Chapter Text
Steve had done plenty of dumbass things in his short life.
He had gone underground to help fourteen year olds blow up the heart of a monster from another universe.
He had let his friends write “Nancy Wheeler is a slut” on the movie theater board show times.
He had looked for a demodog with Dustin.
He had stolen bourbon from his dad.
He had once masturbated with his door open.
But this–kissing Billy Hargrove at three thirty a.m. in a public parking lot the day before Valentines Day–was the dumbest.
It wasn’t a long kiss, and it wasn’t deep or passionate, and Billy didn’t kiss him back. The kiss itself was over in three seconds. They stared at each other, both shocked into silence, for longer.
Then Billy punched him.
To be fair, Steve should have expected that. He should have thought out the consequences for kissing hyper-masculine-has-dated-every-girl-in-Hawkins-Billy-Hargrove, but he didn’t.
At least the voice had shut the fuck up.
Billy didn’t punch him hard; in fact, Steve could reason it was out of reflex than anything, because Billy immediately stumbled back, face red and eyes wide in the dark. He looked around them, frantically, like he was expecting someone to jump out and catch them. Steve should’ve thought about that. Plenty of gay folks had disappeared in the woods near Hawkins Indiana. He was lucky Billy had the mind to look around for the reasons why.
Steve could taste the slight tang of blood on his tongue, and his jaw was aching with zings of sharp pain every now and then, but it was definitely one of the softer punches Billy had thrown his way.
And to be fair, Billy did look like he wanted to punch him again. His hands were shaking, fists curled tight at his sides, and he was breathing heavy, like a bull barely holding itself back from charging.
Steve was a dumbass, remember that.
“That all you got?” Steve asked, his hands tingling but he ignored it, because all he wanted was for Billy to beat him to death and then he’d never fuck up anyone else’s life ever again.
“Are you fucking insane?” Billy snapped, words enraged and barely held together, “do you know what happens to faggots, Harrington?”
Gut you. Impale you on stakes. Ssssskin you alive in a lake–
“Yeah, dipshit, I do. You probably shouldn’t be seen with me anymore, I’ll walk home,” Steve said, all the anger and frustration boiling away in place of his growing exhaustion.
Billy looked taken aback, surprised, before realization dawned across his features and he looked even angrier than before.
“What the fuck are you trying to do here? You kissed me to make me leave? What the fuck kind of messed up mind games are you trying to play?” he growled, rolling his broad shoulders and Steve looked away, couldn’t look at Billy any longer.
“I’m not trying to–shit, Billy why aren’t you beating the pulp outta me, huh?” Steve retorted, words sharp with his frustration, “you almost beat me to death for less, why aren’t you turnin’ me to mush now?”
Billy’s eyes flashed, nostrils flaring, and for a moment Steve thought he had him. He expected another hit. He didn’t expect Billy to shake his head, wipe his mouth roughly with the back of his hand, and turn to walk towards his Camaro.
“You almost risked both our lives to get me to beat the shit outta you, Harrington?” Bill asked, and his voice was so cold Steve began to realize the danger he’d put their relationship in, put the two of them in, “you know, I’m not into hammering a guy who’s dyin’.”
“I’m not…” Steve began but couldn’t finish.
He would be lying, if he did.
“Get your ass in the car, Harrington,” Billy sighed, voice still detached, not meeting Steve’s gaze, “and if you kiss me again I really will put you in the ground. You don’t fuck with me like that, you got it?”
Steve didn’t know what to say. The guilt was clogging his throat so horribly he felt like he was choking.
“Billy, I–”
“Shut up,” Billy snapped, a familiar rage creeping into his tone, into his features, “shut the fuck up or I really will break all your teeth.”
Steve swallowed, and took a step forward. He couldn’t feel his hands, or his feet, and he could recognize easily when the thing was beginning to take over. He didn’t know what he was thinking would happen, what he’d become without Billy’s support, but he didn’t expect to get weaker.
He didn’t expect to want to give into it.
You can rest, it said, you can rest and I’ll leave. I’ll go away. All you need to do is sleep. For a few hours, just sleep.
For the first time, the things offer sounded good.
You’re really fucking everyone up.
Steve didn’t have the energy to respond.
Instead, he walked around and got in the Camaro. Billy didn’t speak, just started the engine with an aggression that had Steve worrying over the ignition, before he peeled out of the driveway and out onto the road that led to Hopper’s, away from town.
He’ll try to burn you, it hissed, a panic that wasn’t Steve’s own seeping into his veins, he’ll try to burn the heart out of us.
Guess we deserve it, don’t we? Steve asked.
It didn’t respond.
The trees passed by in a dark blur, and Billy turned on his music, blasted it so loud it vibrated the seats and tingled Steve’s teeth. Steve felt horrible. Both for what he did and it not working, and for putting Billy in the position he had.
Steve wouldn’t blame the guy for never wanting to see him again. Steve could tell Billy was angry enough to cut him out.
He could taste it in the air, the bitterness that Billy was feeling towards him. It made his heart flutter. It also made him panicked, guilty, angry–at both himself and Billy because if Billy had just acted the way Steve had been expecting, if he’d just gotten angry, beat him, left him stranded in the lot and never contacted him again–then maybe Steve would have been able to spare Billy the hurt of supporting him.
I need to get home.
Stop talking, Steve pleaded, leaning his head against the cold glass of the car’s window, please stop talking.
We can make a deal, it said. We can make a deal and I will leave.
What kind of deal? Steve asked, because why the fuck not?
He would die if he kept this thing in him. Who knew how long he had left?
You get me to the gate, the small girl opens it, and I leave, I go, and it’s over, the thing hissed and Steve rolled his eyes closed, tried to focus on how nice the frosted window felt against his skin.
He felt like he had a fever. Based on past experiences with this thing, he probably did.
You know how much effort it took us to close the gate in the first place? Steve asked, ignoring the shake in his hands, he continued: there’s something in there that wants to come out. I doubt that thing is you.
The thing didn’t respond for a long while, and Steve tried to focus on anything besides his headache, tried to focus on the loud music Billy was playing instead.
Give me the girl and all will stay inside, it said.
Go to hell, Steve snapped, and blocked it out.
///
Billy pulled to a stop off the main road, killing the engine and headlights under the cover of the night and trees.
If they kept driving a mile up, they’d get to Hopper’s. Steve didn’t know why they’d stopped, and Billy was gripping the steering wheel so tight he was wary to ask. Thankfully, Billy spoke first.
“Why’d you kiss me?” he asked, not looking at Steve but looking out into the woods before them.
Steve hadn’t prepared to hear that question, hadn’t prepared for the aftermath of his actions at all, and so he barely had time to process Billy’s question. He opened his mouth to answer but Billy cut him off.
“Don’t lie,” he said, words stiff and absolute, “you owe me that much.”
He was right. Steve knew that.
He had an answer to Billy’s question, he did, but how could he say it out loud when he hadn’t even had time to come to terms with it himself?
Why don’t you ever help me out with these kinds of situations? Steve thought, and the thing shivered under Steve’s skin. The sensation almost felt like a laugh.
“I don’t know,” Steve answered, and hoped it would be enough.
Billy scoffed, drumming his fingers against the leather of the steering wheel, before reaching over and snapping off his radio. It was deafly silent; Steve couldn’t hear anything except the woodland animals, an owl up in a tree. The air in the car was heavy with tension, with unspoken words, and Steve wanted to break it, wanted to just be honest, but more than that he wanted to leave and not have to face Billy Hargrove in the dark.
You're a coward, it said.
“I told you not to lie,” Billy replied, threatening.
Steve took a deep breath, tried to steady his heart.
“I kissed you because I wanted you to leave me alone,” Steve answered, honest, “I don’t want to drag you down with me.”
There was silence as Billy considered this.
“That doesn’t explain why you chose to kiss me,” Billy said after a while and Steve turned to stare at his profile in the dark.
“Yeah, it does–”
“Most people don’t kiss someone to push them away,” Billy argued, fingers still drumming against the wheel, “you could’ve said anything.”
Steve knew that.
Deep down, Steve knew that. Steve knew about Billy’s father. He’d seen the bruises on Billy’s neck, cheeks, the cut lips under the diner’s light. Max had told Dustin and the kids enough of her stepfather’s anger for Steve to fill in the pieces.
If Steve had really wanted to push Billy away, he would’ve brought up that. Brought up him being weak, call him a pussy, anything regarding Billy’s past life in California. He had thought a kiss would work, would fill in the blanks of all that. He was hoping that Billy was homophobic, that his usual quick temper would come into play.
It hadn’t.
Steve was never prepared to handle Billy.
He should have realized that by now.
“I don’t know why I kissed you,” Steve admitted.
Billy was quiet for a long time. He moved his right hand first, slowly; slow enough that Steve could piece together what Billy was doing before he did it. His hand rested lightly on Steve’s knee, his touch scalding even through the fleece pajama bottoms Steve was wearing.
Steve didn’t know what the fuck to do. Billy’s touch was both familiar yet foreign, hot and chillingly cold, and Steve didn’t know what to do with it. The voice didn’t either, if its silence was anything to go by. A weighted quiet fell over the both of them, and it was suffocating, not knowing what to do. Steve didn’t even consider taking Billy’s hand from his leg.
“Can you feel this?” Billy asked, voice choked and softer than Steve had ever heard.
He sounded like a kid.
Steve felt like one.
“Yeah,” Steve whispered, somehow worried that speaking any louder would shatter whatever moment the two of them had created.
“Is it nice?” Billy’s words were curious and guarded, like he was dangling from a string and expecting Steve to cut it.
Steve would never cut it. He was dangling right there beside him.
“Yes,” Steve answered, not bothering to lie.
His heart was beating so fast, so hard, that he felt it in his ears. He’d never been this nervous in all his life. Billy wasn’t a girl. Girls, Steve knew. Boys? Boys like Billy? It was a great unknown.
The two young men weren’t looking at each other. Steve was keeping his focus on the dashboard and into the dark woods beyond. Most of his attention though, was on Billy’s hand, and how it moved up and stopped on his upper thigh, Billy’s fingers dangerously close to his crotch. Close enough; that Steve was entirely aware of the position he was in. Fleece pajama bottoms did nothing to hide a stiffy. He wondered if Billy could feel how hot he felt, if Billy was even looking.
Steve was never someone to think things through.
He turned, expecting Billy to be looking away. Instead, Billy’s eyes were meeting his, and the moment was as loud as it was silent.
Steve was a dumbass. He was a reckless dumbass.
Fortunately, Billy was too.
Steve didn’t know which one made the first move, only that one of them had, and that the gearshift was digging into his hip, and that Billy Hargrove was kissing him.
And he was kissing back.
It was tentative, at first. Testing, like they were both waiting for the other to pull away or send out another hit. When neither of them did, Billy gripped Steve’s thigh, and heat pooled hot and warm in Steve’s stomach and groin. He didn’t even try to hide his sharp inhalation as he pressed closer, and Billy didn’t try to hide the stuttered gasp he made before Steve’s lips moved against his and they both fell silent.
Kissing Billy was something Steve hadn’t let himself think about. If he did, he tried to banish the thought as soon as it materialized. They kissed slow, at first, slow and careful, and then Billy’s tongue met Steve’s and it became a little frenzied, a little frantic, and all Steve was aware of was Billy’s taste and Billy’s hand and how hard Billy was making him get.
He felt like a livewire, like every move and touch was electrifying, and he fumbled to get his seat belt unclasped, his hands shaking so horribly he barely managed it. But Steve didn’t care, and Billy didn’t care, and it was exhilarating. They didn’t part to take a breath, didn’t dream of it, because whatever was happening now may never happen again and Steve couldn’t handle kissing Billy and then forever be denied.
He climbed over the center console without thinking, long legs knocking against fucking everything and Billy laughed against his lips.
Steve bit him in sharp retaliation and squeezed himself to hover over Billy’s lap; knees pressed tight against the door and Billy’s jean clad hips. He tried not to press himself against Billy’s stomach, but Billy was a really good kisser and Steve was slowly forgetting himself. Billy’s hands wandered up Steve’s thighs, fire lighting over Steve’s skin, and rested on his hips, Billy’s thumbs slipping under his shirt to rub at the skin underneath.
Steve felt dizzy, felt wild, felt like, if Billy wanted, he’d let Billy have sex with him. He felt his rationality flying out the frostbit window, and when Billy’s tongue licked along the top of his mouth he couldn’t help the breathy sound that left him.
In the past, he’d been silent during sex, or making out, never one for much noise but with Billy he was finding himself fighting to be quiet. Billy’s left hand roamed, nails scraping against Steve’s side and Steve shivered, thighs shaking from holding himself up over Billy’s lap. Billy noticed, like he did most things concerning Steve Harrington, and his smile curved the shape of their kiss.
He pulled back, but not far, planting one loud, open-mouthed kiss against the corner of Steve’s mouth, his stubble pricking against the tender skin.
Steve opened his eyes, met Billy’s own, and though it was dark Steve could make out how big Billy’s pupils were, wondered if his were as large. Wordlessly, without breaking eye contact, Billy’s other hand came up to Steve’s side, and, slowly, both slid down to Steve’s ass, gripping firmly. Steve wasn’t expecting the jolts of heat that sizzled along his nerves at the gesture but he liked it, pushed back slightly into Billy’s touch, leaned forward to connect their lips again and–
The car horn blaring made them both nearly jump out of their skins, Billy’s hands falling away and off of Steve immediately, and Steve fell forward in surprise, balancing himself by resting his hands on Billy’s shoulders.
They both looked around, on instinct, and then realized what had happened and looked at each other, eyes wide, hearts pounding.
It felt like ice had been dumped over Steve’s skin, and Billy’s expression mirrored the feeling. Billy shifted, and the movement rubbed against Steve’s front, where, in his panic, he’d landed his full weight against Billy. Billy stilled, awareness and realization in his eyes and for the first time all night Steve flushed red.
“Don’t say anything,” Steve snapped, voice rough and mouth dry.
Billy grinned, teeth flashing, and Steve felt his own arousal in the tips of his toes.
“Don’t say what?” Billy hedged, moving his right hand up Steve’s thigh; teasing along his hip, “don’t say that you’re hard?”
Steve swallowed, rapidly losing focus the closer Billy’s hand got to his crotch, and he wished it were lighter, wanted to see Billy’s face clearly, wanted to see if Billy was as affected as he was. Steve squirmed, shifted on Billy’s lap, and Billy’s hands tightened on Steve’s hips.
It was Steve’s turn to smile.
“You’re one to talk,” he said, feeling Billy’s own hardness against his thigh, pressing up in the confines of Billy’s jeans.
Billy rubbed circles into the skin of Steve’s stomach, under his shirt, and Steve really wanted to kiss him again was already missing it. His lips were tingling, both from the making out and Billy’s stubble.
“Why’d you kiss me?” Billy asked again, voice quiet but as rough as Steve’s in the dark.
“I wanted to,” Steve answered, carefully raising his right hand to wipe away spit on Billy’s bottom lip, “I just didn’t know how you’d respond.”
Billy raised an eyebrow.
“Wasn’t expecting this?” he asked.
“Were you?” Steve retorted.
Billy shook his head, an awed look sliding across his features, before he rose up and kissed Steve deep, kissed him hard, and Steve wasn’t even embarrassed that his cock twitched.
“Color?” Billy asked, his mouth moving against Steve’s lips and making them tingle all over again.
“Green,” Steve said without thinking, leaning down to kiss Billy again.
But Billy pulled back.
“Think about it, asshole,” he said, holding Steve in place with his hands on Steve’s hips.
Steve wanted to argue, wanted to tell Billy to stop babying him, but he didn’t. Billy was, surprisingly, right. Steve sighed, leaning down to rest his forehead against Billy’s. He tried to take stock of himself. He couldn’t feel Billy’s touch anymore, he realized. Couldn’t feel the warmth of Billy’s thumbs against his hipbones, couldn’t feel the heat radiating between their bodies that fogged the windows.
He swallowed, frustrated, and shook his head.
“Can’t feel,” he admitted, hating himself, hating this fucking thing inside of him–
“Okay,” Billy said, nodding and slowly leaning back away from Steve, which was the last thing Steve wanted right now, “lets get you back, princess, the sun is comin’ up.”
Steve hadn’t even noticed the soft rosy hue that was color the once ink sky, and he reluctantly extracted himself from Billy, sliding back over the console and into his seat, crossing his arms and trying not to show his frustration. His cock throbbed, wanting release, but he must have some masochistic kink because he hooked up with Billy in the first place. Billy put the car in drive, glancing over at Steve as they drove back up to Hopper’s house.
The light was on in the kitchen, and Steve really didn’t want to go inside.
“You shouldn’t go to school today,” Billy said, pulling up and putting the car in park.
“Yeah, probably not,” Steve admitted, his heart still hammering in his chest.
Billy looked up to the house and when no movement showed from inside he leaned over and kissed Steve again, and Steve was thankful it wasn’t just him who wanted to kiss Billy all the time. It seemed the desire ran both ways. Billy, because he was a little shit, bit Steve’s lip between his teeth as he pulled away.
Steve watched, enthralled, as Billy licked his lips after.
“You’re not helping me here,” Steve groaned, burying his face in his hands.
Now would be a good time to show me grotesque pictures, Steve thought, and the thing twitched beneath his heart.
You two are enough of one, it said.
God, don’t tell me you’re getting an attitude now, Steve sighed, and removed his hands to look at Billy.
He was really attractive with his kiss-swollen lips, messed up hair and wrinkled clothes. And now, with the sun rising, Steve could see that Billy was just as hard as he was. Unfortunately, Steve had to walk inside to a late forty year old man and a fourteen-year-old telepathic child that just found out what curse words were. He hoped the cold would kill his boner on the way in.
“Hey,” Steve began, shifting in his seat, his hand on the door’s handle, “are we good?”
Billy grinned, and something unreadable flashed in his eyes, something that was gone too quick for Steve to see.
“Yeah, we’re good, princess,” he said, watching Steve with that intense look of his, “now get your firm little ass inside before Hopper skins me, okay?”
“Yeah yeah, I’m going, shit, is this how you usually are at the end of a date?” Steve groused, not even realizing what he said until he was out of the car.
Panic swelled, but one look at Billy and it went away without a trace.
He was smiling, a true wide smile, one of his private Steve-only smiles, and Steve felt a warmth different from arousal course through his veins and light up his dying heart.
“Just get your ass inside, Harrington,” Billy grinned, voice happier and lighter than Steve had ever heard it.
“Oh!” Billy called after him, and Steve turned on his way up the drive, already freezing from the cold, “you look like you just fucked, so maybe wanna fix your mane. Happy V Day!”
Then, without another word, Billy peeled out of the gravel lot, leaving Steve alone and still hard in the driveway in the middle of the woods.
He really has a hold on you, it said, curiously.
Steve didn’t answer.
How could he, when he had never felt so alive?
He turned, after Billy’s car had disappeared into the trees, to walk back up the porch and inside. Joyce was standing at the door, wrapped up in a thick, grey robe, her small feet jammed into large slippers, and a cigarette dangling from her lips. She was fighting back a smile, Steve could tell, and her eyes twinkled as he made his way up to her.
“Please don’t say anything,” Steve pleaded, half expecting Joyce to kick him out into the street.
Or worse, tell Hopper and they could arrest him together.
Instead, Joyce reached out, and brushed Steve’s hair back out of his eyes, her fingers resting warm and comforting on his cheek.
“Never,” she promised, before kissing his nose and offering him a cigarette.
He took it, and she lifted her arm, let him sidle up against her side under the large robe.
In the cold, with a monstrous parasite inside him, he’d never felt so warm.