thequeerdungeonfanfiction

[thequeerdungeonfanfiction]

Broken Routine

I’m playing with writing styles. This isn’t my norm, so it might not continue like this, if it continues.  Either way--enjoy! Fandom: Stranger Things Pairing: Billy Hargrove & Steve Harrington World: A/B/O Note: Italics means dialogue, depending on the situation.

Wake Up - 5:00AM.

Start the coffee. Listen to it drip and gurgle. Float in the aroma of cheap coffee beans and count the equally cheap tiles until the sound of his father’s door creaks open.

Yes, sir. No, sir. 

Tread lightly because there are only so many split lips and bruises he can shrug off in practice. Hold his hand out. Accept the pills and the lecture of how disappointing he is for presenting the way he did. Yes, sir. Swallow the pills dry and only leave the room when he’s dismissed to make sure Max is up, as a responsible brother should.

Snarl through her door about getting the fuck up because they can’t be late, barely flinch when the sound of something hits the wood. Look back at the kitchen. Maybe he didn’t hear. Maybe he didn’t notice–

He did.

Fuck.

So much for showing up without another busted mouth.

Susan is asleep. She worked the night shift. Doesn’t he have any respect? Yes, sir, no, sir. The familiar burn of a backhand, Neil’s military ring, anger bubbling under his skin.

You’re almost of age, son–

Panic. Nausea.

What am I going to do with you–

Swallow blood. Don’t spit it on the floor.

Maybe the highest bidder. That’s all you’re good for.

Anger draining into fear, full body chills, disbelief.

I have friends, William, who would pay a pretty penny for you.

Swallow bile, the urge to vomit. Yes, sir, no, sir. A flash of red–Max is ready to go to school. His only saving grace.

Get out of my sight.

Get out of the house. Don’t run. Predators chase prey that run. Turn the engine over. Blast Black Sabbath. 

What was Neil talking about–

Shut the fuck up, Maxine. It’s none of your business.

If she’s lucky, she’ll present alpha.

No pills. No hiding. No flinching whenever an alpha gets too close.

No fronting to ensure staying hidden.

Park. Get out. Listen to Max bitch about having to board over to the middle school. Flip her off.

Catch sight of Steve Harrington–resident alpha shoved off his throne.

Winter. Pine. A bonfire. 

Addictive. Dizzying. 

Off limits.

Off limits.

Tell his instincts that.

Sneer. Front. Grin at the mild look of disgust on Harrington’s face.

Off. Limits.

Keep looking, Harrington. You’ll never get a piece of this.

Not even if you were an omega, Hargrove.

Cackle. Ignore the pit of oil and anger churning in his gut.

Lick his teeth, step close, secretly breathe in Harrington’s scent. Drown in it. Keep it for later.

Maybe steal a sweater, if he can, for his isolated heats in his military-esque bedroom.

If I was an omega, Harrington? I wouldn’t fuck a has been.

A flash of hurt, then disgust again. 

Twist on his heel. Walk away.

Harrington must be in a mood. Billy stumbles back, surprised by the yank on his jacket. Turns so their faces are close, breaths mingling, eyes nearly level.

King Steve, huh–

Definitely a mood. Billy hits the ground, his breath spilling out of him. Tastes more blood. Spits it out instead of swallowing. Harrington steps close, leans down. Billy twists, tries to roll to his feet, grunts when Harrington’s hand shoves to his chest and pins him to the ground.

If you aren’t an omega, Hargrove, what’s that scent coming off of you?

Pills. Did he check the pills? The grooves? The numbers?

Would his father actually–

Sugar pills? How long?

Panic.

We need to get you out of here. Harrington, local fucking hero, golden babysitter, goody two-shoes.

Sneer. Throw a punch, awkward from the ground. Harrington catches it, shoves his arm down.

You smell like rosewater, Hargrove. Let’s go.

Neil’s threat, fresh in his mind. Of age. Highest bidder.

Hargrove.

Fear. Visceral.

Shit, we gotta get you outta here. Get up.

Get up. Get up. Get up.

Get up, boy.

He wouldn’t.

Neil would.