#catholic billy hargrove

[thediktatortot]

“The Death Of Billy Hargrove”

(I’ve put my whole ussy into this piece and the hardest part was attempting how to color it and I’m still not satisfied 😔 oh well, it looks good regardless.)

[shieldofiron]

And he kissed the prettiest boy he could find.

[weboglez]

hi here are some billy and steve sketches (mostly billy) ! im still learning how to draw them 😰

[writerwhowritesao3]

Disclaimer: I am not Catholic. Everything I know about Catholicism is from friends and internet searches. Let me know if I got anything egregiously wrong!

Every few weeks or so, Neil would decide that the family would be going to church on Sunday. 

Billy hates it. It isn’t even just the fact that mass is boring as shit and Billy doesn’t even believe in god. It’s the fact that his dad makes the decision for all of them—him, Susan, and Max—that they would be going. 

Susan was raised Catholic, but she doesn’t personally identify that way anymore. She hadn’t in a long time. And Billy knows, from snippets of conversations between Susan and her sister Deirdre that he overheard, that Susan fucking hates the Catholic Church. Even so, Susan had taken Max to church a few times before marrying Neil. Pretty much just for holidays though, and only for the community aspect of it all. To her credit, Susan always made sure that Max knew that the Bible was not to be taken literally and that most of the religion was bullshit. 

Neil was raised Catholic. His father had been Catholic. His mother, on the other hand, had been part of the Eastern Orthodox minority in Hungary. Neil’s father had forced her to convert to Catholicism when they got married even though he wasn’t a particularly religious man. He had also all but forced her to speak only English in their home. So. Neil had been raised in the Catholic faith and only learning bits and scraps of Hungarian. 

Anyway. 

The Hargrove-Mayfield family rolls into St. Vitus one Sunday. The night before, Billy had missed curfew and Neil hadn’t believed him when he said that he had been studying with Nancy and lost track of time. To be fair, that story had been a total, blatant lie. The truth was that Billy had been at Steve’s house getting railed on top of his pool table, but obviously Billy couldn’t tell his dad that.

The logical thing to do when you know your teenage son is lying to your face is to make your family go to church and make your son go to confession. At least according to the Neil Hargrove Guide to Parenthood.

Neil walks Billy to the little alcove where the confessional is to make sure he gets in line. 

“We’re sitting three rows from the back,” Neil says. “If you and Max behave yourselves, we can go to Waffle House after.”

The night before, Neil slammed Billy against a wall while he was demanding to know why he had missed his curfew. He probably would have beaten him, but he got distracted enough to snap out of his rage when Susan “accidentally” knocked a glass off of the counter. 

Billy knows that sometimes, rarely but still sometimes, his dad feels guilty about getting physical with him. Guilty enough that his dad tries to make up for it with things like buying a pint of Billy’s favorite flavor of ice cream at the supermarket or taking the family out to get breakfast after church. 

(Sometimes when his dad hurts him badly enough, he “makes up for it” by doing things like helping Billy pay for his car or taking the family to the animal shelter to adopt a dog)

Before Billy walks into the confessional, he watches Neil walk over to where Susan and Max are sitting. There have been times where his dad would stay in line with him, waiting for his own turn or just making sure that Billy actually went in.

He walks in the booth. It’s one of those that’s divided by a screen. When Billy had his first Communion, the confessions were done face-to-face. It had been awful having to tell a grown-up man—that he had to call “Father”—how he had pushed Lance Shepherd off the jungle gym at recess because he had put a wad of gum in his friend Amy’s hair. 

Billy kneels and makes the sign of the cross. 

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” Billy says rolling his eyes. “It’s been, like, three months since my last confession. I think.”

“Unburden yourself.”

Billy blinks—he’s never heard a priest say “unburden yourself.” He’s only ever heard the standard “tell me your sins.” Billy recognizes the voice from the other side of the screen as Father Peter. There are two priests who preside over St. Vitus: Father Thomas, who’s old as fuck and rarely cracks a smile, and Father Peter, who is in his 40s and always greets people by their names.

“I let my friend cheat off my quiz in History class,” Billy begins. in his defense, it was a pop quiz and Jonathan’s grade in that class needed all the help it could get.

“I picked a fight with my sister,” he continues. That little spat with Max had been so fucking stupid; it was over whose turn it was to clean the bathroom. The fight had only lasted about seven minutes and they had both gotten over it quickly. 

“I talked back to my parents...um...a fair amount,” he says. He stops speaking for a moment, wondering if he should just end his confession there to save everyone a whole bunch of time.

“Anything else?” Father Peter asks. 

This was stupid. Church was stupid. Confession was fucking stupid. Catholicism was a nasty, fucking system invented to make people feel bad about shit like having sex and being gay.

“Yeah actually,” Billy snarks. “I missed curfew last night and lied to my dad about where I was. I told him I was studying with my friend, but I was really having sex with my boyfriend. Pre-marital, gay sex. ‘Cause I’m gay.”

Billy has no idea what Father Peter’s response to that is going to be. In a million years, he never would have predicted that Father Peter would say: 

“Do you think that’s a sin?”

“I mean, isn’t it?” he asks, thrown off. “Like from a Catholic perspective?”

“Some people interpret Scripture that way,” Father Peter says. “But when you read the Bible, it’s important to consider the historical context. And important to remember that it’s been translated and revised many times over the centuries.”

“Do you think it’s a sin?” Billy asks. Even though he really couldn’t give a rat’s ass about what a priest thinks.

“No, I do not,” Father Peter says. “As long as it’s done with love and respect and not with malice, I don’t believe that any expression of sexuality is a sin.”

“Oh,” Billy says. “Um, cool.”

“God does not hate gay people, Billy,” Father Peter says softly. 

Billy digs his fingernails into his palm. He didn’t think that Father Peter would recognize his voice.

“For your penance—”

“Wait, you just said it wasn’t a sin.”

“The sex is not a sin,” Father Peter clarifies. “But helping your friend cheat on their test is. And so is disrespecting your family.”

“I guess.”

Billy swears he hears Father Peter chuckle at that.

“For your penance, say three Hail Marys,” Father Peter continues. “Help your parents out around the house. Do an activity with your sister that she chooses. And help your friend study so that they’re prepared for the next test.”

“Okay,” Billy nods. 

He listens as Father Peter intones a prayer of absolution and leaves the confessional to join his family in the pews. 

Nothing’s really changed. Billy still doesn’t believe in any sort of god. He still thinks religion is bogus. He’s only going to say those Hail Marys because his dad is there and the promised trade-off of Waffle House for good behavior is too good to pass up.

But he does make a mental note to share his class notes with Jonathan and study with him. And also to take Max to the arcade and maybe let her win a game or two.

[ickypuppi3]

billy in this

[imsodishy]

Basically; No Carver, you will not be seeing us on Sunday.

[runraerun]

Read below the cut or on AO3 <-

Part 1 is here <-

(*Please heed the updated warnings before reading. Billy is not the nicest guy in this chapter. But remember: Angst with a happy ending. We’ll get there!)

Chapter Summary:

It becomes a thing.

Eddie can barely believe it.

He doesn’t know which Gods he accidentally sacrificed what to, but hooking up with Billy fucking Hargrove becomes a regular thing.

He’d track Eddie down—at his house, maybe at their spot in the woods, or sometimes even at a party—and drag Eddie off to some secluded area to have his way with him. They’d smoke together first, sometimes Billy would drink too if he brought his flask, and then they’d mess around to chase the high.

Eddie can’t remember ever being this happy.

Added Warnings:

• BIG content warning for violence, bordering on DV between romantic partners here. Billy is not nice in his fic (at least right now he isn’t), but I don’t plan on going any darker than this.)

• Deeply delusional thinking.

• Parental death mention.

• and of course, it’s rated E for smut reasons.

If you can handle all of that; enjoy!

—

It becomes a thing.

Eddie can barely believe it.

He doesn’t know which Gods he accidentally sacrificed what to, but hooking up with Billy fucking Hargrove becomes a regular thing.

He’d track Eddie down—at his house, sometimes at their spot in the woods, or even at a party—and drag Eddie off to some secluded area to have his way with him. They’d smoke together first, sometimes Billy would drink too if he brought his flask, and then they’d mess around to chase the high.

Sometimes Billy would pay Eddie, but he doesn’t make a habit of it. They have an understanding though; something that doesn’t need labeling or overthinking. It’s the kinda shit that’s beyond words.

And it isn’t like Eddie’s getting ripped off or anything. Hell no. Eddie’s getting some top level experiences with Billy, sex-wise. He’s pretty sure, anyway. He’s not exactly an expert, but Billy sure as shit seems to be. So if Eddie’s gotta sacrifice a few grams here and there to get some one on one time with the face-melter himself—yeah, Eddie’s gonna take it. He’s gonna sink his gay little claws into that hunk of man meat and hold on for dear life, praying he’ll make it out the other side in one, unbroken, lightly tenderized piece. Hell yeah, he’ll take that trade any day of the week.

Like right now. He could be making cold hard cash upstairs, but Billy had gotten to him first—and that shit takes precedence. They both showed up to this lame house party with a bunch of recently graduated dick-wads, all celebrating their shiny new acceptance letters and even shinier futures by buying fistfuls of pills from Eddie and washing ’em down with cheap beer.

But not Billy. Not Eddie either. No, when fall rolls around, they’re not going anywhere.

Eddie, ‘cause he’s gotta repeat the fucking twelfth grade again, and Billy because he’s almost as broke as Eddie is. Billy’s smart but he’s not full-ride on a scholarship smart.

The world moves, but they remain.

Eddie’s hips move too. Rutting up against the hard rubber sole of Billy’s boot, the ever increasing pressure of it sends shockwaves of pleasure directly to his denim-trapped dick.

Billy’s standing over him, sucking back on one of the joints Eddie’s rolled especially for him while Eddie’s on his knees, with a death grip on Billy’s shin. Eyes locked onto those baby blues, trying his fucking hardest to keep from making any noise. An almost impossible task when Billy’s gone ahead and made a fist in the back of Eddie’s hair, pulling it right where it feels good.

They’re in some kind of a cellar. The walls are lined with cans and jars and shit, with bare concrete for a floor. It’s cold. And of course his jeans have holes right at the knees, so second by second, he can feel the stone slowly leech the heat away from his body. But Eddie doesn’t care. Billy and him make do with whatever spot they carve out for themselves. Eddie’s not some chick that’ll demand a nice hotel room or candles or whatever—nah, he takes Billy where he’s at. That’s why Billy likes him. That’s why he keeps coming back.

It’s not always like this—sometimes they’re in the back of Billy’s car, or in the staff washroom at the Hawkin’s Pool, where Billy works. Sometimes Billy will even sneak into Eddie’s bedroom through his window, not say a word, and crawl into his bed. Those nights are Eddie’s favorite. Billy’s already drunk, usually, so he lets himself relax. They kiss each other until their mouths go dry or until one of them falls asleep. He’s gone before the sun is up, but Eddie gets to wake up to sheets that smell like Billy’s spicy, expensive smelling cologne. It’s gross, but he doesn’t change his sheets for weeks after.

The pull-switch from the single, flickering bulb above them is resting against Billy’s shoulder, wriggling around like a snake that’s in the midst of getting charmed. It’s the same silver as his dangling earring, along with the rings on Billy’s thick fingers. Silver suits him. Which makes sense, seeing as his skin already looks golden.

Fucking gorgeous. Like a movie star.

“You gonna cum sometime tonight, Munson?” Billy mutters around his cigarette, briefly pulling his hand from the door knob to pluck the joint from his lips. He flicks the ash off the end, exhaling in a great cloud of white smoke, before putting it back between his lips and re-securing the door, “I got shit to do.”

He sounds bored. Uninterested. But Eddie can see from the hard outline in his pants that he’s anything but. Billy likes to play this game. Like to act like he’s not enjoying himself when he very clearly is. Sometimes he lets it slip—let’s Eddie see. The walls go back up pretty rapidly after that, though. So quick it makes Eddie’s head spin sometimes.

But Eddie likes what he sees when it does happen. It feels forbidden. Something sacred—something none of the girls that Billy fucks gets to see. Because Eddie’s special.

“H-harder,” he sputters, feeling hot and cold all at once, like he’s got a fever, “just a little—yeah, yeah, that’s—Jesus, yeah, that’s perfect, Billy.”

A smirk tugs at the corners of Billy’s mouth as Eddie writhes up against the bottom of his boot. Billy leans forward a little more, putting his weight down on Eddie, pushing past the line, until Eddie can’t take it. He cries out. Whimpers, really. It isn’t that loud, but it’s enough for Billy to pull his hand free from Eddie’s hair and give him a quick, opened palmed smack against the cheek.

“Shut up,” he growls.

The sharp, sudden sting of it is always enough to re-center Eddie. To get him back in line. Billy never hits him hard enough to leave a mark, (though sometimes Eddie wishes he would) no, what Billy gives him is love taps. Reminders.

The hand that just slapped him is now over his mouth, strong fingers digging into the corners of his jaw to ensure his silence.

Eddie knows that Billy could seriously hurt him, but he doesn’t. All he ever does is make Eddie feel good. So fucking good…

The threads of pain and pleasure within him are plucked simultaneously, both reaching the same frequency in tandem. Eddie lets its harmony vibrate in his chest. He usually feels so goddamn hollow, but the sounds don’t echo tonight. Because when Billy’s holding him like this, Eddie is full. No more empty spaces. His cup overfloweth.

Tears form along the rim of his eyes from the pain, blurring his vision. He tries to keep his eyes open for as long as he can, but eventually he blinks, sending the tears streaking down his cheeks, onto Billy’s fingers.

Billy’s breathing goes a little ragged, and the hand holding the door securely shut is suddenly on his crotch, palming himself roughly.

Fuck, that’s hot.

So hot that Eddie’s eyes roll back in his head and he’s shooting a hot fucking load in his pants, hips stuttering up against Billy’s crushing weight. He’s panting through his nose, savouring the bond between him and Billy. Feels it strengthen with each pounding beat of his heart.

His head goes swimming, basking in a sea of freshly released feel-good chemicals his brain’s cooked up especially for him. Billy lets his hand slip from his face, but he leaves behind what feels like a brand in his wake. Eddie’s a marked man, even if he’s the only one who can see it.

His mom used to talk to him about things called soul-ties before she died. How you anchor parts of yourself to every person you make love to. So be careful who you choose, baby boy, she warned.

Eddie doesn’t think his mom would like Billy very much. Not at first, anyway. Not until Eddie explained to her what the things he did actually meant. How he made Eddie feel. How Billy Hargrove was hard and gruff on the outside, but that Eddie had peered through the veil—had spotted the secret soft side that Billy keeps so heavily guarded. He would explain to his mom how day by day, Eddie can feel the cracks widening. Like a dandelion pushing its way through concrete, until it reaches sunlight. Because what other option does it have? It’s that or shrivel up and die in the dark.

Eddie reaches up to touch between Billy’s legs, only to get his hand shoved away.

“Don’t,” Billy says firmly. He stubs out the roach out on top of one of the jars of pickled beets.

“Why not?” Eddie asks, eyes darting towards the door. They’re still alone. The basement was dark and downright creepy. Eddie doubts anyone from the party will be coming anywhere near the cellar door.

Billy doesn’t answer him. Just readjusts himself in an attempt to hide it. It’s still noticeable as fuck. “You had some good shit tonight, Munson.”

“Thanks,” Eddie murmurs, still a little light headed. He flinches when Billy sticks a hand in front of his face, blinking at it stupidly until he realizes it’s an offer to help him up. He takes it.

“Might come by your place this weekend. Get some more,” Billy licks his lips between his words. Not trying to be seductive, just… twitchy. Amped up. Probably from getting blue balled. “You gonna be around?”

Eddie nods, “Yeah, I’ll be home. My uncle’s working nights so… I’ll leave the porch light on for you?”

Billy ducks his head when he too nods, focusing his attention on his pants again. He probably wouldn’t have such a hard time hiding his stiffy if his jeans weren’t so goddamn tight.

…But then Billy’s jeans wouldn’t be so goddamn tight, and that’s a reality Eddie has absolutely zero interest existing in.

“Let me suck you off,” Eddie murmurs, keeping his voice low, barely above a whisper. Doesn’t wanna spook Billy. For someone that’s mostly made of hard muscle, he sure is a timid thing. Eddie didn’t know someone could be both fight and flight at the exact same time. “I want to,” Eddie adds with a tilt of his head, trying to catch Billy’s eye.

Billy gives a laugh that stays at the back of his throat. “Yeah, I bet you do.”

“So let me,” Eddie smiles as he takes a half step forward, not bothering to try and hide his eagerness.

The thought looks like it’s rolling around Billy’s head. Considering the proposition. Blue eyes meet brown. Eddie’s heart flutters.

“Maybe next time.”

Next time.

The hollow feeling in his chest comes back, and Eddie feels the smile slip from his face. His chin starts doing something weird too.

It’s always next time.

Never—

“Don’t pout,” Billy groans, like Eddie’s being annoying for spiralling down a tunnel of self-loathing. He slots a hand against the side of Eddie’s face, using a thumb to trace the ridges of his mouth, “your lips don’t look half as pretty when you do that.”

Eddie leans into the pout, just to push back against Billy. It just makes Billy chuckle, so of course fireworks start shooting off in Eddie’s head. Making Billy laugh was a rare feat. Not just anyone can do it. But Eddie’s special.

Billy grins, a flash of canines. “C’mon man, I thought we were having fun.”

Eddie sucks in a quick breath, frustration boiling over, “I just… I just don’t get why you won’t ever let me return the favour—it doesn’t gross me out or anything. I like it! And, just so you know, I don’t care if you’re like, small or anything, I won’t judge, I just—“

In an instant, that hard-won smile on Billy’s face twists into something ugly. Furious.

The air shifts, and Eddie’s back is slammed against the many shelves along the wall. A jar of pickled something goes careening off the ledge and shatters next to their sneakers. It stinks like vinegar. Makes his eyes water.

Billy’s got a hand around Eddie’s throat, the one that was just cradling his face, now holding him in place. The pressure quickly builds in his temples, and he wheezes in an attempt to pull a panicked breath in. His spent dick twitches in his jeans, which—fuck, of course Eddie gets off on this. Jesus Christ he really is one broken son of a bitch.

“I’m not,” Billy leans in, speaking between clenched teeth, agonizingly slow, “small.”

Some suicidal part of Eddie’s impulse-control-deficient brain opens his mouth to mutter something about a gentleman protesting too much, but thankfully he can’t seem to make anything more than a few wet sounding choked noises.

A beat passes where nothing happens except the corners of Eddie’s vision start to go a little wonky. Darkness creeps in, framing Billy, making his blue eyes seem sort of electric. Eddie digs his nails into the meat of Billy's forearm, waiting for him to snap out of it.

He does. Like a rubber band, time snaps back into motion. Catches up with his Cali boy.

Billy yanks his hand off of Eddie’s neck like it had been burning him and he’d only just realized. He opens his mouth, his eyes gone wide and wild, but nothing comes out. Instead, he just gets this look on his face after he knows he went too far. A look that shaves nearly a full decade off of him, making Billy look eight rather than eighteen.

“It’s okay,” Eddie croaks out, getting ahead of Billy before he spirals, “m’not hurt, see? It’s okay.”

It’s only half true, and Billy can tell, because the next second Eddie has a coughing fit. Like his throat’s trying to reset itself. When he’s finally caught his breath and wiped the spit from his mouth with his shirt sleeve, Billy’s still staring over at him through the eyes of a scared little kid.

“I’m fine,” Eddie insists, but Billy just… looks at him. His hands clenched up into fists by his hips. Frozen.

It’s only when Eddie risks reaching for him that he seems to remember how to move. He backs away a step, blinking rapidly, like he’s trying to reorient himself.

“Wait… wait here for twenty minutes after I go,” he begins, words shakey at first before he seems to remember that he’s Billy fucking Hargrove, and that Eddie’s just… well, Eddie’s just lucky to be here. “Then leave through the basement door, got it?”

The cellar gets colder with each passing second, and Eddie’s sure it’ll drop another few degrees when Billy leaves, taking his body heat and golden skin with him. Eddie pulls his arms around himself, tucking his hands in his pits to try and keep ‘em warm.

“Got it,” he mutters from his sore throat, his hollow chest. He worries his bottom lip.

Billy usually goes. He doesn’t make a habit of hanging around after he’s made it clear he’s finished. Not one for long goodbyes, his Billy.

But he doesn’t go. He hovers. Sways a little, like he’s trying to gather momentum to make his move. Eddie wonders if he’s thinking of ways to try and fix something that doesn’t need fixing in the first place. Because Eddie isn’t fragile; you can’t break something if it’s already broken.

“I really am okay,” Eddie reiterates quietly, with a shrug of a shoulder, “don’t worry about me, man. I’m tougher than I look.”

Resilient, his mom called him. Like a stubborn little weed, she teased. It’ll serve you well when I’m gone.

Eddie hated it when she had talked like that, but now that she really was gone and those words are all he’s got left of her, he runs them through in his head, over and over, re-committing them to memory like prayers to saints.

Eddie feels the air shift around him as Billy takes a step back into Eddie’s personal space. He reaches forward to fix something that’s apparently gone askew with Eddie’s hair, then his hands move down to Eddie’s collar, straightening it up. Like he’s tidying up a mess before he leaves.

Then, like he just can’t help himself, Billy leans forward and captures Eddie’s mouth with his. Some nights Billy’s kisses are soft and gentle. Tonight they’re hungry, and eager. They’re the kind of kisses that make you go weak at the knees and stiff at the nipples.

Billy opens his mouth, and Eddie follows suit. Their tongues glide against one another’s, tasting, drinking from each other's mouths. The scratch of Billy’s stubble is nearly enough to get him hard again.

But just as quickly as it starts, it’s over. In one fluid motion, Billy pulls away, swings the cellar door open and disappears through into the darkness, getting gobbled by the darkness.

Eddie reaches up and touches his lips as they slowly pulls into a smile, his heart jackrabbiting in his chest.

Forgiving, his mom had also called him. Another compliment.

Maybe a little too forgiving, she added, and he remembers how her big brown eyes that he’d stolen from her went all soft and watery. Eddie knows how much she hated crying, but near the end she seemed to do so damn much of it. Impending death will do that to a person, he supposes.

I’m sorry I won’t be there to protect you, bug. You’ll have to learn to protect yourself, her voice echoes in his head.

No, Eddie’s mom wouldn’t have liked Billy.

But, unfortunately, Eddie loves Billy. More than he knows he should. More than what’s healthy. He feels anchored to Billy.

Soul-tied.

He smokes a cigarette while he waits the twenty, then leaves via the basement door, just like Billy told him to. No one’s the wiser.

He should feel like shit. Guilty, maybe. Or dirty, at the very least.

But all Eddie can think about is this weekend, about the next time he gets to see Billy. All he can think about is next time.

Next time.

As he gets in his van, puts her in reverse, but when checks his rear view, he goes rigid. Brown eyes that look so much like his mom’s stare back at him.

There’s a shock of bright red where there would normally be white stained across his left eye. A burst blood vessel. That must’ve been what Billy got so spooked over.

He blinks, but the red doesn’t clear up no matter how many times he does it. They just go watery, and eventually he has to look away.

He hated seeing her cry.

…Sorry, mom.

—

Permanent Tag List: (dm me if you'd like to be added or removed-OR if you'd only like to be tagged for specific ships. ie, ONLY Steddie or ONLY Harringrove, ONLY Mungrove, etc.)

@stervrucht @dame-zoom-a-lot @lawrencebshoggoth @morallyundefined @thepossummoldypasta @wheneverfeasible @sanctumdemunson @chaotic-waffle @bookworm0690 @lifelessstar

[every-dayiwakeup]

Why Billy grew his hair out in the first place:

[stranger-rants]

Fun fact, Billy’s birthday was three days after Easter in 1967. In 1970, his birthday was on Easter. There were also several dates between 1967 and 1985 when his birthday was the day before Easter. Max was in a coma by March 30th, which was in fact Easter in 1986. (Also the day after Billy’s birthday). Do with this information what you will!

[merryhaze]

Catholic-raised, gay Billy Hargrove, and his ever-complicated relationship with God

[thediktatortot]

Catholic Billy Hargrove who says "So let it be written, so let it be done." every time someone says something stupid or funny.

[junkyardcamaro]

I really really really hope that we're at the beginning of some kind of Catholic!Billy renaissance, I just love that hc so much!

[bigolemantiddies]

Religious trauma used in sex TW

Billy’s raised catholic with all the going to church every sunday and before he was queer for others he was queer for the jesus statue in his church and the repenting his pastors made him do for confession. Worthy of love if he’s sorry to his god. Starts getting in with steve or eddie (both are good) and finds himself on his knees, mouth being used for repenting in a different way now. They call him “My Son.” And he refers to them as “Him” with a capital H. Every moan is a prayer and every dirty thing whispered in his ear is gospel. He gets scared at the first kiss, though. Jesus was betrayed by a kiss. Looks over his shoulder for a week and avoids Him until cornered, forced onto his knees to beg for forgiveness. Just Billy being able to find god in another man(s)

[yikesharringrove]

steve and billy teaching in the same school!! there's these teachers in my school and they work right across the hall from each other. they're always yelling into each others classrooms.

she teaches english lit 101 and he teaches gov 102

"Harrington!"

Some of the kids snickered quietly when Mr. Harrington jumped at the shout from across the hall.

He stared blankly at the last word he had written on the board, the black Expo mark wiggles from where he had jumped at the yell of his name.

He turned around, sighing exaggeratedly at Mr. Hargrove standing in the doorway.

"Kids, excuse my coworker here." He crossed his arms around his chest. "Can I help you?"

"Yeah, you can Mr. H."

Steve rolled his eyes as his husband swaggered into his classroom, leading a line of ninth graders with him.

It's not the first time Billy's interrupted his class with a question about some inane bullshit that launched Steve into an over-excited rant for the rest of class.

Steve's tenth and eleventh graders were already closing their textbooks, knowing their teacher was just about to be insanely distracted for the rest of class.

"The birds n' I are reading The Crucible."

Fuck.

Steve's pretty sure Billy's kids pay him to bring them across the hall for these impromptu lectures.

"Witch hunts. I get it."

"Yeah, you know. Anyway, I'm giving some context to the publishing of the book. The Red Scare in the United States, well, the second Red Scare, as well as the rise of McCarthyism coincided with the publishing of the play."

Goddammit.

Steve's fucking master's thesis was on all about McCarthyism (more specifically, how the second Red Scare was directly linked to the Lavender Scare.) He cited the stupid play in his research.

Billy knows that. They were already engaged by the time Steve began his master's program.

Fuck this guy, for real.

Steve quietly closed his power point presentation on interest groups in America.

"Fine. Mr. Hargrove's class, find a seat. My class, your packet is still due Friday. I'll post the slides after class." He glared at Billy.

Billy grinned right back, his tongue poking out in that frustrating way it has since high school.

"1950s United States. What do you know?"

A few hands went up.

Even Billy raised his stupid hand. Steve ignored him.

-

"Which brings us to the end of the decade. With the early 1960s, we have the reformation in the Catholic Church, known as Vatican ll-"

The bell cut him off mid-sentence, and there was a mad scramble as the students all tried to pack up as quickly as possible, before Steve could keep going.

"My class," he nearly shouted over the scraping of chairs against linoleum. "Your packets are still due Friday! I don't care that Mr. Hargrove interrupted our time."

"And birds! The rubric is posted on the class page! I want outlines handed in on Tuesday."

The classroom door closed behind the final kid.

"You're a dick."

Billy laughed.

"Nah, you just teach that shit so much better than I do."

Steve rolled his eyes. He sat behind his desk, yanking over a stack of twelfth grade research assignments to begin grading. Billy perched on the other side of his desk.

"Y'know, you could just ask me to come in and lecture. You don't have to interrupt my own class."

"Yeah, but it's fun to wind you up and watch you go. And I think the birds like it when they see that you're passionate about something. Why do you think I always start with The Joy Luck Club?"

"Because you have mommy issues."

"No. Because Ying-ying's story makes me sob like a bitch, and the birds get to realize that I'm a real-life human."

Steve scrubbed his face with his hands, collecting himself before facing his dumbass husband again.

"Wait, you said they had an essay due. What's the essay?"

"Oh, comparing the Salem Witch Trials and the goings on of the U.S. government in the mid 1950s. You know."

"So, you created an assignment, knowing that I would infodump all that shit to your kids?"

"Yes."

"I want a divorce."

Billy laughed, leaning over Steve's desk to kiss his forehead.

"No, you don't."

"No, I don't. I love you. But also you suck."

The bell sounded to indicate the end of passing period.

Billy got off the desk, stretching with a groan.

"Would you be mad if I brought my senior class in?"

Steve glared at him in the doorway.

"What's the assignment?"

"They're presenting on the parallels between 1984 and the current political climate."

Goddammit.

"Bring 'em in."

[ickypuppi3]

hey can i say something about accidental christ figure and human puppet billy hargrove real quick

[intothedysphoria]

Steve is awoken at like 3 in the morning by an incessant pounding on the door.

He shuffles into his slippers and pads down the stairs, baseball bat in hand just in case.

At the door is a weary, dishevelled Billy Hargrove who looks like he’s on the verge of collapse.

Steve, alarmed ushers him in.

Sara Harrington, who was never exactly the heaviest sleeper, is already downstairs, peering at Billy with concern.

She leans down to his level, already splayed across the couch and makes a halting attempt at the language she hates so much.

Billy, shockingly, responds in imperfect but recognisable Yiddish before passing out.

Sara’s response is both deeply troubled but also has undercurrents of relief woven in.

“You never told me you found a Jewish friend.”

Well, friend is a stretch and Steve had no idea until about 5 seconds ago that Billy was anything but Irish Catholic.

Joshua finds out three hours later, when he wakes up to find a boy he doesn’t know at his dining table.

That makes Billy freeze, hairs standing on end in the middle of reaching for a pastry.

He only relaxes again when Steve’s dad makes a terrible joke about breakfast food and sits down, completely unfazed.

Steve manages to park himself right next to Billy, frantically whispering as he tries to figure out what the fuck is going on.

Billy’s response is a shrugged “dad found out I still practiced and kicked me out”, as if that isn’t one of the most horrific things Steve has ever heard.

Billy joins them for Shabbat that evening, as it’s a Friday. It’s clear he’s the real deal and that leaves Steve’s head swimming with questions. Why the fuck did a man so obviously bigoted marry a Jewish woman?

They smoke together peacefully on Steve’s driveway, Billy blowing out a long billow of smoke up into the night sky. He shifts slightly closer to Steve. Almost looking like he might reach out but then moves away.

Billy moves in permanently with the Byers. Steve sees him frequently at Temple, bantering with the Rabbi. It’s weird but seeing him in this environment, Steve could never picture him anywhere else.

Steves not got a crush or anything. He just daydreams about kissing Billy after he gets back from Rosh Hashana services. Normal guy stuff.

One night Billy climbs through his window. He just wants someone to talk to. Joshua and Sara are out on a business trip so Steve puts on Bronski Beat and they dance. Sensual. Steve’s head is on a fairground ride.

He’s pretty sure Billy leans in quickly to peck him on the lips but it’s so brief it might have been a dream.

It all kind of snowballs from there.

Certainly in terms of pseudo (?) romance. Which Steve isn’t complaining about

Steve thinks he may be sleepwalking. He flips through pamphlets about coming out and all of them inevitably point the same flashing arrow straight to him.

There’s a lump in his throat when he comes out to his parents. They’re so supportive, almost aggressively so and it makes Steve’s heart swell.

Coming out to Billy is a different kettle of fish. Steves fully aware that he’s obfuscating the matter, especially with the way he’ll lean into Billy’s touch but it’s just scary. Terrifying really.

Eventually though, he concedes.

Billy’s managed to get him into the backseat of the Camaro. It’s nowhere near as x rated as particularly Robin was expecting, more just second base. Something like that.

Steve finally manages to break away from the kiss and declare “I think I’m gay”.

Billy’s face says no shit but he’s not a dick about it. Instead, he motions for Steve to go on.

There’s a lot of cliches Steve could use. A fuck ton. But he keeps it brief.

He mumbles that he loves Billy and waits for the other shoe to drop.

It never does. Not really.

Billy just says it back. And they carry on.

This isn’t quite a Pesach or Chanukah fic but tysm @kallisto-k and @slime-hoe for your lovely comments, I hope this Jewish Harringrove is ok

@shieldofiron @dragonflylady77 @oopsiedaisiesbaby @harringroveobsessed @runraerun