Work Text:
If you had told him twelve months ago that he would have a crush on Billy fucking Hargrove, Steve Harrington would’ve laughed in your face.
Who was laughing now? Not King Steve, who was batting three for three in unrequited loves.
And sure, maybe Nancy had loved him at some point, but she didn’t love him the way she loved Jonathan. Definition didn’t love him enough to stay.
And, okay, maybe he wasn’t exactly in love with Robin, but he could’ve been, Steve thinks. In another world, another life where Robin was into guys and Steve was into Robin (and not just trying to convince himself that he liked her in a feeble attempt to fend off the loneliness that’d been threatening to swallow him whole), he could’ve been in love with her.
But Billy.
The way Steve felt about Billy seemed to come out of nowhere; rising up and crashing down on him all at once like a tidal wave. All he knew was that one moment he was out at the quarry, beer in hand and Billy by his side (and this had become a pretty regular occurrence for them over the past few months; ever since Billy came back from that lab, beaten and bruised and more than a little broken, and Steve had taken it upon himself to glue the boy back together, one Family Video rental at a time) and the next he was wondering if Billy’s eyes had always been that blue, if his skin had always been that warm, if Steve had always wanted to kiss him.
All of a sudden Steve was ready and willing to drown in Billy Hargrove.
Steve hadn’t even really had time to process it before he fucked it all up.
Still, there he was, speeding down the otherwise eerily quiet streets of Hawkins, Indiana at 2a.m.
A first aid kit, walkie and his trusty bat took up the space of the passenger seat. (Space that Billy will have no choice but to occupy when Steve drags his ass back home, despite the blond’s protests that this isn’t even a real car!)
His palms were starting to sweat, skin sticking to the leather steering wheel of the BMW as he approached the quarry.
Something felt off as he pulled up and parked his car. He made sure to leave it in idle before getting out, finding comfort in the way the dim headlights brightened the rocky terrain before him, feeling a little less lonely as Depeche Mode played soft and staticky on the radio.
Steve slipped out of the car, closing the door quiet and gentle because if Billy was here, Steve didn’t want to risk scaring him off. Billy was a flight risk, always had been, but the way he’d talked when they were high in Steve’s living room, the way gold dripped from his lips as he talked about running off to Cali and riding a wave into the sunset, Billy had always made it sound as though, when he flew away, his wings would be strong enough to carry Steve, too.
But, well, that was before.
This was now. After. After what Steve did, what Billy had just done. Now Steve wasn’t so sure Billy would be flying anywhere, not even alone.
It was well past the middle of the night, in the dead of winter, in Hawkins, and the cold wind was starting to bite at Steve’s skin through his pink and grey windbreaker. (It was his favourite because Billy once said it made his skin look like porcelain, made his big, brown doe eyes pop, made him look like a princess. They were both a little drunk, a little high, and Steve hadn’t known how to respond to that, at the time. He’d just shoved Billy’s shoulder a little, said shut up, it’s warm. In hindsight, he wished he’d have just shut his mouth and enjoy the flutter of his heart and the warm flush on his skin that Billy’s words so often caused.)
He pulled his jacket a little tighter around his body, shoved some antiseptic and bandages in his pocket, sucked in a sharp breath. He took the bat in his hand and gave it a small spin, resisting the urge to tap it against his leg (because ow, he’d learned that lesson) and started away from the safety of his car and into the darkness.
There was no sign of Billy anywhere, but Steve was so sure he’d be here. And, okay, maybe Steve was reading too much into the two and a half fucking months that Billy had spent almost exclusively with Steve, but he thought he knew Billy better than that.
Then again, he thought he knew a lot of things.
He was wandering further now, straying from the safety of his headlights, desperately searching for any sort of proof that he was right, that Billy was here.
“Billy?” He called out into the darkness, voice hoarse from disuse. He took a moment to stop, breathe, find his voice, tug on his jacket again because it was cold, before trying again. “Bill?”
Everything around him seemed to pause as he waited, as if Hawkins itself was holding its breath right along with him.
His heart slammed against his chest. He could feel his blood rushing in his ears, blocking out all other noise except-
Except he heard something, beyond the. A shuffle, loose rocks shifting against the dirt.
Then he saw it, from the corner of his eye: a small, orange flame. Billy’s zippo. (And Steve should know, he bought him the damn thing.)
The flame moved, higher and higher and then Billy’s face was there, illuminated by a warm, orange glow and-
“Shit, Billy, what the fuck happened to you?”
Okay. Not exactly the first thing Steve wanted to say to Billy, but the words seemed to fall right out of his mouth the moment he saw deep purple blooming beneath Billy’s right eye and across his cheekbone, when he noticed the small split in Billy’s lower lip, almost hidden behind the butt of his cigarette.
“What are you doing here, Harrington?” He asked in lieu of an actual response, and Steve shouldn’t be surprised but damn he was frustrated.
“Max walkied,” he said. “She’s worried about you, y’know.”
Billy shook his head, took a long drag of his smoke, his eyes flittered down. Steve had almost forgotten how long Billy’s eyelashes were, how pretty they looked fanned out against his sun-bronzed skin.
“Let her worry. I’m fine.”
Steve almost wanted to reach out and shake him. He might’ve done it if he didn’t also want to kiss him. Steve didn’t trust himself not to kiss him.
“Well your face says otherwise,” Steve shoots back, bolder than he had been with Billy in a while. And then, because apparently he was feeling brave tonight, he pushed a little more. “He did this, right?”
When Billy didn’t immediately respond, Steve felt his blood start to boil. His mind flashed with images of Neil laying his hands on Billy and Steve almost saw red. His hand tightened on the bat in his hand; tighter, tighter until the wood felt as though it could splinter his palm.
“Billy, I swear to god if he-”
“Cool it, pretty boy,” and there it was, the nickname that’d been fuelling Steve’s best dreams for weeks, the one that made heat pool in the pit of his stomach. “I got a few good licks in myself.”
And then, to really drive his point home, Billy held up his right hand. Steve’s mouth went dry because holy shit, Max wasn’t kidding when she said he beat Neil almost to death. His hand was swollen, his skin colored blue and purple and shades of red that didn’t belong to Billy amongst the shades of red that did. His knuckles were raw and bloody, bleeding like it was all they knew how to do.
Two minutes ago Steve didn’t trust himself to get any closer to Billy and still resist the urge to kiss him. Now kissing was the last thing on his mind, because how could he think of kissing when Billy was hurt.
So he swallowed the lump that’d lodged itself right in the middle of his throat and he reached out a hand to grab at Billy’s denim jacket. For reasons still unknown to Steve (not that he was arguing and not that he was still trying to decode what goes on in that boy’s mind), Billy let him lead them back to where the BMW was waiting at the edge of the quarry.
Thin hands tapped the hood of the car.
“Sit,” he instructed, hands digging into his pockets.
Billy made no move to do as Steve said.
“Billy, man, come on. You don’t need to talk to me, okay? And you can go back to hating me once I fix up your hand so I can let Max know you’re okay.”
And even though their relationship isn’t what it was just a few days ago, wasn’t as close as Steve thought it’d been, one thing he did know was that Billy cared about Max. He would never admit it aloud, but he’d come pretty damn close a couple times. So maybe Steve was exploiting that just a little bit, but it was for a good cause so the thinks he can be forgiven.
Billy hissed a small fuck under his breath and used his better (not good, but better) hand to push himself up onto the hood of Steve’s fancy BMW.
Sitting between the headlights, Steve could see Billy better now. His face was beaten and bruised and would definitely be swollen in a day or two. In true Billy fashion, his top was buttoned only to the navel, despite the cold, leaving his chest exposed for Steve to see all small, red welts that peppered his chest. Steve’s heart broke a little for him.
As Steve looked up at him, he couldn’t help but think that from where he stood between Billy’s knees, the light reflected off the top his blonde curls like a halo. (Steve knew Billy was far from an angel though, even though he spoke like one sometimes, in the dead of night when it was just the two of them and Billy was drunk on Steve’s dad’s more expensive liquor.)
Billy’s bad hand was resting on his upper thigh when Steve took it, turning it over with lithe fingers as if to assess the damage. It was that moment when Billy became hyper-aware that he had no place being here. He was sure this car cost more than all of his possessions combined, was sure that Steve hated him now, for how he had acted, was sure that he definitely didn’t deserve to be anywhere near those hands; hands that were digging into the pockets of Billy’s favourite jacket and pulling out bandages and creams to heal what was left in the wake of Billy’s destruction.
It was a pretty well known fact that Billy’s always been a bit of a masochist, picking fights and shooting his mouth off in ways that he knows will earn him the sharp sting of an open palm to the side of his face or the rush of a closed fist to his core, but this…fuck. Being this close to Steve yet not being allowed to reach out and touch was a burning sensation deep in the pits of his stomach. It was Steve being carved into his lungs so that his name was on Billy’s lips with every breath. It was a melancholy sort of pain, a longing he had never felt before, and the worst part was that it was self-inflicted.
Steve had been right there, handing himself over on a silver platter, and Billy had pushed him away, said no fucking thank you and fucked right off without a word. He had Steve, for just a second, but in that second Billy’s fears and insecurities had won over, like they always did, and he blew it.
“How did you know I was here?” It was all Billy could think to say, and the silence was deafening so Billy needed to say something. Steve sure as hell wasn’t about to. Not that Billy blamed him. “I didn’t tell Max. Just took off,”
Billy was sure he heard Steve mumble something that sounded a lot like yeah, you’re good at that and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from biting Steve’s head off. He deserved that one.
Steve didn’t look at Billy when he spoke again, louder this time like it was okay for Billy to hear this part.
“I know you, Bill. This is where you came when things got bad, before…”
The words before you started coming to me went unsaid, but they both heard it.
Billy wanted to say something. To apologise, to say he was wrong, the other night, but when he opened his mouth to speak all that came out was: “I like that jacket.”
If his hands were free, he would’ve slapped himself.
Steve’s Adam's apple bobbed. He looked up at Billy from beneath long, thick lashes. Billy wanted another chance to kiss him.
Steve almost said I know. Instead, he swallowed those words and said: “You don’t have to do that.”
Billy frowned a little, licked his lips that’d suddenly gone dry, tongued at the cut there and used the pain as a reminder that there were worse things to feel; like the pang in his chest when Steve averted his gaze, like it hurt to look at Billy.
“Do what?”
“You know,” Steve busied himself wrapping Billy’s hand in a soft white bandage. His hands were soft, soothing against Billy’s violence hardened ones. It felt nice, to be touched by something, someone so good. “Pretend we’re okay. Like I said, I’m here for Max and once we’re done you can go back to hating me again.”
Billy’s mouth turned to cotton. Steve thought he hated him?
If there was a time for Billy Hargrove to use his words instead of his fists, that time was now. It feel easier; the past few months he has been opening up to Steve, about his home life now, what it was like back in California then. He was comfortable with Steve. He knew, in no uncertain terms, that his pretty boy wanted him back just as much, but fuck if it wasn’t hard to get the words out.
“Shit, Bambi, I don’t hate you. I just-”
“I made it weird,” Steve seemed determined not to have this conversation and even more determined not to have to look at Billy as he fumbled with tying the bandage with his shaking hands. “I get it. I misunderstood the situation, kissed you. You ran off, got drunk and hooked up with Heather. I know. You told me. I don’t need a recap.”
Steve tried to ignore the acid burning all down his stomach and up his oesophagus as he tried and failed once more to tie the damn bandage.
“No, Harrington, listen, I-no, look, just leave it and listen to me. Fuck, Steve!” Billy’s free hand caught Steve’s. He stilled instantly, letting Billy’s larger hand engulf his. Despite the icy wind, Steve felt warm. Whether it was from the heat of Billy’s always too-hot hands or the blush that was creeping up his spine at the touch, he wasn’t sure. Couldn’t find it in himself to care, either, not when Billy was saying I don’t hate you and taking his hand. “I don’t hate you, okay? Before…the past few months, getting to know you, fuck Steve, you made me feel things that I thought I left back in Cali. Things I thought Neil had beat outta me for good.
“Fuckin’ scared me, man, how much I felt when I was with you. I thought about what it was like when Neil found out the first time and I was fuckin’ free-fallin’, Stevie, spiralin’ again. I didn’t want that to happen. So when you kissed me I…yeah, I freaked out. Got drunk. Went to Heather’s house-” fuckin’ cried myself to sleep. “But nothing happened. She told she was with Robin now so I stayed the night, yeah, but we just talked.
“And I don’t know how but Neil got it in his head last night that you and me were. Well. He threatened you and I saw fuckin’ red, Stevie. He can do whatever he fuckin’ likes to me but no one lays a hand on you.”
Steve was nodding and finally, finally looking up at Billy, but his eyes were a little glossed over like he wasn’t quite following.
Which, was he? Because the way Billy was talking - and yeah, Steve had been wrong about this before but still - the things Billy was saying almost made it sound like Billy wanted him back.
“Okay so, wait,” Steve said, shaking his head a little and squeezing his eyes shut. Billy smiled at the crease between his eyebrows, fought the urge to smooth it out with the pad of his thumb. “Wait so what are you saying now? Because I thought I had it right the first time, then I knew I was wrong and now I’m…confused.”
Big, round brown eyes sparkled up at Billy, glittering with something that looked dangerously like hope. Billy thought it looked good on him.
“I’m saying, Steve-”
I’m saying that I’m fuckin’ fallin’ for you. That you’re all I think about. That I’m a fuckin’ mess but I want you, if you’ll have me.
He wanted to say it all but he couldn’t seem to say anything.
And look, Billy Hargrove aced his English and lit classes and on paper, he could bring words to life like puppets on a string, but using his voice? Well, it was hard enough to voice his thoughts on a good day, let alone when the boy in front of him seemed to be determined to steal all the air from his lungs.
Actions spoke louder than words, which was a good thing because Billy was fresh outta those right now, so he didn’t try to speak. He didn’t say a word as he let go of Steve’s hand, wrapped it around the back of his neck and pulled him into a kiss.
This was nothing like the last time. Not when Billy was scooting forward and bringing Steve closer all at once, desperate for just a little bit more, and now Billy’s hand was snaking up into his hair, gripping at the roots and tugging just enough for Steve to tip his head back and let out a soft whine.
The touch of his lips set every inch of Steve’s body alight; his blood turned to lava and his bones melted pleasantly from the warmth. A calloused finger hooked the underside of Steve’s chin, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. He felt the flames as Billy licked into his mouth and he pressed further into the heat of Billy’s chest. He didn’t know something as simple as a kiss could make him feel like this.
But it wasn’t enough. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get enough of Billy, but he was willing to spend his life trying, taking everything Billy had and repaying him with everything Steve had to give. These feelings could be dangerous, temperamental, could break his heart all over again. He knew that. These feelings were dangerous and scary and new, but Steve was ready to throw caution to the wind and risk it all for the blonde that was sitting on the hood of his car with his hands tangled in Steve’s hair. He was ready, he’d accepted his fate; if Billy was the flame then Steve was the moth and he would burn with a smile on his face.
“That answer your question, pretty boy?” Billy said when the kiss ended, his forehead still pressed to Steve’s, hand still twisted in Steve’s hair and holding him there because he wasn’t quite ready to let this moment end yet.
Steve was smiling, beaming as he shook his head.
“I still don’t think I get it,” he said. “Maybe you explain it to me one more time.”
Billy was all too happy to oblige as he swooped back in, capturing Steve’s lips in a mess of a kiss. It was all tongue and teeth clashing and boys giggling. Like the two them, it was still a little rough around the edges, still a little far from perfect, but they didn’t mind. They had forever to get it right.