Chapter Text
Billy had hoped the quarry would be deserted at eleven at night on a thursday. Had been banking on it, hoping to sleep in his car somewhere no one would look for him. He had to get out of his house, wasn’t welcome there tonight, and he really, really, wasn’t in the mood to socialize. His ribs were smarting, one of them probably cracked when his pops got him good pushing him into the wall.
“You just never learn, son. How many times do I have to tell you to show some damn respect to your mother?”
Billy had never understood how a closed fist to his gut was supposed to teach him anything. The lessons just wouldn’t stick. Maybe his old man wasn't a good teacher. Never stopped him trying. Tonight, Billy figured it’d be worth the split lip to point out his mother had gone with the fucking wind years ago. Pops had some choice words to say about that, and about his no good faggot son. And now Billy was trying to find somewhere in Shithole, Nowhere to spend the night.
The quarry wasn’t empty when he pulled in. There was already a car there, familiar to Billy as the California sun. Steve Harrington’s fancy pants BMW was sitting there taunting him. ‘Course it was. Billy was yet to catch a break once in his miserable life, why start now? It was only the guy he’d been jerking it to since he got to this fucking town.
He would have turned his car around and left, but he spotted Harrington sitting near the edge, looking straight at him. When their eyes met, the guy held up a can and shook it. A blatant invitation if Billy had ever seen one, never mind the last time they spoke was Billy grunting an apology for rearranging his face. Well, Billy was never one to turn down a free beer.
He dropped down next to Steve and popped the cap on the beer. Was good stuff, he thought while downing half of it in one gulp. He resolved to act as normal as he was fucking capable of. Steve somehow didn’t seem like he regretted the invite, at least. Looked almost relieved that Billy hadn’t just driven off, actually. Like he was so hard up for company he’d take the guy who broke his nose. Well, maybe he’d change his mind once Billy opened his mouth.
“What’s King Steve doing out here with a six pack all on his lonesome, huh?”
Steve looked at him appraisingly, like he was deciding on whether or not to say. His eyes lingered on the spit lip while he took a long drag from his own can. Billy resolutely didn’t watch his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed.
“Could ask you the same thing, amigo.”
Billy smiled wide, so Steve got a good view of his bloody teeth.
“My old man said he didn’t want no faggot under his roof tonight.”
Steve blinked, huffed out a breath before responding.
“Funny. Mine said something just like that.”
Billy took a moment to process this. Just a moment, ‘cause if he thought harder about it his world might implode. Instead of thinking, he threw his head back and laughed. His hyena cackle echoed all around the quarry. He laughed so hard that he was pretty sure if his rib hadn’t already been cracked before, it surely was now. Hissing, he put one hand to his side while the other went to wipe the tears from his eyes. Steve watched all of this with a look of bemusement on his face.
“Well, fancy that, Harrington. You and me, Hawkins’ finest faggots. Kicked out by daddy on the same night. Now, that is damn funny if you ask me.”
Steve pushed at his shoulder, but he was smiling while he did it. Billy figured he hadn’t taken offence.
“Sure, it’s a riot. Your daddy give you that split lip?”
Billy tongued at said lip while looking out at the water. “Naw, Harrington, I walked into a door, clumsy me.” He spat a glob of blood over the cliffside. “‘Course it was my pops. Surprised he stopped at a busted lip.”
Steve made a sound like he was going to press, but seemed to think better of it. Instead, he patted his pockets, pulling out a pack of Camels and a lighter. He tapped one out for himself, and then another for Billy who accepted wordlessly. He lit Billy’s first, leaned in close, before retreating back into his own space. The cherry bloomed bright in the setting twilight.
Billy didn’t smoke Camels, but on a night like this he figured a cigarette was a cigarette and nicotine was nicotine. He wasn’t feeling fussy about a free beer and a free smoke. Instead, he was thinking about Steve Harrington being queer.
Billy had always known he wasn’t made for the women, could never drool over a pair of tits like every red blooded male should. He was never able to keep his eyes off of the boys back in San Diego, or his hands, or his mouth. His pops always noticed his wandering eye, didn’t miss a fucking beat when it came to his son. Beat him bad for it. And now they were in fuckin’ Indiana. A look like that from a guy like Billy was an easy way to end up six feet under, in a town like Hawkins. And yet Billy just couldn’t help himself.
He’d always wondered why Harrington didn’t say shit when Billy was jumping for his attention like some yappy little dog. Pulling his pigtails like a little bully of a boy. Billy was not exactly subtle about the raging boner he had for the guy. Figured Steve’d had a brick for a brain and didn’t notice, or thought Billy was so far beneath his notice it wasn’t worth mentioning, or was too drunk on Nancy Wheeler’s pussy to give a shit. And then Billy had busted up his face, and then avoided him like the plague.
Now, Steve was a faggot and it all made sense. Made better sense. It was still fucking surreal to be having this conversation with Steve Harrington of all people.
Steve broke him out of his reverie by popping the tab on the last of the six pack. Billy shook his head, realising he’d long finished his smoke. He tossed the butt lazily over the cliff. Steve cleared his throat.
“You got somewhere to stay tonight, man?” Billy looked pointedly at his car.
“That what you always do, sleep in the car out here?”
“Naw, usually find some chick to put me up for the night.” Steve made a face like the very idea of it was repulsive. He wasn’t exactly wrong.
“What they don’t know can’t hurt them, huh?”
Billy slapped Steve’s shoulder. Steve tensed for just a second, which had Billy feeling like a huge asshole, but just shoved him back. Billy let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
“Fuck off, Harrigton, I show ‘em a good time. Fingerbang ‘em so good they don’t have the brain cells to look at my limp dick. They fall asleep cause I do ‘em so good, and I got a bed for the night that won’t earn me a crick in my neck.” He wasn’t expecting the snort Steve let out beside him. He whipped his head around to glare, but Steve just shook his head and laughed.
“Man, I can just imagine that.” Billy desperately wanted to unpack that, but decided to save it for later. Maybe when he was alone. Him and his trusty left hand.
Instead, Billy put on a leer. “Think about my limp dick often, Harrington?” Steve was still laughing, harder now, a breathy kind of laugh that Billy was dying to hear more of.
“I’ve thought about a lot of dicks in my life, man, yours isn’t special.”
Billy put a hand on his chest like Steve’s words had physically hurt him. “You’re breakin’ my heart, King Steve. You just gotta get to know ‘im, I promise he’s nicer than I am.”
Steve was full on wheezing at this point. He clutched at Billy’s shoulder like he was drowning and needed a lifeline. Billy’s ego had never felt more inflated, and he grinned wider than he had all night, split lip be damned.
“Christ, you’re a real piece of work.” He let go of Billy to run a hand through his hair. “Anyway, ‘little Billy’ aside, I don’t actually live at my parent’s anymore. Haven’t for a while.” He paused, drained the rest of the can. “Got a couch with your name on it if you want. Save you from a crick neck and a passionless fingerbang. Get you some ice for those ribs, too.”
Billy wondered when the hell Steve had figured out about his ribs. Figured it didn’t really matter. “Fuck you, passionless,” he muttered. “Sure, Harrington, I’ll take the couch, long as you make me breakfast in the morning. I ain’t some common floozy. You gotta treat me right, or you’ll offend my de-li-cate sensibilities.”
“Yeah, ok, sure. Best frozen waffles in town, I can promise you that.” He heaved himself up from the dusty ground, brushed himself off and offered a hand to Billy. Billy felt like a real queer getting excited about holding Steve Harrington’s hand, but ignored it and let the guy help him up. “Follow me back to my place, I’m shit with directions.”
They got into their respective cars, and he followed Steve down the empty road, thinking about how fucking strange his life had just become, and how he was glad his old man chose tonight, of all nights.