#lowered bimmers

[thecargays]

Oh, and it’s on air 🥵

[twerkitmileyz3]

Project Z3

[sadhours]

infected boys 2

billy hargrove x steve harrington

cw: 18+ minors dni, first person pov, internalized homophobia, smut, tommy hagan/billy hargrove, oral sex

summary: billy makes a move, steve doesnt feel the same way

read on ao3

“Show at The Hideout,” I tell him, fucking with my zippo.

He’s sitting on my bed, back against the wall and ankles hanging over the edge of my mattress. Looks sad.

“Can I tag along?” Steve does his best impression of a puppy dog. Big eyes. Pouted lips. I narrow my eyes at him from over my shoulder.

“It’s not really your scene,” I inform him, reaching for my bottle of Aquanet to spray some finishing touches on my bangs. “It’s a metal show.”

Steve groans, I can see him kick his feet like a toddler in the mirrors reflection. Makes me smile, turning to him completely as he knocks the back of his head against my wall, “I’m bored. Please.”

I put my hand on my belt as I keep smiling at him. Steve wants to spend time with me and that realization is pretty exciting. He looks at me with furrowed brows, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

I laugh, loud and my chest rumbles with it, “‘Cause you’re eighteen and throwing a fit like a petulant little brat.”

“I don’t even know what that word means,” Steve rolls his eyes and kicks his feet again for good measure, “Just let me come with. There’s nothing else going on tonight.”

I scoff, “It describes you perfectly. You got a fake ID to even get in?”

Steve’s face flushes, “I’m kind of too known around here to have one. But I’ve gone there before. They serve me.”

I turn back to the mirror, picking up my cologne and splashing a bit on my fingers before dabbing it on my neck and chest, “Hard to imagine you at a place like that.”

He shrugs, stands up from the bed and wanders behind me. Snatches the cologne out of my hands and brings the bottle to his nose, “This stuff smells as cheap as it is.”

I scowl as I tug it out of his hand, “Not helping your case here, asshole. Besides, I get compliments on it. You gotta rely on your daddy’s bank account to get chicks?”

I know it’s not true, ‘cause Harrington’s as pretty as they come. And to chicks, it’s all about the hair and Steve has the best head of it in this shit town. His bimmer helps too, I’m sure.

“No, but it helps,” he rests his chin on my shoulder as he looks at my reflection in the mirror. My face reddens from it and I know Harrington can see it. Makes my whole body tense and I get the urge to push him off but I don’t, because I can feel his breath fanning against my neck as he says, “C’mon. Lemme come. I’ll buy your drinks.”

I chew on my lower lip, stare him down in the mirror because this feels like a come on but Steve’s straight. There’s no way that’s what this is. If it was, he’d grab my waist and he’s not so… what the hell is he doing? Finally, I gather some fucking self control and shrug his chin off of me.

“Fine, Harrington,” I groan and wind my elbow back to knock him in the chest, “You’re such a whiny little shit.”

He grunts from the impact, steps a couple of feet back and rubs his chest. Then he’s smiling and I kinda wanna hit him again.

“Can’t wear that shit, though,” I say as I reach for my pack of smokes, pinching a cigarette out and perching it between my lips. “You look like an ad for the fucking Gap.”

“That’s where I got this shirt,” Steve admits, looking a bit ashamed as he peers down at his striped polo.

Shaking my head, I light my smoke and then walk back to my closet. Scan for options for the guy. For some reason, I really can’t imagine him in a button up. So I settle for a worn black shirt. One I usually work out in, tug it off the hanger and toss it at him. Next, is pants, I’d rather be dead than be caught with a guy in khakis. Black Levi’s I never wear, mostly ‘cause they got a gnarly hole in the ass but that fits for tonight and for Steve. So I toss them at him too before I look down at his feet. Nikes.

“What size shoe are you?” I ask him.

Steve looks like he can’t remember. I confirm it as he sits on the edge of my bed and takes his shoe off, folds back the tongue and looks at the label. Does his mom do all his shopping? How does this man not know his shoe size?

“Uh, 9 and a half,” he says.

“Huh, me too,” I say, suspiciously as I grab my Chucks and hand them over. “Alright, wear that and you can come with.”

“Is this really necessary?” Steve asks with a raised brow.

I blink at him, completely serious as I say, “I’m not walking around with you wearing an outfit your mom picked out. It’s a metal show, Steve. You can’t wear khakis and a polo. I’d have to kick your ass. Keep up my cred.”

Steve makes a face as he takes off his other shoe and then moves to unbutton his khakis and yeah, okay, I’m watching. “What cred do you even have? The fuck does that mean?”

I lean back against my dresser, eyes still on him as he stands and peels his polo off midst wiggling out of his pants. I look at his chest hair. Part of me jealous I can’t grow that much and the other part of me turned on by the tuft of hair. I cross my arms, “I got plenty of cred. People respect me.”

His eyes roll dramatically as he steps into my jeans. His thighs don’t fill them out like mine do but as he turns to pick up the black t-shirt, I notice his ass does. God, it’s gonna make the tear in the jeans bigger. The shirts baggier on him. I’m built thicker than him. Steve doesn’t work out like I do. He goes on runs but doesn’t lift any weights. He sits back on the bed to put on my converse.

He stands and his hair is coiffed too perfectly. And I do something I shouldn’t, because it makes me feel hot with arousal but I snake my fingers into the thick hair and shake it around, messing it up. I like the way his hair feels. I wanna pull it. So I do, to be a dick but Steve hums and when I pull back we just look at each other, blinking and silent.

“We should go,” I mumble out.

“Uh,” he clears his throat and nods, “yeah.”

We take separate cars to his house, just ‘cause I wanna drive and Dad’ll bitch about Harrington leaving the BMW there. So he parks in his driveway and runs over to my car, slides in the front seat and looks at me with a wide smile. Like a fucking golden retriever waiting for a treat. Steve’s excited I let him tag along. It’s pretty cute but I reach over and shove his face.

“Stop looking so happy or I’ll kick you to the curb,” I grumble, “At least try to fit in.”

“What? Metalheads don’t smile?” Steve quips back with a sarcastic frown.

I grab a cigarette and perch it on my lip, light it with my zippo and mumble around the filter, “Nope.”

When we get there, they ask for my ID but let Steve in with no problem. Makes me scowl at him as they fasten the paper wristband on him and then we immediately head to the bar. Take a pair of shots and clink our beer bottles together. I drag him into the crowd as the first band is coming out. The singer screeches into the mic, loud and shrill and it hits me right in the chest. This kind of shit makes me feel something. The guitars wail alive, followed by bass and drums. Has me bouncing on my feet and rocking my head back and forth. Distracts me from the preppy boy who begged to follow me tonight.

The crowd sways violently with the music, pushing Steve and I with it and I grip tightly onto my beer, try to gulp some of it down but Steve gets knocked into me and I spill it down my chest. But I don’t care. I’m buzzing and jumping along. Head banging with the best of ‘em.

Then Steve’s hand is clenching my shirt and his lips are against my ear as he yells into it, “It’s really loud.”

I look at him like he’s stupid because really, the hell did he expect? “No shit, Sherlock!” I yell back and watch as Steve’s face scrunches up in a wince as he gets knocked into again.

And this is fucking stupid, because I feel bad. This isn’t his thing and as much as I’m enjoying myself, I can tell Steve isn’t and I want him too. So I grab onto his shirt and pull him out of the crowd and out of the bar. Into the parking lot where people are just hanging out by their cars. We toss our now empty beer bottles and walk to my car.

“Sorry— that’s like, insane in there,” Steve mumbles and looks ashamed, or guilty?

“Told ya, pretty boy,” I lean against my car and spark up another smoke, “Not your scene.”

“Yeah… that’s for sure,” he sighs and leans next to me, “I should’ve brought my car.”

“Nah,” I shake my head and pass him my smoke, he takes it and his fingers are shaking as he brings it to his lips. “We can go find some other trouble to get into. Nice and quiet for you, pussy.” I grin with the insult, so he knows I’m joking.

“The quarry is always quiet,” he mumbles out, crossing his arms and I nod slowly, taking the cigarette from him and rounding the trunk of my car.

“Let’s go, then,” I tell him.

And we spend the rest of the night at the quarry, until the sun comes up. Just shooting the shit and laughing at nothing. Steve lets me crash at his place.

—

Tommy’s basement is musty as hell. Don’t think his mother’s been down here since he turned 15 ‘cause he leaves his porn stash out along with a roll of toilet paper and a bottle of lotion. Funny, Dad doesn’t want a fag for a son but he’d still whoop my ass if I ever left out of my skin mags. I mean, it don’t take much for him to whoop my ass but the irony ain’t lost on me.

Steve’s busy which is the only reason I’m even at Tommy’s. He’s leaving for college soon. It’s a wonder how he got in somewhere but Steve didn’t. I didn’t even try. Dad’ll only let me attend the community college or a trade school. If I can’t leave Hawkin’s then there’s no point in going to school. At least Steve’ll be stuck here too.

“You been brown nosing Harrington a lot,” Tommy says as he watches me roll a spliff. I’m bound to get a headache, the weeds dry and I spent ten minutes picking out stems from it.

“You sound jealous,” is all I reply with. Tommy’s got a real hard on for King Steve. And he’s absolutely shit at hiding it. Brings him up in like ninety percent of conversations.

Tommy scoffs, crossing his freckle covered arms over his chest as he kicks his feet up on the coffee table. Knocks off his bottle of lotion but doesn’t move to pick it back up. “Yeah, right. Guys’ fucking lame, now. What the hell do you guys even do?”

I pout as I glance at Tommy, make my eyes as wide and sorrowful as I can muster, “Sad you’re not invited? That it?”

“No. Steve doesn’t even party now,” Tommy huffs, “I’m sure he’s fucking boring.”

“Can you go like one day without talking about Harrington?” I bite back, “Swear to god, you’re like obsessed with him.”

“You bring him up a lot too,” Tommy mumbles and then we both sit there silently like a couple of idiots. But it’s like Tommy gets it or something because he sighs and says, “oh” all dejectedly.

So now we’re two pathetic fucks in love with a straight boy who has no fucking clue. And we both know it.

“What do you guys do?” Tommy asks, quieter than before.

I frown, licking up the side of the rolling paper before sealing the joint and bringing it to my lips, “Nothing.”

I light it, close my eyes as I inhale and tilt my head back when I exhale. The weed tastes old but it’s Indiana. Never as good as the shit back home.

“Nothing?”

“We get stoned, we get drunk, we play basketball,” I list off, “Sometimes we watch movies. He doesn’t like scary ones. We’ve watched Terminator like a hundred times.”

“Steve and I used to do that,” Tommy sounds sad so I hand him the spliff. He takes it and can’t make eye contact with me.

“He’s fun,” I say.

“Yeah,” Tommy sighs.

We silently smoke the spliff, sip on our beers in between. Harrington’s heavy on both our minds. I feel all gooey inside thinking about the fucker and from the screwed up expression on Tommy’s face, I know he’s bitter. Butthurt and jealous. Bogarts the joint like a fucking asshole and I keep having to remind him to share. Even if it’s his weed. I rolled it. Tommy can’t roll for shit, told me Harrington would do it for them. I get it and I almost feel bad for the fucker. Steve’s dreamy. He’s good company. He’s all I can think about— he’s all Tommy can think about and that might be more pathetic than me. ‘Cause these fucks have known each other their whole lives. And when Steve talks about Tommy, it’s like he feels sorry for him. But Tommy’s nothing but wound up anger when it comes to Harrington. Anger that Steve didn’t like him back like that.

“You seen Harrington’s spank bank?” I ask, curious if they did what he and I did.

Tommy smiles fondly, sinks further into the couch as his cheeks swell and ruddy, “Yeah. Helluva collection. I was with him when he got his first Playboy. Snatched it from his dad.”

“It’s so organized,” I reply softly, thinking about how my stash is pathetic compared to the both of them. Because I’d rather look at dudes and Tommy is fine with cranking it to women.

Tommy laughs, “He bookmarks his favorite pages. It’s kind of creepy.”

I chew on my lip, wishing Harrington was. Wish he was a fucking faggot, degenerate like I am. Like Tommy is.

“Speaking of,” Tommy sits up, squeezes his knees with his hands and asks, “Wanna put on a tape?”

I look at him, breathe slowly. How do I tell him this shit? Do I even have to? I just wanna jerk off to Harrington these days. I’m not gonna get hard from a straight porno.

“Nah, Tommy,” I shake my head and ignore how rejected he looks. The weeds giving me a headache. I just wanna go home suddenly. But dad’s there and I can’t be stoned in front of him. So I gotta wait until the high wears off.

—

Steve’s parents are away for a weekend. He asks me to spend the night. Says he rented some movies from the video store. But when I actually get to his house, he’s got a record on. Some pop music. He’s got a bunch of juice, fruit, alcohol and cups on the counter. Sways his hips with the music as he cuts up a lime. I’m sure he’s gotten an early start with the booze. Face flushed like it gets when Steve’s drinking. His hair falls down in front of his face and he shakes his head to push it away. The suns lightened his hair, these lighter strands highlighting the thick chestnut locks and fuck, I love it. He’s pretty. Smiles at me as he shakes his hips, I get an eyeful of Harrington’s ass as I round the counter. It’s shockingly fat compared to the rest of him. I rest my elbows on the counter as I look over at the mess he’s making.

“You trying to be a bartender, Harrington?” I tease, looking up at him as his cheeks swell with a smile.

“Something like that,” he slurs, only slightly though. His eyes look so green from the sun shining in the kitchen window. It’s gross. It’s disgusting how fucking cute he looks. Wearing a plain white t-shirt and his retired Hawkins High gym shorts. I wonder if he’s been in the pool today. The red in his face might be a sunburn and not the tequila.

“Wanna try one?” he offers, sliding by me to retrieve ice cubes from the freezer. I get a whiff of him as he passes by and my eyes almost roll back. Steve’s fucking rank but in the sexiest way. What the hell was he doing before I got here? How did he work up so much of a sweat?

“Sure. What have you been doing, Steve?” I ask, chuckling softly, “You smell like a dirty gym bag.”

A dirty gym bag I’d risk getting Athlete’s foot on my dick rutting against.

“I went on a run!” Steve explains, eyes wide and happy as he starts dropping ice cubes in a coup glass. “It was nice, really got a great runners high.”

“Had to take a shot of tequila to come down?”

Steve’s eyes narrow at me, “Billy, if you’re just gonna judge my lifestyle choices, you can go back home.”

“I’m teasing you, pretty boy. Gimme a shot,” I make grabby hands at him, “Lemme get on your level.”

Steve pours me a shot, but pours himself one too. We cheers before we take them. Mama Harrington buys good tequila. Doesn’t leave a bitter taste in my mouth, barely burns down the throat. Steve finishes mixing my cocktail and I hum as I sip it.

“Might have a career ahead of ya, Harrington,” I tell him honestly. “It’s good.”

“I just made it up,” he babbles off an explanation of how he’s made the drink and I’m full of this overwhelming feeling. I wanna kiss Harrington. I wanna pin him against the counter and kiss him stupid. Wanna shove my nose in his armpits and feel him all over. God I’m so disgusting. This is bad. This is so bad.

“Shut up, I don’t care,” I seethe, looking at his lips. They’re so pink and pretty.

“Oh… okay,” Steve visibly deflates.

I fucked up. He was excited about this and I ruined it because I’m fucking gay for him. And mad that I am. I down the cocktail and set it down, “Got any beer?”

“Yeah, in the fridge,” Steve waves his hand and starts to clean up his mess. Brings the dishes to the sink and doesn’t look at me.

I walk over to the record player and turn it off, I know Steve doesn’t own anything good so I’d rather not listen to music. Then I go and pour two more shots, “C’mere. One more shot and we can watch that movie.”

Steve obeys me, still looks all deflated when he stands before me and holds up the shot glass. We down them and stand there, just looking at each other. He looks like a puppy dog. He’s pretty. He’s handsome. Hate how much I like the fucker. But he’s just staring at me. And this ain’t some pissing contest. We’re friends now. So I’m stupid because I think Steve wants to kiss me too.

I lean in, grab hold of Harrington’s waist and crash my lips into his. And fuck. Fuck. Oh shit. I’m kissing Steve. I’m fucking kissing Steve. His lips are soft and… and they’re not kissing back. But he’s not pulling away so I keep kissing him. Try to slip him some tongue and that’s when he pushes me back.

“Oh, Billy…” his eyes are all shiny, “I’m… I’m not gay.”

I close my eyes, take a deep breath and the idiot keeps babbling on.

“But I’m okay with it! Robin’s gay and she’s my best friend! I’m okay with it, really!”

I don’t say anything. Open my eyes and look at him briefly, before I head for the door. Ignoring the way I can feel the tequila. All I can feel is the rejection and the fact I just outed myself to Steve. I slam the door behind me, not looking back before getting into the Camaro and driving off.

—

I don’t see him for a week. Not until I’m dropping Max off at the arcade. And he’s out front with his gaggle of kids. Smiling and laughing with them. He even waves to me when I pull up but I pretend I can’t see him. I tell Max I’ll be back in a couple hours.

Spend most of my time with Tommy and the fucker can tell something’s up.

“Something happen between you and Harrington?”

“Yeah, he’s a fucking loser,” I mumble, playing with my zippo and pouting. Harrington is a loser. A cute, handsome fucking loser.

Tommy claps his hand on my shoulder, “Glad you see it, now.”

I see it the same way he does. We don’t mention how we were both rejected by the guy. Not a single conversation about how we’re in love. How Steve is pretty and grand and still the fucking King. How a guy like that can never really lose the title. I’m fucking sad about it. Lay awake at night, kicking myself for kissing Harrington. For thinking he was fucking flirting this whole time. I call him. Every fucking night and when his sleepy voice picks up, I slam the phone back on the receiver.

“Yeah,” I mumble. “Such a pussy.”

Tommy sucks his teeth, shakes his head and tells me, “You should’ve met him before Nancy. She really changed him. Carol worshiped Steve. Ya know how hard it is to get Carol to worship you?”

“What? He eat her out?” I ask, rolling my eyes and Tommy’s body stiffens. Oh. Steve did, Steve absolutely ate Carol out. Heather wasn’t fucking around. He got the whole vagina owning graduating class.

“Maybe.”

“Heather wasn’t lying,” I scoff and laugh. “Fuck that guy. Weak for some mediocre pussy. Nancy isn’t even that hot.”

“She’s not hot at all!” Tommy raises his voice, jealousy taking over him. It’s kind of cute. I bite my lip. If I can’t have Steve, maybe a fun time with Tommy’ll do.

I knock my ankle into his, “Hey, let’s put on a tape. I’m bored.”

Tommy moves fast, scrambles to slam a VHS tape in the VCR. It’s in the middle, stopped whenever Tommy came. A couple, in a backyard. On a blanket on grass and the guys eating out the woman. I think of Steve. Assume Tommy did too.

I scoot over, thigh flush against Tommy’s once he sits back down. I put my hand on his knee, smooth it up his thigh and turn to look at him. Tommy’s cute. I like his freckles and his lips. So I lean in and kiss the corner of them. He’s quick, moving his head to capture my lips in his. Tommy lets me know he’s desperate with his mouth and I haven’t really kissed a guy since I was home and I.. I hate that I prefer it.

I kiss him deeper, slip him some tongue and squeeze his thigh. The fucker moans into my mouth, sucks on my tongue and turns his body so we’re facing each other. I reel back so Tommy can lay against the armrest and I crowd in between his thighs, cup his jaw as I keep kissing him. Grind down against him and he’s grabbing handfuls of my ass. I’m getting hard, trying not to imagine it’s Steve under me.

He writhes against me, it’s heady. Makes me feel powerful. Wonder if I’m the first guy Tommy’s fooled around with. Can’t imagine him and Steve doing this because it turns me on like nothing else. I pull back and ask him, “You and Steve kiss?”

“Once,” he whispers, pulling me down on him closer. Rolls his hips up.

“You watch him eat Carol out?” I ask.

“Uh huh,” he nods, smoothes his hand up my back and pulls me back down for another kiss. “Jerked off while I watched,” he mumbles into my mouth.

My hips jerk forward on their own volition. I bite Tommy’s lip and pull his hair, eyes on his when I ask, “You ever suck dick?”

“N-no,” he stutters out.

“Want to?”

“Please.”

I pull back and sit against the cushions, “C’mon then.”

Tommy sinks to the ground between my legs, fingers fumbling with my buttons but he manages to get my pants off. Bats his eyelashes up at me, like he’s seen Carol do, I think.

I knit my fingers in his hair and roll my hips up, “Suck my cock, Tommy.”

He groans, it’s low and guttural and I help him get my underwear down. My cock springs out, excited and leaking at the promise of another man’s lips around it. He grabs it, hard. Squeezes the base of it and I moan, letting myself relax. Tommy won’t tell anyone. He can’t admit he did this.

Tommy’s lips are pretty and pink as they wrap around the head of my cock. I’m met with the warm wetness of his tongue. Rubbing against my head. It’s ten fold better than a woman. Tommy’s cute and I forget about Steve for a while. It's easy to be into this. I grab another handful of Tommy’s hair and coax him further along my cock. Groaning when I do and he returns it, voice vibrating along my cock and I feel it in my sack. Can’t help but jerk up at his face, pushing further down his throat.

His hands grab my thighs, lets my hand guide him up and down. Keeps blinking up at him. I don’t last long. Shooting down his throat and he gags with it, spitting my spunk over my cock as he pulls off of it.

“Stand up,” I tell him and he listens. “Get your dick out.”

Tommy’s all dumb, struggling to get his jeans and underwear down to his thighs and I sit up straight as he gets his cock out. I wrap my fingers around the base, hold him steady and get my lips on him. Suck at the head, keep squeezing the base, not allowing myself to imagine Steve because then I’m really gonna suck his cock. And Tommy’s a lot smaller than Steve. But his freckles go all the way down to his cock and I dig it. Think that’s cute. I give him the best fucking head he’s had. Swallow his cum and then feel disgusting after. But the high’s worn off and I have to pick Max up.

Steve’s still there when I get there. I hold his eye contact this time. Flip him off when he waves.

“Why aren’t you hanging out with Steve anymore?” Max asks once we’re a block from the arcade.

I snort, light up a smoke and exhale it right in the little brats face, “None of your fucking business, shitbird.”

“He asked how you were doing,” she mumbles, body almost completely facing the passenger door. And she says it so quietly I barely heard her.

And alright, that’s a strange feeling in my stomach. I just laugh though and for some reason, I tell her, “Dude’s such a fucking faggot.”

But maybe I’m talking about myself.

Max doesn’t say anything else.

—

There’s Steve. A woman on his arm. Why he took her to this diner is laughable. I’m in a booth with Carol and Tommy. We make eye contact as him and the blonde sit down. Steve’s facing me and I can see the back of his date’s head. Her perms cheap and the bleach has fried he hair. Steve wears a striped shirt. His eyes don’t move past me or his date. Won’t look at Tommy or Carol but we all meet him with shit eating grins. Ready to fuck with him.

“Harrington bringing his date here instead of Enzo’s?” Carol cackles, “Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”

“Fucking pathetic,” Tommy agrees.

I frown and pick up a handle of fries, “Harrington knows a cheap whore when he sees one. Picky with daddy’s mastercard.”

Carol and Tommy giggle and I stretch arms over the back of the booth, eyes locked on the pretty ones that belong to Harrington. Chewing rudely on the fries as I formulate my next move. I’m gonna fuck up his date. I just have to figure out how.

I feel the bitter sting of jealousy as I stare at the mess of permed hair taking Steve’s attention. Can’t help but think he’s into blonde curls and how mine are natural and not from a bottle. His body language is anxious. Eyes keep darting from the slut to me. I lick my lips before smirking, showing him my teeth. I wanna walk up, slink into the booth beside Harrington and kiss him filthy. Grab his junk and make out with him in front of this bitch. Hate her because she has something Steve wants. And I’ve been staring at my dick in the mirror, pissed it’s not what Steve’s into.

I light a cigarette, suck on it harshly, hollow my cheeks out. Wonder what he’s been saying about me to his posse of preteens. The jealous and anger bubbles up so much I find my feet stalking over to the couple. I do sit beside Steve and get a good look at this bitches face. It’s pretty. I haven’t fucked her and I wonder if I could steal her out from under Steve right now.

“Hiya, doll,” I wink at her before stretching my arm around Steve’s shoulders. “Nice date?”

She looks stoked, eyes like stars on Steve and I grip his shoulder, pulling him closer as I turn my head to face him, “Why wouldn’t it be? He has it all. Great hair, pretty face and the richest parents in this shithole.”

“I’m having fun,” she giggles out, eyes locked on Steve fucking Harrington. And why wouldn’t they be. His skins clear, bright and so soft. I wanna lick his face as I look at him too.

“I bet you are,” I smirk, move my hand to the back of Steve’s head and card my fingers in his hair, “Maybe he can bring you home and show you his freak porn collection.”

“What?” The girls face falls.

“Oh, yeah. Big ‘ol tub of it. Organized very precisely,” I tell her, unable to hide the grin spreading across my face. I tug on his hair. He looks pissed. “He uses sticky notes as his bookmarks. Man jerks off like the IRS is gonna come audit his spank bank. Huh, Stevie Boy?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Steve mumbles.

“He’s being humble. Must’ve spent a fortune on the collection,” I say as I use my grip on his hair to shake his head. I move my hands to the table and lift myself up, “You kids have fun, now!”

I walk back towards Tommy and Carol and sink back down in the booth, watching as Steve’s date rushes away from their table and the lanky boy follows,

“What did you do?!” Carol squeals, cheeks fluffy and swollen from joy.

“Told her about his killer porn collection,” I say, reaching for my glass of coke with a satisfied smile.

[stevewhoreington]

after practice, steve skips the shower and billy takes that as his cue to do the same.

he hangs back while steve walks on, sloping out of the locker room with his gym bag slung over one shoulder. he doesn’t look back to check if billy’s watching because he doesn’t need to. billy’s always watching and they both know it.

he rummages around in his backpack like he’s lost something, but billy’s only trying to kill time; letting the clock tick before he follows steve out. he counts the seconds until he’s passing one hundred and twenty, and a little more than two minutes is enough time. it’s reasonable.

his backpack is thrown over his shoulder and his sneakers pound the locker room floor until they’re squeaking down the main hallway and eventually hitting asphalt.

it’s cold out, bitter air drying the sweat on his skin and making him itch. it’s what he gets for not throwing his shirt back on.

there’s no point now because steve’s already swinging by, bimmer slowing right down to a stop by billy’s side. like a true fucking gentleman, steve stretches over the passenger seat and flings the door open.

billy glances over his shoulder before he climbs inside the car and steve’s already driving before he can shut the door. scoffing for the sake of it, billy mutters, “somebody’s eager,” and maybe steve is, maybe they both are, but that’s not the reason why they need to be hasty.

the drive is silent. the radio stays switched off and neither of them utter a word. there’s nothing to say. billy isn’t sitting in steve’s passenger seat to talk. it’s quiet and it’s still, just like it always is, a strange, hot tension between them, pulling tight and taut. when they reach their usual spot and steve kills the engine, the stillness is cut like thread and they’re both out of the front seat, rushing to climb into the back.

their lips are meeting in a hurry and billy nearly chokes on the laugh that he swallows when steve bumps his head against the top of the car. it’s a hell of a rush, and it always is. nothing ever changes, even now that they have a usual spot, a familiar routine. even now, knowing how the other tastes. it’s all hurried; a frenzied thing, like they’re desperate to remember why they’re here in the first place.

swapping spit is the closest they’ll get to speaking. steve’s tongue curls behind billy’s teeth and, as though it’s the green light they’re waiting on, they both reach out to grab each other by the drawstring of their shorts. hips bumping and hands knocking hands, it’s chaos and it makes the job ten times harder. billy’s the first to get a hand in steve’s shorts, fingers crawling beneath the waistband of his underwear until they’re stroking through hair and, finally, wrapping around the hardness that’s waiting for him. steve is hot in his palm, already slick. a fraction of a second later, and steve’s gripping billy’s cock, squeezing a low groan out of him.

on their knees and with their heads bowed, their wrists do the talking. they’re synchronised, jerking each other at the same speed, and if one quickens the pace, the other catches up without even thinking about it. billy’s dazed, drifting, but when steve breaks the kiss, it wakes him up like the blaring of an alarm clock, yanking him from his dreamworld to show him what’s real.

“come on,” steve whispers, and when he falls down to his back, billy follows, their noses bumping before he can adjust himself.

he’s swaying back in for another kiss, mouth damp and shining, but steve tips his face away and grips onto billy’s shoulders. pushes, until billy gets the hint and he shuffles down the length of steve’s body. it’s cramped on the backseat, which means that billy’s sneakers knock against the windows when he lowers himself onto his stomach between steve’s thighs. steve doesn’t complain. shouldn’t, because billy’s dipping in to kiss steve’s cock over his gym shorts; giving in, and giving steve what he wants.

billy’s the one who should be complaining. he can’t remember the last time steve gave him head. somehow, they always end up just like this, billy’s head between steve’s thighs, stomach flipping with anticipation, mouth filling with drool.

but.

he likes it too much to complain. he loves it, in fact.

especially after practice when he can taste the salt on steve’s skin and smell the deep, warm musk of dried sweat trapped in his pubic hair. it’s gross, but billy’s never claimed to be decent.

he brings steve’s cock out of his shorts and, really, he wants to take his time. he wants to take the sight in with his eyes and he wants to tease with his tongue. wants to inhale steve’s scent and make him squirm.

he can’t. it’s not how they do things, and stuffed together on the backseat of steve’s car, time is a luxury that they can’t afford. billy’s toes are already numb in his sneakers, pins and needles stabbing at him and promising cramp. it’s the last thing on his mind when steve’s cock is throbbing just an inch away from his mouth, hard and flushed and already beading at the tip. just as hungry for it as billy is.

he licks his lips and parts them, ducking in to take steve into his mouth. there are no luxuries allowed here, so billy swallows him down, not quite smooth but definitely practised, and skips any teasing.

as always, it's fast. steve's fingers are soon finding billy's hair, getting lost in his curls and tugging harshly every time he hits the back of billy's throat. it's a thrill - the combination of the rough strikes his throat's taking and the duller, sharper twinge of pain across his scalp. it works together nicely, and billy's soon dipping his hand beneath his own shorts, picking up where steve left off and jerking himself in time to every quick bob of his head.

steve communicates with his hands and the noises from his throat. he guides billy to slow down or speed up, and he warns billy that he's close when he groans low and hard and slow, the noise rumbling from deep inside his chest. his fingers claw at billy's hair desperately, urging him to keep going, keep sucking, and billy wishes that steve would just tell him, sometimes. wishes that he'd just say don't stop or keep going, just like that.

he never does. because they don't talk.

the hot, salty slick on his tongue makes up for it. steve comes and billy never pulls off before he does. it's for him, it's his. it's what he's been working hard to get. the taste of it alone is the push that billy needs to get himself off, palm cupping his own balls as he shoots his mess into his gym shorts. at the same time, billy swallows steve's cum down, every last tangy drop, pathetically grateful for it. when billy draws back and steve slips from his mouth, his lips are wet and sticky, chin shining with spit and jizz.

this next part is never graceful.

billy coughs, throat hoarse and sore. wipes his mouth off on the back of his free hand and brings his other out of his shorts, fingers coated.

they move together to put some necessary space between them. like billy’s mouth isn’t damp from sucking steve’s cock, throat raw and abused, he climbs away as though steve’s a perfect stranger.

cocks tucked away, they climb out of the backseat and into the front. no word is shared between them. it’s a silent dance of a process, every step careful and pre-planned, until the second that steve starts the engine and the rumbling of the bimmer takes the edge off the tension.

billy digs around in his backpack. it’s tucked between his sneakers in the footwell, and when he finds his discarded shirt screwed up in a ball, he wipes his sticky hand off on it. it doesn’t do much, but it means he can snag his crushed packet of cigarettes without smearing cum on them and that feels like some kind of achievement.

the stick sits in his mouth while he rolls down the window. the car is hot and stuffy, but the cold air that filters through is quick to wash out the heat, trailing goosebumps up and down billy’s bare arms. when he lights the cigarette, the snick of his lighter and the hiss of the cherry are almost overbearingly loud in the silence; intrusive.

billy fills the car with the a steady haze of smoke, eyes heavy and body still floating, coming down from his climax. somehow, the journey back to the school’s parking lot is more tense than the journey away from it. the quiet gives billy the perfect opportunity to think about what they’ve just done - what they keep doing - and it never gets any easier.

they’re approaching the school when steve clears his throat and says, “nice work on the court today.”

“don’t,” billy states, voice flat and empty, despite the inward panic. his cigarette is nearly down to the filter, tasting bitter on his tongue, and he tosses the remains out of the window, watching it in the side mirror as they drive away. it grows smaller and smaller and smaller until it’s gone altogether, and that’s when steve turns into the lot and steps on the brakes.

he says nothing. doesn’t repeat his mistake from earlier. doesn’t try to initiate conversation.

good. because that’s not what billy’s here for, and. it’s not what they do. they can’t do it.

billy’s out in a hurry, watching over his shoulder the entire time. nobody’s around. nobody’s watching when he grabs his backpack and slams the door behind him.

steve isn’t watching when he makes it to his car. steve’s already rolling towards the main road, indicator flickering as he pulls out of the parking lot far more sensibly, far less hurried, than he had earlier, but.

billy’s watching because he always does.

he watches steve’s car gain speed until it’s fading in the distance, just an unfinished cigarette dropped in the middle of the road, burning until it’s out of sight.

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[e92]

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[artaxlivs]

Even Flowers Have Their Dangers

“Henderson! Why, pray tell, is your douchebag babysitter getting out of his douchemobile and coming this way?” 

Fucking Harrington, man. Eddie felt conflicted every time the kids even said his name. His heartbeat always went a little haywire and he wasn’t sure if it was because his flight response always activated around the guy or because Harrington was so fucking hot it was unreal. Considering that Eddie had a type and that type was “dangerous and pretty,” it was probably both.

“Is he?” Dustin looks over his shoulder, grinning his goofy grin. “Hey Steve!” The kid’s hand lifts in a wave as Steve makes his way toward them.

“Henderson. Go get in the car with the other gremlins, I want to have a word with your dragon master.” Steve smiles fondly, nudging the kid toward his waiting car. Guy just screams preppy. Collar popped, jeans so damn tight that Eddie's getting a sympathy wedgie. No boxer line on his thigh which means that Harrington is a brief guy. Not that Eddie is thinking about his underwear, it’s just an observation.

“Dungeon Master, Steve. I swear you’re getting it wrong on purpose.” Dustin sighs, rolling his eyes but starts toward the car.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Steve calls back over his shoulder before turning to Eddie who hopes he wasn’t caught staring. His heartbeat does something funny before he gets a handle on himself and leans into his usual false bravado.

Swinging away from the auditorium door, Eddie throws his arms out in a full extension, lowering himself into a bow, “To what do I owe this illustrious visit, your royal highness?”

Harrington looks uncomfortable now, the ease that he’d approached with, gone, his shoulders hunched up, face looking pained as he tucks his hands into his pockets - well, he tries to - there’s not a lot of extra room in those 501s. “Cut it out. I just wanted to tell you not to leave the kids here alone if you guys get out early. Nothing that you have to do is important enough to leave them in the dark without protection.” His voice is clipped, jaw set, and Eddie realizes that he’s annoyed, maybe even angry.

What the fuck is that about? He’s all chummy when Henderson is watching but now that the kid’s gone, he’s slid back into asshole mode? Eddie knew it. He knew the kids couldn’t possibly be getting the real Steve Harrington if they actually thought he was a good guy. Wonder why he was putting on an act though - was he trying to get Nancy Wheeler back through her brother?

“Maybe I didn’t hear you right?” Eddie says with a hard edge, all flamboyance dropped. “You’re telling me? Not asking me?”

Fuck that. Who the fuck is this prep to tell him that he needs to watch over a bunch of high school kids? They’re like fourteen and fifteen. Eddie was selling drugs at fourteen, some kids have jobs, they walk home, not all of us were born with a silver spoon and a Bimmer - where the fuck does Harrington think they live that its too dangerous for three teenage boys to not stand outside for five minutes?

“Yeah.” He snaps, “I’m telling you. Don’t leave them outside without an adult.”

“Fuck you, Harrington. I’m not their babysitter. They were fine. If you’re that worried, you should be here earlier. I had shit to do.” He didn’t. Not really. He’d just had a shit day, shit week really, and wanted to go home to smoke a joint. He should have waited. He knew he should have but Harrington calling him out on it just pisses him off.

“Seriously, Munson?” Steve scoffs, shaking his head. “I knew you’d be a dick. You know their best friend is Will Byers, right?” Fuck. Eddie did not know that. Just that Mike’s best friend Will lived in California. Not that it was the Byers kid who went missing years ago. Damn. Eddie feels even worse now but fuck if he’s telling Harrington that. Steve’s voice softens though, “Just, please. If you know it’s gonna be an early night, let the kids know so they can radio me to be here earlier. I’m asking, okay?”

“Radio you? Like - you guys have walkie talkies or something?” Were they for real? What is this Cloak and Dagger?

Across the parking lot, Steve’s horn blares and they both look up to see Mike leaning over the driver seat to press on it.

“Keep your fucking shirt on!” Steve yells then grumbles under his breath, “Fucking Wheeler.”

Eddie should just agree and be done with it, he’s not gonna leave them alone after learning about Byers anyway but damn if Harrington and his pompous attitude don’t get under his skin. Instead, he says flippantly, “How ‘bout the King worries about his own court and leaves me the fuck out of it, yeah?”

He doesn’t wait around to see Steve’s reaction, just skips over to his van and climbs in. He’s got her started and is pulling out of the parking lot before he glances back at Harrington. It looks like Steve is already lecturing the kids about something. Eddie just shakes his head and drives off, leaving them to it.

As he’s pulling up to the trailer an hour later with a little more cash and a little less weed, Eddie almost expects to find a fancy rich boy car waiting for him. He doesn’t. He’s going to pretend that he’s disappointed about that because he wanted to argue with Harrington, not for any other reason. 

What he does find though, is a big motherfucking dog. It’s just sitting next to the trailer steps and Eddie’s seen Cujo so fuck if he’s getting out of the safety of this metal box. Hell no. He can wait.

After five minutes of waiting, they’re still in a stand off and Eddie’s thinking about starting his van and just leaving to sleep some place else. What? He’s a coward and that dog in Cujo put him off petting dogs for weeks afterward. No way is he getting out, alone, in the fucking dark to that behemoth of a dog. No one would even come if he screamed. This is a trailer park, ignoring screams is part of the lease agreement.

Just as he puts his keys back into the ignition, the dog tilts his head to the side, tongue lolling out for a few breaths before it gets up and trots over to Eddie’s driver side door. This close, it’s not quite as big as he thought but it’s still the biggest dog he’s ever seen. Some kind of Husky mix or something. He doesn’t know shit about dogs but it looks like a really fluffy sled dog. Poofy tail and everything. It tilts it’s head again and Eddie rolls his window down slowly.

It’s ears perk up and it looks happy. Which is maybe a thing dogs do? He wouldn’t know, honestly. He’s never had a dog. 

Eddie slides one hand out, curled into a fist because he doesn’t want to lose a finger to Cujo here. He needs those fingers for various reasons. Like guitar playing, dice rolling and other non sexual things.

The dog leans in, sniffs the hand, bumps it with his cold wet nose and then nuzzles it so Eddie’s knuckles graze into the soft gray fur on his forehead. Eddie’s barely breathing, his heart is racing and his legs are all clenched like he would run if he wasn’t sitting in his car. Extending his trembling fingers, he scratches the top of the dog’s head. The dog swear-to-god sighs. 

“Hey there, big boy. Whatcha doing?” Eddie whispers softly, opening his door to step out. The dog shuffles back just enough for Eddie to slide out from behind the door. His fur is soft and silky between Eddie’s fingers. “Oh look at you, so pretty. You know you are, too, don’t you?” The dog seems to preen with the praise so Eddie lays it on thicker, “Yeah you do. What are you doing out here? No collar but you must belong to someone, you’re too pretty to be running wild in Hawkins.”

After a few more runs through the fur on his back, Eddie reaches back into the van, rolls the window back up and grabs his bag. He can’t stay out here all night so he heads toward the front door. The dog follows. “Uncle Wayne’s gonna kill me.” Eddie sighs, knowing he’s a sucker and he’s 100% going to let this dog into the trailer.

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[rajeshvaidya]

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