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“Make up your mind,” Billy mutters, unlit cigarette balanced on the edge of his lips as he shoves both hands into his jeans pockets, face pointed toward the rapidly darkening sky. He can hear the party carrying on behind him, past the shed and the fence which he decided to oh-so-casually lean against as he waits for Steve to finish up his conversation with Wheeler.
That in and of itself is a testament to how much he’s changed this year. Billy Hargrove of past would never have waited around for anyone, much less someone who was anything less than a sure thing.
And Steve... he’d never been so sure and unsure about a person in his entire life.
He was sure they were friends now, after basketball tournaments and English projects, after late nights at the diner, after Steve found out more than half the bruises gracing Billy’s body were not from after-school fights.
He was also sure of the twist in his gut when he saw him, the desire that grew there as he watched Steve flirt with girls at Scoops, at the pool, smiling and teasing, big hands gentle on soft skin.
He was sure he wanted those hands on his skin. Those big brown eyes looking up at him.
But he didn’t know what Steve wanted.
He flips out his Zippo and lights the cigarette, taking a deep drag and blowing the smoke up into the summer sky. Out here, at the edge of town, the stars are bright, the constellations actually making sense. A tapestry of Greek stories laid out for those who know how to find them. His eyes are tracing Orion when he feels a hand on his shoulder.
“You got one for me?” Billy smirks and takes the cigarette from his mouth, passing it back without looking. He feels fingers brush against his, hears the exhale, watches the smoke tendrils twist up into the sky, undisturbed by the breezeless night.
“Didn’t know if you’d come,” Billy says, tapping a new cigarette out from the pack. His gut clenches at the silence, at the idea that Steve is still deciding what he actually wants to do. Venture off with Billy, into the unknown, or stay here, in the soft glow of the draped party lights, pretty little Nancy Wheeler smiling in the peripherals.
“Yeah, no, I just had to-” Billy scoffs and pushes off the fence with his foot.
“Yeah yeah, had to check in with Wheeler, make sure she knows exactly where your balls are.” Billy starts walking, away from the party, finding the easy footpath that will take them around the lake. He hears Steve’s quick footfalls in an effort to keep up with him, and can’t help but smile, feeling a little victorious. Make up your mind.
“I keep telling you, it’s not like that.”
“Well that’s what I keep seein’, can’t do nothin’ without her approval,” he takes another deep inhale, holds it, “people think you’re back together, y’know.”
“People are wrong.” Billy releases the smoke in his lungs and finally turns to look at Steve. His hair is artfully disheveled, like hands have been running through it all night. His or others, Billy can’t be sure, he just knows his own fingers twitch with a need to feel for themselves. He brings the cigarette back to his lips.
Steve walks next to him now, one hand carelessly holding his cigarette, the other hooked into the front pocket of his khakis. Geezus, how did Billy fall for someone who wears khakis?
The sounds of the party drop the further away they get, until it’s just a dull murmur in the distance. Billy breathes easier, flicking the smoldering butt to the ground and grinding it into the dirt with the heel of his boot.
“So what’s up?” Steve asks, following suit and shoving his newly empty hands into his pockets, “Trying to get me alone?”
“Kinda,” Billy says, cheeks feeling warm with the honesty of the statement.
“Not gonna beat me up again, are you?” His voice is light, elbow ribbing against him, and Billy thanks every star in the sky that Steve was able to move past that disastrous first week he’d had in Hawkins, where everything was sharp and terrible and raw, and he felt too much too fast, and only found release through his fists connecting to Steve’s pretty face.
It must speak to how lonely Steve had been that not only did he forgive him, but became friends with him.
But, according to Hawkins lore, it’s also not the first time that’s happened.
“Nah, no fun without an audience,” Billy jabs back, fighting the urge to pull out another cigarette. He actually kinda wishes he had a piece of gum, his mouth feels dry, cottony. He keeps walking.
Steve laughs and trips after him, the path rockier now that they’re further away from the residential area. A boathouse sits about a hundred feet before them, and Billy’s heart starts pounding double time.
“C’mon, wanna show you something.” He jerks his head towards the small structure, then throws a glance over both shoulders, just to make sure no one’s followed them out here.
“Ooo, got a secret for me?” Steve asks cheekily as they tromp down the bank and round the corner to the back of the boathouse, the weather-beaten siding a barrier from the rest of the world.
Billy leans against the slats, feeling the coarseness of the wood digging into his shoulder blades through his thin t-shirt. Steve posts up next to him, looking at him expectantly, eyes round and wide, bright despite the darkness surrounding them. Billy falters under his gaze, courage slipping even as he pulls a baggie out of his back pocket, holds it up between two fingers. Steve grins.
“Had to walk half a mile to show me this?” His voice is playful, his smile inviting, and Billy’s made up his mind.
“Not really into sharing,” he says, and with a bravado he doesn’t really feel he cups Steve’s jaw with his free hand. The mirth in his brown eyes blinks into shock, but Billy presses forward, closing his eyes and slotting their mouths together, heart beating faster every second Steve doesn’t pull away.
His lips are soft, as soft as any girls’, but without the slick smear of lipgloss. And the prickle of new stubble under his palm banishes the idea that he’s kissing anyone but a man; but Steve. Steve. He’s actually kissing Steve. Holy shit.
After a few seconds Billy pulls away, leaning back against the wall, heart still pounding, too scared to open his eyes. He doesn’t want to see the look of disgust, or shame, or, fuck, pity in Steve’s face.
“That was- um-” he hears Steve say, still sounding close. At least he hadn’t run away?
“Yeah…” his voice seems unbearably loud in the quiet by the lake, “I guess that’s, uh, that’s my dark secret.”
“That’s, it’s-” and Billy finally looks over to see Steve running a hand through his hair as he looks at the ground just ahead of his feet, eyes wide, “It’s a good one.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, but-” Billy squeezes his eyes shut again, gut plummeting, “it was just- way softer than I’d imagined.” His eyes pop back open.
“What?”
“I just- you seem- I kinda imagined more, like, manhandling and wall-throwing.”
“Wall throwing?” Imagined?
“Yeah, like,” there’s a grin on Steve’s face, a glint of something dangerous in his eyes before he pretty much throws himself against the wall, spine arching a little as his arms go up, backs of his hands flat against the siding.
He looks delicious.
“That how you want it?” Billy asks, swinging himself around so he’s boxing Steve in, baggie forgotten and fluttering to the ground as his palms rest flat against the wood, just above his broad shoulders, nose inches away from his.
“Might’ve thought about it a few times,” and isn’t that interesting?
“Yeah? I been on your mind, pretty boy?” He leans in and brushes his nose along Steve’s.
“Well, I mean I’ve been in this dry spell-” he doesn’t get to finish before Billy’s taking his mouth with his own, all thoughts of gentleness gone. He nips, he presses, he slots his thigh between Steve’s and grinds against his hip, lower than usual due to his angle and position against the wall.
They’re both moaning at the friction, Steve’s hand snaking up into Billy’s hair, giving a teasing tug that Billy grunts at before he’s yanking back, hard. Hard enough that Billy gets pulled away, letting out a curse, blinking at the sharp pain. He starts to think it was all a ruse, Steve just setting him up, probably half the school hiding on the other side of this fucking shack, waiting to give him the beatdown of his life.
But when he dares a chance and looks into Steve’s eyes, it’s not disgust, or hatred he sees, but something closer to frustration. Pain.
“What the fuck, Billy?” He releases the hold he has on Billy’s head, moving a few steps toward the lake, “Why- you’re leaving tomorrow.”
“Yeah?” He touches his head gently, still smarting with the phantom touch of Steve’s fingers.
“So why the fuck would you do that?” Billy shrugs, trying to bury the knot growing in his stomach by crossing his arms over his chest.
“Wanted to.”
“Wanted- wanted to? Just wanted to? Jesus.” Steve runs a hand through his hair, turning his whole body away from Billy before spinning back around, “Did you ever even consider what I might want?”
“I don’t know what you want, pretty boy! One minute you’re with me, hangin’ onto my every word, and the next second you’re runnin’ after Wheeler. I got no idea what you want, ‘cause you won’t make up your goddamn mind. So tonight,” he bends down and grabs up the discarded baggie, “I decided to just go for what I want.”
“God, you’re such an asshole,” Steve groans out, and then is on him not a second later, hands holding his head steady, tongue delving into his mouth. Billy spends half a second being surprised before he drops the baggie again to wrap his arms around Steve, sink his fingers into that fucking ridiculous hair, pull him as close as possible.
++++++
“Why’d you wait?” Steve asks, absentmindedly playing with Billy’s fingers as they lie on the ground next to each other, clothes still on but in general disarray, to the point where if anyone stumbled upon them Billy might have to kill them. But that’s not now. Now he’s getting lost in the gentle touches, Steve’s stupidly soft skin brushing against his, long fingers sliding up and down his own, dancing across his palm, and it’s embarrassing how such a simple, innocent gesture is threatening to make him hard again so soon.
“Hmm?”
“Don’t pretend like you didn’t hear me,” Steve starts to pull his hand away but Billy is quick to catch it, bringing it up to his chest, placing an easy kiss on the knuckles.
“I was scared,” he says after a long moment, lips brushing against the soft skin, eyes darting over to watch Steve’s reaction. Billy’s never admitted to being afraid of anything, even the things he’s desperately afraid of: his father, someone drowning during his shift at the pool, going to college. Billy braces himself for the teasing that’s about to come, but Steve just twists his hand around, slotting his fingers between Billy’s.
“I’m scared, too,” he brushes his thumb across Billy’s, “I don’t know what’s coming, what’s happening next. Got a dead end job at the mall and my best friend is leaving me in less than 18 hours.” Billy grimaces at that.
“I’ll come back to visit.”
“You said you’re never coming back.”
“Then, you come visit me. Or, hell, just come with me.” Steve looks at him like he’s crazy. “You said it yourself, dead end job here, no prospects, so what’s stopping you?” He watches Steve’s eyes flicker back and forth, likely trying to come up with a compelling answer. Billy’s gut twists as he realizes how stupid - of course there’s more for Steve in Hawkins than Billy. His parents, a huge house, the nerd squad, fuckin’ Nancy Wheeler... the idea of shacking up with Billy in a one-bedroom is probably-
“Can we leave after 3? I gotta- I gotta pack and say bye to Dustin.” Now it’s Billy’s turn to stare, unsure if he heard right, if he interpreted right. That Steve is actually willing to come with him. The silence stretches and Steve starts to look uncomfortable, “Unless, shit, you were kidding, weren’t you? Jesus, I can’t-” Billy rolls on top of him, stops his talking by sealing their mouths together, stealing the uncertainty right from his lips.
“My place is small,” he gets out between kisses, “one bedroom, we can-” Steve threads his fingers through his hair, tugs his face back down to him.
“We’ll figure it out.”
++++++++
Billy feels sick to his stomach as he rolls up to the Harrington house at 3:15 the next day. He has no idea if Steve had been serious, if he was going to be ready, get in the car, and go with him into the great unknown. A part of him needled at his brain, whispering that he should have just driven out of town, don’t turn back. But he’s here, metaphorical heart on his sleeve, and nearly vomits when the front door open and Steve comes strolling out, red duffle bag slung over his shoulder.
It’s actually happening.
Steve grins as he nears the Camaro, eyes hidden behind sunglasses as he opens the passenger door, shoving the duffle into the back before settling into the front seat.
“Let’s go before my parents realize I was serious,” he says, covering Billy’s hand still resting on the gear shift, squeezing softly in lieu of kissing him.
Billy doesn’t bother hiding his unabashed grin as he raises a few fingers to rub against Steve’s before gunning the engine.
For the first time in years, he’s not afraid.