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thinger-strang · 4 years

Note

Also: 22. "How do I tell him/her/them I want to tie him/her/them up and not fuck him/her/them?"

this took me so long I'm so sorry

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Billy always pushes Steve away when they get too intimate. It's not really on purpose, kind of like a reflex thing.

"Like when the doctor puts the popsicle stick on the back of your tongue and you try to push them away," is how Billy explained it after flopping back onto the bed, frustrated.

Which is fine, he's basically relearning what love is and how to let himself be touched and how to trust the people he's around. Steve's not upset, would never get upset about Billy setting boundaries and trying to stay in his comfort zone.

But

Billy says he's ready to go, he wants to let himself be with Steve, to be touched and held and loved. He just can't get over that first bump, can't make himself take that leap.

So Steve has an idea. An insane idea, but honestly it might work.

How the hell do I tell him I want to tie him up and not fuck him though?

Steve's laying upside down on their couch, trying to figure out exactly how he's going to present this to Billy.

He's got the rope, which was a whole embarassing ordeal, and the general plan of what he's going to do once Billy's bound. But how to pop that question is a puzzle.

The cushion next to Steve creaks and jostles him around as Billy settles upside down next to Steve. Both of them are aware of the inch between them.

They both turn to stare at each other.

"What're we doin' upside down, sunflower." Billy knocks Steve's foot with his own.

"Thinking. Dustin told me it increases blood flow to the brain, which helps with the thought process."

"What are we thinking about?"

"You."

Billy smiles the scrunchie half smile that's only for Steve.

"I wanna try something?" Steve's breathless already. "Or maybe just lay it out and see what you think, because it's a little weird, especially for us, and you can totally say no, it's just a crazy thought I had a while ago and I can't stop thinking about it but--"

"Steve, honeysuckle, it's fine, just say it." Billy reaches over the links their pinkies.

"I wanna tie you up." Steve's face grows hot and undoubtable red as Billy starts to frown. "And not do anything sexy, I just wanna tie you up and kiss you everywhere, and I thought it might help with your reflex thing? But, I mean, you can totally back out if it's too much, obviously." Steve's twisting their linked pinkies around a little while staring at the wall.

"Okay."

Steve turns to face Billy again and smiles real big. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, I think that'd work. Should we have a safeword?"

"If you want? But you can just tell me to stop and I'll stop."

"Okay, I can do that." Billy hauls himself up.

Steve rolls off the couch and lets his brain stop spinning for a second. Billy reaches over and taps Steve's chin.

When they first started dating, after Billy got out of the hospital, they had a sort of made-up language for when Billy couldn't talk. Chin tapping meant asking for a kiss and one of the only signs they really kept using on all days.

Steve presses a sweet kiss onto Billy's lips before standing and leading the way to the bedroom.

He pulls the rope from a drawer while Billy sits down on the bed.

"Okay so take off as many clothes as you feel comfortable with while I explain what I had in mind and you can change what you want to."

Billy stripped down to his boxers and a tee shirt while Steve told him he wanted to tie Billy's arms behind his back and have him sitting up with Steve in his lap. Billy agrees and sits with his back facing Steve.

After a few minutes of tying silk ropes and testing knots and making sure nothing's too tight, Billy's leaning against the pillows stacked by the headboard with Steve straddling his lap.

"You okay so far? Anything uncomfortable?"

"For the hundredth time, yes, everything is great and no, nothing uncomfortable."

"Okay well humor me, one hundred and one--"

"Steve!" Billy laughs and presses his face into Steve's collarbone.

Steve reaches up to tangle his hand into Billy's hair. Feels Billy tense and relax and tense again.

"Just tell me if it's too much, okay?"

"Promise, marigold."

Steve starts at his hairline, pressing kisses while tracing circles around Billy's nape.

He kisses and kisses and kisses everywhere he can, runs his hands all over, listening and watching for Billy's reactions.

Billy has to stop Steve a few times, tells him to wait while he calms down, resting his forehead on Steve's shoulder.

They end up doing this a lot; on days when Billy's overwhelmed and just needs Steve to love on him, on bad days when Billy can't see how good he is, on random days, really whenever they want to.

Billy's tied up again as Steve's kissing him so soft and deep and sweet.

"Untie me, untie me, untie me," Billy says, rushed and still pressing kisses into Steve's mouth.

Steve lifts off of Billy's lap and starts taking out the knots, too focused on getting that done to feel Billy still kissing him, trailing them down Steve's neck.

Once Billy's loose, Steve moves to put distance between them before Billy pulls Steve back down and shuffles down the bed so he's more horizontal, still holding Steve in his place. He pulls Steve down into a kiss by the back of his neck, smiling into it as he lets his hands roam all over Steve.

It's been months of Steve giving Billy all this touching and loving and suddenly he's getting it all back, full force. It'd be overwhelming if it didn't feel so amazing to have Billy trace shapes all over his hips and press kisses into his neck.

"Think I'll tie you up next time, daffodil, whaddya think about that?"

"Please? Is that a good enough answer?"

Billy laughs and Steve feels it in all of his ribs.

"It is snapdragon," Billy mumbles into Steve's chest.

Billy furrows his brow when Steve starts moving. Hides his face in Steve's neck when he reaches for the waistband of Steve's sweats.

Steve holds Billy's wrists gently and feels him let out a big sigh.

"Just because you're more comfortable with touching now doesn't mean we have to have sex. I wasn't lying when I said I'm okay not having sex."

"You were moving around, I thought you were asking."

"Your face was tickling my neck, I wasn't trying to grind on you!" Billy wraps his arms around Steve again and tries to bury himself into Steve's neck.

Steve tugs on Billy's hair to pull him from his hiding place and cups his face. "I would be okay if you did want to have sex, I'm pretty sex indifferent."

"I think I might be ace too."

"Yeah?"

"I mean, it took me forever just to build up to touching, if I do want sex it's not gunna be for a long ass time. Like am I sexually attracted to you? No but do I want to push you into the mattress and add some more hickeys to your chest? Hell yeah."

Steve snorts and peppers kisses all over Billy's face.

"Better get started then cowboy, pretty sure all the old ones are almost faded."

Billy scrunches up his nose while smirking and dives in.

#harringrove #fic #my writings #ace!steve #ace!billy #i made them both ace again whoops

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lesbiaine · 6 years

Note

wait did i miss some shit or is this hate funkylittlelesbians tuesday

no youre absolutely right is IS hate funkylittlelesbians tuesday

#ask #real talk tho i made a post about harringrove shipper and... tagged it whoops dosblsbs so now theyre all collectively loosing their shit an #LOVE the concept tho #shamballas

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neonponders · 2 years

Text

I don’t think I’ll be able to finish anything for our July Mini-Harringrove Week, so here’s a ficlet dump of 3 incomplete drabbles haha

Like a Hurricane (July 30th, Blackout at Starcourt Mall)

Scoops Ahoy was the only store in all of Starcourt Mall apart from the movie theater that had its own backup generator. In typical bullshit fashion, the manager taught Steve how to operate it instead of Robin during employee training, but joke’s on him because as far as Steve was concerned, the whole inventory of frozen lactose could melt for all he cared.

That is, until a tropical storm sweeps through Hawkins.

“Oh. Cool,” Steve commented dryly in the silence that followed the entire mall losing power. The vacuum of silence after every single store, light bulb, and stereo died was an exciting relief. Kids quickly filled the lobby with whoops and hollers, like this was better than when the power went out at school.

Robin retorted in her usual bored tone, “Leave it to Hawkins to not take weather reports seriously—there’s a downsized hurricane outside, dingus. The lights are not coming back on.”

Nevertheless, Steve flicked the light switch on and off in such a way that made Robin grimace at him. “Stop that and get the generator going, already.”

“The ice cream won’t melt in five minutes,” he refused, holstering his scooper, hanging his sailor hat on the bananas, and stepping outside the store to read the goings-on in the mall atrium. Since the place had a glass ceiling, darkness wasn’t an issue—

But the deluge of rain starting up might be. Sheets of rain carried on the wind beat against the glass above their heads. All at once, the mall lit up with electricity, but it was just a flicker. The mall went dark again with a telltale doom sound of permanent failure.

In its place, a flicker of lightning illuminated the distant clouds, not much for Zeus to brag about—until the follow-up thunder vibrated through the mall. Gasps escaped some of the adults but some of the smaller kids screamed.

Steve doubled back into Scoops Ahoy and threw his apron at Robin, “Hey!” on his way to the generator. The thing stood in one of the designated storage rooms in the staff hallways. He took the tarp off, checked the gas tank, and attached the extension cords where his manager had showed him. He had to call for Robin so they could both wheel the damn thing toward the door outside.

“What is the point of this if it has exhaust fumes?” she complained, right before opening the staff door got her yanked outside by the wind’s pull. “Woah! Holy shit.”

Steve laughed as she got doused in milliseconds. He ran to retrieve the tarp, understanding what that was for, now. It was clunky business, but the generator started up just fine, and they used a leftover cinderblock to hold the door shut over the extension cords so the wind kept its greedy mitts off of it.

Steve raked his sodden hair off his face as they sloshed back into Scoops. He flicked the switches in the backroom and crooned, “Let there be light.”

A soft smile moved Robin’s features. “Let’s close shop. Anyone with a car is going to be hauling ass out of here anyways.”

At least, they started to get the lids for the gallon containers in the display case, but some commotion in the atrium made them stand in the Scoops entrance. Their heads craned upward to hear the employees of the GAP arguing with customers about using the phone.

“The phones aren’t working! It’s a blackout!”

“What about down there?”

“You telling us that the whole mall doesn’t have backup power?”

“If anywhere has functioning telephones, it’s the movie theater, but they’re probably swamped with people using them right now.”

It didn’t take long for Steve and Robin to face the brunt of customers’ panic. Robin retaliated, “You heard them upstairs. Whatever is powering this place is out of order. The best we can do is light up our one store, but the phones are still out.”

Robin heaved a massive breath of impatience while Steve took over. “Do we look like electricians to you? It’s a small generator for keeping our fridges working. We can give people water, ice cream, and some fruit but that’s it.”

Then a large man at least three times their age shoved past them, knocking Steve out of the way in order to get to the phone. Steve hissed, “Jesus!” when his back hit the doorway. It didn’t take long for the plastic clattering of buttons and the phone handset getting beaten over its base unit.

Scoops Ahoy was quickly becoming a first come, first seated place, and the most selfish were winning the unspoken competition—

A whistle blew, loud and obnoxious. Robin leaned toward Steve and muttered, “When did he get here?”

“He’s probably supposed to pick up Max.”

“Is that one of your children you let through the back of the theater?” she taunted.

Steve smiled mirthlessly. “Yeah. The redhead.”

Billy Hargrove stood on one of the walls around the plant décor, holding onto one of the pillars as he blew his whistle again and bellowed, “ALRIGHT! LISTEN UP! You landlocked hurricane virgins have time to get home before the rest of the storm arrives. So if you have a car, get to it! Turn your headlights on and drive slowly. Some streets are probably flooded so think about higher ground, even if that means driving on the sidewalks. If any of you are willing to carpool, sort it out.

“As for the rest of you, adults and families need to get to the movie theater. There’s more space and food there to accommodate you. They have their own generator. All kids without an adult need to get down here to Scoops Ahoy. That means all of you squatters already in there—move your asses.”

Most of the mob seemed ready to follow an authoritative voice. It helped that Billy was fresh off a work shift and wore his tank top emblazoned with LIFEGUARD across it. But even Hargrove was just a teenager in some people’s eyes.

The asshole bent on destroying Scoops’ phone lumbered out and barked, “The hell is some kid yelling orders for? Watch your mouth!”

Billy smiled with a lick of his lips. “I’m the guy keeping your shithead of a son in line every time you leave him at the pool like we’re some babysitter service, Mr. Cornwall. I’ll be sure to share your contact information with Scoops Ahoy if they decide to file a suit against you for roughing up their employees.”

He didn’t wait for a response. He blew his whistle and repeated, “Adults and families to the theater! Kids, to the ground floor!”

“Steve!”

He and Robin rotated and stayed out of the way of people leaving Scoops to see Lucas emerging from the staff hallway door. “Have you seen my sister?”

“Yeah, she’s on her way in here—”

“Look who’s trying to earn brownie points with mom and dad,” Erica Sinclair remarked.

Lucas rolled his eyes. “Would you shut up. There’s a storm outside and I’m in charge of making sure you don’t die. Don’t make me throw you out there.”

Robin informed, “All children are to stay in Scoops Ahoy until their parents either arrive or the storm passes. Since you’re Stevie’s children, you can have first dibs to the fresh fruit. But if I catch your grubby little hands in that ice cream case, Erica, you’re banned.”

Erica otherwise snorted, “Martial law is in effect, which means you can try.”

“Robin!” Steve called as he funneled kids and teens into the shop. “Get something to write people’s names down.”

She looked at Lucas. “There’s a whiteboard back there. Can you get it? And while you’re at it, get everyone’s names down. It should be an employee that handles the food and drinks.”

With their system of Steve on the outside, Erica and Lucas meandering the shop floor, and Robin in the back, Scoops became a little oasis in the dark blue light of the storm. Billy used his whistle and bark to bite people in the right directions, including Nancy and Jonathan rushing into the mall, soaked from the storm.

“You here to pick someone up?”

Nancy looked up at him, visibly confused as to why Billy Hargrove was an authoritative figure in the mall. “Yes, our brothers are friends with your sister. Or did you forget? Steve!”

“Nance?”

“Have you seen Mike and Will? They were supposed to be here.”

Steve pointed into the shop. “Talk to Lucas. I let them all into the theater, but they might’ve stayed there for the hot food.”

“Ask about Max while you’re at it,” said Billy, who sauntered up behind them.

Nancy’s brows furrowed but she wasn’t interested in a fight. She and Jonathan went into Scoops while Steve, however, asked, “Why can’t you ask yourself?”

“Because I will not be kind to the so-called boyfriend that left her in the theater during a tropical storm.”

Steve glanced around to see if any more kids were on their way and grumbled, “Don’t trip over those shits you’re giving.”

He pivoted to go into the shop, but Billy gripped his arm above the elbow. “Where are you off to?”

“To help Robin keep a hoard of little shits fed and content. If you want to be of help, go upstairs and get some blankets from the GAP.”

Billy frowned and said like a question, “It’s July.”

“It’s a comfort thing,” Steve sighed, “and some of them have to sit on the floor. Just get the blankets and maybe I’ll let you have a jar of cherries.”

Billy smirked venomously. “What makes you think I want a jar of cherries?”

Far from perturbed, Steve set his hands on his hips and informed just as cockily, “The time I asked Max if she wanted a cherry on her ice cream, and she almost gagged. Apparently watching someone eat a whole jar before vomiting leaves a scar.”

Billy’s mouth pursed into an annoyed line, but he made his voice low to ask, “Are you still pissed about—”

“Yes, I’m still pissed,” Steve snapped, jaw tight and testing him to say something else.

Billy didn’t. He just cocked a brow like Steve was being a royal bitch and took his damn time walking up the escalators like regular stairs.

Nancy and Jonathan weren’t the only ones to rush into the mall. Like a line of cars outside of a school, parents’ vehicles piled up outside. Billy handed off the GAP blankets to Robin, and joined Steve in keeping the parents calm and organized. Erica hollered names from the whiteboard, and slowly but surely, crossed them out as the kids left with their parents, or carpooled with friends.

Scoops stood half empty by the time Nancy exclaimed, “There you are!”

Steve and Billy glanced inside to see Mike, Max, and the rest coming in from the staff hallways.

[ the premise is that Harringrove is already established but they’re in the middle of a fight when a tropical storm hits. The weather brings out the protectiveness in both of them and they team work to keep the rest of the mall brats safe. ]

The Case of the Missing Watermelon (July 30th, Last Day of Summer Camp)

“HARGROVE! Billy! Come on, man!”

Steve was tired of yelling after him. It was the last day of summer camp, for god sake, let alone seven in the morning.

As that smug face cruised over the periwinkle-peach sunrise reflected in the lake, strong arms visible in the murky green water, Steve shook his head over a huff. “You can swim in the lake after we’ve wrangled the kids onto the buses. Come on.”

Billy sassed on his way up the latter on the dock, “Yeah, yeah. Don’t tear through your lace panties on my account.”

Steve through his Camp Counselor t-shirt at his chest and started across the dock. “I’m just as ready to be done with this job as you.”

[ I really only wrote the beginning of this one haha but it’s a summer camp counselors au plus Billy being a werewolf (yes, very inspired by The Quarry). He’s been on his best behavior so that he can get paid, run around during the full moon, and not attack the delicious feast that is Steve Harrington. But camp ends on another full moon and Billy is ramped up. The only thing holding him together is the promise of all the watermelon left in the kitchens...except the kitchens are empty. ]

Scrape My Knees. Call Me Pretty. (July 31st, Summer School)

“Out of the way, deadbeat.”

Billy looked back before he meant to. He knew who was getting hustled without seeing him.

His eyes locked with Steve Harrington. King Steve. Dethroned.

It was just a second. A second in which Billy stopped rummaging through his backpack, heard a basketball teammate get snide, and then boom. Big, brown eyes…

Eyes that were different. A solid wall stood behind those whiskey pools where there hadn’t been one six months ago. Billy would say he beat it into him, but as the gossip mill gradually delivered him the finer details of Steve’s abdication, Billy wasn’t so sure anymore.

“Kegger tonight, Hargrove. You in?”

Like a spell breaking, Billy poised his knee against the wall of lockers so his bag could rest on his thigh while he cleaned out his locker. Last day of school, and all that. The teammate who’d asked now reached into his locker for the letterman hanging on one of the hooks. He shook it out and dropped it over Billy’s shoulders.

Steve had one of these. He’d stopped wearing it. Granted, it was hotter than hell outside and it was only May. But that didn’t stop the varsity dip shits from wearing theirs inside the air conditioned halls.

“Yeah, man,” Billy dodged. He didn’t know if he felt like going to a senior party or not, yet. “Ride with someone else. I got shit to do first.”

“At 10pm?”

“Your mom yowls like a cat in heat when I’m late, so.”

That got the reaction he wanted and the scrutiny off his back. The last day of school for seniors was like a housekeeping day. Final exams: done. Graduation: in a week. The last day was just a time for everyone to clean out their academic and gym lockers, turn in any tardy assignments, re-take tests, or in Billy’s case: talk to his summer school teachers.

He didn’t particularly give a shit about anyone knowing, but he’d spent his entire time in Hawkins fuming about how a couple of his classes didn’t transfer properly. He had the grades, damn it. Maybe not spectacular ones since he’d had a social life back home, but still. Now he was stuck taking a month-long concentration in bullshit he’d already done the labor for.

Billy stuck around for a couple of the classes that were just showing movies. He had nowhere else to be, so a little bit of Indiana Jones in chemistry and Twilight Zone episodes in -

[ Yep, that’s it lol but this one is inspired by @saltstuck ‘s art of jock Billy and skaterboy Steve. The (dark; tw for mental health stuff) premise is that after the fight at the Byers’, Steve really undergoes a change. Billy is king while Steve takes up skating because he enjoys it, he gets to hang out with Max and the kids, but it’s also a round-about way of self-harm because he’s not in the best mental state. He only feels validated with scrapes and bruises on his body, and as summer school starts up, he has a class with the one and only Billy Hargrove, who starts to really investigate Steve’s personality. ]

#i'm sorry i couldn't finish these on time #maybe later #harringrove #harringroveweek #(this doesn't have to be included in the harringroveweek reblogs haha)#ficlets #neonponders

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sunwarmed-ash · 2 years

Text

🔥Sinful Sunday🔥

Ride With U

Fandom: Stranger Things

Ship: Harringrove

Tags: Enemies to friends to lovers, Lovers on the run, Gay Billy Hargrove, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Superpowers, Psychic kids

“So, what's your superpower?” Steve pivoted, feeling a little awkward having a tiff in front of an audience of strangers.

That question made Billy tense up for some reason before he shrugged like it was nothing and blew out his tobacco smoke.

“Don't have one.”

“Bullllllllsssssssshit,” Steve dragged out, “You all have one. That's part of the whole thing, right? What is it?”

Billy took two more, long pulls before standing. At first, Steve worried he pissed him off, enough that he prepared to follow him. But Billy didn't step away from the couch, instead, he reached to grab the hem of his shirt, lifting it up effortlessly before exposing his torso.

Axel snorted rudely in the space.

“So you’re ripped. Big fucking whoop! I would be too if I ate regularly and lived in a cozy little suburb-”

“How- long was I asleep?” Steve interrupted, hand trembling as he pointed to Billy’s flawless and specifically unbroken, unbruised skin.

I honestly did not see any new content coming out of my bone-dry muse barrel today but here we are. I hope you enjoy the chapter <3

#Sinful Sunday #Ride with u #Harringrove #Billy Hargrove #stranger things #steve harrington

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prettyboyporter · 4 years

Text

It Started Like This

also on ao3

for @lissieisspacey for harringrove for BLM, who wanted the story behind the cat drawn in this art by @artzeppo

1.5k | M

It started with Steve clearing out his savings account.

He marched into the bank kind of in a daze, and before he knew it he was blinking in front of a teller and saying, I’d like to withdraw all of my money. She gave it to him, baffled, and he looked down at the stacks of bills -- the college fund that his dad had deposited that never came to fruition because no colleges would take him in addition to the tiny amount he’d managed to put in there from his Family Video earnings.

If he was in a daze before, he suddenly moved as if a meteorite would crash into the Earth if he didn’t hurry. He sped home, took the stairs two at a time, flung open two suitcases on his bed and jammed them full of clothes, a handful of pictures, the little league trophy from when he was nine, a few cassettes, and the little stuffed tiger Billy had given him last night that led to their first kiss.

He snapped them closed as soon as they were full, tossed them in the trunk, and squealed his tires as he took the corner hard toward Cherry Lane.

Neil Hargrove was outside watering his lawn when Steve came to a speeding halt in the driveway, sending gravel skittering.

“Can I help you?” Neil asked as Steve bounded up the stairs and let himself into the house.

“Nope, fuck off!” Steve shouted back over his shoulder.

“Hey!” Neil shouted but Steve didn’t hear what came next because he was already standing in Billy’s room, chest heaving, his lungs trying to catch up with the frenzy of activity.

Billy stood up from his bed and faced Steve, shock written all over his expression. “The fuck?”

Steve’s heart was banging against his sternum. He felt like he was going to pass out. “Come with me to California.”

“What?” Billy asked, a little hysterically.

“Pack a bag, Billy. Fuck it. Let’s just go. Me and you.”

Two heavy boot thumps came from Steve in Billy’s doorway. “You’ll go nowhere with this boy,” Neil said from behind Steve’s back.

Fire flared up in Billy’s eyes -- a fire that had been missing during Billy’s strenuous ten-month recovery from Starcourt.

Last night, the first time that Steve had ever kissed Billy, Billy’s eyes were soft and warm as Steve held the little stuffed tiger that Billy had given him.

Right now, Billy’s jaw twitched, and his eyes were cold as ice. “I’ll go where the fuck I want.”

“You’ll do exactly as I-”

Steve turned around and decked Neil, and Neil went down with a loud thump. I won again, Steve thought. Dustin would be proud.

Billy stood wide-eyed, silent. Time stretched out for a few moments as Billy blinked at his father on the ground. “Fuck you Neil,” he whispered down to Neil’s unconscious body splayed on the hallway floor.

Then, he went digging under his bed and pulled out a suitcase. He started emptying the contents of his dresser into it. “See those crates over there? Start dumping shit in them.”

The crates made up part of Billy’s makeshift vanity. Steve’d always felt sad when he looked at it that Billy had to make it himself since his dad didn’t simply buy him one. He pulled apart the vanity and started filling the crates with haircare products and cologne and random items from Billy’s shelf.

They stood at the trunk of the beemer holding all of Billy’s worldly possessions. Billy paused as he looked at the beemer, then looked over at his own car. His expression hardened. “Let’s take the Camaro,” he said. “Let’s bring her home.”

Steve nodded. It made sense. He wasn’t overly-connected with the beemer in any case.

He left the keys in Dustin’s mailbox with a hastily scribbled note on a Burger King napkin.

Dustin would be 16 soon enough, and he deserved to have a good car. The whole thing felt good and right and when they pulled away, Steve wiped at tears that he hoped were inconspicuous.

They make it through Indiana, Illinois, and most of Missouri smiling, whooping, and fist pumping. They blared Metallica and Ratt and Van Halen. The Camaro felt like a roller coaster flying past corn stalks, flitting greens and fields of golden wheat. Steve stuck his hand out the window and felt the breeze flow between his fingers, free and clear.

Billy laced his fingers through Steve’s on the seat between them. They stopped and shared their second kiss after eating, still tasting of greasy burgers and Cokes with the smell of asphalt in the air.

They shared their third kiss when they spent the night at a motel, neon lights in the middle of a dark night, shining through the crack in their curtains as they slept together but kissed lazily and spooned, too tired to take it any further, too drained after a day of driving and intense emotion. Steve buried his nose in Billy’s curls.

Steve drove the next day with Billy’s hand on his thigh. They drove past more corn while Billy complained about Steve’s Lionel Richie tape laming up the aura of his car, then slept, mouth open and aviators dangling off of his ear. His curls blew around in the air from the cracked window.

Eventually the air grew warm and dry around them. Night settled. The stars appeared and the temperature dropped as Billy laid his head on Steve’s shoulder. He wasn’t asleep -- he just rambled about nothing and Steve dropped his arm around Billy’s shoulders.

“You’re good to me, pretty boy,” Billy said as he took a drag off of his smoke.

“Wouldn’t have wanted to run away and join the circus with anyone else,” Steve said. He planted a kiss on Billy’s forehead.

That night as they were bringing their suitcases into their motel room, a tiny little tabby cat brushed in past their legs, jumped up on the bed, and curled up into a ball.

“Fuckin excuse you,” Billy said to the cat. “Our bed. Skidaddle.”

The cat blinked lazily up at Billy.

“You wanna stay here you gotta pitch in for the room, gato,” Billy said as he placed his suitcase on the stand. Steve closed the door.

“Hey. That cat needs to get out. Open the door back up.”

Steve shrugged. “He looks comfy. We should let him stay.”

“How do you know it’s a he?”

“I don’t. C’mere gato!” Steve said in a high-pitched voice. The cat stood and walked to the end of the bed, raising his little grey head and closing his eyes while Steve scratched his cheeks and behind his ears, under his chin.

Gato started purring.

“I think we have a cat now,” Steve said.

“We don’t have a fucking cat, Steve.”

That night, though, Gato slept on Billy’s chest. And when Steve woke up, Billy was petting him and cooing.

When they got around to loading up the car, Gato walked out with them and jumped up into the Camaro’s back seat when Steve opened the door.

Billy looked at the cat and shook his head. “I guess we have a cat.”

They found a pet store in the phone book and Steve peeled off some of his savings account money for food, litter, a couple of bowls, and a box.

They stopped one more time at a motel. Gato curled up in Steve’s suitcase on top of his clothes while Steve tongue kissed Billy on the bed, heated, dick hard, got down between Billy’s legs, thick thighs under his hands as he sucked and sucked with Billy’s hand on the back of his head.

Billy did the same for Steve on his knees while Steve braced himself against the wall, breathless, in love, so in love, his heart bursting with it as he spilled into Billy’s mouth.

The next day the Welcome to California sign loomed ahead of them and grew larger as they approached.

Billy pulled the car off to the shoulder as they got close to it.

“What’re you doing?” Steve asked.

“Come on,” Billy said as he exited the car.

Steve looked around and couldn’t see why -- they were near the Colorado River so maybe Billy wanted to snap a Polaroid with the camera he’d purchased yesterday.

Gato got out behind Steve and started playing with the brush on the side of the road.

“Gonna carry you across the state line, baby. Here’s our future,” Billy said, gesturing up at the sign. He crouched down. “Get up on my back.”

Steve raised an eyebrow, and as he started to climb up, Gato scurried up Steve’s back and got up on his shoulder. “And you accused me of being romantic.” He leaned down to kiss Billy’s cheek as Billy started walking forward with Steve and Gato on his back.

It started four days ago with Steve clearing out his savings at Hawkins National. It started there, and ended here, in California, where Billy carried them across the state line, where they found a little loft in San Diego that fit their budget, where Steve found work in a bookstore and where Billy got a job in a repair shop.

It started at the bank, and it ended in love.

#harringrove #my fic #my writing #soft fic for hard times #soft times at ridgemont high #harringrove for BLM

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platypanthewriter · 3 years

Text

Vines

Harringrove April day 19, Vines! Maid Stephanie Harrington encounters the Outlaws of Sherwood Forest. I wrote this all in one swell foop today, so it's unbeta'd, and I'm very sorry. XD

The Fair Maid Stephanie Harrington, ward of the king, was riding. She liked riding, in general, when the horse wasn’t too slow, except at some point the riding always stopped, and she arrived, and she had to give her regards to whoever her presence was supposed to convey the depth of the royal regard to.

It was like being a medal, she thought, sometimes—the prince gave a few weeks of her time to someone, as a prize, and they showed her around at feasts in her honor, and kept her locked up in a box.

Whoever pleased him enough, she’d marry, she was pretty sure, hoping it wasn’t Guy of Gisborne, the current recipient of the prince's favor. He always smiled just a little when she was angry, and the thought of being near him forever was not to be borne. She blew through her cheeks, trying to enjoy the ride through Sherwood Forest, and urging her horse just the tiniest bit faster.

One of the sheriff’s guards grabbed her horse’s bridle, slowing it back to a walk. “I can lead you, my lady,” he said, smirking. “If you can’t control such a large animal.”

Stephie stared at him, biting her lips together before she called him every name she could think of. “I am fine, sir,” she said, thinking, I hope the girth breaks on your saddle, and you slide right off.

“There have been thefts in the area,” said the sheriff. “A band of bandits.”

“I’ll protect you, Milady,” her guard told her, pulling her horse closer.

She was about to dig her heels into her horse’s sides—just run, jumping over the tree limps fallen in the path—when she remembered she had nowhere to go, and she closed her eyes, wishing she’d been born a man. She could have gone with the king, were she a man. Coul have fought bravely and well, and won honors—a castle of her own, perhaps. A wife, she thought, feeling a twist in her stomach as her cheeks flushed. She imagined taking her helmet off after winning a tournament, and accepting a victory kiss from someone with dark curls and a sweet smile.

Or, she thought bitterly, she could have died. Chosen to leap in front of the king, saving his life at the cost of her own.

Chosen.

The guard refused to return her reins, smiling as though she was a petulant child, and she rode along gritting her teeth and imagining him snapped off his horse by a dragon, his spine gleaming in the sun. The dragon would steal her away, she hoped, imagining flying, when an arrow shot by her face, and all around her. The guards yelled, their horses stamping and rearing, and in the confusion, she snatched her reins back.

“Guests in our merry wood!” came a voice, and Stevie jerked aorund, staring at the massive oak above them to see two women, one laughing, one with an arrow drawn, smirking faintly.

Of course they’re in trousers, Stevie thought vaguely, staring. They could hardly have scampered up a tree in gowns with long daggered sleeves. They were in command of the whole clearing, Guy of Gisborne, the sheriff, and his guards all staring in shock, and that was probably why Stevie’s heart was pounding, she thought guiltily.

“Welcome all!” yelled the one standing, holding the vines, as the one with the bow narrowed her eyes at Guy of Gisborne, Stevie’s current host. Everyone aorund was muttering “Outlaws! It’s her, it’s Robin Hood!”

“You won’t take the king’s ward from us!” yelled Stevie’s idiot guard, trying to grab her reins again, and she groaned inwardly, along with the guards around her, who groaned aloud. She nudged her horse into sidling out of his reach.

“The king’s very own ward?!” the loud one called down. “Welcome, my lady! What fine neighbors these, to bring us not only the taxes, but the loveliest guest in all of England!”

“You’ll have to kill us all first!” yelled the daft guard, yanking his sword out, swinging it as though he could reach the women in the tree, and nearly beheading Stevie. He nicked her horse’s neck, and it reared, whinnying in righteous indignation as arrows started flying again at the guard’s arm. The other guards rushed at the people in the trees, who started swinging in on vines, and it turned into a melee.

Stevie clung to her horse like a burr as it kicked and reared and the guard swung wildly at the arrows, and then she heard a yell, and saw a flash of green behind and beside her as the louder of the two women swung down on her vine and kicked him off his horse. She started to fall under their hooves, struggling to sheath her sword in the mess of horses, and Stevie grabbed her, grappling her close.

“Hang on to me,” she hissed, and her rescuer did, locking strong arms around Stevie’s waist and panting in her ear as Stevie directed her horse out of the mess with her thighs and heels, and charged up the path, her whole body buzzing with the energy of the air before a thunderstorm. Her horse galloped, finally, leaping the fallen logs with ease, and Stevie whooped with excitement and relief, laughing. They galloped until her horse slowed, blowing and prancing, and sidling around as she glared out at the forest.

“Good girl,” Stevie told her, patting her neck and panting, as her passenger slid her arms from around Stevie’s waist.

“They’ll call us kidnappers, now,” she breathed in Stevie’s ear, her hands patting at the saddle as she tried to find purchase not on Stevie.

Stevie reached around behind and pulled her closer. “I’ll tell them you rescued me,” she laughed, turning to grin over her shoulder. “He’d have beheaded me, in a moment.”

Her kidnapper had wide, blue-grey eyes, long eyelashes, and flushed cheeks, from close up, and Stevie laughed again at the gold in her curls, remembering the curls she’d fantasized sinking her fingers into moments ago, as the winner of the tournament, getting a kiss. She was giddy, she thought, unable to stop smiling.

“...I’m Billie,” said Billie, licking her lips, and grinning back, a little. She was warm and solid against Stevie’s back. “My lady.”

“Stevie,” Stevie panted. “I kidnapped you, I think, more than the other way around,” she told Billie, gripping her hand, and tugging it back around her waist. Her horse jerked her head up at a stream, and trotted towards it. When it stopped to drink, Billie swung down, then, as Stevie dismounted, caught her around the waist.

“Hello, princess,” Billie said, smiling.

“I’m not actually a princess,” Stevie confessed, reaching up to see how the curls felt against her fingers. “I’m sorry.” Billie’s lips were soft, she thought, against her thumb.

“Everyone knows who you are,” Billie told her, smirking a little, and leaning into her hand. “Stevie,” she whispered, tasting it.

Stevie couldn’t stop thinking about all the things she’d known, until today, she couldn’t do, and she watched Billie’s half-lidded eyes, and her smile that looked like she knew something Stevie didn’t, and then just...threw her arms around Billie’s neck and kissed her. Billie made an undignified snorting noise, then kissed her back, warm and breathless, and Stevie started laughing again, when she pulled back enough to breathe.

Billie offered to walk home, but Stevie didn’t want to leave her, just yet, not when she told such entertaining stories, and the blush over her freckles was so warm. When they got to the camp, everyone was feasting. Guy of Gisborne tried to apologize to Stevie at least six times, gripping her arm hard, but she shook him off, and kept walking away, following Billie to see the little school in a tent, and the still, and the treehouses.

A weight drew them up on another vine—creaking as it swung them up through the air—Stevie’s arms around Billie’s neck to hold the rope, Billie’s arm around her waist. They stepped off onto a swaying bridge of woven rope, and Stevie staggered. Billie grabbed her, bouncing on the ropes so it shuddered, and Stevie yelped, but Billie laughed, pulling her close, and kissed her again.

“You think I’d let you fall, Princess?”

“I think you might,” Stevie panted, her stomach somewhere on the ground below, but she followed Billie across the bridge to a little house chipped right out of the living wood of the tree, with a walkway all around it, and a shingled roof. There was a cot, and a lute, and Stevie leaned to look down over the camp, hanging on to a tree branch dizzily. “...I would never come down,” she whispered, and Billie laughed, her eyes widening again.

“You feel right at home in tall towers?” she asked, and Stevie elbowed her, sighing.

“When I saw someone coming to take me somewhere,” Stevie said, softly, so Billie had to lean in, “—I could cut the rope.”

When they left, Robin Hood herself saw them off—Stevie at the head of the party, allowed to keep her small knife, and everyone else’s arms and armor loaded into a wagon, while they rode out of the forest in their smallclothes, escorted by the merry souls of Nottingham forest. Billie grinned up at her, walking alongside them, and Stevie beamed back, then jerked her head forward so Guy of Gisborne wouldn’t write to the prince that Maid Stephanie had come unhinged.

Two nights later, Stevie heard her name by the window, and ran to see Billie clinging to the vines. “I see you do live in a tower, princess,” she panted, once Stevie had hauled her inside.

“Why are you here,” Stevie whispered, delighted, and Billie grinned back, her eyes flicking towards the door.

“I thought this was how it was done,” Billie whispered back, leaning in for a laughing kiss. Her curls swung down from her shoulder, and Stevie tucked them back up over Billie’s ear. She’d kissed winners of tournaments, on the cheek—dodging their attempts to capture her lips—but kissing Billie was nothing like that, all soft lips and quick smiles. “I brought my lute,” she said, swinging it down over her shoulder. “I’m no dab hand at poetry—”

“Ssssh!” Stevie hissed, laughing, and then she ran and barred the door. “No poetry. No music, you’ll be caught—”

“I meant to sing under your window,” Billie said, frowning over her shoulder, “—but I would fall in the moat.”

“Do not fall in the moat,” Stevie told her, giggling again, because she couldn’t stop, the glee of kissing Billie hitting the wave of fear of Billie found, Billie slashed in half for climbing her tower. She grabbed her outlaw and hugged her, squeezing her like they were swinging through the air again, and breathing the smell of the woods, and the river she must have washed in, and a little perfume that smelled expensive, that she’d definitely stolen. Billie arms were muscular, and Stevie’s hands fit comfortably at her waist, and around her hips.

Billie leaned in to kiss up her neck, soft and a little wet, and Stevie leaned her head away, her hands everywhere, feeling Billie’s strong shoulders from climbing, and—daringly—cupping the softness of her chest. Billie felt no hesitance there, sliding a hand down inside Stevie’s kirtle, and finally Stevie set her jaw, pulled away, and yanked her whole kirtle and cote off until she stood there in her chemise, so thin she shivered. Billie stared back, and then laughed, her whole face reddening as Stevie drew her over to the bed.

“...I meant to bring you a rose,” Billie whispered, as they both panted, after. “It fell.”

“I am glad to see you,” Stevie laughed, watching Billie’s fingers on her hip, where her chemise was rucked up to her waist. “Rose or no rose. Bring me a weed next time, and I’ll be just as glad—but you mustn’t come here again.”

“Why not?” Billie asked, her freckles shining with sweat, and Stevie leaned close to taste her skin.

“You will die,” she whispered against it. “Someone will see you, and you’ll die, and if I never see you again, at least I’ll know you’re in the trees, safe and well. Better than than full of arrows, and drowned in the moat.”

“No one will see me,” Billie whispered, and Stevie pinned her.

“Promise me,” she hissed. “Promise me you won’t come again. Billie, please.”

“There are promises I can’t possibly make,” Billie whispered back, smiling unsteadily up, and Stevie groaned, and let herself fall on top of her, and kiss her until she laughed again.

Billie came many times more, and they fell into bed easily, Stevie daring to undo her trousers—and try them on, afterwards, turning the shiny brass of her dinner tray to see herself from all angles. Billy lay naked, smiling, the candlelight making her skin glisten, but her eyes were red.

“...when are you leaving,” she asked, softly, and Stevie stopped, and walked over to press kisses down Billie’s side, until she giggled and kicked, and pulled Stevie down on top of her. Stevie leaned on one elbow to kiss the slight softness of Billie’s stomach, and the curve of her breasts, and sighed.

“I am not sure,” she said, watching the muscle flex in Billie’s jaw, and kissing it in apology. “You know I would stay, for you.”

“Stay for what,” Billie whispered, curling away, and swallowing hard, and Stevie curled around her, pressing kisses to her freckled shoulders, and then her neck. “A house in a tree,” Billie said hoarsely, and Stevie stopped, remembering the way they’d soared up in the air, on the vines.

“I would stay,” she repeated. “...and they’d burn the forest to find me.”

Billie cried harder, and Stevie’s eyes burned.

The next time she went into town—restless without Billie in her bed, and furious at herself for the longing in her kisses goodbye—she heard Billie’s name in the mouth of the Sheriff, and rode over, her veins running stiff and cold. The hammering on the gallows sounded louder, suddenly, echoing like a gong.

She’d been caught holding up a tax payment, and everyone in the crowd was very quiet, whiteknuckled as the Sheriff took down the posters of Billie’s face. Stevie walked forward and snatched one, clutching it close as she stalked back to the castle, her attendants running behind her as she ran up five flights of stairs to her room, to the seal of the king, and wrote a pardon. She signed it, and sealed it, and hid the seal again, running back downstairs to give it to the sheriff—but he told her to see Sir Guy of Gisborne, and he laughed in her face.

“I am ward of the king,” Stevie told him, trying not to yell, or shriek, to stay calm and lovely, to get a man to listen to her, but he shook his head, smiling, and tossed the letter on the fire.

“I know you looked on these outlaws fondly,” he told her, knowing the tax rates, knowing the prince was months from a rebellion by every barony in England, “—but we are harsh on lawbreakers, as we must be.” He patted her cheek.

Stevie walked out, ordered her horse saddled, and then yelled “YAH!”, and took off at a gallop, ignoring the shouts behind her.

It wasn’t hard to find outlaws, in the wood.

She’d ridden barely a mile in when a voice ordered her to halt, and she drew her horse to a stop, even as it huffed, stomping in a circle, catching her nerves. “I’m here for Billie,” she said, as loud and clearly as she could. “Billie Hargrove.”

“Haven’t you heard,” the someone said. “She’s hangin’ tomorrow.”

“No, she’s not,” Stevie fired back, gripping her reins.

Robin Hood herself recieved her, sharpening the heads of her arrows.

“How can I help?” Stevie asked, crouching next to her, and watching the others fletch arrows in silence.

“Haven’t you helped enough already?” Robin scoffed. “She’s nearly been caught a dozen times, climbing your tower.”

“I told her not to,” Stevie whispered, her throat closing. “What—what is the plan, how can I…”

“There is no plan,” Robin said, snorting softly. Her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen in the light from the fire. “Do you have a battering ram for us? A trebuchet? Thirty or so archers can hardly take the Keep.”

“You can’t give up,” Stevie shouted back, aghast. “You have to—”

“I can not get inside,” Robin hissed, whipping around to lift Stevie’s chin with the arrow. “I am known. I can blend with the spectators, and what then? Watch her drop?”

“Blend with the spectators, then,” Stevie told her, grabbing her sleeve. “Fill the crowds with—”

“And do what?” Robin asked, her eyes shiny in the firelight. “What then? Should we throw dung, Milady?”

“Your bows and arrows,” Stevie breathed, realizing. “You can’t bring them inside.”

“We will attend, and keep vigil for an old friend,” Robin said, flatly, as her eyes spilled over.

“I will bring the weapons in,” Stevie told her, shaking her arm. “I can help, I can—I will bring them. Get me a wagon. Bring me the king’s deer.”

“...what?” Robin asked, glaring at her.

“I am the ward of His Majesty King Richard,” Stevie breathed. “I am allowed to hunt the deer. There will be a feast, for the hanging of an outlaw of Sherwood. Put your weapons in a wagon. Cover them with the deer. I will get your weapons to you, inside the Keep.”

Robin stared at her, and then grabbed her arm, bruisingly tight. “Bring me a wagon!” she yelled, her voice raw.

The three outlaws that joined her blended in well—Alanna Dale, the minstrel, whose flip responses to the guards made them laugh, a friar who brought them ale, well dosed with liquor from his still, that made a grown man stagger after only a few sips, and Much, who introduced himself as “the miller’s son”. Stevie busied herself calling orders to everyone that contradicted the last orders she’d given, until half the courtyard was bringing her a litter, half bringing the kitchen to her to view the deer, and Much, Alanna, and the friar made off with the well-wrapped weaponry in the confusion.

Sir Guy came to see her on her return, and raised his eyebrows at the deer, and Stevie nearly lost her head, gripping her sleeves from inside as he laughed.

“So quickly does the female mind turn,” he said. “Just this morning you were eager to save this outlaw, and now you celebrate her demise?”

“I offer proof I am King Richard’s ward,” Stevie shot back. “Will you remember, now, and grant my pardon? We can as well celebrate her release.”

He smiled at her, and patted her horse, and Stevie had half a mind to order her horse to turn and kick, but she gritted her teeth instead. Guy of Gisborne watched her face, and then beckoned to the guards. “Escort my lady to her room,” he said, smiling, "—and see she does not leave. Her emotions are running high.”

Stevie gasped with fury, finally screaming all the thoughts she’d had at him, that he was a coward, and he’d die on the rope himself when King Richard returned and she could tell him all about the taxation, until he stepped forward and covered her mouth so hard her head smacked back against the wall, and she saw colors behind her eyes. They threw her in her room none too gently, and then, they searched for the royal seal.

They didn’t find it.

Once they were gone, Stevie reached out her window, and tested the vines. She left her hair down in a braid, unadorned, and her gilt overdress behind, and tied only her knife, the royal seal, and some money to her belt before tucking her long skirt into her belt, and swinging a leg out the window.

The first foothold she found yanked loose from the wall, and she bit back a scream, clutching the vines to her as her heart pounded, but the ivy was old and thick as her arm, and it held. She was shaking with exhaustion by the time she could step onto the wall, and fall the dozen or so feet into the Keep.

She could hear the crowd around the gallows, some jeering, some screaming—it was hard to tell through the noise. She saddled her horse quickly, charging into the courtyard to see Billie with the noose around her neck, her eyes wide as they took in Stevie on her horse. She smiled as the executioner pulled the lever, tears spilling out of her eyes, just as Robin’s arrow whooshed through the air with many others, and cut the rope. The executioner fell, and so did Billie, stumbling forward to where Stevie could shout her horse forward and grab her arm, dragging her up alongside.

Billie’s arms were tied, so Stevie hauled her into her lap, slapping her horse’s reins against her neck and kicking her sides for a burst of speed, and no one expected King Richard’s ward to commit a jailbreak, so Stevie and her prize galloped by the dazed, drunken guards with little more than a startled “Oho!”

They ran until the Keep was far distant, slowing only to a canter, as Billie laughed and cried, shaking in Stevie’s arms. “You came for me,” she kept whispering, and then laughing, as though it was hard to believe.

“I always will,” Stevie told her, wiping her own eyes, overflowing from sheer relief. She squeezed Billie’s shoulders to her, kissing her hair, and her forehead, and occasionally bruising her mouth with Billy’s skull, because of the long strides of her horse. “You came for me,” she pointed out, and Billie laughed, finally untied after much struggling, and slid her arms around Stevie’s waist and back.

Billie guided her to the camp—deserted, with the attack on the Keep, so they sat and talked nervously at the fire, exchanging kisses and wiping each other’s tears, until Robin strode back in. “You have to leave,” she told Stevie, and Billie’s arms tightened. “They’ll summon armies. With you here, they’ll ride to war.”

Stevie pulled Billie to her for one last kiss, and it was salty. Stevie cleared her throat, cleared it again, and then gave up and nodded, biting her lips together, before taking one last look at the little house in the tree, and the vine that led there, and Billie’s furious, teary face.

The road back seemed long. Guy of Gisborne locked her in again, and she sat at her table wishing she’d heard Billie play the lute, or sometimes she embroidered, wishing to set the world on fire.

She wrote to Anne—Nancy, her friends called her—the girl she’d once fantasized about rescuing from monsters, but Guy was opening her letters, she knew, so she barely explained. Still, when they finally rode on from Nottingham—finally, she thought, both longing to ride on forever, and never see it again, and longing to turn ‘round and never leave—Nancy was waiting for her in her quarters, and Nancy had a plan.

“You must disappear elsewhere,” she said, and Stevie clutched at her hands, her breath catching in her throat. “You must disappear in a way they’ll never trace to your outlaw,” she said, and Stevie let her go, because Nancy sometimes needed to pace as she planned. This was one of those times. “What if you were thrown from your horse?” Nancy asked, turning to face her. “Riding alone? My wetnurse is nearly family, and close enough to a doctor. If she told Guy of Gisborne you’d died…”

Stevie grimaced, a little, imagining the king returning to such news, but the problem was his absence, after all. “Do you think it would work?” she whispered.

“Say you’ll ride a wilder horse,” Nancy suggested. “Then when you fall, you can leave on your own.”

“They may kill the horse,” Stevie pointed out, with a pang of guilt.

“Leave that to me,” Nancy said, and Stevie did, striding into the stables the next morning to snatch the stallion from the wide-eyed stablehand, and riding out into the sunrise.

When she rode back into the forest, her fine clothes traded for trousers, her face hooded, the voices didn’t recognize her, but they hailed her horse. “There’s Billie’s girl!” one called, and another, “No, didn’t you hear, she’s gone and died,” and a third, “Is the horse a gift, then?”

“Take me to her,” Stevie yelled, too tired for politeness, and they realized who it was.

Billie was by the fire, her eyes red and swollen, and Stevie swung off her horse and knelt beside her, gathering an entire weeping outlaw into her arms. “You came for me,” she sobbed, her arms so tight Stevie gasped.

“I always will,” she laughed, pulling Billie over to the vine that led up and away.

The other Harringrove April prompts I’ve done

#Harringrove #Harringrove April #I'm old so vines=Robin Hood to me #Lesbians in Sherwood Forest

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magniloquent-raven · 4 years

Note

for the I Love You prompts: harringrove, 20) “You can borrow mine.”

thank you so much for the prompt!!! hope u enjoy what i did with it lol

posted on ao3

It’s been two years since the Hargrove-Mayfield family moved to Hawkins, and Billy is still here. He never planned on staying this long—in fact, he started coming up with an escape route the second his boots hit the ground, and yet…

Well, plans change. He didn’t plan on getting stabbed through the chest by a thirty-foot-tall spider demon made of people sludge either, but shit happens. Life happens. Falling in love happens, apparently. Not that Billy thought it would ever happen to him.

But here he is. In Hawkins, Indiana, head-over-fucking-heels, hanging around like a pathetic stray hoping for table scraps of whatever Steve Harrington’s willing to give him. They’re friends now, and Billy’s savouring every moment he can, while it lasts.

Steve asked him, one afternoon, why he was still here. “Figured you’d take off after graduation is all. Hawkins doesn’t exactly have much worth hanging around for,” he’d laughed, a little self-deprecating. “Besides, uh, a lot of bad memories here. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to leave.”

And Billy hadn’t known what to say. Muttered something about sticking around for Max, which wasn’t exactly a lie, but wasn’t anywhere close to the whole truth.

He spends a whole lot of time in that grey area. Weaving just enough reality into his cover-stories to make them solid enough to hide behind. It’s fucking exhausting. And sometimes a dangerous line to walk.

Especially since Steve seems to buy into his bullshit less and less lately.

Maybe it’s the fact that dying and coming back changes your perspective a bit, or hanging around Steve so much is making him soft, or some combo of both, but he’s starting to wonder if maybe he could let go of it entirely, and just…live honestly.

Which isn’t an option, not really. But sometimes, in the small moments when Steve smiles at him and the weight on his shoulders doesn’t feel as heavy, he thinks maybe, maybe, it could be. And it scares him a little. How much he wants it to be an option.

It’s a cold evening in mid-November the first time he really slips.

They’re at Robin’s house, of all places. Despite Billy’s jealousy over the closeness of her and Steve’s friendship, he gets along with Robin. Almost too well, according to Steve.

So, it’s a thing. All three of them hanging out at her place.

Her dad makes awesome mac n’ cheese. Her mom is friendly, but not too friendly. And they let Robin hang out in her room with two boys without making a huge fuss about it.

It’s nice.

Billy almost makes it through the whole evening without doing something stupid, but then Steve (somehow) spills an entire can of Coke on his jacket, and Billy opens his big mouth without thinking.

“You can borrow mine.”

The thing is…Billy doesn’t really get cold anymore. He gets warm still. Way too easily. Sometimes he’ll bundle up just to remind himself he can get warm without it hurting. Without the thing inside him dying of it and destroying him in the process. So, he still wears jackets, sweaters, whatever-- probably more often than he used to, actually-- but he doesn’t need them.

Sometimes he wonders if one day he’ll freeze to death without noticing, or if frostbite isn’t a thing for him anymore. He hasn’t had the balls to test it.

Either way it’s like the world’s dumbest super power. Just another thing reminding him of shit he doesn’t want to remember.

Steve is staring at him. At the jacket in his hand. It’s his leather one. The one Max bought for him after he came back from the hospital. She’d wrapped it up all pretty with a bow and note that said “glad you didn’t die” in purple ink. Susan was mortified when she noticed it but Billy laughed so hard he nearly busted his stitches.

He’s worn the jacket almost every day since.

Robin is staring too, with a weird, calculating look in her eye, and he doesn’t like it.

“I…” Steve’s gaze wavers, flickering between Billy’s face and his hand again, “I can just—”

“Just take it, Harrington,” Billy interrupts, hoping the gruffness covers for how pink his cheeks are. He tosses the jacket, and Steve catches it reflexively, still looking at it like he’s not sure it’s real.

“Are you sure?”

Is he sure. That he wants to know what Steve looks like in his jacket? Yes. That he wants anyone else to know that? No.

Billy shrugs, aiming for non-committal. “Not like I need it,” he gestures vaguely towards himself, “Not entirely human anymore, remember?” Bitterness creeps into his tone without his permission.

“Hey,” Steve admonishes. Quietly, softly, but still a reprimand. His eyes are wide, concerned. Billy tries to wave him off, but Steve shakes his head and takes a step closer. “Don’t do that. You’re not a monster.”

“I—” he can’t hold eye contact anymore, not with Steve looking at him like that. He stares at the ugly yellow carpet beneath his feet instead. “Didn’t say that.”

“Yes, you did,” Steve responds immediately, tone firm and direct. Because he knows. Knows Billy better than anyone has in a long time. Which is saying something, because Billy is friends with a girl who’s literally been inside his head.

It makes Billy want to curl up in a hole somewhere and never speak again. Run as far as he can. Cry ‘til he can’t anymore. Break shit. Blow up his life and start over. Being known feels so foreign, he doesn’t know what to do with it.

But under that there’s something delicate, warm and fragile, tentative. He’s afraid to get near it. Like it’ll disappear if he looks too closely. Shatter into pieces if he tries to bring it out of hiding.

“Alright. Alright, fine,” Billy mutters weakly. “But just… wear the jacket, okay? Really. I don’t need it. Besides, it’d look good on you.”

Whoops.

Somewhere off to the side Robin makes a small, amused sound, and alarm bells go off in Billy’s head. But before he can completely panic, backpedal and pretend he was joking despite sounding entirely sincere, Steve grins.

They’ve been friends for over a year now and Billy’s world still stops for a moment when Steve smiles at him.

And then he puts the jacket on and…

Wow.

Okay.

Billy has always liked looking at Steve. He’s never really hidden that fact, just banked on nobody figuring out the why of it. He’s aware-- painfully aware-- that Steve is incredibly gorgeous.

But this is...

This just isn’t fair.

Steve looks a little sheepish, and stuffs his hands in his pockets, hair falling in his eyes when he ducks his head. And he’s blushing. It’s faint, barely-there, just a light pink tinge to his cheeks that nobody would’ve noticed if they weren’t paying close attention, which. Well. Billy is.

He wants to feel it under his palms, feel the warmth of it. Wants to know if he can make that blush spread, see how far it would go, chase that heat with his mouth, drop to his knees and watch Steve come undone. He wants--

So much.

He’s sure it’s written all over his face, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“Well?” Steve raises his eyebrows, grin turning teasing as he spreads his arms, glancing down at himself pointedly.

Billy clears his throat. Blinks. “Suits you,” he answers after a too-long pause.

“Can we go now?” Robin interjects, rolling her eyes. Her tone is more fond than exasperated, but Billy still flinches a little.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, gaze flicking over to Steve for a second before he looks back at Robin. “Yeah, let’s go.”

He “forgets” to ask for his jacket back before he goes home that night. There’s no guarantee that Steve would wear it again, but Billy can hope.

And for once in his life, he gets what he wants. Steve starts wearing it all the time. But Billy’s starting to see why people say “be careful what you wish for” because the whole situation is a very mixed blessing.

He keeps catching Robin giving him weird looks, and, really, he can’t blame her because he’s been so unsubtle lately, it’s embarrassing. And terrifying. Because it’s going to get him noticed by the wrong person someday.

But he can’t fucking help it, not when Steve’s walking around looking like that.

Though, Steve’s been acting odd too. Staring at Billy when he thinks no one’s looking, face all pinched and thoughtful. It’s getting worrying.

Then one afternoon Billy walks into Family Video and Steve pulls him into the back room. No hello or anything, just a hand around Billy’s wrist and a determined set to his jaw.

He locks the door behind them.

“Steve?”

“I talked to Max this morning.”

“O...kay?”

Steve sighs, runs a hand through his hair. His other hand is still wrapped around Billy’s wrist. “She said. Um. That jacket was a gift?”

Oh.

Shit.

“Yeah, so?” Billy flinches at his own tone but Steve doesn’t move, doesn’t pull away. His grip tightens, fingertips pressed to Billy’s skin hard enough to feel his pulse pounding.

Steve takes a step forward. They’re close enough that Billy can see the purple shadows under Steve’s eyes. He doesn’t get enough sleep. Always asking Billy if he’s still having nightmares, never worrying about his own. Billy’s heart aches, and he hopes Robin will take care of Steve if this conversation ends his and Steve’s friendship. Someone needs to look after this boy if Billy isn’t there to do it.

He hates that thought.

“So, I… Billy, why’d you give it to me?”

“Because…” Panic hits him hard, belatedly, as he tries to imagine actually answering that question. His stomach clenches, flips, and he curls in on himself. “Because you needed it,” he finishes lamely.

But of course Steve sees through him, of course he does. “Really?” Steve sighs, rolling his eyes.

“What do you want from me, Steve?” Billy snaps, nervous energy making him jittery, he feels cornered, caught up in all the ways this could blow up in his face, trapped. He calms down a smidge when regret hits him, and he takes a breath, hates himself a little for snapping.

“I want you to tell me it meant something, asshole.”

Billy freezes.

He looks up at Steve, really looks at him, sees tension in his shoulders, the nervous twist of his mouth, uncertainty in his eyes.

Oh.

“You...really?” Billy breathes, quietly, terrified of shattering the moment. “It does--it--it did, I--” Words have never failed him so completely. He used to be good at this. It would be utterly mortifying if not for the sweet smile spreading across Steve’s face. He’s strangely okay with making a fool of himself if it means Steve looking at him like that. “I wanted…” he squeezes his eyes shut, bracing himself, “I wanted to take care of you. I always...want that. You needed something and I--I’d give you anything--”

Steve’s hands are warm. He cradles Billy’s face gently, so careful, and tilts his face upwards until Billy meets his eyes.

“Anything?”

Well. No turning back now. Might as well embrace this whole honesty thing. “Yeah, pretty boy. Anything. Besides, you look hot as fuck in leather.”

Steve grins at that, eyes crinkling at the corners, and he lets out a huff of a delighted laugh. “In that case, I’m gonna need you to kiss me--”

He barely has time to finish his sentence before Billy lunges forward, crashing their lips together. It’s messy at first, desperate, Billy’s fingers threaded through Steve’s hair, pulling him closer. A whine escapes him (that he would deny later) when Steve pulls back, but he’s only gone for a second. He presses forward again, but gentler this time, slow, one hand falling to Billy’s waist and the other sliding to the back of his neck.

Billy could’ve stayed like this forever, but a loud, insistent knock at the door makes them both jump.

“Steve, I don’t care if you’re mid-BJ right now, it’s my break, and you locked yourself in there with my stuff!” Robin yells through the door.

Steve rests his forehead against Billy’s shoulder and he muffles a laugh into his shirt. “Goddamnit, Robin,” he mutters, and lifts his head to glare at the door, “Alright!” he calls, then turns to Billy. “To be continued?” There’s a question in his eyes, more than what he’s saying out loud.

Billy brushes a lock of hair from his face, and grins, “Count on it.”

#harringrove fic #harringrove #billy x steve #billy hargrove #steve harrington #a raven's writing desk

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platypan · 4 years

Note

Silly and short prompt, with Harringrove roadtrip and royalty AU sounds like something that’d cheer me up

Billy pulled up alongside the line of parked cars outside the embassy to wait for his Uber fare, ignoring the honks, and clicking through his playlists for the one Max had rated “least offensive”. He frowned into his glove compartment at the assorted air fresheners, and grabbed a cold bottle of water, sticking it in the cup holder for the back seats.

He checked his shirt—probably he was picking up a janitor, but just his luck some prime minister’s car blew a tire, and there he’d be with some leader of a country and secret service in his car, covered with dried beans and guac like he��d killed a burrito with a spear and eaten its corpse with both hands, roaring and beating his chest—his shirt was clean, and he took a steadying breath.

While he was yanking his earring out and dropping it in the cup holder, his fare ducked inside behind him. “Hey,” Billy said, over the surrounding furious drivers, “You’re my fare? Mind if I get your full name?”

Something clonked into the door opposite his fare, and rattled around on the floor, and the man—younger than Billy, Billy was fairly sure—flopped sideways across the seats with a groan. Then he started snickering. “You sure you want all of it? You got something to write it down?”

Billy glared over his shoulder. “Are you Steve, my fare...what the hell are you wearing?!”

“You don’t like my sash?” his presumed fare laughed, lying across Billy’s back seats in some kind of extremely shiny white outfit, with medals, and a cross on a chain. “They said it matched my eyes.”

“What the hell are you…” Billy trailed off again. “Is that a sword? Is that a tiara on my floor?! Why in the fuck—”

“It’s a coronet,” the actual Disney Prince in his back seat corrected him, putting his probably very expensive loafers on the window as he laid back, closing his eyes.

“Get your goddamn feet off my window,” Billy hissed. “You are my fare, right? You’re not just some...cosplaying menace. Or is cosplay Cinderella about to climb in?” he squinted suspiciously at the embassy, and the irritating pile of shiny clothes in the back laughed again.

“I’m Stephen of Blois,” he said, and Billy’s hands flexed on the steering wheel. “I’m Grand Cross of the Order of the House of Orange.”

“So you’re the right person—the fuck does that even mean,” Billy growled, pulling forward into traffic, amidst honks.

‘Stephen’ pointed at one of the medals. “Royal Air Squadron Commander,” he offered, and Billy contemplated hitting the brakes so hard he’d fall off the seat.

“Stop fucking with me. Where the hell are we going,” he snarled, and all he got was a sigh.

“Anywhere, I guess. Where do people go when they’re fleeing the scene of a crime?” 'Steve’ sat up and leaned forward between the seats, and Billy got a noseful of expensive soap and aftershave, and breath against his ear. His very-much-gay dick woke up, and he cursed it, gritting his teeth.

“You’re saying you’re a fugitive? What’d you do, steal that ensemble from Elvis?” he shot back, and Steve snorted.

“No, I, uh. I just. I’m escaping a wedding.”

“Oh, shit,” Billy stared into the rearview mirror, and almost hit the car in front. “You—you what, you just left somebody standing at the altar?! That’s—”

“No!” Steve yelped, then let his face fall against the seat behind Billy’s head, and groaned. “I didn’t—she just—I thought she, y’know, I didn’t think she wanted to wanted to, but we’re friends? And then she started yelling at me about her friend Barb, and—”

“Speak English,” Billy suggested, and Steve thumped the back of his seat.

“I thought we both knew we were getting married, and we’d just—be friends, you know, she’d do what...what she was going to do, and I’d do my thing, and we’d be married, so nobody would care—”

“Holy shit, you really are. Somebody,” Billy sputtered, hunching his shoulders a little as he registered he probably would not get a five-star rating for shouting at royalty. “God damn. Some tourist told me she was in town for ‘the wedding’ the other day. Thought she just thought everybody knew her niece, or something.”

“It’s been arranged since we were six!” Steve moaned, dropping back to lie across the seats again. He waved at the ceiling. “They got the cathedral and everything! She’s in the dress! And all of a sudden she starts crying ‘bullshit, bullshit’ that she can’t marry, because Barb.”

“Who the hell is Barb,” Billy asked woodenly, his eyes wide as he turned onto a side street. “Wait, are you supposed to have a bodyguard?!”

“So I said okay, I’d call it off, if she was—she was gonna set the whole thing on fire, I think. It’ll be super romantic in the news,” he said, sounding wistful. “She’ll probably forget to change out of her wedding dress, and just...run straight from the plane. Run in and propose to her librarian right in front of everybody.”

“Where the hell am I supposed to be driving,” Billy whispered, glancing over his shoulder.

“I want drive-through,” Steve whined, dropping his chin on the seat behind Billy’s shoulder. “I heard you can get anything at a drivethrough in America.”

“Not really,” Billy sighed, glancing at the wide brown eyes in his rearview mirror. “I mean. Burgers. Tacos. Ice cream.”

“Ice cream,” breathed the royal in his backseat. “I want ice cream. I deserve ice cream.”

“It’s not very good ice cream,” Billy told him. “I mean. You might want a...restaurant, or something.”

“Ice cream!” Stephen said, throwing his hand forward like he was leading a charge, and Billy headed for the Dairy Queen.

“What do I even call you?” Billy asked, making an illegal u-turn as his passenger whooped. “Stephen?”

“Ugh, no. Steve is fine,” said Steve, pressing his face against the side window, kicking his coronet, and tossing it into the front passenger seat. It glittered as it went by.

“Put your damn seatbelt on,” Billy choked, watching the thing roll around, diamonds gleaming.

Steve grinned over, and did not.

“Where you actually going?” Billy asked, once they were in line. “Back to your hotel?”

“God, no, everybody’s going to yell at me,” Steve said, eyes narrowed at the menu. “May I eat in your car?”

“Don’t order food,” Billy made a face. “The ice cream’s okay, but the food is garbage.”

“Hmm,” Steve nodded, but ordered like five things, prompting Billy for his order, and then flirted with the people at the drive-through window, who stared open-mouthed.

“I think everybody else knows who you are,” Billy said, finally, as they sat in the parking lot, and his royal passenger climbed out to sit in the front.

Steve chucked the coronet over his shoulder again, and unwrapped everything to make happy humming noises into a banana split. “Nope,” Steve said, around a whole scoop of ice cream with pineapple syrup. It dripped on his fancy jacket, and he swallowed, clearing his throat. “M’nobody. Where else can we go?”

“...I don’t know,” Billy ate his Blizzard with a spoon, watching the leader of some country somewhere sitting in the back of his Uber, trying to tie a knot, with his tongue, in the stem of the cherry off the sundae he’d bought at Dairy Queen.

#harringrove #awickedplacethisis #prompt

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cherrydreamer · 4 years

Text

Cocktober 25: Masked Ball AKA Cinder-Billy (Chapter 1)

Oh this is late and silly and I’m still writing the second chapter but does anyone want some vaguely Cinderella inspired Harringrove?

TW: swearing TW: child abuse (Neil Hargrove’s usual stuff)

**** Once upon a time there was a boy called Billy, and he lived a fairytale life.

If by fairytale you mean wicked stepmother and an ugly sister and being imprisoned in a castle for one hundred years by an evil ogre.

But no, that’s not right.

Not exactly.

Susan wasn’t wicked, not really. She stood by and watched while wickedness occurred under her nose. She was cowardly and pathetic, sure but she wasn’t bad per se.

And Max wasn’t ugly. Not that Billy would ever admit that. No, to her face he’d call her every insult under the sun; would spend half his time annoying her and the other half ignoring her and he’d complain about her every chance he got, but she honestly wasn’t that bad. Hell, Billy would probably have liked her under different circumstances. She had spirit, an attitude, an edge that he actually sorta admired, and she could be funny too, when she wasn’t being an irritating little brat. Yeah, ok, maybe she wasn’t that bad either.

And sure, maybe he was grounded, rather than imprisoned, and it probably wasn’t going to be for one hundred years. Hopefully.

But the evil ogre thing, yeah that was all true.

And Billy could’ve handled being grounded at any other time, any other night.

But not this night. This night was the worst possible night for him to be grounded.

Because tonight was the night of Steve Harrington’s Masked Ball

Billy had been standing outside the cafeteria when Steve had announced it to the school. Billy had watched as Steve stepped up on one of the tables and coughed a couple of times, and the whole damn room had fallen silent.

Billy had been surprised by the guy’s authority, and so he stuck around, hoping he was finally gonna get to see why the other kids called him King Steve.

Because Billy had been keeping an eye on Steve for a while, purely out of curiosity, and had wondered if there was more to him than just some pretty-boys looks, more than a crest of hair and those big brown eyes that had drawn Billy in from day one.

And so far he’d been disappointed. Not that Steve wasn’t a perfectly pretty package to admire, but Billy had been hoping for a little more. Something he could really sink his teeth into, something worth his attention. Someone worthy.

And now that he was finally getting a flash of the casual confidence, the swagger, the unmistakable air of a boy who rules the school and knows it, Billy was intrigued. Wanted to see exactly what Steve had that elevated him to the top of the Hawkins High social ladder.

The room stayed quiet as Steve explained that his mom and dad were out of town for the next few days, leaving him all alone in a very big and very empty house. So of course, it only made sense for the King to throw a party, a spectacular event to dazzle and delight, to let all of his loyal subjects know just how much he appreciated them.

And then he started handing out invitations, honest to God invitations, like it was some fourth-grade birthday party at a bowling alley. Prissy pastel envelopes to match Steve’s prissy pastel polo.

Billy waited, somewhat nervously, for the mocking, for the laughter.

It never came.

People were actually pissing their pants with excitement at getting one of the dumb things.

Steve had smiled beatifically as the chatter below him grew, “And this is a classy affair, yeah. No keg stands, no fighting, no sneaking into my parent’s bedroom, OK Carol?” There was a chorus of whoops and whistles, and a pretty brunette at the front stuck up her middle finger at Steve, who just laughed, “I mean it, we’re talking champagne and dancing, not puking in the rose bushes.”

And again, Billy waited with bated breath for people to scoff, to roll their eyes at this stuck-up rich boy and his lame, fancy-ass party but, if anything, the hubbub got louder, more enthusiastic. People were clamouring for the invitations, surging forward in their haste to grab one, and Steve held up his hands as the table he was standing on rocked precariously,

“Whoa! Easy, everyone’s invited.” And with that, he threw handfuls of the invitations up in the air, letting them flutter down on to the crowd in front of him. Billy watched as Steve jerked his head at the freckled kid who always followed him around, the two of them striding away from the cafeteria without a glance at the scrabbling masses behind him. They passed by Billy without a word, one of the invitations dropping from Steve’s fingers right at Billy’s feet.

Billy waited until Steve was out of sight before picking it up.

It was elegant, formal. Lots of swirly calligraphy in metallic ink. Billy wondered if Steve had written them all himself, or if he had a whole staff at his beck and call to do it for him. A host of willing hangers-on working their fingers to the bone to satisfy the King’s whims.

Despite the formality of it, there wasn’t much content to the invitation. No ‘Steve requests the pleasure’ or ‘Join me’, just a Loch Nora address, a time and the dress code. Formal. Mask required.

Billy slipped it carefully in his pocket, made sure not to crease the thick paper.

He figured he could get as buzzed on champagne as he could on beer. Alcohol was alcohol and free was free.

And if Billy’s heart sped up at the thought of being in Steve's house, getting a glimpse at some more personal part of him, well no one had to know.

And then Max had to fuck everything up.

Had to choose the day of Steve’s party to ride home on the back of her dorky friend’s bike instead of waiting at the arcade for Billy like she was supposed to. And ok, maybe Billy had been a bit late, maybe he’d gotten a bit distracted when he spotted Harrington running some laps around the track and he’d realised he had a perfect view spot from his car, but still, Max should’ve known better.

Or at least, should’ve held on a little tighter down the hill instead of getting thrown off and ending up with road rash all down her side.

Or at the very least, had the damn sense to hide it from her mom instead of turning up on the doorstep with a ripped jacket and tears in her eyes.

Because while Susan had been worried and coddling, Neil had been angry. Furious. His rage growing and growing the longer that Billy was away. And when Billy finally arrived home, after a goddamn hour of searching the town for Max, Neil let him know just how concerned he’d been.

Billy had known he was in trouble as soon as he’d walked through the door. Was pretty sure of it from his dad’s cold voice, the icy way he’d asked Billy to ‘explain himself’, and was damn certain when Neil grabbed him by the throat and shoved him against the bookcase in full view of Susan and Max, not even asking them to leave while he ‘had a word’ with Billy.

Billy was glad that Susan pulled Max out of the room before Neil really let loose. Before she saw Billy learning his lesson.

And it’s unfair, Billy thinks, that Max still gets to go out trick-or-treating, scurrying out with her friends with nothing more than a reminder to be careful, while he gets locked in his room to nurse sore ribs, a puffy bruise around his eye and a blossoming collar of bruises on his neck.

Billy knows he should've been more cautious, that mentioning the party in earshot of Neil only gave him ammunition, gave him something he could hold over Billy’s head, but Billy hadn't thought it through when Max asked if he had plans.

It’s unfair that Neil dragged him here, dragged him out to the middle of nowhere, and then took away the one thing in this damn hick town that held any kind of appeal.

But Billy was used to unfair.

Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.

Figuring that he’s got a long night ahead of him, Billy gets himself comfy with a magazine, one of the ones hidden right in the bottom of his closet, and lets his hand reach down into his jeans. He’s just finding his favourite page - the one with the brunette that, if he squints, looks like a certain other brunette- when there’s a tap at his window.

A small noise, at first, hesitant, and then it comes again and again, faster and faster. And then a hiss of “Billy!” from a rather familiar and very annoying voice.

Billy rolls his eyes and pulls his hand away, tucking the magazine firmly under his mattress before he pushes himself off the bed and goes over to the window. As expected, Max is there, standing on her tiptoes, fingers tapping against the glass. What Billy hadn’t expected, however, is the two kids standing around her, both with various bags and boxes cradled in their arms.

“Billy! We’re here to rescue you!” Max’s grin is wide, “Open up, let us in.”

Billy opens the window a crack and shakes his head, “Not a fucking chance, shitbird, you wanna get me in even more trouble?" his voice is raspy, throat sore from where he’d been grabbed.

Max's face falls, guilt flooding her features.

"That's why we're here," she says, "Billy, I'm sorry, I didn't realise that your Dad… that he would do that to you...and it was all my fault."

"Yeah, it was," Billy growls, and he opens the window wider, enough to lean out and loom over her, "so maybe you should scurry off before you make it even worse."

"We have a plan, a foolproof plan." A different voice, just as annoying, and Billy recognises the kid that he’d tried to warn Max away from. The one that Neil will definitely not want to see hanging about outside their house, “We’ve got it all mapped out. Stage one, we get-”

“Fuck’s sake,” Billy mutteres, opening the window fully, “Fine, fine, get in before anyone sees. And stay quiet.”

The kids scramble in and Billy glares at them each in turn, reserving the coldest glare for Max.

“What the fuck is going on?” he whispers and Max smiles again.

“We have a plan to bust you out,” she’s practically buzzing with excitement, “So you can go to the party.”

“Not gonna work,” Billy shakes his head, “No chance, Neil will find out and he’ll kill me. It’s not worth it Max.”

“But he won’t know!” Max’s friend- Lucas, Billy remembers- pipes up, “We’ll get him out the house.”

“And how exactly will you do that?” Billy’s actually starting to get a little curious. He knows how sneaky Max can be, and there’s a part of him that’s quite looking forward to hearing her idea.

Max’s grins, eager to share the plan.

“We’re gonna head to Dustin’s place and call from there. Say I got sick while we were out, really sick, that they think I’ve eaten some poison candy. We’ll make out that it’s really bad and that I need Susan and Neil to take me to hospital,”

Billy raises an eyebrow, “But you’re not sick…”

“We’ll make it look like she is, with this. Will made it!" Lucas holds up a large plastic bottle of what looks like vomit and Billy screws up his face in disgust.

“Do I want to know what that is?”

“It’s mostly orange juice and milk,” the other boy pipes up, “But it looks real!”

Billy pulls another face as Lucas continues, “We’re gonna cover her in this, and she’s gonna keep moaning and groaning and clutching her sides-”

Max jumps in, “Then I’ll get them to take me to hospital, and do what I can to stay there all night. Will’s been helping me remember lots of different symptoms I can fake, and where I should say the pain is. If they start wanting to send me home, I’ll just act like it’s really hurting here,” Max points to the right side of her body, just above her hip.

“That’s where it hurt when my cousin had appendicitis,” Lucas adds.

“And they’ll have to keep me in and do tests.” Max concludes, looking at Billy proudly.

Billy looks at the kids, all with eager eyes and looking so damn sure of their plan. He had to admit, it was kinda sweet, the lengths they were willing to go to. Dumb, but sweet.

“Max…” he tries again, “It’s not-”

“Don’t say it won’t work. It will. Just let us try Billy, please.”

And Billy knows she’s going to let this go. Knows she’s stubborn enough to go through with it all whether he plays along or not. So he may as well see what he can get out of it.

“Y’know what? Fine. Let’s do it.”

The kids exchange giant grins, eyes lighting up and Billy’s pretty sure he’s gonna regret this.

“So you want me to help you get all…” he gestured to the bottle still in Lucas’ hands, “gooped up?”

Max shakes her head, “Nope, we’ve got it. And that’s the second stage anyway. First, I have presents.”

She grabs one of the bags out of Will’s hands and pulls out a suit.

A fucking tuxedo.

And Billy’s definitely regretting it now.

“Max, what the hell? You don’t need to fucking dress me, y’know.”

Max’s expression is withering, “It’s a ball, Billy, you can’t just go in jeans,”

“I know,” Billy hits back with just as much attitude, “I have nice clothes.”

“Not this nice,” Lucas counters, “It’s my dad’s. It’s designer .”

Billy unfolds the tux in front of him and has to admit that Lucas is right. The suit is old, clearly from when Lucas’ dad was younger, but it’s a classic style- obviously expensive in an understated way and a lot nicer than anything Billy has hanging up in his closet. Billy runs his fingers over the burgundy bow tie peeking out of the jacket pocket.

“This is…”

“You’re welcome,” Lucas calls, already turning his back. Max and Will follow, and it takes Billy a minute to understand,

“You want me to change now?”

Max turns back around with a scowl, “Yes! You’re wasting time. Come on .”

So Billy attempts the quickest change he’s ever done in his life, only slowed down by the fiddly bow tie and the need to grab some underwear because there’s no way he’s going commando in borrowed pants.

“Done!” he announces, spreading his arms out and watching the kids’ faces light up.

Well, watching Lucas and Will’s faces light up.

Max’s face, however, is not looking at the suit. Billy can see her eyes zoning in on his neck, on his chin, on those splotches of blue and black and yellow left by Neil’s fingers. The ones a lot more visible in the light of his room. He watches her eyes flooding with guilt and tries to head off what he know is coming,

“Max, I’m fine,”

“It’s my fault, you even said so. ‘Cause I skated home, I got you in trouble, I-”

“Max,” Billy interrupts, holding up a hand, “Yeah, ok? Yeah you did, but even if you hadn’t, Neil woulda found another reason. Woulda made one up. A spoon left out on the side or, I dunno, I didn’t look grateful enough for dinner.”

And Max’s lip wobbles, but she doesn’t argue, arms wrapping around herself until Will nudges her, holding out a small zipped bag which she takes from him, her eyes widening,

“I think we can fix it,” she says, a small, sly grin starting to spread across her face as she reaches into the bag and pulls out a tube of Cover Girl concealer. It’s a few shades too light, made for a much paler complexion, but before he can say anything, she’s also digging out a bronzer compact.

“This was meant to be for later,” she explains, “to make me look all pale and gaunt, but maybe if we mix them?”

“Will’s got a good eye for colour,” Lucas nods, as Max hands the make-up over to the other boy, “trust us.”

And well, Billy thinks, he’s come this far. If Neil finds out that he snuck out, he’s gonna be dead anyway- may as well leave behind a damn good-looking corpse.

“Fuck it,” Billy shrugs, “Go for it.”

He sits on the bed as Will carefully applies the make-up, blending it together gently. He has to get pretty close, and Billy can see the redness spreading on the boy’s cheeks, can hear the quickness of his breath as his cold fingers glide over and over Billy’s skin, careful not to press or rub too harshly.

“Can you, uh, lift your chin?” Will whispers, not daring to move Billy’s face himself, and Billy obliges, trying to hide the flinch as Will’s fingers ghost over a particularly sensitive bruise, Will notices- of course- mumbling an apology and blushing even darker before reaching into the bag for one more thing.

A tube of lipgloss. Red. Cherry.

“You don’t, um, don’t have to. But it’ll look good.”

And Billy, for the second time that night, decides to just go for it. Fuck it.

He slicks it on. Licks off the excess. Smirks at himself in the mirror.

Because the kid’s right.

It looks good.

“Now for the next part,” Max grins, reaching into yet another bag and drawing out hairspray, gel, mousse and a whole selection of clips and pins.

“Jesus Max, no. I’m not your fucking Girls World. My hair is fine.”

Lucas raises an eyebrow, and both Will and Max exchange looks.

“You don’t get to judge, bowl-cut,” Billy points a finger at Will and then immediately feels bad as the kid bites his lip and looks devastated, “Ugh, fine, just be quick.”

And they are. It’s Lucas who takes over this time, with some guidance from Max. His fingers work deftly, tugging on Billy’s curls roughly as he runs the mousse through them, untangling knots and pinning sections, eventually covering the whole thing with a fine mist of spray that has Billy coughing.

Lucas hums in approval when he’s done, a satisfied look on his face, and Billy resists the urge to run a hand through his curls and mess it all back up again. Remembers that he’s playing nice now.

“Last bit,” Max announces, and Billy glares at her, “It better be,” although he can’t deny he’s intrigued to see what she comes up with.

She reaches over into the last bag, drawing out something black and gold which she passes to Billy.

It’s a mask.

A cat’s face.

Billy turns it over in his hands, taking in the detail, the intricacy of the thing. It’s masquerade style, designed just to cover the top part of the face, and made out of a thin, black metal painted with golden whiskers and gold curls on the two pointy ears. “You said it was a mask thing, right?” Max’s voice is quiet, “I didn’t know if you had one so…”

“My mom found it,” Will chimes in with a shy smile, “she said it would be just right for a fancy ball.”

And the gesture is so damn heartfelt, Billy’s not sure how to feel. It’s too much. The whole thing has been too much. He wants to back away from it, to reject the mask just because it already holds so much promise, so much hope. Because it comes from love.

But then he looks at Will and Lucas, looks at Max. Sees the way they’re smiling so genuinely, the way they actually want him to do this. To have a good night. Because Max thought it was her fault that he couldn’t, so she’s doing all she can to put it right.

Because she’s good.

Billy puts the mask over his eyes. Ties the golden ribbons around the back of his head in a messy bow.

“Ok?”

The kids are beaming when he turns to them, and Max actually takes a step forward, a look of amazement on her face.

"Billy! You don't look like...you"

Billy wonders if he should take that as an insult and he takes a quick glance at the mirror, freezing as a masked stranger stares back at him. He looks again, a hesitant hand reaching up to his hair, almost surprised when the reflection does the same.

Max was right. He doesn’t look like himself. He’s shining. His hair is falling in curling waves around his face, still soft with only a light misting of spray needed to keep them in place; the bruises on his face are hidden well, only really visible if you know where to look, and the cherry redness on his lips shines tantalisingly; the gold cat mask sits snugly on his face, looking more like a lion when combined with his freshly styled mane.

But it’s the suit that makes the most difference. It had been a long time since Billy had worn something so formal, but he has to admit that it looked good. It’s a bit on the tight side, but that works well for him, and the dark red bow tie pairs well with his golden accessories. He feels royal, regal, kingly.

Ready.

He moves over the dresser, hands reaching out to grab the Camaro keys, before it all comes crashing back to him.

“Shit. I can’t...I can’t fucking go anywhere.”

He freezes at the door, thinks about the walk to Loch Nora. It could be doable, if he didn’t have to worry about getting back the same night.

But he does.

“I can’t go.”

He turns back to the room, trying to hide the despair he knows is flooding his face, trying to press it down and school his features into something less pathetic.

“Neil’s got my keys. Max. Fuck!”

Billy growls the last part under his breath, fingers already coming up to tear at the mask, to rip it away and fling it back at the kids. He’s angry at them for getting his hopes up, furious at himself for daring to believe it for a moment, “Just fucking...get out. All of you. Just get the fuck out of my room.” He’s picking at the bowtie now, scrabbling at the knot, when Lucas coughs pointedly, and Billy whirls around, a yell bubbling in his aching throat, “What?”

Lucas just rolls his eyes and tilts his head towards Max who’s tapping her foot impatiently.

“We realised that,” Max rolls her eyes in a perfect imitation of Lucas before moving over to the window. “Your chariot awaits.”

Billy looks to where she’s pointing.

There, out on the yard, is a bicycle. Pumpkin orange and with a wicker basket on the handlebars.

“It’s my mom’s!” Will’s grinning now, “She doesn’t mind you borrowing it. Says it might be a little small, but it’s speedy.”

And Billy can’t help but grin back.

Because it’s dumb. It’s hilarious. He’s going to look like an absolute idiot, but it could actually work.

And he’s come this far...

For the third time, Billy thinks ‘fuck it’ and hauls himself out of the window.

Billy dumps the bike a few houses away, not wanting anyone to see him arrive, before slipping around the edge of the forest to the back of the Harrington house.

He watches from the treeline for a while, taking stock of the situation, certainly not just watching for Steve.

It’s nothing like he'd been picturing. Certainly not the glam, Gatsby inspired soiree Billy’s been building up in his mind for the last few days. Most people he can see are dressed like it’s a regular house party and the only masks that Billy can see are plastic Halloween ones, a collection of monsters, cartoon characters and animals.

He hasn’t spotted a keg on the lawn, but Billy can definitely see the glint of crushed beer cans littering the grass.

It’s just a regular, dumb house party. Hosted by a regular, dumb popular kid.

And Billy has risked his damn skin to come here. Max and her friends have thrown away their whole Halloween night for this.

Billy feels a stab of disappointment in his chest.

"Glad to see someone stuck to the dress code."

Billy whirls around, cigarette in hand, to see Steve Harrington standing behind him on the lawn. His face is half hidden behind a silver deer mask, two ornate antlers sticking up on either side, but Billy would know that hair anywhere, just as he'd know that cocky smile, those two little moles on his neck, that firm body under an expensive looking tailored shirt, that peachy ass currently clad in black dress pants.

Billy’s disappointment fades instantly, as Steve puts a cigarette to his mouth, holding his hand out to Billy in a wordless request for a light. Billy obliges, leaning close to light it for him, and Steve takes a deep drag, not moving away.

“Not sure I recognise you, you one of Carol’s friends?”

Billy scoffs, and Steve smiles knowingly, breathing a plume of smoke into the night air,

“Yeah, I figured. You’re a bit too classy for her,”

Billy laughs, “You really don’t know me?” And it stings, a little, because Billy was pretty sure he’d made some impression on Steve. Steve just shrugs,

“Nah, I’m pretty sure I’d remember someone like you.”

And there’s something in the way he says that, something in the way his eyes rake over Billy’s body, flicking down the tight suit and lingering , that sends butterflies fluttering in Billy’s stomach, something that makes him feel brave and stupid at the same time.

“You wanna get to know me?” Billy asks, voice dropping low and sultry. He’s all in now. Fuck it, why not? The mantra for the evening. If Harrington shies away, if he’s repulsed or gets violent or just freaked then Billy can run away and pretend he was never here.

But Steve doesn’t shy away. He’s not repulsed. He’s not violent.

He flicks the cigarette away, crushing it with the tip of a shining shoe.

His eyes gleam behind the mask.

He moves even closer, one hand reaching out to touch at Billy’s hip, the other tracing at the edge of Billy’s cat mask.

“Oh little kitten, I’m gonna make you purr.”

Billy can feel his mouth drying, can hear his heart thrumming in his ears. Because this? This isn’t how it goes. Not outside of his dreams anyway.

He swallows, waits a few seconds for his mind to stop whirring. For the twisting in his stomach to settle.

And then he smirks, fingers reaching up to flick at one of the antlers sticking up in between the waves of Steve’s hair.

“Really, Bambi?” he whispers, “Is that how it goes?” Billy licks his lips, “Because I thought the lion was the king of the jungle.”

Steve huffs out a laugh, and he’s so close that Billy can feel it ghosting over his face, Steve’s breath tingling at his lips.

“We’re not in the jungle though, Goldie,” Steve gestures towards the trees surrounding the house, the ones currently casting them in a deep shadow, the ones concealing them from view, “We’re in the forest. So I suggest you bow down; show some allegiance to your King.”

And Billy does. Without even a flicker of hesitation. He sinks to his knees at Steve’s feet, mouth already opening, ready for what Steve deigns to bestow on him.

(More of my Cocktober Writing here)

#cocktober #harringrove #eventually #they're getting to it...#billy hargrove #steve harrington

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elsb-hrngtons · 4 years

Text

A Wonderful Day at Pride

Thank you @opaldraws for your prompt of Robin/ Heather/ Carol at pride

for Harringrove for BLM, i went a bit over 1k but i really hope you like it :)

Read here on Ao3

There’s a bizarre thrum of electricity running through Robin’s body right now, a healthy mix of anxiety and anticipation, butterflies that have morphed and mutated into something more akin to angry wasps that refuse to settle in the pit of her stomach. She assesses her reflection one last time, knowing that if she takes even a minute longer Carol and Heather are likely to crash through the bathroom door and drag her out. She worries her lip and stains her teeth with a frankly unnecessary shade of pink lipstick that Carol insisted she wear for the occasion, admires the way the glitter she was attacked with moments ago shimmers in the fluorescent lighting of the hotel bathroom, the hotel bathroom in downtown Chicago, the one Steve insisted on paying for. Taking a few steadying breaths she readies herself, its now or never , and unlocks the bathroom door.

In their hotel room Heather and Carol are lounged on the huge king bed, hair and make up immaculate as always, outfits hugging them in all the right places that make Robin’s mouth water, she can’t believe how many times she’s almost lost her nerve, almost never made it here at all, and now she’s gazing over the stunning pieces of art that are her girlfriends and knows, no matter how scared she is, having the two of them to hold her hand makes the angry wasps of anxiety worth it.

Robin has never been to a Pride march before, wasn’t even really aware they were a thing, not until she started feeling more comfortable with herself, comfortable enough to admit who she is, who she loves to herself. And of course once she started admitting it to herself, it became a little easier to tell the people she really cared about too. Steve was the first one to draw her attention to Pride and what it is, subtly suggesting maybe she should go, offering to go with her for moral support, although Robin knows it was a little bit for himself too. But then the girls got wind of Robin’s desire to go, and as unsure as she was about it, they sensed this was really important to her, sensed it was Robin’s next emotional stepping stone into really accepting who she was, and well that was all the motivation they needed to organise the whole thing with the help of Steve’s wallet, to ensure it was the best possible experience Robin could hope for.

They make it to the parade, follow the endless crush of bodies all adorned in colourful flags, ostentatious outfits and enough glitter and body paint to make the Las Vegas strip look dull. Carol pushes her way through the crowd, gripping Robin’s and Heather’s hands in a vice like grip until they reach the front, Robin takes in her surroundings with wide eyes and a childlike wonder, drinks in the atmosphere of hundreds if not thousands of like minded people, all congregated in one place to celebrate, to celebrate their love, celebrate themselves, it’s invigorating, inspiring and as the afternoon goes on Robin begins to buzz with a newfound confidence she never had before. For the first time in Robin’s entire existence she feels free, has been dragged directly into the light after a lifetime in the shadows, and she loves it, is addicted to it.

With her new sense of assuredness she turns to her side where Heather is leaning into Carol, eye’s fixated on the crowd just as in awe as Robin, she brushes her hand gently up and down Heather's bare arm until Heather turns to look at her with a soft and adoring smile on her face. Robin can feel her affection brim over the edge, she’s overcome by it, overwhelmed as she grabs Heather by the face with both hands and kisses her in public for the first time ever, feels Heather melt into the kiss which helps her own tensions, her own anxieties wash away, distantly she can hear cheers and whoops from the crowd, and a small part of her hopes they’re for her. She does the same for Carol when she feels the warmth of Carol’s fingers brush against her shoulder, feels the tickle of her hair as she rests her forehead against Heather’s back hugging her behind, as Heather steps aside she has to bend at the knees and Carol has to stand on her tiptoes so one another lips can meet, gets swept away in the adrenaline of the kiss, of the crowd and hooks her hands underneath Carol’s knees and lifts, makes room so Carol can wrap her legs around Robin’s waist as the kiss deepens and gets more intense. Robin’s never felt more in love, with her girls, with herself, with the world.

The parade dies down, but the party doesn’t the masses of people all keyed up on life and various other substances are raring to continue into the small hours, and the girls are right there with them, Robin has never really been a party girl, but on this occasion she doesn’t want the party to ever end, wishes every day could be like this, is enthusiastic as Carol suggests they follow a couple of revellers they met in the crowd to some party in downtown Chicago, doesn’t question it just lets herself get carried away with excitement.

They find themselves in some kind of abandoned building, practically an empty shell except for the support beams and windows, the whole place is decked out in rainbow memorabilia and twinkling fairy lights, there’s a pop up bar over on one side and a DJ set up on the other. A huge crowd gathers in the middle a mass of sweaty bodies all slammed close together grinding and gyrating their hips, same sex couples everywhere always practically one step away from fucking right there on the dance floor, some men have given in to the relenting heat and have removed their shirts, women have removed as much clothing as their comfortable with, some evidently more comfortable with showing off their superb bodies than others, Heather and Carol practically have to pick Robin’s jaw up off the floor.

The party’s fun, they spend the night dancing amongst the throng of strangers, strangers who have all become friends for a day, the girls keep plying Robin with more and more alcohol and the more she drinks the looser she gets, the more relaxed, she’s giggly and touchy feely, can’t help the way her hands itch to touch the soft skin of her lovers, gow her body somehow knows the environment she’s in to be able to freely touch and show affection to the women she loves, to pepper them with kisses and whisper sweet nothings into their ears when she envelops them into her arms. But the nights over just as it feels like its beginning when the cops raid the place, at first Robin doesn’t really understand but then figures they were serving alcohol pretty freely this evening and Carol, Heather and herself can’t be the only minors present tonight.

They manage to escape the chaos, narrowly miss getting caught as they run hand in hand down the streets of Chicago back to their hotel, all giggling, all amped up on adrenaline. The journey back takes twice as long as it should, each girl taking turns in asserting their dominance dragging the others into quiet alcoves or pushing them against walls just to get their hands and lips on each other, it strikes Robin for the first time since the day began that this is everything she’s ever wanted, to be able to display her love for the whole world to see, just like normal couples, she doesn’t ever want to return to the cold shadows of her past, doesn’t want to hide who she is anymore.

As they get back to their room Robin flops on the bed utterly exhausted and still riding her high, Carol kicks her shoes off and crawls up the bed next to her, rests her head on Robin’s breast and sighs, Heather isn’t far behind.

“Did you enjoy yourself today Birdie?” Carol asks as she traces circles across Robin’s stomach.

“Yeah i really did”

“Me too” Heather chirps as she plays with Robin’s hair.

“I love you both so much, thank you for today” Robin says not for the first time that evening.

“Aww we love you too baby” Heather smiles as she leans up to kiss Robin’s cheek

“You’re both okay i guess” Carol smirks

“Carol!” Heather squeals

“Kidding. I love you both too”

Robin lies there holding her two girls tightly and listens as both their breathing evens out, too wired to fall asleep but content to just exist in this room, soothed by the feeling of their heart beats steady in their chests and the sounds of the city playing as the backing track to her whirlwind of thoughts. She sighs happily and thinks to herself, best day ever.

#Harringrove for BLM #opaldraws #Keg Girls #Keg gang #Robin x Heather x Carol #Robin Buckley #Heather Holloway #Carol Perkins

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