songs with her again.

As Suellen reminisced on the past, she remembered a song that was always her favorite. A little song about sweets that Nursie used to sing while they tended the lilies. After which they’d go and share a piece of candy. 

She couldn’t help but hum along.

“Ally Bally Ally Bally BeeSittin' on your mammy's kneeGreetin' for a wee bawbeeTae buy mair Coulter's candy.”

The sound of the door slamming open startled her out of her song, causing her to jump to her feet and adjust her dress, a horrible little black sack with strings for straps. She kept her eyes low, reaching for the sheer cover and managing to tie it on as someone was thrown into the room. Through the dark fabric she could make out a head of black hair beneath a red beanie, and a large hoodie. Suellen tried to keep her body from shaking in fear. 

“I have to say,” a voice cackled. “I never expected Calendar to have a little brat running around! Had I known, I’d have tried to track you down sooner!”

The person in the beanie struggled to stand, fists shaking. “Good thing you’re incredibly incompetent, since I found your henchmen first, you sick son of a-”

Suellen winced when she heard a backhanded slap connect to the person’s cheek. She barley managed to hold her whimper. 

“Now, that’s not very nice,” Simon teased. “I’m being nice and letting you stay with my sister in her room. Be thankful I’m being generous and not giving you the...V.I.P. treatment.”

The boy let out a snarl. “I know all about your V.I.P. treatment, Einion, and I promise you, you’ll regret holding me here.”

“That so?”

“Oh yeah. You’ll be the filth I wash away and the scum that will fade into history. When I’m through with you, you’ll wish you never heard of the hero Calendar.”

Suellen barely glanced up, able to see her brother shrug and turn around. “Keep thinking that kid. If you need me, I’ll be finding a mirror suitable for my greatest prize.”

The door slammed closed and locked, and the boy ran toward it. He punch, kicked, screamed. Hurling threats and warnings and vulgarities. Suellen tried to remain calm, but when she smelled something akin to iron, she ran to the boy and grabbed his arm. 

“Stop!” she screamed. “You’re going to break your hands! Stop it!!!”

The boy turned around and she could just barely make out the violet eyes that made him different from Michael. With a yelp, she stumbled away, trying hard not to fall into a panic. She didn’t know who this boy was, but it didn’t take long to figure out.

And she knew how badly he was in danger.

“I’m so sorry,” he said softly. “You’re right. I...I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Suellen barely whispered, her eyes barely glancing to the collar on his neck. “I’m...I’m so sorry about my brother...what he did to Michael.”

The boy tilted his head in confusion. “Michael?”

“Um...C-Calendar? The guy that looks like you.”

The boy smiled, slipping off his hoodie and wrapping it around her shoulders. “Here. That dress looks very cold and you’re shaking.” He glanced around, finally nodding to the bed. “How about we have a seat and I’ll tell you about Calendar?”

Suellen nodded, letting the boy walk her back to the bed. “My name is Suellen, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you,” he said. “I’m Clement Gladstone. And Calendar, Mykolas Darnell, is my father.”

None of the others liked Clement’s plan. But they couldn’t think of anything better. All the adults were on the hunt, trying to locate him after he ran off from the party. It hadn’t taken long for him to get snatched and to vanish, and Mither, in a panic, had grounded the rest of them there. 

But Odette was already working fast. Music blaring to max as she started typing away, bags of candy flying as she tried to hurry. There wasn’t much time left. 

“How’s it going?” Sorley asked, keeping the drinks coming. 

Odette managed a shrug, not taking her eyes off the screen. “Let’s just say that whoever this madman’s techie is, they’re pretty skilled.” She smirked, a light beeping as coordinates finally settled on a location. “Right here. Just outside the ruins of Deika.”

Eira leaned over taking a closer look. “Is that supposed to be some kind of warehouse?”

“No, I think its some kind of hotel, prison mix,” Kasumi said. “Kind of like those you’d see in horror games?”

Ena pulled out her phone, plugging it into the computer quickly. “Any chance we can make it there in time?”

Harper snickered, holding up a pair of keys along with their favorite weapons; Crime, a bat decorated with cherry blossoms and a barb wire, and Punishment, a galaxy themed number with nails. “I stole the keys to one of the school’s buses. And guess who has their licence.” 

Atsuko crawled through the hole in the wall, holding up her medical bag. “I’m ready. When are we leaving?”

“As soon as we figure out a way past security,” Les muttered. “And past Uncle Étienne. After Uncle Ceri’s burn, he’s not gonna just let us wander out. Probably has some kind of eye on us.”

“At least one of us needs to stay here,” Odette said. “Keep the home front busy. I’ll be best suited for that, and I can supply you with tech support.”

“I’m coming with,” Yasu said. 

Ena shook her head. “No, you need to stay. You’re spending the weekend here for your work study. If you leave, you could get into too much trouble.” She smiled fondly. “Besides, you’re best suited to distracting Ms. Joke. We need that.” 

Yasu nodded. “Right. Okay. I-I can do that.”

“Might be best if I stay too,” Kasumi said. “Someone has to cover your asses. And worse comes to worse, I can knock out the adults here and sneak out to join you later. I have Tomiko-sama’s contact info after all.”

Harper did a quick headcount. “So it’s me, Eira, Ena, Les, Sorley, and Atsuko? That works.”

“Is it a good idea for me to come with?” Les asked.

“Of course!” Ena wrapped an arm around him, batting her eyes softly. “You’re our good luck charm. And you’re pretty good with a slingshot.” 

Les blushed slightly, looking down at the little weapon sticking out of his belt. “Yeah, I guess.”

“And Atsuko?” Eira asked, concern written all over her face. “I mean, we need a medic, but she’s so young.”

“I’ll be fine,” Atsuko assured. “Let’s get going.”

“Alright then.” Odette reached into the desk drawer, pulling out a small black case, handing it to her brother. “Now, keep the earbuds in, sunglasses on, and don’t. Screw. Up. We only have one chance.”

“Right!”

Everyone quickly geared up and prepared for battle. With a hand from Sorley, they were able to sneak to the buses and, with a little luck, drove off without being caught. 

The race to rescue Clement was on.