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writer-in-theory · 2 years ago

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California Dreamin' — harringrove.

Summary: When Steve goes on his dream road trip to California alone, he finds the unlikeliest of ghosts in a tattoo shop. Prompt: B1 - Tattoo Shop // A2 - Reunion Pairing: Bottom!Steve Harrington/Top!Billy Hargrove Rating: Explicit Word Count: 10.7k Content Warnings: 18+ ONLY, Canon-Typical Violence, Discussions of Trauma (canon-based), Needles (tattoos), Emotional Smut, Implied Unprotected Sex, Anal Sex, Scar Worship, Non-Graphic Smut, Insecurities Read On AO3: HereA/N: This is another fill for @harringroveson-bingo and @billyhargrovebingo !! This was meant to be a short lil fluff fic but ended up being angst and smut, so here we are. Huge thanks to @serenity-lattes for cheering me on and beta-reading through this whole thing (and coming up with the tattoo shop name!). Also many apologies for making @lcvingprentjss cry.

Harringroveson Bingo Masterlist // Billy Hargrove Bingo Masterlist

Steve was 10 miles from his destination when he saw the shop. It was a smaller building, nestled between a record shop and coffee shop that looked designed for people more academically inclined than he’d ever been. It wasn’t trying to be anything it wasn’t—no flashing lights or intense neons that decorated every other building he’d driven past that night. Maybe that was what had drawn Steve to the tattoo shop on the corner of West Eleventh and Park, the simplicity of the ‘Valhalla Ink’ sign above the door.

Already he could hear the wild screams from Robin and Eddie when they inevitably saw his tattoo, maybe by that point it would already be healed up and slightly faded from time. Nancy would be told about it by Robin, and she’d shake her head and talk all night about how much he’d changed from the Steve Harrington she’d known in school.

As if none of them had changed after what happened, after what they’d lost.

That was it then, Steve decided if only to divert his mind away from what had long since been over. He found the nearest street parking, offering the Beemer his ritualistic thank you for surviving the trip thus far, and set off to the shop. When Steve had pictured himself making this trip, it had always been in an RV with too many kids to keep track of and a loving partner who made it all worthwhile. Still, when he’d woken in Hawkins one Thursday to realize he was well and truly the only one left, he couldn’t help but pack a measly bag of supplies and hop into his car without any real plan to guide him. All he knew was that he’d end on the beaches of San Diego, his one true dream destination.

“We could make it, you know.”

“Where, San Diego? Get real.”

“No, I’m serious. After the summer, we could get out of here. I’ll take what I can from my parents, we’ll get in your car, and we’ll go. You could show me the beach.”

“You’ve seen the beach.”

“I haven’t seen your beach.”

Tattoo shops. Beemers on their last legs. Shitty road motels with the kinds of beds he didn’t really want to think about too closely. Tattoo shops.

Steve was getting a tattoo, and then he’d find someplace to sleep, and then he’d deal with the beach tomorrow when his mind had time to recover from the drive. He could handle that much right now, he knew he could.

The shop was even more picturesque inside. There were chairs and machines, sure, but there were also worn surfboards hanging on the walls and old records tacked up alongside them. They were bands Steve never listened to on purpose unless he wanted to harm himself with the memories, though seeing them treated like art in this way made something warm wrap around his heart. He would have liked that. Or maybe He would have called it pretentious, snickering at Steve for trying to get a tattoo when everyone knows it wouldn’t really fit in with his style.

Who the fuck knows anymore.

“Hey, we’re about to close!” a voice called from a distance away. There was a door open in the back of the shop, maybe it was from there. “I don’t have time to start anyth—”

Steve Harrington must have died on the trip. He must have gotten into an accident on the way and his friends were being told because there was no fucking way this was happening right now. The man looked different—older than he’d ever been allowed to be, with shorter hair than Steve had ever seen him with. It was long enough to still show off those curls, one lone corkscrew hanging into his face and obscuring a part of those familiar blue eyes, now filled with far less anger than they once had been. He was in a t-shirt, exposing all of the tattoos he’d never gotten to get before but had always talked about, along with several white scars that trailed his skin like veins. He was different, but no amount of years between them would ever let Steve forget him.

“Billy?” Steve whispered, like speaking anything louder might make this ghost disappear.

He’s sure Billy didn’t hear him—there was no way he could’ve with the amount of distance between them now—but the other man still jerked back like he’d been hit.

“What are you doing here?” Billy Hargrove—Billy fucking Hargrove—asked, and the sound of his voice alone was enough to gather tears in Steve’s eyes.

He thought he’d lost all right to hear it again.

“I’m—” Steve began, though cut himself off quickly after noticing the expression on Billy’s face. He wasn’t crying. No, his blue eyes were clear and looking side to side, categorizing every door in the building. He stood light on his feet, every muscle tensed like he was ready to run the second any of it got to be too much for him. Steve had a million questions, ‘how are you alive?’ being the chief one, but all he could do was sigh, press a smile into his face like a cookie cutter, and say, “To get a tattoo. I can come back tomorrow though, if you’re closing. Or never, if that’s what you want too. I don’t, I don’t...whatever you want.”

Billy looked like he was going to tell him to get out. He opened his mouth, eyes alight with the same kind of fire that had once gotten Steve laid out on the floor of Joyce Byers’s kitchen, but then he closed it all too suddenly, fire dimming with the kind of resigned hopelessness that Steve had grown accustomed to in his own mind.

“Have a design in mind, Harrington?”

“Uh, no, no I haven’t thought that far ahead,” Steve admitted, feeling his cheeks burn pink.

When Billy laughed, it felt like everything would be okay. Not hearing it for six years had nestled something deep and immovable in Steve’s chest, but he felt it nudge away as the room filled with that sound again. It was still as odd and wondrous as ever—Billy’s chin tipping back with the force of it, a punch of sound like he’d been fighting the release of such a happy noise.

“You haven’t changed, have you?” Steve wanted to scream that he had. He wanted to grab Billy by the shoulders and shake him until he saw the kind of changes he’d been forced through. Before Dustin left for college, he’d called him tired, old. Even before that, when Robin was sitting in Nancy’s car ready to follow her around the world if the other woman asked, she’d cried over how worn out he’d seemed. Withering, Steve thought to himself, he was withering.

Steve only shrugged, but that seemed to be a good enough answer as any because Billy waved him over to the desk where a notebook and pen rested between them. This was the closest they’d been since....well, since. Closer, Steve could see the scars didn’t stop at his arms. They continued down Billy’s hands, to wrap around each finger like marionette strings. He supposed that’s what Billy had been at the end, or what he’d always thought had been the end, a puppet.

“We had a funeral,” Steve whispered then, unable to stop them up even when he tried.

“Steve,” Billy warned, fingers gripping the pen tightly like a lifeline.

Still, against Steve’s better judgment, he pressed. “Robin, Max, Lucas, and I. We had a funeral. A real one, not the bullshit your dad se—”

“Steve!” Billy shouted, other hand smacking down on the counter loud enough to make Steve jump back. The anger faded quickly, disappearing somewhere past the scars both new and old Billy carried with him. “What kind of design were you thinking of?”

Right, tattoos. He was here for a tattoo.

“I don’t know,” Steve admitted. “I told you, this wasn’t in the plan.”

“Do you trust me?” Billy asked.

To the ends of the Earth, to where no one has ever gone before, with every breath Steve had left.

“Sure, I trust you.”

It was awkward in ways Steve didn’t think was possible, watching Billy design. The other man kept the page close to him, arm wrapping around it to conceal the design from Steve’s view while he worked. He mostly didn’t talk, leaving Steve to focus on the scratch of the pen on cheap paper and the way Billy’s tongue still poked out of his mouth when he was concentrating.

Eventually, Steve wandered. Billy looked up at him once, but when he never said anything Steve took it as permission to continue. He walked around the perimeter of the large room, taking in each bit of covered space on the wall. The surfboards were all signed, some with Billy’s name—or rather, first name. Steve didn’t recognize the last name—and others with names Steve didn’t have any chance at recognizing. There was a shelf of cassette tapes in the back, where all of the chairs and benches were. Most were bands he would’ve crinkled his nose at years ago.

“You could at least try to woo me with some better music.”

“The hell are you talking about? I’ve already wooed you, Pretty Boy.”

There was one, however, that stuck out to Steve. It was in the middle of the pack but there may as well have been a spotlight on it with the way it drew his eyes. He plucked it off the shelf, opening the case to make sure his heart was on the right track. Sure enough, in the little corner of the inside cover rested his own handwriting. SH, ‘83.

“You have my Tears For Fears tape?” he asked, spinning around to hold it up for Billy to see.

“They found it in my car,” Billy answered quickly, eyes looking back down to his notepad. That elicited more questions than it did provide answers, but Steve knew better by now than to push.

“I would’ve hoped my music taste rubbed off on you a little more, but, I guess this works,” Steve teased, popping the tape into the player before returning to the counter. “Figured something out?”

“You know, normally clients come in with ideas. They don’t expect me to come up with the perfect tat for them on the first try,” Billy said, his eyes never once leaving the page.

“Well I’m not any normal client, now am I?” Steve said quickly, leaning over to see it and jumping only a little when Billy’s hands smacked down to shield the page from view. “C’mon, Billy, I wanna see it!”

“Whiny brat,” Billy hissed, catching even himself off-guard for long enough for Steve to grab his hands and move them away from the page. Steve nearly gasped when he saw the drawing, fingers instinctively moving to brush over the pen strokes. Billy drew a bat, adorned with familiar nails through the barrel. Around it was a crown fit for a king, wrapped around each other like Steve’s very own coat of arms.

“It’s perfect,” Steve told him, “that’s what I want.”

“Good, I wasn’t gonna redraw it,” Billy said, motioning for Steve to sit in one of the chairs while he disappeared into the back room he’d been in when Steve had first walked in.

This was really happening. There was still time to leave, to tell Billy he was actually joking and they could go grab coffee to catch up instead of stabbing a needle repeatedly into Steve’s skin. But the tattoo was perfect, and no one would ever expect it from dethroned ex-jock Steve Harrington.

It felt a little like a blur, having Billy so close. While Billy readied the machine and slipped on black nitrile gloves, Steve stared. There was no way the other man didn’t notice, but Steve couldn’t find it in himself to care. All he could think about was the fact that Billy was here, now, and not in the grave they’d abandoned him in six years ago.

The needle hurt on his forearm, but it was the kind of hurt Steve could deal with. It wasn’t cruel Russian fists or suffocating demobat tails, or even the deep devastating hurt from losing—

It was the bearable kind of hurt.

“Most guys whine like babies for their first ones,” Billy spoke up, eyes still focused on what he was doing. Needle, wipe. Needle, wipe. “You take the pain like a champ.”

I always did. “I think Robin would say that’s not a good thing,” Steve laughed, lightly so as to not jostle his arm under the pen.

“You keep talking about her like I know who that is.”

Right. Fuck, so much had changed in his life that Steve hadn’t gotten to tell him about.

“Do you remember my dorky coworker from Scoops?” Steve asked.

“The one with the You Suck board?”

“I seem to remember there being a You Rule, too, but yeah,” Steve answered, rolling his eyes at what bits and pieces Billy had remembered. “We’re friends now. Best friends, actually. She was there, that night. I know it was a lot and you probably don’t remember any of it, but she was there. She was there for me after too, when I couldn’t really tell everyone about…us.”

Billy was quiet for a while, the only sound in the building being the continual hum of the pen as he dragged it over Steve’s skin. Just when Steve was about to bring up another topic, Billy spoke again. “I remember it.”

“That night?” Steve asked tentatively, watching with nothing but uncertainty as Billy rested the pen back on the cart beside him.

“I remember all of it,” Billy admitted, blue eyes meeting Steve’s hazel. “I wasn’t in control, but I was there. Watching, feeling...everything.”

Billy knelt over El, so far from Steve he couldn’t make out the minute changes in either one’s expressions. All he saw was the moment Billy stood up, yelling and reaching out toward the monster in defense of the girl. The moment Billy caught one of the monster’s arms with both of his own, Steve knew. He knew.

“Billy!” Steve screamed, throat feeling like it had torn to shreds. “Billy, no!”

“I thought you died,” Steve spoke again, daring to bring it up now that Billy couldn’t leave. He needed to know, needed some kind of explanation for how they were together now. Steve had felt Billy’s heart stutter to a stop on the floor of the Starcourt Mall six years ago. “They said there wasn’t a b—That there wasn’t anything to bu—they said there wasn’t anything left.”

“I did die, I think,” Billy answered. “That’s what the fuckers told me.”

“How did you end up here?” Billy ignored the question for a while, picking up the needle pen again and setting to work. “Billy.”

“It’s old news, okay?” Billy sighed out, fingers tightening against Steve’s arm.

“It’s not old to me,” Steve whispered out, wincing as he caught what was playing on the tape.

Memories fade but the scars still linger, goodbye my friend. Will I ever love again?

“It’s not old to me, Billy,” Steve pressed, more insistent now as his confidence burned brighter and brighter. He’d missed how he’d felt around Billy—like he was made of starstuff, untouchable against the very worst the world had to throw at them. “An hour ago I was still mourning you.”

I cannot grow, I cannot move, I cannot fell my age.

“A week ago I was mourning you. A month ago, a year ago, I was mourning you. Six fucking years of it, Billy, and you were here. The whole time, you were here.”

Engulfed by you, what can I do? When History's my cage, look forward to a future in the past.

“You think I wanted to be?” Billy snapped out, fingers pressing harshly into Steve’s arm as he held it down onto the workspace. “You think I wanted to wake up in some fucking lab, alone? That my idea of a happy fucking ending was being told to get out? To leave with nothing but the shit they found in my totaled car and whatever fucking hush money the US government decided to throw at me?”

“US gov—did Owens do this? He said you were d—”

“That’s kind of the idea, Pretty Boy,” Billy said with such cynical harshness it took Steve’s breath away. “Can’t be a lab rat if no one knows you fucking exist.”

It was too much. It was too much pressing against his heart, his brain, and suddenly the continued scratch of the needle was too much too, overwhelming to the point of making Steve want to rip his hair out and chew on his knuckles for peace. Billy seemed to recognize it, too—he always had, even before Steve knew what these reactions were—because he set down the machine, wrapping Steve’s forearm in plastic so they could ‘take a break’.

“Want some water, Harrington?” Billy asked, dipping his head to catch Steve’s eye.

Water. Water would be smart, but the shaking in his hands wouldn’t be steadied by water he wanted, he wanted... “Have a smoke?”

“Nah, kicked the habit. Kills people, you know?” At Steve’s small whimper, Billy winced. “Bad joke. Yeah, I got a smoke, but you’re not lighting up in here.”

Steve followed Billy outside, where he pulled a pack of cigarettes—still Marlboros—from his back pocket and offered Steve one only after lighting one of his own. Dustin may have kicked him for smoking again after trying so hard to stop completely, but Dustin wasn’t exactly there, was he? He deserved a smoke, after everything that had come out of the last legs of his trip.

The silence was bearable, more bearable than it had been in the close quarters of the shop. They both leaned against the wall, so close Steve could feel the heat radiating from Billy’s shoulder, but the open air of San Diego washed over him and eased any worry before it could compound.

“Why’re you in California?” Billy asked after some minutes had passed, watching cars pass rather than look at Steve.

Steve shrugged, unsure of how well he could really explain himself. “I’m just driving. Wanted to get out of Hawkins, see the ocean.”

“You know you can’t swim with that, right?” Billy asked, one eyebrow raised and the hand holding his cigarette pointing toward Steve’s wrapped-up forearm.

He hadn’t thought about it, though it would’ve probably occurred to him by the time he got down to the water. “Yeah, yeah,” Steve answered, “I just, needed to see the beach.”

As if in an echo of the past, Billy smiled a thin-lipped smile and said, “You’ve seen the beach before, Harrington. It’ll look just like all the others.”

“No, it’ll be different,” Steve answered immediately, turning his head to face Billy too. “I haven’t seen your beach yet, and I mean to.”

If he closed his eyes, Steve could imagine he was back at the Quarry. They were laying under the light of the stars, smoking and talking about the future. Billy was holding onto him and Steve was promising Billy the entire world, if only they could make it through one last summer in Hawkins. He’d pack a bag and toss it into the back of the Camaro, and they’d drive until they found the beach Billy had grown up at, the beach that had been his peace for so many years.

Except they hadn’t made it, and Steve had been left with all the promises he could never fulfill.

“So this Robin. She your new girlfriend now?”

The idea alone pulled a loud laugh from Steve, warmth filling where the icy chill of loss had just resided in his heart. “No, ew, no,” he continued to laugh, bringing a hand up to scrub at the tears building in his eyes. “I’m not her type.”

“I think you’re everybody’s type, Harrington.”

“No, I mean,” Steve shook his head as the laughter began to die down, wishing he could call Robin with complete surety that she’d answer, if only so he could tell her what happened. She’d heard enough about Billy that she’d know what this meant, she may have even understood what Steve was feeling in that moment better than he did. “She’s dating Nancy now. They’ve lived in Boston since Nancy started college.”

“Prissy Wheeler?” Billy balked, making Steve grin at the old nickname he’d refused to drop even six years ago. “Wheeler is dating some girl from band?”

“Yep,” Steve answered, popping the ‘p’. “You missed a lot. We all ended up sort of...well, I guess there’s a reason we ended up friends. Jon’s out in Lenora Hills with this guy, Argyle, he met in school, you’d like him.”

“Lenora Hills...California? What’s Byers doing there?”

“Oh, they moved out there after...well, it’s kind of a long story,” Steve concluded, finally putting out his cigarette once his hands stopped shaking.

“So you keep saying.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Steve sighed, knowing he should tell Billy more, but where did he start? How could he possibly recap six years in a town’s history that Billy had never really cared about anyway? How could he recount so many years of his own history, knowing most of it would result in talking about how much better the days would have been if the memories could have been shared with Billy? “What’ve you been up to out here?”

It was Billy’s turn to shrug, dropping his cigarette and stepping on it. “We should finish up your ink.”

“Just one thing?” After so many years wondering what Billy could have done with all the time he hadn’t gotten, Steve was a little more than desperate to know what had ended up being his life.

“C’mon, Harrington. I want to get some sleep tonight, let’s go,” Billy insisted, holding the door open until Steve had no choice but to return back to his seat.

They didn’t talk much through the rest of the tattoo session, only little inconsequential statements thrown here and there to fill the space. When it came time to pay—or force Billy to actually accept the wad of bills he’d outstretched—and leave, Steve found himself hesitating by the door. Billy was busying himself cleaning up the space before closing the shop, only glancing up when he didn’t hear the bell of the door ring to signal Steve’s departure.

“What, forget how to open doors on your own, princess?” Billy called out, no malice hiding within any of his words.

Steve couldn’t stop himself from what he said next, the words flying out of his mouth before he could truly process them. “Come home with me.” At Billy’s confused look, he tried to explain. “I mean, I’m gonna go find a hotel to crash for the night. You should come with me, so we can catch up.” So I don’t have to stop looking at you, so I know you’re actually alive and this isn’t some horrible dream, so you can take me to your beach like we planned.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Steve.” Billy’s answer was curt and to the point, no room for any arguing back. Even after all these years, he still knew how to handle Steve.

“Right,” Steve breathed out, wondering how he was ever meant to gather enough strength to walk away from him. With a careful, stilted breath, Steve managed, turning and slipping out of the tattoo shop like it hadn’t turned his entire world on end.

The next three days passed by like a blur. Steve couldn’t bring himself to get to the beach, or to go talk to Billy again, or really do much of anything except sit in the cheap motel room he’d found a few blocks from the shop.

Steve didn’t really know how long he’d stay in California, figuring he’d stay until it felt right to go. At the rate it was going, the trip length would be defined by his rapidly dwindling funds. There’d been no choice but to move out of his parents’ house after Vecna, finding they wouldn’t have understood or accepted the Steve Harrington that had emerged from the rubble, but that also meant he’d given up every ounce of his inheritance in order to go prove he could be his own person. Sometimes, especially now as he lay with a sore neck on the scratchy thin sheets of a motel bed, he wished he wouldn’t have felt so determined to prove anything to them.

He considered calling Robin. He probably should’ve, actually. She would smack him upside the head if she ever found out this happened, that he’d found his long lost lover kickin’ it in sunny California, right when he had his quarter-life crisis and ditched his entire life for some roadtrip that once included Billy in the plans too. Every time he looked at the dingy plastic phone, however, Steve couldn’t bring himself to dial the number. How long had it been since they last spoke? Her birthday had been in March, he knows he called her then. Had she called for his?

In the end, Steve ended up not calling Robin and not going to the beach. He wound up at the tattoo shop again, this time in the light of day. It was busier now, the sound of whirring tattoo machines filling the space along with music that Steve is fairly certain comes from Twisted Sister. Billy wasn’t anywhere in sight, but the door in the back of the shop was closed. Was that his office? Did Billy have an office now?

The woman at the front counter seemed a little skeptical as Steve approached, his eyes never leaving the back door until he was right up at the counter. “Hey, um. Is Billy in today?”

“And who are you?”

Good to see Billy kept company with the same level of people skills as he did. “An old friend.”

“Billy doesn’t have old friends,” she answered immediately, raising one eyebrow as if to ask why he was still sticking around. Suddenly the entire place really didn’t seem like his kind of scene—he stood out in perfectly clean jeans, a white shirt with little stripes on the sleeves and a red vest. Steve stuck his hands in his jean pockets like that might somehow help him navigate the situation. “What do you really want?”

He had to wonder how much of Billy’s past he’d told this woman. They clearly were close, if she was willing to protect his privacy this intensely. Did she know he was hiding from the government?

“Can you just,” Steve sighed, trying to reign in the bubbling irritation threatening to boil over. “Can you tell him that Steve came in?”

That seemed to do the trick. The woman’s entire expression changed, morphing into something more akin to shock than the cool deference she’d worn before. “So you’re that Steve then,” she spoke lowly, like she hadn’t really intended to say it out loud at all. “Wait here.”

So he’d at least told her about him. The fluttering in Steve’s chest was something he hadn’t quite felt since he was still in high school, figuring out that yeah, maybe he did find some guys hot. And sure, maybe one of those guys happened to include Billy Hargrove, who wasn’t all that bad once you got past his defense wall.

“Everything healing alright, Harrington?”

Hearing Billy’s voice still took his breath away, like the first time he’d seen Billy step out of that slick blue Camaro in the Hawkins High parking lot. Even then he’d known the man would change his life, Steve just hadn’t anticipated it would ever go like this.

“Huh?” Oh, tattoo. “Yeah, yeah it’s great. It’s really uh...healing. Well. It’s healing well.”

Billy nodded slowly, eyebrows raised as he watched Steve completely short circuit. “Good. There something you needed? I have some schedules I need to work on.”

Why was he here again? Steve scrambled to find something that would keep Billy out here with him, could get him some more time to talk. There was so much he wanted to say and even more he wanted to hear, and yet Billy didn’t seem like he wanted any part of it. Just one more time, please. “Well, you did so well on the first one I thought I should get another. Tattoo, I mean.”

“You want another tattoo.”

“Yep,” Steve confirmed, fighting the urge to wipe his sweaty palms against his jeans. “That’s why I’m here. For a tattoo.”

“Most people wait a few weeks for the first one to heal, and to see if you even like it.”

“I’m not most people,” Steve fought back, wincing at the desperation beginning to hint at the edges of his words. “Look, no one back in Hawkins can do this nearly as well as you. I just, I trust you.”

Steve could see Billy weighing his options. Finally he sighed, nodding his head and guiding Steve over to one of the setups in the far back corner, away from prying eyes (and ears).

“What do you want this time?” One look confirmed everything for Billy. “You still have no idea, do you?”

“Absolutely not.”

“You didn’t come here for a tattoo, did you?”

“I definitely did,” Steve said, offering up the arm that the first one had been done on. “Ink me up, big guy.”

That pulled out a snort from Billy, though he quickly schooled his expression into mock sternness as he answered, “Don’t ever say that again.”

“Then tat me up already!”

“You are the dorkiest person I’ve ever met, and I had the misfortune of meeting the nerd herd,” Billy laughed, beginning to trace something out in his notebook.

“Hey, that’s my nerd herd you’re talking about.” Though it had been years, Steve couldn’t help but smile at how easily they fell back into this. He could have imagined only days had passed since they’d talked, sipping beers and sharing kisses when no one was looking.

Billy was keeping the design a secret. He’d shaved Steve’s arm and placed the stencil, firmly telling the man not to look until he was done. Because Steve trusted him.

“I surf.”

The statement came out of nowhere, far enough into the process that the steady sting of the needle had lulled Steve into a sort of trance. He blinked away the fogginess, turning to look at Billy at the statement. The other man hadn’t stopped working, like it wasn’t a big deal that he’d offered up something of where he’d been the last six years. Like he trusted Steve, too.

“Are these all your boards?” Steve asked.

“Some,” Billy said. “Some are from friends. That's what I did for a couple years, just surf. Helped with some of the physical shit.”

“Yeah, I know how that is,” Steve answered, mind immediately going back to the nearly four weeks he spent laid in bed recovering from the emotional devastation of losing Billy and the, maybe more pressing to some, physical devastation of actual Soviet torture. There was also the time after they’d gone into the Upside Down, when he’d practically collapsed from the literal fucking bites taken out of him the second he knew Vecna was gone. “I saw on one of the boards...you go by Billy St James now?”

“My mom’s maiden name,” Billy answered. “They suggested I change it, you know, after the demon monster impaled me.”

“Not funny.”

“You could get rid ‘a Harrington too. Feels good cutting ties with shitty dads.”

It did sound tempting. Childhood had been defined by ‘living up to the Harrington name’, being the best heir to the legacy, and being perfect, in every sense of the word. How relieving it must feel to finally shed the name that burdened him for so long. Steve could already imagine the pride he’d feel in changing it, ensuring that the Harrington name would end forever and all with him.

And yet, Steve knew he could never do it. Harrington was also the name Dustin called him when they were bickering, and it was the name Robin used when she was worried about him but trying to pretend not to be. It was the name Billy, even now, still called him despite having called him ‘pretty boy’ and ‘princess’ on the first day they met.

There was a history there, and no matter how badly Steve wanted to wipe away any trace of his parents, he couldn’t wipe away the one family who’d actually given a shit about him.

“Nah, think I’ll hold onto it a little longer. Been hit in the head so many times I don’t wanna confuse myself.”

Billy’s scowl wasn’t something to mess around with. It was strong enough to clear rooms if he wanted, and this close, it rendered Steve completely silent. “Cut it out, would ya?”

“Cut what out?” Steve practically whined, the only thing keeping him from throwing his hands up in frustration being Billy’s large hands holding onto his left arm as he worked. He’d been doing so well, trying to navigate all the things Billy didn’t want to talk about, all the things that would spook the other man before Steve was ready to say goodbye. What had happened now?

“I hated that shit when you did it before, hate it even more now,” Billy snapped, turning the machine off and dutifully beginning to wrap Steve’s arm.

“Billy, do what? I’m not a mind reader.”

“Stop sayin’ all that shit about what a dumbass you are, or how no one actually needs you around. It’s fucking exhausting and sad as shit. You know how much breath you could save if you thought something good about yourself every once in a damn while?”

“I get it, message received,” Steve rolled his eyes, though the warm feeling spreading through his chest hadn’t gone unnoticed. It was the kind of conversation that had stopped the second Billy was gone—suddenly the only people around were the ones who tossed around ‘idiot’ and ‘dingus’ and ‘airhead jock’ like they weren’t knives to be buried deep in his chest. “You know, most people are actually nice when they give a compliment.”

“I’d rather die,” Billy shot back, smirking at the clearly doe-eyed look Steve was giving him. “You don’t want nice.”

“It wouldn’t hurt,” Steve said as he followed Billy back over to the counter. “I know you’re a big softie at heart.”

“Harrington,” Billy warned, though only smiles decorated his face.

“Come see the beach with me,” Steve blurted out again, hoping the long pause Billy spent staring at him meant an agreeance.

“I can’t, pretty boy, you know that,” Billy sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “But you should go, show off that new ink.”

“Hey, no flirting in the shop!” the woman from before shouted over, “Can we go back to when you were pining for the rest of your life or whatever?”

Billy tilted his head to stare at the ceiling, like he couldn’t quite believe this was his existence. Pining? So he had thought about Steve in those six years, enough that even this woman Steve had no idea existed knew about him. Maybe there really was some hope, after all, if he could keep talking to Billy without scaring him off.

All it would take was time, and luckily Steve had plenty of that.

It became a pattern: wait a few days, walk down to the shop and convince Billy to spend an hour giving him whatever new design the other man could think of. After the second—a small smattering of wildflowers that Steve wished he could recognize to decipher the meaning of—Steve knew Billy was the best person to make the decisions for what art would cover his arm. And art it was, because soon enough Steve’s arm resembled a canvas, full of little mismatched designs that just seemed to work together, despite none of it having been planned out in the first place. But while Steve loved the tattoos, nothing quite measured up to the time he got to spend with Billy.

They didn’t talk about Hawkins again—in fact, Billy seemed intent to ignore that he’d ever lived there at all, shutting down near completely if Steve accidentally brought up someone they’d known. So instead, they talked about Billy’s days spent trying to find a new couch for his apartment, and all of the silly tourist attractions Steve had visited on his trip from Indiana. They talked about how Billy had used his government hush money to startup the shop, and how the people working there became the family he’d always dreamed about.

They found a balance that worked for them, until the night Billy finished Steve’s impromptu sleeve. The last design was taking longer, leaving Billy to offer to close up the shop after everyone left. It was just them in the building, listening to Steve’s old tape again because ‘Billy, you gotta give me a break with some actual music.’

“What’re you gonna do now that we finished?” Billy asked, wrapping up Steve’s bicep and discarding his gloves.

Steve didn’t know, and really he didn’t want to think about it because now he had no excuse to see Billy anymore, no way to convince the man to stick around him. There was nothing after this, no plan except to eventually get back to the only place that he had once called home. The only place he knew to go was the eternal safety net of his old hometown.

“I don’t know yet,” Steve answered in the only way he knew how, shrugging as they walked the familiar path back to the counter. “Might finally get to the beach.”

“You still haven’t gone?” Billy asked, eyebrows raising.

It wasn’t for a lack of trying. Every morning Steve had gotten up, and tried to put on swim shorts and a t-shirt, but every time he couldn’t leave the motel room. Something was stopping him at the door, keeping him from walking down to that beach alone. It was always meant to be his goodbye to Billy, his only way to try and move past the night when he froze in time for six years. Now that Billy wasn’t just alive but standing right in front of him, living where they’d once promised to run away together.

“Haven’t gotten around to it.” It was the easiest answer to give, the only thing he could say without revealing everything laying underneath the surface.

In the next moment, Billy was grabbing his keys and heading for the door of the shop. He stood outside, waving for Steve to hurry up like he was just supposed to understand what was happening. “Well?” Billy huffed when Steve was too slow, jingling the keys at him.

“What’re we doing?” Steve asked, watching Billy lock up the shop the second he cleared the door.

“What d’you think we’re doing? We’re going to the beach.”

The beach. They were going to the beach.

“But...but isn’t it closed at night?” Smooth, Harrington. Steve could feel his cheeks heat up at Billy’s laugh, trying to press a scowl to his own face but knowing it couldn’t have come across as all that intimidating.

“C’mon, pretty boy. You’re really gonna start following the rules now?” It was a goading if he’d ever heard one, some kind of jumpstart that Steve even now felt sparking him to life. He could practically hear the unsaid words on Billy’s lips, the where’s King Steve gone to now? in those blue eyes.

It was impossible to say no to Billy Hargrove when he really wanted something, when he took on such bright playfulness that spelled out trouble with every smirk. So he allowed himself to be guided to the water, unable to take his eyes off of Billy as though he were under a trance.

It was quiet out there, just far enough from the city to dull out the noises and lights of a Friday night. The only sound was that of the waves lapping up at the sand in front of them, water spilling over their ankles before drifting back out to the ocean. The moon was out, nearly full and giving them enough light that Steve could see Billy’s face beside his. They’d sat down in the sand after Billy had warned Steve not to get his healing tattoos wet. Steve didn’t know the last time he could sit like this with someone else, simply co-existing in such a peaceful environment without anything to worry or think about. They weren’t talking, but really they’d never needed to be talking constantly, rather finding peace in being near one another.

“It’s beautiful,” Steve spoke up, turning to face Billy.

“It’s home,” Billy breathed out, fingers of his far-sided hand digging into the sand. “I’m glad you’re here, Steve.”

“Don’t tell me you’re getting soft now,” Steve teased gently, maybe to hide away the heavy feelings stirring in his chest.

“Never,” Billy answered, staring at him with such intensity that Steve couldn’t look away, captivated by every emotion that was too heavy, too conflicting, even to begin to read. All he knew was that in the years they’d been apart the feelings they’d had for one another hadn’t faded.

When Billy leaned in, Steve didn’t move. He couldn’t, paralyzed by shock and the strange fluttering in his stomach. Being kissed by Billy felt like having life breathed back into him, like he was somehow moving but not quite alive since that summer. Steve held onto Billy tightly, fingers digging into his shirt like if he let go then the man would drift away from him.

It only lasted a few seconds, but when they parted both men were breathless.

“I thought we wouldn’t get this again,” Billy admitted, blinking dazedly like he was trying to wipe away the feelings washing over him.

“Yeah,” Steve said, chin dropping a little. Tell me about it.

“Kept wondering what you were doing, if you’d found someone to make you happy,” Billy explained. “Thought maybe I’d see you eventually, here. Thought you’d have the little shitheads with you, though.” His jaw tensed up all at once, the stiffness stringing through his neck and shoulders until Steve wondered what it was that Billy was thinking about now.

“They’re not little anymore, and they’ll let you hear it every day if you called them that,” Steve tried to laugh through the heaviness against his chest. “Dustin and Lucas are off at college, too busy with their smart people classes to pick up a goddamn phone. Mike is helping out with Eddie’s tour—yeah, Eddie Munson. It’s a long story. But El, the girl you saved? She’s been traveling lately, trying to see as much of the world as she can now that we don’t have to worry about the lab coming after her. Will went with her, because apparently they moved out to California and became best friends. They’re all old now, they outgrew their babysitter.”

“You forgot one.”

“What? I didn’t—Oh. Oh shit,” Steve hissed, regret and cold realization seeping over him until he wondered if it would be better to just run now. Billy didn’t know, no one had known to tell him. “Billy, I don’t...Billy, the Upside Down didn’t stop after Starcourt. It came back, and we had to...Max, she...”

Billy’s expression darkened in an instant. “What happened to my sister, Harrington?”

He was messing this all up, ruining what had always meant to be a sweet moment. “Oh God no! No, no, Max is fine, I promise. She’s more than fine, she’s happy,” Steve rushed out, hands waving about as he tried to prove his point. “But last time, the only way we could put a stop to everything is if she...Fuck, I don’t even know how to explain it. Vecna, the monster we were fighting, targeted her. We tried to help her but she got hurt.”

“How hurt?” Billy’s hand was running over a spot on his abdomen now, right in the center. Though it had been years, Steve could imagine clearly the way a monstrous tentacle had stabbed him straight through the spot. He couldn’t help but wonder if Billy was still feeling it even now. “Steve, how hurt is she?”

“She was, she was in the hospital for a while. Like, a really long time. But she woke up, and she’s been doing so well lately. Max just moved in with Lucas, I think when they come back to Hawkins over their break they’ll tell us they’re engaged,” Steve rambled.

“Steve.”

“She’s blind, now, Billy. Max can’t see, and she uses crutches to get around most of the time unless she’s being stubborn,” Steve explained, reaching out for Billy’s hand and smiling sadly when the man let him take it. “I hate that it was her, that she had to get so hurt but...she’s really, really happy. She’s recovering well, she and Lucas have been better than ever, and she’s starting to paint, which...Max is amazing.”

Billy scrubbed his free hand over his face—once, twice, three times as he took in everything Steve told him. “But she’s...she’s okay?”

“Yeah, yeah she’s okay,” Steve reassured him, squeezing Billy’s hand once until he looked over at him. “Really, I wouldn’t lie to you about this. She has good and bad days, sure, but there is nothing that could stop that girl. She still misses you, though. Won’t really talk about it, but...I know she’d want to hear from you, to know that you’re okay.”

“Her and Sinclair, huh?” Billy asked, clearly avoiding the pointed suggestion Steve had made.

“Yeah,” Steve laughed, “they finally figured their shit out. I thought I’d be in a retirement home before they worked it out.”

“Sounds familiar.” Billy’s face was softer now, something of a smile tilting up his lips.

“It does, doesn’t it?” Steve chuckled, “How long did it take us?”

“Longer than it should’ve. We got there eventually.”

“A couple of fights later.”

“Hey, you can’t say we weren’t passionate,” Billy chuckled, no doubt imagining the same moments Steve was on the basketball court, by their cars in the parking lot, out by the Quarry when no one was watching.

Laughter blossomed between them, the sound rising and mixing with that of the waves, and though it would take time Steve knew in that moment that they’d be okay.

They ended up back at Billy’s apartment, after. It was far more spacious than what Steve was expecting, but the simple explanation of ‘government hush money’ had cleared that up quickly. The place was cleaner than Steve expected, decorated sparingly and with just enough signs of life scattered throughout.

It shouldn’t have surprised him when Billy kissed him again, but Steve gasped as his back pressed against the bedroom wall. Billy was gentle—a far cry from the rough, bruising touches they’d once given each other, a lifetime ago—hands on either side of Steve’s face. This was more rushed than the previous, Billy pressing insistently against him until he was flattened against the wall.

Steve held on to him too, hands finding the short curls at the back of Billy’s neck. “I like this,” he murmured, tugging lightly and relishing in the gasp it pulled from Billy. “Your hair, I like it.”

“Yeah?” Billy’s lips moved to his neck, causing Steve to tilt his head back against the wall, lips parted and eyes raised to the ceiling like he might find some salvation there. His hands moved to Billy’s waist, tugging closer as the man covered what felt like the entire expanse of Steve’s neck in marks.

“Yeah,” Steve breathed out, “it’s a good look.”

The second Billy’s leg slotted between his thighs, pressing so close it practically begged for Steve to rock against it, Steve thought he might combust. He groaned, eyes fluttering closed only long enough to realize he missed the sight of Billy focused entirely on him. That look of arousal had always been one of Steve’s favorites—Billy’s tan cheeks flushing with color, pupils wide, and the first signs of sweat along his hairline.

It all shuttered to a stop the second Steve’s hands reached for the hem of Billy’s shirt. Within seconds Billy’s expression shuttered closed and his hands wrapped around Steve’s wrists, not tight but warning.

“Hey, what happened?” Steve asked, watching as Billy’s expression pulled even tighter. His eyebrows pulled together, eyes looking low to not meet Steve’s gaze. “You can talk to me. Do you want to stop?”

“No, I don’t,” Billy immediately answered. “I just—Stevie, if you’re expecting what I looked like before you’ll be disappointed.”

The scars. Steve had seen them plenty of times in the weeks they’d spent together at the shop, sweeping across Billy’s hands and arms. He’d seen what had happened in real-time, too, and could imagine now what was leftover from the scene.

“You must think pretty low of me, huh?” Steve said lightly, not once letting go of Billy’s shirt. He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Billy’s lips and smiling at the surprised look it garnered. “I finally find you after six years, and you think I’ll run off because of some scars?”

Steve gave a testing little tug of the hem, and though Billy’s hands stayed wrapped around his wrists he allowed the motion. With one hand he held onto Billy’s, lifting it to give a gentle kiss to one of the marionette-string scars there. “They proved you survived, how could I hate them?”

“Steve,” Billy nearly whined out.

“Do you trust me?” His voice dropped lower, hazel eyes never once leaving blue until Billy was nodding.

“‘Course I do, pretty boy.”

So Steve pressed his fingers to Billy’s chest and pushed, soft but insistent until the backs of Billy’s knees hit the bed. “Lay down for me.”

“Think you can tell me what to do?” Billy raised one eyebrow, lips still parted like he wanted to rile Steve up. It was a familiar game, the push and pull between them that only served to make Steve fall even further for the man.

“I just did, didn’t I?” Steve returned just as easily, smirking as Billy listened and laid down on his back. “There’s a good boy.”

“Watch it,” Billy warned, though the little shuffle of his hips hadn’t gone unnoticed. For another time, Steve reasoned out. Tonight was about relearning each other, the games could wait.

Steve took his time climbing atop him, straddling Billy’s hips, leaning forward until he could kiss him again. It had been ages since the last time he’d done this, and only briefly did the sparks of insecurity pop in his head. Would Billy be able to tell that he was out of practice? What if he couldn’t be as good as he’d once been, would Billy be disappointed?

Except, it took exactly one look at Billy’s face for all of it to wash away. He looked like he’d found an angel, lips parted and head following Steve minutely when he broke the kiss.

“You’re gorgeous, you know,” Steve told him softly, hands running over his clothed chest until they could grip the bottom hem again. “It’s not fair, really, that I get to see you for the first time twice.”

This time when Steve lifted Billy’s shirt, there was no resistance. In fact, his back arched to help Steve pull the fabric up and off of him, discarding it somewhere behind them. Aware of the eyes on him, Steve tried to rein in his reaction. He’d seen what had happened, had been standing feet away when Billy had single-handedly held off the Mind Flayer long enough for El to get away, but even that couldn’t have prepared him for seeing the large expanse of scarring across Billy’s abdomen. More of him was scarred than not, large starbursts of white in the center of his sternum, his sides, his chest. Lines like those on his arms spread out like wires from the bursts, crisscrossing in across nearly every inch of Billy’s chest.

Steve wanted to cry at the simple fact that Billy would be reminded of what happened to him forever. It wasn’t easy to hide away and forget about, no way to cover all of it up and pretend. He’d survived, but he’d been alone and hurt and even now was more affected than anyone ever was let on. It wasn’t fair, Steve wanted to scream at whoever would listen. He’d gladly march through the Upside Down again if it meant sparing Billy from any more hurt at the hands of it.

“Like I said,” Steve finally spoke up, lips pressing against the first large scar on the right side of Billy’s chest. “As gorgeous as I remember.”

Billy’s entire body was tense like he was waiting for his worst fears to be confirmed at any second. Steve had no intention of doing so, though, instead sure to show Billy just how much he loved every inch of his body. He loved him, loved that they were getting a second chance when it had once seemed so impossible. He could only hope Billy understood, could see it in his eyes every time he looked his way.

The gasp Billy let out as Steve’s tongue flicked over one of his nipples was intoxicating, causing white-hot electricity to run through Steve’s body down to the tips of his toes. A pleased smile warmed his face as Steve reached up to lightly pinch the other, watching as Billy actually goddamn whined, his back arching into the touch.

“You’re a fucking tease, Harrington,” Billy hissed out, hands reaching up to grab at Steve though the man quickly knocked them away.

Lifting his head enough to make eye contact with Billy, Steve couldn’t help but wink. “You say that like you’re surprised, Hargrove.”

“Fuck you.”

“We’ll get to that, too,” Steve grinned, moving back to continue his worship of Billy. He took his time, working his way down Billy’s chest and stomach, paying attention to every scar he passed until his lips brushed the waist of his jeans. By the time he was done, Billy was practically writhing under him, hips shifting under Steve’s and hands tangled up in his hair.

Those hands gave an insistent tug to Steve’s hair the second he reached for Billy’s jeans, drawing a hitched out moan from Steve. “Get up here,” Billy demanded and Steve couldn’t help but listen until their faces were so close that their noses nearly brushed. “Wanna see you too, pretty boy.”

No, not yet.

Steve fought back a wince, wishing Billy would have let him get his mouth on him before asking for this. Because maybe, just maybe if Billy was already wrought with pleasure he wouldn’t notice what rested under Steve’s own shirt. It may have been hypocritical to think, but Steve’s appearance had once been everything. He’d been King Steve, praised for his golden boy charm and even more golden looks. After that he’d been Billy’s Pretty Boy, constantly told how perfect and soft and wonderful he was. And he’d loved it, he did. Even now he could feel himself melting under such warm praise but he couldn’t help but think that he wasn’t that pretty boy anymore, that there were some things that the demobats and Vecna had taken away forever.

“Where’d you disappear to?” Billy asked, thumb reaching up to rub at the space between Steve’s furrowed brows.

“I’m not—,” Steve tried to explain, throat catching around the words. “I’m not the same either. It’s not pretty anymore.”

“Hm,” Billy hummed, large hands already tugging insistently at Steve’s shirt. He allowed it to happen, keeping his eyes closed as Billy said, “Think I’ll be the judge of that one, sweetheart.”

Steve jumped at the feel of Billy’s palm resting flat on his stomach, off to the side where a demobat had once sunk its teeth in and torn. The other came up around Steve’s neck, fingertips gently rubbing over the line he normally kept hidden by high-collared shirts.

“What did they do to you, pretty boy?” Billy whispered out, and the softness with which he spoke cracked something within Steve. His face contorted as he felt the first stinging of tears building behind his eyelids. His hands dug into the sheets on either side of Billy where he held himself aloft, shaking his head a little as if that might help to compose himself.

His head sunk until his forehead pressed to Billy’s chest, and Billy allowed him to do so, hands moving to wrap around him in a tight embrace. One rubbed his back, the other coming up to its familiar hold in Steve’s hair. Steve could feel Billy’s fingers find the rough scarring on his shoulder blades from being dragged halfway across a different dimension, rubbing gentle circles into the numbed skin.

Steve’s entire body shook, and he felt his warm breath stutter out against Billy’s skin. It was easier to manage like this, eyes closed and his entire world narrowed down to Billy. “We went down there. The Upside Down, we were there.”

“Shit, Steve.”

“Yeah, I know,” Steve laughed wetly, wondering only briefly how they both had ended up crying. “I never minded taking a hit if it meant protecting them, but this...I misstepped, and I get this.”

“It’s okay,” Billy tried, his voice tight with his own tears. “What happened to scars being a sign of survival, huh? It goes for you too.”

“This was all I had.” Steve’s hands found their own holds on Billy, their bodies tightly together as Steve’s face shifted to hide in Billy’s neck. It was easier to let it out, easier to be honest about the parts of himself he’d been hiding away for years. “Everyone else moved on eventually, everyone stopped needing me. They left and recovered the best anyone could. You did, too. You have this whole life out here, and I...I’m still in Hawkins. I barely finished school, I don’t have any real skills or hobbies, and I can’t even be good for my looks anymore because who the fuck would wa—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Steve,” Billy spoke, voice firm but not once threatening. One hand was tucking itself under Steve’s chin, coaxing him away from Billy’s neck and up enough that they could face each other. “Don’t.”

“Billy,” Steve sighed, feeling the heat of embarrassment rise up in his cheeks.

“Hey, I mean it. Do you have any idea what it felt like to see you walk into my shop that night?” Billy asked, brushing away Steve’s hair from his face and tucking it behind his ear. “You make me feel alive again, Steve. You make all of it feel worth it.”

When Steve couldn’t find it in himself to speak, Billy continued. “I need you as much as you need me, you got that? Everything...everything’s been about you.”

It was too much all at once, and yet everything Steve had needed to hear for the last six years. No one had ever made him feel quite so wondrous as Billy, who might as well have been the sun and stars himself.

“This one,” Billy spoke lowly, thumb brushing over the wildflowers tucked into Steve’s forearm, “was because you wore that shirt into the shop. It reminded me of sitting out in that field together in Hawkins, and you called it our first date because we’d gone a whole three hours without cracking any jokes at each other.”

“You remember that?” It had been in their senior year, when spring was just beginning to warm the air and wildflowers took over every inch of free space in Hawkins. They both had gone there independently, each searching for a tiny escape from the problems they were facing and instead finding each other. It was one of the first times they’d spoken kindly to each other, the first time Steve had looked into Billy’s eyes and thought this was someone he could love. His heart burned bright at the knowledge that he’d have a piece of that memory on his skin forever.

“I remembered your smile, how it felt like you warmed me up from the inside out with one look,” Billy admitted, his hand moving to another one higher up on Steve’s arm. “And this one, for the birthday party you tried to throw when you found out no one ever remembered mine.”

“I still celebrate it, every March,” Steve whispered, feeling like he was beginning to see Billy in an entirely new way all over again.

“See? That’s what I mean.” Billy reached up with his other hand, wiping at some of the stray tears left on Steve’s face. “You’re unlike anyone else, Steve. You saved me when I needed it, let me help you now.”

He could do that. Steve could picture himself staying here, settling into this city that had already felt like more of a home than Hawkins had felt in the last decade. Maybe Billy would find him something to help with at the shop, or maybe he’d find some new job to love without the oppressive fear that the Upside Down would reopen at any moment. They’d both seen each other as they were now, and neither one had run away. They could be happy out here, together.

“Just tell me what you need, pretty boy,” Billy finished, and all at once with complete surety, Steve knew the answer.

“I need you,” Steve answered, holding onto Billy and never wanting to let go. “I want you, please.”

“You already have me, Steve, you’ve always had me,” Billy said, moving them so Steve was the one laying on his back on the bed. “That’s too easy.”

“Take care of me,” Steve continued, feeling a smile work its way onto his face through the tears. How could he not smile, when Billy was looking at him with such adoration even through his own tears? “I want all of you.”

“Are you sure?”

Steve nodded, never more sure of anything else.

And Billy was careful with him, hands touching all the right places and mouth leaving bruised marks all down Steve’s neck and chest, filling him with equal parts burning arousal and overwhelming, intense love. It may have been years, but both of their bodies knew the way, rocking together at an easy pace, neither one rushing for the moment to end. If either one of them let a few tears slip, no one pointed it out. All Steve could focus on was Billy’s hands holding him steady, the feel of Billy’s warm back under his fingers, and the waves of pleasure that threatened to burn through him as Billy pushed impossibly deeper inside him.

It was like the rest of the world fell away, leaving only them as they at last came home to one another. The moment he finished, Steve saw stars dance across his vision, lips parted in a loud, trembling moan that sent Billy over the edge as well. He hadn’t even noticed when Billy had gotten up until he was sitting on the bed beside Steve, cleaning him up and wrapping him up in his arms.

He came to a few minutes later, resting against Billy’s back, those large arms wrapped around him and hands resting on his stomach. “You back with me, Steve?” Billy asked, chin resting gently on Steve’s head.

“Never left,” he answered, giving Billy a cheeky smile. “Never again, I’m staying here.”

“Wouldn’t want you anywhere else.”

They lay together all night, sometimes talking about what had happened in their lives apart, other times simply enjoying feeling so close to each other again. Eventually, they’d fall asleep, the first restful night either would have in six years. There was still so much to figure out, so much that they hadn’t thought of beyond their dream of escaping together. But that was okay too.

After all, they had a lifetime to figure it out.

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