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“So… we’re stuck like this? How long until the Chief comes back with the key?”
“Hop said he’ll be out of town until tomorrow morning,” Harrington grimaced, using his free hand to put the phone back into the receiver. His left hand was attached to Billy’s wrist with handcuffs that Erica Sinclair had ‘borrowed’ from Chief Hopper.
Billy doesn’t know exactly how Erica had managed to trap them under the guise of it’s a magic trick, it’ll be fun— he should’ve known she’s an evil mastermind underneath sweet smiles and ribbon-tied pigtails.
Lucas, Dustin and Max were way too amused by the situation, and Harrington’s visible frustration only made their teasing worse. He’s probably Harrington’s last choice of company for the next 24 hours. He’d been working on getting along better with Max, had even apologised to Lucas, but Harrington still held an unwavering grudge against him. Billy doesn't expect to be forgiven any time soon.
Billy waits until Mr and Mrs Sinclair return home before yanking Harrington by his handcuffed wrist and pulling him out towards the Camaro. Erica Sinclair stands at the doorway watching them leave, lips curved into the most devious smile.
“Hey, wait! We’ve gotta take Dustin home too—”
“We?”
“Yes, we! You’re stuck with me, so you don’t have a choice.” Harrington pulls harshly on the chain, only managing to tug him forward one step towards the BMW, “C’mon!”
Billy stands his ground, “Then we’re taking my car. I’m driving.”
Harrington sighs, follows him a little less reluctantly and stumbles over to the Camaro.
Max and Dustin had already found their seats in the back by the time Billy had pushed Steve through the driver’s side door and into the passenger seat.
“I can’t believe Erica, this is a real pain in the ass.” Harrington grumbles.
“It’s not her fault you two were stupid enough to let her handcuff you!” Dustin protests.
“It’s clearly her fault. How did she even get Hop’s handcuffs?”
“Shut up dickheads, which direction is your house?” Billy asks.
Billy drops off Dustin first, then drives down Old Cherry Road, pulls over outside their house.
“Hey, if he asks where I am—”
Max stops, halfway out the car door, “Yeah, it’s fine. I’ll make up something.”
He thinks he should say yeah, thanks, it shouldn’t be hard to get those words out.
Instead, he says, “Whatever, shit bird.”
“So…” Billy clears his throat, “Your place?”
“Yeah, uh. Loch Nora.”
“Won’t your folks mind you bringing home a guy you’re handcuffed to?”
“They’re out of town.” Harrington changes the subject, “Hey, can you stop at Melvald’s on the way there?”
“No way!” Billy laughs, “The hell do you think people will say with us handcuffed together?”
Harrington tips his head back against the headrest, “fine, whatever,” he mumbles.
Billy glances over to see him pouting in the passenger seat. Harrington already hates him, it’s not like he can do anything to change that. He has nothing left to lose, so he might as well test his boundaries.
Harrington might not be enjoying this situation, but Billy can work with what he’s got. Things like this don’t just happen to Billy, he’s gonna make the most of it. It’s been a long time since he’s been this close to a boy as pretty as Steve Harrington.
Billy had this friend in Cali— the one he tries not to think about too much, anymore. He was close, too close, closer than two boys should be. In Hawkins, he doesn’t have a hand to hold, doesn’t have anyone running their fingers through his hair, doesn’t have someone to wrap him up in warmth. And the kisses—
He didn’t realise how much he liked it, those touches, until they were gone. Until he was uprooted and separated from the only people who actually gave a shit about him.
And with Harrington so close, hand only inches away from his own, arm stretched out over the dashboard with as much distance between them as the handcuffs would allow—
He wants— needs to get closer, craves that kind of touch.
Billy reaches over, jostling Harrington’s cuffed arm, and punches him in the shoulder.
“Slug bug!”
“Hey! Ouch, what was that for? I didn’t see a VW.”
“You must’ve missed it,” Billy lies.
Steve shifts to the side, turning away from him.
Billy chews on his lip. Puts his hand back on the top of the steering wheel. Harrington’s arm is slack, hanging by the chain of the handcuffs just a few inches above Billy’s knee.
Nothing to lose.
Dropping his grip to the lower part of the wheel, Harrington’s hand drops in tandem, falling to Billy’s leg. He feels Harrington tense for a moment, palm just above Billy’s knee, before resting it comfortably on the denim. The weight and warmth of it spreads heat all through him; he hopes the flush rising at the back of his neck won’t reach his face.
Billy steers the Camaro towards Melvald’s.
It turns out Billy was right, it’s a terrible decision to go out in public while he’s handcuffed to another guy. Harrington huddles up close to him.
“The hell are you doing? People will think we’re holding hands!” Billy says in a harsh whisper.
“Trying to hide the handcuffs! Would you rather them knowing we’re handcuffed together?”
Billy rolls his eyes, grabs onto Harrington’s hand with a little more force than necessary. “Fine, let’s get this over and done with.”
Melvald’s is small, and pretty quiet. Still, Billy scopes out the store for any familiar faces.
Billy knows he doesn’t need to be constantly on guard, ready for a fight— all the time. His father isn’t here, he knows, but. It’s like his body hasn’t gotten the message, yet. Because his heart is going way too fast. He’s okay, he’s safe, his father is not here—
But there’s adrenaline running through his veins, and his heart is beating out of his chest like he’s just run a marathon. He scans the store again to see if anyone is looking their way.
Billy doesn’t have any choice but to follow Harrington down each aisle until his arms are full. They manage to get everything they need without drawing anyone’s attention. Mrs Byers greets them with a smile at the register, raises an eyebrow at their joined hands while scanning a tin of tomatoes.
“It’s, uh. It was Erica Sinclair…” Harrington explains, holds up their cuffed wrists to show her.
Billy’s seen the outside of Harrington’s place plenty of times before, but this is the first time he’s been inside. It’s big, pristine, looks like something out of a catalog. Harrington leads him to the kitchen; it’s just as spotless and high-end as the rest of the house.
He never expected Harrington to be the type to cook, let alone cook well. But Harrington tugs him around the kitchen as he works, and in less than ten minutes two bowls of pasta are served, steaming and ready.
They’re sitting beside each other on the couch, digging into their food when Steve interrupts Jeopardy to tell him, “This isn’t so bad, I guess.”
Billy isn’t sure what he means, until Harrington rattles the handcuffs.
He raises an eyebrow, “Didn’t know you were this kinky, Harrington.”
Harrington rolls his eyes. His cheeks have gone a little pink. Billy wonders how far he can push, decides to test it out.
He shifts a little closer, leans over to speak in his ear, pitches his voice low and rough, “This a fantasy of yours?”
“Shut up, Hargrove.” He pushes him away by the shoulder, and Billy thinks Harrington would get up and walk away from him if the handcuffs weren’t keeping them together.
Inevitably, the time comes when one of them has to go to the bathroom. They’re back to back, Billy waits while Harrington uses the toilet. He checks his reflection in the mirror; snoops in the cabinet to find a supply of hair products; spies a stray bobby pin on the counter and pockets it. Billy unbuttons his shirt, takes it off as much as he can, lets it hang from the sleeve where the chain of the handcuffs prevents it from coming off completely. The toilet flushes.
“I’m done,” Harrington says, “Let’s try and get some sleep.”
Billy turns around to see Harrington eyeing his chest. He grins, flexes a little. Wonders if maybe there could be a chance, however minuscule, of being something more than civil rivals. But Harrington averts his eyes, shoulders him out of the way of the sink to wash his hands, and Billy is reminded that he’d never be welcome here outside of their current circumstances.
Harrington’s house is quiet. It’s strange, listening out and not hearing the creak of floorboards, the low hum of late night television, his dad moving through the house like he’s on patrol. Here, trapped together with Harrington, he feels more free than he’s been in months.
Harrington is turned away from him in bed, and Billy can see the line of his back, the dip of his waist curving up to strong shoulders. There’s a small cluster of freckles on the back of his neck, and Billy wonders how many more are hidden underneath Harrington’s shirt. He rolls over before his thoughts can go any further, berates himself for being so damn soft for Harrington. It’s better, like this. Billy thinks he could fall asleep, just listening to Harrington’s slow breathing.
But the handcuffs force his arm into an uncomfortable bend, muscles pulled taught, and his shoulder starts to ache from the position he’s in. As much as he wills himself to ignore it, the pain worsens with every minute that ticks by. Billy shifts, hisses.
“Hey, you okay?” He can hear Harrington move behind him and then there’s the touch of a hand on his bare back.
“Yeah. Muscle cramp.”
Harrington’s hand moves up his back to the point where his neck and shoulder meet, digs a thumb into the muscle in slow, circular movements.
Billy lets out a breath, “Thanks, that’s good.”
“Turn over, it’ll be better for your shoulder.”
Billy rolls over in bed to face Harrington. Brown eyes meet his, wide and open.
He glances down at those lips, sees Harrington track his gaze. He wants so badly to kiss him, lick into his mouth and find out what it tastes of, but Billy knows this is a point of no return. The line drawn in the sand, never to be crossed. So he stops himself.
He’s about to turn away from Harrington once again, put as much distance as he can between them, when Harrington reaches between them to place a palm on his jaw. Billy’s breath catches as a thumb brushes his cheek ever so gently. He can’t help but lean into the touch.
And then Harrington’s shuffling closer, closer until their lips meet. It lands a little to the side of his mouth at first, but then he corrects it and Billy’s eyes flutter shut. He can’t believe this is happening.
They separate for breath, then join together again all too quickly. Billy’s heard about how many girls Harrington has been with in the past, knows what they’ve said about him, but experiencing it is another thing. A whine escapes his throat as Harrington glides his tongue across Billy’s lower lip. He’d be embarrassed by how fucking needy he sounds, but then Steve answers him with a soft moan of his own.
Billy presses harder, deepens the kiss, takes over the lead. Harrington lets him. He moves easily when Billy pushes him by the hip, rolls them over so he’s on top.
His hands find their way underneath Harrington’s shirt, mapping out his chest and exploring the warm skin he finds there. Billy leans down to press a kiss to his sternum, pushing the shirt up over Harrington’s head.
“Wait— Stop!”
Billy looks back up to see Harrington tangled up in his shirt with the material covering his face. It’s stuck around the handcuffs, and Harrington’s head is obscured by a jumble of fabric and limbs. It’s an amusing sight. He lets out a chuckle, and it’s joined by Harrington’s throaty laugh. Billy helps him pull the shirt back down, untangles it from the handcuffs.
Their laughter dies down, and Billy is left looking at Harrington, hair mussed and lips swollen. He did that.
“This— this isn’t gonna work. Not like this.”
Billy’s heart drops in his chest, the words confirming his fears. He knew he had no chance, not in Hawkins, not with golden boy Harrington.
But Steve continues, “Can we just wait until we’re out of these handcuffs? I want to use both my hands. Touch you. Without being restricted or getting tangled up, you know?”
“Yeah, okay.” Billy nods, a little dumbstruck. Can’t believe Harrington actually wants him. “C’mere, let’s just get some sleep.”
Harrington pulls Billy’s arm around him until they find a comfortable position. Billy’s tucked up behind him, the faint scent of hairspray surrounding him. He falls asleep memorising the gentle rise and fall of Harrington’s chest.
Billy is drifting between awake and asleep, warm and content and wrapped up against Harrington’s chest, when the phone rings.
The noise startles him, and Harrington jolts out of bed, pulling Billy with him by the handcuffs. He scrambles off the floor and hurries after Harrington as he makes his way to the phone.
“Harrington residence, Steve speaking.”
Billy can’t hear who it is on the other end of the line, so he watches the way Harrington rubs a hand over his face and runs his fingers through messy hair. It doesn’t do much to help, his hair bounces right back, sticking out in every direction.
“Are you sure?” Harrington squints a bit against the sunlight. He looks cute like this, Billy thinks. “Yeah, I guess. We’ll see you then.”
Harrington hangs up the phone. “Shit.”
“Who was it?” Billy chews on a thumbnail.
“Hop. He’s not back in town yet. Not until tomorrow night.” Harrington starts pacing the room, stops when he realises the handcuffs won’t let him go far. He runs a hand through his hair another time. “How are we supposed to go to school like this? Fuck, how are we even supposed to get ready for school like this?”
“What, you wouldn’t shower with me?” Billy teases, smirks.
But Harrington is too worked up, doesn’t pay him any mind. “I guess we could skip, just for today, right? That could work.”
That wouldn’t work. Billy can’t skip, if his father found out—
“Stop freaking out, pretty boy.” Billy slips a hand into his pocket and digs around until he finds what he’s looking for. “Did Max never tell you who taught her how to pick locks?”
Harrington’s eyes narrow, then widen at the sight of the bobby pin Billy is holding.
“You can pick locks? And you only thought to tell me this now? Can you get us free?”
Billy answers with a grin before directing his attention to the handcuffs, working the bobby pin into the lock. He toys with the mechanism until the handcuffs open up with a click.
Harrington pulls his hand free and rubs his wrist. “Why didn’t you unlock it 24 hours ago?”
“Oh, really? So you didn’t want to spend 24 hours with me, Harrington?” He licks his lips slow, deliberate. “You sure seemed to enjoy my company last night. And now that we’re out of these cuffs…”
Billy waits, hopes that Harrington won’t back out, not now—
He doesn’t. “I’ll be at the quarry tonight. 8pm. Be there.”