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Billy smells him before he even gets inside the school. Really, before he's barely locked his car.
It's morning, and he's only just parked, but he catches the scent carried by the brisk breeze. Suddenly everything is rose tinted and coffee and nice cologne and overpriced hair product and underneath it all that telltale, mouthwatering layer Billy's been doing his best to ignore for months now. Ever since he came to Hawkins, vowing to his father and to himself he would be different, he would be normal and better, and then subsequently got knocked on his ass by Harrington within the week.
Now, he's swallowing his own spit in gulps with a hand square over his racing heart. He backs up until his knees hit the Camaro and then he just stays there. Any closer and he'll do something he'll surely regret.
Like jumping Harrington in the halls. That'd give it away, everything he's tried so hard to tamp down. His crush.
His obsession, which he only admits to himself on especially lonely and secluded nights.
Billy's not supposed to want Harrington. And yet.
"Fucking," he mutters. "Please no."
If this is what he thinks it is, he should just turn right back around, get in his car, and drive the hell off. Just fuck off and spend his day at the quarry. The next few days, until it's safe.
Then he sees him. Harrington, his mop of hair flopping as he bounds down the front steps to the school to make a beeline for the parking lot--and the Bimmer parked not three spaces from Billy's car.
Billy can't have that.
Billy reaches behind himself to blindly fumble for the handle. But it's locked and his fingers catch. He swears.
Harrington sways on his feet when he's by his car. Bracing himself on the hood, he seems to dry heave and then he's spitting on the pavement, walking himself palm over palm to the door. He claws at it, dropping his keys twice in the process.
Then he just stops, slams his hand on the roof and presses his forehead to the metal. Billy can see how flushed he is in the face.
If it's this potent to Billy, he can't even imagine what it's like for Harrington right now. Guy can probably barely think straight--
Like a tidal wave, Harrington's scent floods him, soaks him through. Like a shot to the heart of pure adrenaline. Makes his blood sing and his hands sweat. Makes his head throb in an instant headache.
He’s never had someone's unblocked, obvious heat hit him so hard before. Sure, it's hard to ignore when it happens, but doable. Manageable. People still use blockers even this far out in the states. It's bearable. But this.
This isn't that.
The thing is too, nobody’s even paying them any mind. Nobody seemed to notice Harrington gunning it out of the school on his way to a proper heat. And nobody’s turning their heads now to give curious, knee-knocking little whiffs to scent the delicious tang to the air.
No, it’s just them.
And that’s just his fucking luck.
Billy can't help but watch, helpless as he starts to pant open mouthed things, like he can’t get enough air. Like he's the one going through it. He feels like he's about to burn up. Just singe straight to a crisp right there in the parking lot, and it's Harrington's fault.
It’s something one of them must have done since knowing each other. Some mark must have been made, accidental but--Undeniable in the worst possible way. Maybe during practice, or--
It’s Harrington. It’s always fucking Harrington.
Harrington, who lifts his flushed pink face and meets Billy's gaze almost immediately across the scant distance that separates them.
Then Harrington's heading right for him and Billy can't fucking move, no matter how much he silently pleads his own limbs to get the message.
It's almost unbearable up close. Even Harrington stumbles with the force of it, steps faltering when he's a foot away from Billy. It's flames rocketing under his skin, making him feel like a walking bonfire.
Billy lets out an embarrassing keen from deep in his throat so he turns his head sharply away, refusing to let Harrington see him like this. Like he wants him. Which he does, but. That little tidbit of information is neither here nor there, nor is it critical to the situation.
It’s all necessity now. Biology working against them. Billy’s barely holding himself back from pushing himself into Harrington’s space and rubbing all over him, masking him in his own scent, wanting to make him his--
And Jesus, Billy hates himself. Strains to keep his eyes focused on the school and not on the display before him.
But Harrington whines, stepping into Billy's space close enough for Billy to see the way he struggles between reaching out and staying put.
"You're in fucking heat, Harrington," Billy grinds out, squeezing his eyes closed. "Why'd you come to--to school? You know what could--could happen to you?"
"It--it just hit me," Harrington's saying, breathy, his voice wrecked. Billy startles when fingers wrap around his wrist. Harrington sighs and like a balm, relief soothes over Billy's heated skin. And if that isn’t confirmation right there. "Didn’t want it. Not today. Didn’t expect it--God, why'd it have to be you."
Billy snatches his wrist away, recoiling despite the instant return of the cloying fire under his skin, skimming his bones. Harrington sounds disgusted.
Yeah, why'd it have to be him. Billy's been asking himself that for months. Why’d it have to be him wanting Harrington. The unattainable. The one that was off limits.
The pretty boy out of a lush bunch at Hawkins High. One omega out of plenty. Billy could have whoever he wanted--but then.
Then.
He can’t do this.
"Go ask Byers or something--"
Harrington grabs his wrist back, squeezing hard. Billy's the one sighing this time. Can’t help it with how good it feels, the simple touch easing away so much pain.
He’s never--
"No," he hisses out and the force of the word has Billy looking back at him. "You. It's gotta be you."
"Why?"
"Billy." His other hand comes up, barely brushing Billy's collarbone before falling away. "I've been--You must--" Harrington grips his wrist so hard, pain shoots up his arm. "You feel it too."
Billy grits his teeth until his jaw aches.
This isn't how he wanted this to happen, if it ever did. If he was ever lucky enough.
"It has to be you."
It's a damn joke is what it is.
"Sure it can't be Hagan?"
Harrington’s eyes burn. Billy feels weak in the knees. If Harrington didn’t have such a steady hold on him, his own personal brand of a tether, he’s pretty sure he’d collapse in a useless heap.
"Fuck Tommy. He's not the one I want."
A weak, wanting sound slips out and Billy realizes it came from him. He can feel the heat pooling on his cheeks before he even speaks.
"We do this--I do this for you, Harrington, you're not allowed to hate me after."
Something in his dark eyes softens, imperceptibly. But it's there, present in the turn of his mouth and the caress of the thumb across Billy's pulse.
"More than I already do?” he laughs, throaty and raw. It cuts off in something like a hiccup. Billy hates it. “You gotta know--I wouldn’t do this if I--if it didn’t feel like this.”
And Billy knows that, even in spite of the way the words twist like a knife between two ribs. He knows Harrington hates him. He knows that. He kind of hates Harrington too. But it’s not like he never thought--never wanted--never imagined.
He didn’t want it to be like this.
“I got you, Harrington,” he says. “I’ll get you through this.” And, if only because he has to say it to save his fragile ego, “Only because--because it feels like it does.”
Harrington licks his lips, and bites them after. Billy leans in, nearly unaware of the way he tracks the movement.
“Thank you," Harrington whispers.
Then he's walking back to his car.
It's an unspoken agreement Billy will follow him.
--
On the drive over, tailgating Harrington’s too nice of a car the entire way, Billy wonders how this happened.
He can hardly keep steady enough to focus on the road he's so scent heady, knowing he's about to get exactly what he's wanted in the worst possible way.
He'll take it. Don’t get him wrong.
But how did this happen?
He’d heard about marks when he was younger. Gossip for the rumor mill. When you scent match with someone it means you’re the only two affected. You’re the only two who know, who get it. It feels physically painful to be far from one another during heats or ruts, so it makes sense you’d want to bond and be together--
But he and Harrington are the farthest thing from together two people can be. Harrington doesn't want him like Billy wants Harrington. And besides, all that scent marking talk is bullshit. All purple prose to make the idea of finding a bond mate less depressing growing up than it really actually is.
Like soulmates. Or the tooth fairy.
In reality, you fuck around with people you likely shouldn't and your fucking teeth fall out for a second set, with zero obligatory compensation. Life is shitty that way.
Scent matches don't exist. Bond mates sure, if you convince yourself, but your very own scent match? Your second half? Hell no.
But.
But Billy knows this isn’t a mere matter of catching a nice scent off some pretty body in the halls, getting an easy lay by working some minimal amount of charm to work off some pent off energy--no. This is too much. It’s the pain. And it’s the relief when Harrington touched him, skin to skin. If it was alleviated just from Harrington’s fingers against his wrist, what would the rest be like? What would everything feel like?
Billy almost rear ends the BMW when Harrington slows into his driveway. Billy isn’t far behind, and only waits for Harrington to get to the door before he finally gets out.
If he gets any closer any sooner than when they finally both get inside, Billy’s going to make a scene on Harrington’s porch and it's not like he wants that.
He tries to steady himself. Mentally prepare for what could be days spent wrapped up in Harrington’s arms, wrapping Harrington in his arms-- Jesus .
“Calm down,” Billy mutters to himself as he watches Harrington fuck with his front door lock. “Calm the fuck down you asshole.”
He climbs out and follows Harrington in.
Billy gets the door closed behind him when he sees Harrington already clawing his shirt off in the foyer--and Christ, Harrington would have a foyer. Billy’s never actually been inside the Harrington household, but it’s nice. Gaudy. Covered in bird themed decorations, and Billy thinks if only he had some seashells, it’d be a regular homage to the California coastline.
And everything, everywhere smells like him.
But then Harrington is making this low, pained sound. He’s flushed bright red, all the way from his ears to his chest, and Billy sees him heaving. Guy looks ready to pass out or die, and Billy's not really a fan of either option.
“It’s never,” Harrington gasps. “Never been so bad before. I don’t know what--”
He sways on his feet and Billy can’t keep from giving in and moving to catch him, steady him against the wall. Can’t help the sigh he lets out at how smooth Harrington’s skin is as he palms his sides, his hips. Can’t help burying his nose in thick hair when Harrington braces his head on Billy’s shoulder.
"Did you take a blocker?"
"Don't like 'em. Makes everything--fuzzy."
Hell. "When's uh, when's the last heat you had?"
Harrington lolls against him, nuzzling. Burrowing really. Trying his damnedest to get as close as he can. Billy cages him in tight against the wall, relishes the shudder it earns him.
"Months ago, Billy," he says. "Last year, I think?"
He's humming now, babbling nonsense as his fingers flex where they press to Billy's clothes.
"Why? Why so--so fucking long," Billy asks, the words nearly stuck in his throat.
Once a month was healthy, but last year?
“We’re really,” Harrington says, muffled. He lifts his head, nose pressing hot to Billy’s jaw. The warm puff of breath along his skin is electric. Has Billy mouthing at his temple, twisting fingers in his hair to pull him back some. Get him to meet Billy’s eyes. Harrington’s pupils are blown wide, he looks high. Lips red and parted and slick and Billy breathes harder at the sight. “This is really happening isn’t it?”
“Yeah it is,” Billy murmurs. Runs his hand through Harrington’s mass of hair, gets him leaning into the touch, heavy and trusting, even though he shouldn’t be. Probably. “Still up for it, baby?”
Harrington groans, snakes a hand down and cups Billy through his jeans.
He jerks his hips, already half hard from the mess of Harrington’s scent and eyes and fucking voice making his thoughts thick, his blood rush. Billy wants to sink his teeth in, bite him good and bloody until he bruises dark.
“Say that again,” Harrington whispers out, barely a rasp as he kneads Billy’s cock.
“This is it, baby," he says, and feels lips hot and urgent at the curve of his neck, beneath his shirt. Hears buttons snapping open as Harrington works his way across. "I'm here now. You came to me 'cuz you wanted me? You wanted me to take care of you?" He slips his thigh between Harrington's, feels teeth skim just beneath his jaw. "I'm gonna take such fucking good care of you. Gonna mark you up."
"Yeah," he slurs, swallowing thickly so that Billy hears the click of his throat. "Yeah."
"Want me to mark you? Want the school to see how good I fucking helped you, huh?" He's rambling and he's showing a little too much of the hand he's kept tight beside his heart, but. "Sound good, Harrington? Come on, tell me, baby. Tell me. Want to show the town who you belong to after today?"
Harrington actually moans, surging forward and meeting Billy in a teeth clacking kiss. Pulls back only to dive back in hard, biting at his lip. Any harder and he'll draw blood. He'll mark Billy up too.
It's a terrifying, disastrous thought. A bad idea. And Billy fucking wants it more than he's ever wanted anything.
He pulls away.
Harrington tracks him, lips seeking him out and so Billy focuses instead on how he can feel Harrington straining in his khakis. Wants to feel him hard and leaking against himself. Wants to make Harrington come in his pants, ruin his nice outfit. A precursor for what's to come. A slip of the thigh between Harrington’s and he’s keening, grinding down, unable to stop himself. His hands twist into Billy’s shirt and pull, pull, until Billy’s helping him. Shrugs out the tangle of his clothes himself, working past the way Harrington tugs along with him.
Billy sinks to his knees, gets Harrington’s fly unzipped. His cock is heavy and leaking, flushed at the tip. Harrington digs his nails into Billy’s hair, dragging delicious along his scalp as Billy inhales the thick musk of him. Buries his nose at his groin and mouths at his balls. It’s almost second nature to lick up one side and down the other, loving the appreciative croon it earns him before sucking right at the dripping head.
Harrington moans and bucks and then that gorgeous, perfectly thick cock is sliding home, hitting the back of his throat in one go. Billy gags on it. Goes to take him deeper, doesn’t care how how saliva starts dribbling down his chin.
Harrington’s hands immediately gentle, grabbing to pull him off but Billy refuses. He’s waited too goddamn long for this. To get his hands and his mouth on the golden boy of Hawkins. He’ll take all he can get. He’ll take everything.
“Jesus, Billy. You’re so--so good at this.” Hands scratch easy over his scalp, soothing and calm even as he accepts what Billy’s giving him, and thrusts freely down his throat. Tears are leaking down his cheeks but he doesn’t even care. It feels too good, Harrington using him. Tastes like heaven. “Not everybody can take me like this. You’re so fucking-- good.”
The words stoke the fire simmering under his skin. Make him suck and moan around the cock heavy on his tongue. Makes him grab at Harrington’s perfect ass and thrust him deeper, deep as he can go. Harrington cries out, clutches his head between his thighs and comes. Keeps coming. Spills so long Billy chokes after two swallows and has to regretfully pull back for air.
It’s hazy then, the edges of his vision pleasure-blurry. Like he took one two many hits off a pipe. He feels hands pulling at his bare shoulders, palm at his face. Feels the lips meeting his own to kiss the spend out of his mouth and Billy sucks on Harrington’s pretty pink tongue for his efforts. Loves that he doesn’t mind the taste of his own come.
“Come on,” he murmurs, tugging at Billy like he’s the alpha here. “I need it, Billy. Need you in me.”
Harrington’s gonna be the death of him.
Billy yanks down his own pants and briefs. Sticks two fingers in Harrington’s lush mouth as he sucks and slicks them up. He’s dripping when he reaches around and finds his hole, gets a finger in him easy, like it’s no problem at all. And it’s not, with the way Harrington’s got one leg propped up, the way he leans and rolls into every thrust of Billy’s finger. Easy, how he takes another, and then a third, and Billy can only bury his face in the endless pale neck straining in front of him. Kind of wants to die, just like this.
“You ever?”
Billy can’t even finish the sentence.
“Yeah--yeah. By myself. Thought about--”
He moans and clamps around Billy’s fingers.
“What did you think about,” Billy asks him, trying to find the spot that’ll make Harrington’s legs quake. So he only has Billy to rely on to keep him up. “When you had a hand around your cock and the other stuffing you full--what’d you think about? Was it Wheeler? Was it Byers?”
Harrington laughs. Actually laughs. Rolls his hips as if to make a point.
“Want your cock,” Harrington tells him, sounding more like an order than anything else. Billy bites at his neck, sucking another bruise.
“Tell me, pretty boy.”
He gets his other hand between them, and squeezes the base of his dick, gets him squirming and crying out in frustration.
“Billy--”
“No way, you’re gonna tell me who you thought about railing you to Timbuktu, pal.”
Harrington leans back, letting his head thunk against the wall. Gets his eyes on Billy and rolls them, fisting a hand in his hair. Billy hisses as Harrington wrenches him away, trying in vain to thrust into Billy’s tight fist. Grits his teeth, as if the pain of it isn’t a turn off. And isn’t that interesting.
“You, dumbass,” Harrington breathes. “Thought about you. Thought about--about what it’d be like to ride you. Or fuck you. God, Billy. Want it so bad. Thought about it so much.”
Billy releases the death grip on his cock and he spills again, gasping out Billy’s name as warmth pulses over his fingers. Billy brings it up to lick them clean, where Harrington can see.
Harrington’s nothing but flushed warm want. It’s all over him. In the dark of his eyes, and the part of his lips. In the way his scent saturates everything until it’s almost hard to see.
“You have too,” he says, like he knows he’s right. “Wouldn’t smell like you do if you didn’t. It wouldn’t be like this--this good. Wouldn’t have this much in me to give.”
And, sure enough. He’s still hard where Billy teases at him with still slick fingers.
Billy’s never had anyone like this before.
And it’s never been with someone he’s wanted for so long, so badly .
Billy lifts to cup his jaw, feel the pleasant warmth radiate from his skin. Feel the stretch of his cheek as he smiles. They both know Harrington’s right, so there’s no use stating the obvious.
Maybe that makes him lucky.
“Thought scent matching was bullshit,” Billy mutters, thumbing over the spot beneath his ear. “Didn’t think it was real. Never thought it’d be you.”
Billy turns them around. Eases Harrington to the floor, gets him spread out over their clothes. Harrington doesn’t argue, doesn’t even seem to mind. He’s scent-addled same as Billy, but they still both have their wits about them. It’s not like they can’t still think, even if it’s a little hard.
They’ve only just started after all.
Harrington spread his legs. Wraps a hand around his cock, unashamed and eager about it. Stares up at Billy like they’ve done this a dozen times before today. But Billy’s stomach still quakes with nerves, his hands run over pale and mole dotted thighs in a flutter.
Harrington’s still slick, but Billy’s still nervous. And he feels so stupid about it.
Fuck, he thinks.
“I’m glad it’s you,” Harrington says abruptly. Words Billy never expected to hear. “I wondered, after the fight. Wanted it to be you. Wanted to kill you a little too, but maybe that just helped it along.”
Billy sinks down to kiss him. To snatch the words away and keep them tucked safe where he won’t forget them. Harrington licks into his mouth and breaks away quick, smiling.
“So fucking glad it’s you, Billy.”
Billy swallows thickly. He has to be dreaming. He has to.
But, it’s Harrington reaching down to line up Billy’s cock, rubbing them together all slick and teasing. Billy thrusts a little, sinking in barely. An equal tease back, unable to help himself. Loves the way Harrington’s lashes flutter at the sensation.
“I’ll go slow,” Billy promises.
“Who asked you to do that?”
Billy just grins, dropping his chin.
“Steve,” he says, staring at a pretty mole over his heart. “I’m real happy it’s you too.”
Steady fingers trail down his shoulders, over his spine. Urge him forward in tentative pulls that has Billy meeting those big mopey eyes of his again. Sees something powerful there, and fiery like they sometimes are.
Billy’s screwed.
“Show me, then,” Harrington whispers and it’s another order and Harrington shouldn’t be so bossy, but Billy secretly kind of loves that too.
So he obliges.
Billy pushes in slow, in spite of the instant clawing at his ass. Harrington’s so fucking tight, but he takes Billy in slow and steady. It’s almost nothing to roll his hips and start up something jolting, something deep. Something to keep the wave of white hot relief flowing over them both, the utter revelation of it, the fire hasn't been snuffed but rather urged so high, so hot it feels cold, too bright to see. He's never felt anything so close to perfect in his whole life, and knows it's real, whatever it really is. Doesn't matter.
"Only you, baby," he's murmuring. "Only you, Steve. God, it's only ever you."
Harrington digs his heels into the floor and thrusts against Billy’s stomach and it hits Billy suddenly how well it clicks. Like they’ve done it before, like they’re good at it. Like there’s only so much more to come.
He kisses Harrington deep, eats down every moan that rolls under his teeth.
He can’t fucking wait.