Archive of Our Own

This fuckin’ town, Billy thinks, speeding down the road to Harrington’s. This stupid fuckin’ town.

He’s maybe, potentially, definitely going way over the speed limit. It’s whatever.

The thing is -

Everything’s been red for weeks, feels like. For the last fifteen days, the last painful, agonizing, excruciating fifteen days, Billy’s been bombarded by red, and purple, and fuckin’ - fuchsia.

Hawkins has been transformed into a giant love fest. There are cards, and flowers, and fuckin’ - paper hearts, everywhere. It’s sickening. It’s truly testing the limits of Billy’s patience, and he’s not famous for having an abundance of it to begin with.

It’s been a trying time, and he’s already at the end of his rope, and he’s absolutely fuckin’ done with everything red, and purple, and fuchsia, and.

It’s Valentine’s Day, and Harrington hasn’t looked at him all day.

And it’s not like they’re -

They’re not.

It’s whatever. It’s fine.

It’s Valentine’s Day, and Harrington’s locker was full of paper hearts, and during American History there was a rose on Harrington’s desk, and Rochelle Simmons spent the day trailing after Harrington, with her long brown hair, and her big green eyes, and her perfect fuckin’ tits, and Harrington didn’t look at Billy once, didn’t look at Billy all day, and.

It’s fine. It’s -

It’s absolutely fine.

And it’s not like -

It’s not like Harrington’s Billy’s boyfriend, because Billy doesn’t do boyfriends, still has the taste in his mouth from the first time he was stupid enough to think he could, from the last time he did, the taste of a kiss, of salt, of blood, so.

Harrington’s not Billy’s boyfriend, but Billy’s spent the last two months sneaking out of Neil’s house, wasting money on gas, driving all the way to the other side of town -

Spent the last two months in Harrington’s bed.

And it’s not like they’re exclusive, even though Billy’s only had Harrington’s dick in him ever since he got in this stupid fuckin’ town, not that he’d ever tell Harrington that, but.

It’s Valentine’s Day, and Harrington spent all day laughing at Rochelle Simmons’ jokes, and Billy knows Harrington has a type, a type of girl, knows he has a soft spot for brown hair, and big eyes, and fuckin’ tits, and Billy’s got oh-for-three, a real fuckin’ catch, and Harrington didn’t look at Billy all day, and.

Billy’s spent the last two months in Harrington’s bed, and he’s in a mood.

So he’s driving to Harrington’s, even though Harrington didn’t look at him all day, didn’t nod in that way he does, that means tonight, and my place at eight, and I wanna feel you around me, the way he’s been nodding every day for the last two months, so.

He’s driving to Harrington’s, to slash his tires, or break his windows, or ride him until they can’t breathe.

Billy’s still deciding.

He parks the Camaro in an alley a couple of blocks down Harrington’s house, because he’s not looking to get relocated anytime soon, and rumours kinda spread like wildfire in a town like Hawkins.

He reaches Harrington’s front door and -

Yeah, Billy’s probably gonna have to destroy something.

There are lights on in Harrington’s house. Harrington lives practically alone. There are never lights on in his house.

Billy’s contemplating how fast he can break the two marble lions guarding Harrington’s front door and make a run for it, when the door flies open, and.

He’s suddenly face to face with Harrington, who’s -

He’s -

He’s dressed. He’s wearing a polo, a really fuckin’ nice polo, the one he’s fucked Billy in four times, and he’s wearing his jeans, his really fuckin’ tight jeans, the ones Billy loves making a mess of, and his hair’s fuckin’ perfect, and there are strands falling over his forehead, like he’s been carding his fingers through them, the way he does when Billy’s moving his hips like that, and.

It’s Valentine’s Day, and Harrington hasn’t looked at Billy all day, and he’s dressed like he’s going on a date, and.

Billy has the sudden urge to break something.

And then -

There’s a voice from the inside of the house. A very shrill, very female voice.

The chances of Billy breaking Harrington’s face are steadily rising.

Harrington’s standing still under the door frame, hand glued on the handle, eyes wide open in shock. It’d be comical, almost, if Billy wasn’t currently contemplating double murder.

He wonders how easy’d be to stab Harrington and the owner of the ever approaching female voice to death with a bouquet of red roses.

He suddenly gets the appeal of the Valentine’s Day spirit.

He takes a step forwards, leans against the door frame, gives Harrington a once-over. Licks his lips. ‘Hiya, Stevie. Fancy seein’ you here.’

Harrington looks seconds away from fainting on the spot. ‘Billy,’ he says, kinda frantic, ‘you can’t be here right now.’

‘You gonna leave a guy hangin’ on Valentine’s Day? That’s not very chivalrous of you, King Steve,’ Billy drawls. Moves his head around Harrington’s form, tries to catch a glimpse of Harrington’s girl. ‘Unless you already got plans.’

Harrington spins around, hair flying all over the place. It’s like. A shame Billy’s gonna have to kill him. He really is fuckin’ pretty. ‘I’m not kidding, Billy, you really have to go, like. Right now.’

‘Why, baby? You got someone in there? You know I don’t mind sharing,’ Billy says, winks at Harrington. Kinda wants to slit his throat. ‘I can join you, show your girl a real good time. Give her a real treat for V day. Whaddya say, Stevie?’

Harrington opens his mouth to reply, to curse Billy into tomorrow, to end this thing they got once and for all, probably, and.

‘Who are talking to, Steven?’

Billy may have slightly, potentially misread some things.

Harrington goes pale. Paler than usual. He’s already pale enough. Billy worries about him sometimes. Not that he’d ever tell Harrington that.

He’s still standing under the frame, holding on to the door like a lifeline, blocking Billy from the entrance. Billy kinda gets why, now.

Can’t be here right now.

He should probably start listening to people more. Won’t, but. He should.

There’s a woman standing behind Harrington, one that looks nothing like Rochelle fuckin’ Simmons, one that looks alarmingly like a female version of Harrington, thick brown hair carefully styled, blue eye shadow, golden earrings, the definition of small town wealth. ‘Steven, darling. It’s customary to respond when someone asks you a question.’

She spares a glance at Billy. It’s the same look Billy gives a piece of gum stuck on his sole. ‘Don’t be rude, darling,’ the female version of Harrington continues, ‘won’t you introduce me to your friend?’

Harrington closes his eyes. Heaves a sigh with his whole body. Opens them. Looks at Billy, I told you so. Sighs, again.

He half-turns to face the - his mother, Billy guesses, and he’s not standing between Billy and her anymore, and Billy’s never felt more exposed. ‘Mom,’ Harrington starts, winces. The word feels unfamiliar, like his mouth isn’t used to the shape of it. ‘This is Billy. He’s my - we’re classmates.’

She gives him a look, a very scornful look. Her face breaks into a grimace. Billy thinks she’s trying to smile. It’s - it’s not working.

She extends a hand. Her nails are supernaturally long. And red. Billy’s never seen a deeper shade of red in his life. ‘Is that right? Pleased to meet you, Billy.’

She has a way of saying his name like - like Billy should be ashamed of it.

He finds he kinda is.

He’s scrambling to regain his composure. He’s good with moms, okay, he knows how to work them. He raises one corner of his mouth. Catches her hand between his own. Traps it there. ‘The pleasure’s all mine, mrs. Harrington. Steve has only the kindest words to say about you.’

She raises an eyebrow at the same time Harrington does. It's kind of alarming how much they’re alike. ‘Indeed,’ she drawls, flatly. ‘May I ask what brings you here at this hour?’

At this hour.

It’s like. Ten past eight?

He lets go of her hand. Steals a glance at Harrington, who’s looking thoroughly prepared to welcome the sweet release of death. He returns his gaze to her, licks his lips. Is kinda terrified to find it’s not working.

She looks - unfazed.

Billy needs to get Harrington out of this house, like. Five minutes ago.

‘I came to pick Steve up,’ he starts. ‘We got a date.’ He winces. Realizes how that sounds.

Harrington makes a noise like he’s choking on nothing.

‘A double date,’ Billy adds, hopes he can somehow save this. ‘With two girls from our Lit class. We’re taking them out for dinner for Valentine’s Day. You know, candles, flowers, chocolate, the lot. Girls go crazy about that stuff. Isn’t that right, Stevie?’

Harrington looks slightly less likely to die right there on his doorstep. He gives Billy a look before turning to face the woman behind him. ‘I forgot to mention it, mom, I’m sorry. Is it okay if I go? Can’t leave the girls hanging.’

Billy’s never seen anyone biting through a lemon, but he’s willing to bet they’d be wearing the same expression she’s currently sporting.

‘Very well,’ she says, resigned. ‘Your father will probably insist on taking me out to dinner, anyway. Can’t see a reason why you should cancel your plans.’

Harrington - he looks relieved. He smiles at her. ‘Thanks, mom. Have fun with dad.’

He turns to Billy, every line of his body screaming let’s go.

Billy’s never agreed with Harrington so fast before.

They’re halfway down the path when -

‘Steven?’

Steve freezes. He turns around, slowly. ‘Yes, mom?’

She throws a glance at Billy. Cold, calculating. Turns to her son. ‘Be careful.’

Steve nods. ‘Sure will. Bye, mom.’

The door closes behind them, and Harrington’s whole body sags, relieved. Billy hadn’t realized how much tension his shoulders were holding. It’s - he kinda wants to reach out. Kinda wants to give Harrington a hug.

He clenches his fists at his sides.

‘Well, I got you out,’ he says, puts as much venom in his voice as he can muster. ‘You’re free to go.’

Harrington - he looks lost. ‘Go - ?’

‘To your date, Harrington,’ Billy sighs, really fuckin’ tired. ‘With Rochelle Simmons.’

Harrington stops walking. ‘Rochelle Sim- why would I go on a date with Rochelle Simmons, man? I’m not - I don’t have a date with her, Billy, what the fuck.’

‘I don’t know, King Steve. You’re dressed like you got somewhere to be. You’re telling me you got all dressed up just to stay home with mommy?’

Harrington looks like he’s been caught in the act. Looks at Billy. Looks at his hands. ‘I was just - I was about to drive to the quarry, man. Wait for - ’ He cuts himself off. Sighs. ‘Just - wait there. Smoke, maybe. I don’t know. Couldn’t stay in that house with them.’

He takes a step, closes the distance between them. ‘They didn’t warn me they’d be home today. They just - showed up. I couldn’t tell you to come here.’

Billy - he’s kinda feeling off-kilter, here. Like there’s something he’s not getting.

He narrows his eyes. ‘You didn’t exactly try to warn me, Harrington. Haven’t said a word to me all day.’

Steve winces, like he’s - like he knows. He knows he did wrong. ‘I thought maybe you’d get it. I thought - I was gonna wait at the quarry.’

And Billy - there’s a lightbulb flashing in his head, several fuckin’ lightbulbs, because -

Because Harrington means wait at the quarry for you.

Oh.

‘Well, that’s kinda sad, King Steve,’ he says, grinning at Harrington. ‘Neither of us have a date on Valentine’s Day. Pathetic, really.’

He takes a step closer, stands chest to chest with Harrington. Finds him waiting for him. Waiting for him.

‘Lemme take you somewhere, Stevie.’

Harrington searches his face. Finds what he’s looking for. Nods. ‘Yeah, okay,’ he says, rolling his eyes. Laughs. ‘Take me somewhere.’

Billy steals a glance behind Harrington, finds no one looking. Flicks Harrington’s jaw. ‘Gimme the keys.’

‘Aren’t we taking your car?’ Harrington says, furrowing his brows.

Billy snorts. ‘Not for what we’re doing, we’re not.’

Harrington scrunches his face. It’s - like, Billy’d never say that out loud, ever, but. It’s adorable. ‘Shouldn’t I be driving then, since we’re taking mine?’

‘Harrington,’ Billy says, and it means I ain’t askin’, and it means Let’s get this over with, and it means You’ve got no idea what you’re in for. ‘Gimme the keys.’

Harrington - gives him the keys. Throws in a you’re such an asshole, I swear to sweeten the deal.

Billy turns around, makes sure Harrington can’t see the huge fuckin’ grin taking over his face.

His night is going so much better than expected.

They get in Harrington’s fancy car, the one that costs more than Neil’s house, probably, Billy behind the wheel, Harrington riding shotgun, grumbling all the way, and.

‘You gonna tell me where we’re goin’?’ he asks, kinda prissy, kinda pissed. Billy suppresses the urge to stop the car and kiss the pout out of Harrington’s stupid, pretty face.

And the thing is -

Billy has plans, okay. Not like he - came prepared, or anything, to take Harrington out for a fuckin’ Valentine’s Day date, or whatever, but.

Yeah, okay, maybe he’s got something planned. Not that he’ll ever admit it. To anyone. Ever. So.

‘Guess you’re just gonna have to wait and see, won’t you, pretty boy?’

Harrington - honest to god huffs. Fuckin’ spoiled brat.

Billy’s already kinda hard in his jeans. It’s whatever. Harrington kinda - has that effect on him. Makes his dick hard. Makes his knees weak.

He actively locks that thought in that door at the back of his mind. The don’t ever fuckin’ enter one. Doesn’t need this right now.

Not when -

Not when Harrington has a type. Not when Rochelle fuckin’ Simmons is Harrington’s type, Harrington’s type of girl, not when Harrington spent all day laughing at her jokes, spent all day avoiding Billy’s eyes, not when -

Not when Billy’s wrist still bends at a weird angle from the last time, from the first time he was stupid enough to think boys like him can have -

Harrington clears his throat next to him. Billy releases the death grip he had on the wheel. Hadn’t realized he did.

‘Billy?’

Fuck, the way his name falls out of Harrington’s lips, it’s -

No one ever says his name like that. Harrington’s mouth curls around it like it’s - sweet, almost, like it’s -

Good.

He hums. Finds he can’t do words at the moment. Can’t work around the ball of nerves in his throat.

‘Why did you - why would you ever think I was goin’ out with Rochelle Simmons?’

Billy chances a sideways glance at Harrington. He finds him half-turned towards him, eyes scanning over the side of Billy’s face, curious. Confused. It does things to Billy’s heart.

Makes his dick wet in his pants.

It’s a double-edged knife, Harrington’s pout.

Billy coughs. Shallows around the need to shove his tongue down Harrington’s throat. Looks at the road straight ahead. ‘She spent all day playing catch-me-if-you-can with you, King Steve. You seemed to enjoy it.’ He scowls, bites back something sour. ‘She was practically offering herself to you. Thought you wouldn’t refuse a taste.’

‘I wasn’t even paying attention to her, Billy, why would I - ’ Harrington stops, shakes his head. His face is a big question mark, and Billy - he feels like maybe he’s miscalculated, like he’s missing something, like Harrington means -

‘She’s your type,’ he says, voice laced with uncertainty. Shrugs one shoulder, does the one thing he knows how to do best.

Feigns indifference. It’s all good if you don’t care.

It’s all good.

Harrington’s shaking his head, looks kinda - disappointed, almost. ‘I wasn’t even payin’ attention to her,’ he says again, ‘I’m only ever paying attention to - ’

He stops, makes Billy turn to look at him. Makes Billy follow his eyes, see the way Harrington’s stare is glued to Billy’s lips, the way Billy’s teeth are digging in his bottom lip, have been since Harrington said his name, seconds away from breaking skin, seconds away from drawing blood.

Harrington looks up, finds Billy’s eyes. Seems to - decide on something. Gives Billy half a smile. ‘How long’re we gonna be drivin’, anyway?’

Billy lets out a breath. Is kinda grateful for the shift in the mood. ‘You bored ‘a me already, King Steve?’

Harrington huffs out a laugh. ‘Man, you never let up, do ya?’ He reaches out, tucks a stray curl behind Billy’s ear, leaves his fingers there for a second longer, draws it out. ‘Wanna listen to some music?’

And like - Billy’s kinda reeling, okay, and Harrington’s touch has kinda burned a path down his throat, down his chest, has kinda made him just that bit crazier, just that bit closer to parking the car on the side of the road, throwing himself at Harrington, and they’re in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere, he could, they could, and Billy wants, he wants, with everything he has, but -

He’s got plans, and it’s Valentine’s Day, and Harrington’s sitting next to him, chose to, chose to be with Billy, and he - he wants to listen to music, so.

‘Tell me you got somethin’ other than Tears for Fears in here, pretty boy.’

And Harrington - his whole face lights up, smile as bright as the California sun Billy hasn’t seen in months, and Billy’s spent those last months missing it with every inch of his being, but.

He finds he doesn’t miss it that much right now.

Harrington nods towards the glove compartment. Has a kinda - mischievous glint in his eyes. Makes Billy want to ruin him. Makes Billy’s dick twitch in his pants. ‘I got some tapes in there. See if you can find something you like.’

Billy narrows his eyes.

Opens the space in front of Harrington, fumbles around for something resembling a tape. His fingers close around a small box, and that must be it, because Harrington’s suddenly wearing the biggest, most infuriating grin on his stupid face.

Leaves Billy kinda breathless.

He takes the tape out, and it’s - it’s not store bought. Looks handmade. Like maybe - maybe Harrington made it. Has a torn pack of Marlboro reds as a cover.

The same brand Billy smokes. Billy’s favorite fuckin’ brand of cigarettes.

Like maybe -

Billy looks at the tape, blinks at it, doesn’t think about -

Can’t hope that maybe Harrington -

Because, like. Everyone smokes reds. It’s everyone’s favorite fuckin’ brand. There’s no way Harrington made that tape for -

And Billy looks at Harrington, and he’s still smiling in that way that warms Billy all the way to his toes, that lights a flame just below his stomach, that makes him hope -

Makes Billy hope.

And he’s still steering the wheel with one hand, gripping the tape with the other, blinking at the road ahead, blinking at the small box in his palm, and -

‘You gonna play it anytime soon or do I gotta turn grey first?’

And like, yeah, okay, that’s a thought that punches Billy out of nowhere, and maybe, potentially Billy can feel his dick twitching in his pants, can feel the way it sticks to his underwear, and Billy never thought he’d had a thing for older men, never had before, so.

Maybe it’s just the thought of Harrington, of Harrington older, and greyer, and all his.

He pushes the tape into the player. Turns to Harrington. ‘Anybody ever tell you you’re a brat?’

Harrington gives him a once-over, licks his lips. Smiles like he doesn’t believe a word coming out of Billy’s mouth, like he knows brat is Billy’s idea of foreplay. ‘Hargrove, man, you’ve been calling me brat before you knew my name.’

Billy snorts. ‘Suits you better,’ he says, and then he doesn’t say anything else, because -

Because there’s a guitar riff, a very fuckin’ familiar guitar riff, and -

In the days of my youth, I was told to be a man.

And it’s - it’s Led, okay, Billy knows this song like the back of his hand, knows it’s a good song, knows it’s a sex song, it is, okay, and when did preppy boy Harrington start listening to Led Zeppelin, like, when did that happen, and Billy’s still in shock from that, still kinda reeling, and then the next song comes up, and it’s -

It’s fuckin’ - Electric Light Orchestra, okay, and like. Every song they’ve ever written is a sex song?

And Harrington went and chose the most blatant, the most obvious, the most -

Can’t get it out of my head.

And like, okay Billy kinda knew, he knew, but. This is a sex playlist. Harrington made a playlist, a playlist to fuck to.

And he’s still grinning in his seat, next to Billy, like he knows Billy gets it, and he’s here, right, with Billy, in his own stupid car, and he’s put on a playlist, the fuckin’ sex playlist he made, the one that has Billy’s favorite brand of smokes on the cover, but.

Harrington has a type. Harrington has a type of - of girl, and he made that stupid playlist, and there’s no way, no way in hell he made it for -

‘Cause Harrington has a type of girl, and Billy’s not it, not a girl, not his type, not the one Harrington makes playlists for, okay, those are facts Billy knows, and Billy’s an expert by now, at ruining everything good, so.

‘Fuck’s this playlist, King Steve?’

He gets to watch the red bloom across Harrington’s face, gets to follow it as it moves down his throat, down the inch of exposed chest Harrington’s sweater isn’t covering.

‘What d’you mean, man?’ he says, and he isn’t looking at Billy, keeps his gaze down, and it’s - it’s cute, that he thinks he can outsmart Billy. It’s cute. ‘It’s just a playlist, Hargrove, don’t have to make a big deal out of it.’

Billy hums, all menacing-like. ‘It’s a playlist to get fucked to, baby.’ He licks his lips, shallows down the bitterness in his mouth. Glances at Harrington. ‘That what you fuck your girls to, King Steve?’

And Harrington’s giving him that look, the one that means they’re having two different conversations, the one that means Billy isn’t seeing something really fuckin’ obvious, here, and.

‘Billy, what are you even - ’ Harrington pushes his thumbs in the middle of his forehead, starts rubbing circles, like he’s drained, like Billy’s drained him, ‘you know many girls around here that get off to Led Zeppelin, you asshole?’

‘It’s none of my - ’ Billy starts, wants to say none of my business, none of my business who you choose to fuck when you’re not with me, kinda means I don’t wanna know, kinda means I don’t wanna hear you say it, kinda means I break things, and.

‘Billy, jesus, stop, okay, just - just stop,’ Harrington says, cuts Billy off, makes him shut his mouth so fast his jaw aches. Makes that feeling of - of wrong surge up again inside him.

Harrington rests his hand on the back of Billy’s head, tangles his fingers through the curls, tugs, slowly, softly, forces Billy’s head to the side, enough to let Billy keep driving, enough to bring Harrington into his field of vision. Harrington looks - determined. He looks - angry, almost.

Billy’d be kinda terrified if it didn’t turn him on so much.

‘You gotta stop, okay, it’s not funny anymore,’ Harrington mutters into the space between them, the one he keeps invading, slowly, and then, ‘you know, you asshole, I know you do. You know I’m not sleeping with anybody else.’

And Billy - he doesn’t, okay, he doesn’t know, because Billy knows Harrington, knows Harrington’s type, knows it’s girls that look like Nancy fuckin’ Wheeler, knows it’s girls that look like they’re gonna break Harrington’s heart and smile while doin’ it, and Rochelle Simmons is exactly that type of girl, except Harrington’s not with her, is he, he’s with Billy, on fuckin’ Valentine’s Day, he’s chosen to be with Billy, and he says shit like I know you do, and Billy doesn’t, doesn’t know, and.

He looks at Harrington, furrows his brows, because he doesn’t know, and Harrington widens his eyes, looks like he’s just had the most astounding epiphany, looks like he gets - something, and.

‘You know, right?’ he whispers, keeps petting Billy’s hair, keeps sending jolts of electricity all the way down Billy’s body, with his fingers, with his voice, with his everything, ‘Billy, I’m not - I’m not fucking anybody else, okay, I don’t wanna, I - ’

He stops, closes his eyes, takes a breath. His fingers never stop brushing Billy’s curls. ‘I made you a playlist, you asshole,’ he says, opens his eyes. Smiles at Billy, just a bit, with just one corner of his mouth. ‘I’m not - I haven’t been with anyone else, okay? Since we - started doin’ this. Haven’t - wanted to. With anyone else.’

Except you. Haven’t wanted to, with anyone else, except you.

Fuck.

Billy stays very still, lets the feeling of Harrington’s fingers threading through his hair wash over him, allows himself to - hope, hope maybe he can get to keep this, because -

Except you.

He keeps his head forward, looks at the road, looks at anywhere else except Harrington, makes his voice go very, very quiet. ‘Me too,’ he mutters, almost a whisper, like maybe that way Harrington won’t hear it, and Billy hopes he won’t, prays he will, ‘just you. Haven’t - with anyone else.’

He wonders at which point in his life he turned into such a pussy. Thinks he can probably trace it back to the moment he turned around in that parking lot, caught Harrington’s gaze on him.

The moment he decided him, gotta be him.

‘Yeah?’ Harrington asks, and he’s beaming at Billy, smiling like he already kinda knew, already knew Billy hasn’t, with anyone else, hasn’t wanted to, and.

Billy rolls his eyes. ‘Yeah, Harrington, stop lookin’ at me like that, okay, I’m not sleeping with anyone else, you’re not sleeping with anyone else, big fuckin’ deal, jesus,’ he says in one breath, because Harrington’s looking real fuckin’ smug, and Billy’s not having that, okay, he’s not fueling that idiot’s pride, okay, he’s got enough of it as it is, pride as big as his dick, so.

It doesn’t work.

Harrington - keeps smiling, and Billy kinda wants to smack the grin off his stupid, pretty face, kinda wants to push Harrington between his legs, feed him his dick, and he’s been hard forever, feels like, ever since Harrington gave him the keys, ever since Harrington said just you, ever since Billy saw Harrington, all those months ago, and the thought of stuffing Harrington’s face, making his grin disappear, watching Harrington’s stupid, pretty mouth closing around him, it kinda has him squirming in his seat, but.

Billy has plans.

And they’ve been doing this for two months, getting each other off anywhere, everywhere, any way they can, and it’s always been quick, and frantic, and desperate, but Harrington’s smiling at him, and Billy doesn’t do boyfriends, but Harrington said just you, and he made Billy a fuckin’ - playlist, a playlist to have sex to, a playlist to fuck Billy to, a playlist that has Led, and Electric Light, and -

And Bruce fuckin’ Springsteen.

Of course it does. Of course the playlist Harrington made for him has Bruce fuckin’ Springsteen in.

And Billy knows, okay, he knows Harrington wants him, like, that boy’s an open book, okay, can’t hide a thing with those big eyes of his, but.

Hey little girl, is your daddy home?

And, god, Billy doesn’t do boyfriends, doesn’t do dates, but.

I got a bad desire.

He’s got plans, and Harrington is smiling, smiling like he still doesn’t believe a word out of Billy’s mouth, doesn’t believe big fuckin’ deal, and.

I’m on fire -

‘Man, you’re taking me out on a date for Valentine's Day,’ Harrington says, keeps smiling through it, ‘don’t come at me with your doesn’t mean a thing bullshit, okay.’ He traces the slope of Billy’s nose with his finger, tender, barely there. ‘I can see right through you, Hargrove.’

And like. It’s not a date? But it’s also, like. Not not a date, and Harrington hasn’t stopped smiling, and he’s got, like. A really pretty smile, almost irresistible, definitely irresistible, and Billy’s got plans, so.

He huffs a breath, a breath he was holding the whole time Harrington’s fingers were burning a path on his skin, because they’ve been touching each other in so many ways, but it’s stupid stuff like this that has Billy weak at the knees.

He glances at Harrington, at Harrington's stupid, pretty face, rolls his eyes, like, really, Harrington, Springsteen, and.

‘Big fuckin’ deal,’ he mutters, just for the sake of it, but he reaches out his hand, rests it on Harrington’s thigh, revels in the sharp intake of breath it punches out of him.

Harrington’s skin is burnin’ hot under his fingertips, even through layers of clothes, and Billy’s snaking his hand up, up, because he has a plan, okay, and Harrington’s being so good, and he’s already hard under Billy’s palm, and.

Isn’t that a revelation, that maybe Billy’s not alone in this, that maybe Billy’s kinda losing his mind around Harrington, but maybe Harrington’s losing his mind around Billy, too, and.

He closes his hand around the bulge between Harrington’s legs, squeezes, just a bit, just to make him squirm, make him angle his hips up, trying to chase the friction, and Billy’s waiting for it, moves his hand away in an instant, lights up at the hiss that follows.

‘You gotta be good, King Steve, you know that,’ he says, keeps his eyes on the road, knows Harrington hates being ignored, knows he’ll do anything to get Billy’s attention back on him, ‘think you can do that, baby? Think you can be good for me?’

Harrington keeps moving around his seat, fingers twitching on his knees, to keep them from palming himself, to make sure he stays good, but Harrington’s a brat, okay, so, ‘Billy,’ he huffs, like that answers any of Billy’s questions, so.

Billy grips his jaw, forces Harrington to look at him, swipes his thumb along Harrington’s bottom lip, sinks it in, just a bit, just to make it sting, ‘You know I can give you what you need, Stevie. Just gotta be good for me.’

Harrington’s looking at him like he wants to eat him alive.

Billy’s - not opposed to that.

‘I’ll be good, you asshole,’ Harrington spits out, lips moving against Billy’s thumb, and it’s almost like Harrington’s leaving a dozen small kisses on the pad of Billy’s finger, almost, until he stops talking, and then he is, he kisses the skin, lets his lips linger, smiles a bit at the shiver it gets out of Billy.

Harrington’s a fuckin’ liar.

Good, his ass.

But they’re almost there, where Billy’s been planning on taking them since last week, not that Harrington’s ever gonna know that, and Billy needs Harrington hot and bothered and really keyed up, because Billy has plans, or maybe just the one, ‘cause Billy wants to ruin Harrington, so.

He rests his hand between Harrington’s legs, starts rubbing him through the denim, slowly, more than a tease than an actual touch, definitely not enough to provide relief, and that’s exactly what Billy wants.

He wants Harrington to beg.

He finds the head of Harrington’s dick, starts tracing feather-light circles around it, and Harrington throbs under his touch, but he’s being good, so good for Billy, keeps perfectly still on his seat, fingers clawing at his jeans, jaw set tight with the effort, set tight with determination.

It makes Billy’s dick leak in his pants, but. He’s waited long enough. Can wait a couple minutes more to get his hands on King Steve.

The field comes into view, and he moves his hand from Harrington’s thigh back to the wheel. Harrington grunts, impatientent as all hell, the big fuckin’ baby, and Billy huffs, amused, kinda in love.

‘We’re here, King Steve. Gotta be a good boy for me and wait just a few more minutes, alright?’

Harrington - he doesn’t answer, exactly, because he’s a fuckin’ brat, but. He forces out a breath, like Billy’s exhausting his patience, crosses his arms across his chest, spreads his legs, just a bit. Makes sure his cock is directly in Billy’s line of sight, makes sure the fabric of his jeans is stretched to the limit. Looks at Billy in the eyes while giving his little performance.

Billy - he can’t help it, okay, his eyes are glued on Harrington’s cock, the way his jeans are bulging, like maybe they won’t be able to keep him inside much longer, and Billy’s had Harrington’s dick inside him almost every night for the last two months, okay, he knows Harrington’s big, like. Real big, so.

He licks his lips, shakes his head, mutters fuckin’ unbelievable under his breath, just to see that sparkle in Harrington’s eyes, the one he gets when he thinks he’s won.

He. He hasn’t won. Not by a long shot.

Has no idea what Billy has in store for him.

Billy keeps watching Harrington out of the corner of his eye, catches the exact moment Harrington takes in his surroundings, registers where they are. The moment he gets this stupid, breathtaking look in his face, gets all confused, pouts his pretty mouth, furrows his brows.

Billy’s defenses have never been this low. He needs to get them parked, now.

Hawkins is all nine circles of hell combined, but its obsession with this headache-inducing holiday is good for one thing.

The local drive-in is open just for tonight, free access to every couple looking for a cheap way to live out their romantic fantasies, or, well. Get off.

It’s swamped.

Figures, Billy thinks, as he’s driving them into the open field. Not every family in Hawkins has the money Harrington’s daddy does. Add free to anything and people get crazy.

It’s perfect. The place is full of cars stacked one next to the other, filled with couples ready to get their rocks off while Molly fuckin’ Ringwald goes through her sweet sixteen crisis right in front of their eyes.

Harrington’s still looking supremely confused, keeps looking at Billy with a weird look in his eyes, a small smile on his lips, all while Billy finds the perfect spot for them.

He parks them as far behind as he can get away with without actually standing out, under a big elm tree that casts a shadow on them, keeps them in the dark even under the glow of the screen.

Harrington wheels around, looks at the field in front of them, the cars, the movie playing on. Gives Billy the chance to study him, take in his face, all blue and pink and glowing from the light, and he’s -

He’s the prettiest thing Billy’s ever seen.

His breath catches in his throat. His hands twitch on his knees, aching to touch himself, aching to touch Harrington, and then.

Harrington has to ruin it. Of fuckin’ course he does.

‘The drive-in, Hargrove, really?’ he says, smirk plastered on his stupid, pretty face. ‘I mean, man, I was kidding before, but. You really are taking me on a date, huh?’ He turns to the screen, finds Molly Ringwald sitting in a car with Anthony Michael Hall, and isn’t that just perfect, isn’t that ironic, and Billy wants to protest, because this isn’t a date, that’s not what this is, but.

He also hates lying, so. Yeah, okay. Maybe - maybe it is a date. Not the kind Harrington thinks it is, though.

Harrington leans back on the seat, spreads his legs further, puts his arms behind his head as a cushion. Turns to Billy. Smirks, again. ‘Thing is, I’ve already seen that one, Hargrove. Sucks for you. Better luck next time, man,’ he drawls, like he has any control over anything, which. He doesn’t. Not an iota of it, but. ‘’Sides, it’s already, like. Halfway through, man. You know I’m one of these people, right? Can’t watch a movie if I miss, like. Three seconds of it.’

He clicks his tongue, like too bad, man. Smiles at Billy, so sweet, so smug.

And like. Billy knows? He knows the movie’s forty minutes in, has timed their arrival perfectly, given them enough time to make sure no one comes parking behind them, enough time for Billy to -

Ruin Harrington.

And he has to bite his tongue against the retort, because of course, of course Harrington’s already seen Sixteen fuckin’ Candles, of course he has, he’s like. The exact target group these kinda movies are made for, but.

He’s been waiting for it all day, all week, every day since that stupid day in October, that day Harrington first came crashing into his world and sent everything to chaos, waiting to ruin Harrington the way Harrington’s been ruining him, so.

He huffs a breath, you got no idea, unbuckles his seatbelt. Climbs right into Harrington’s lap. Buries his hands in Harrington’s hair, tugs, just a bit, just enough to angle Harrington’s head backwards, force him to look down to catch Billy’s eyes.

‘What was that you said?’ Billy asks, knows exactly what Harrington said. ‘Better luck next time, was it?’ He snakes one hand between them, finds Harrington’s dick, hard, pulsing under his jeans. Gives a squeeze, just to feel the shiver that runs down Harrington’s body. ‘I don’t know, baby,’ he drawls, grazes his lips against Harrington’s ear, ‘I think I got plenty ‘a luck right here.’

Harrington bucks in his grip, tries to chase the friction. Billy - there’s no way he’s letting him, not after all the bitching. Pins his body to the seat with his own, makes it impossible for Harrington to move an inch.

‘I thought we were watching the movie,’ he grunts, like it’s the hardest thing he’s ever done, like it takes all of his energy to just stay still.

‘Baby,’ Billy coos, moves his palm flat against the hot line of Harrington’s dick, ‘if you still wanna watch the movie, I’m doin’ something wrong.’

Harrington lets out the softest groan. It goes straight to Billy’s dick, and Billy feels it give a kick in his pants.

‘I’ll rent it for you, if you want,’ Billy says, knows Harrington couldn’t give less of a fuck about the stupid movie right now. Not with the way Billy’s cupping him through the fabric. ‘But no, King Steve. We’re not here to watch the movie.’ He brings his lips close to Harrington’s ear, gives a small bite at the lobe. ‘Everyone’s seen the movie, baby. Nobody’s here to actually watch it,’ he whispers against the skin, and Harrington -

He grips Billy’s arms, fists clenching around his biceps, gripping tight, like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. He leaves out a breath, shaky.

Billy pulls back, needs to take him in.

Harrington’s a feast laid out before him. Pupils black, reflecting the light of the screen, chest heaving, breath already messed up, and Billy hasn’t even - done anything to him yet. Billy licks his lips, and Harrington’s dick throbs under his palm.

'Okay,’ he says, breathless, ‘how’re we gonna spend the next fifty minutes, then?’

Billy chuckles. Moves closer. Lets his lips hover over Harrington’s. Licks his bottom lip. Grinds his hips against Harrington’s. ‘I think we’ll find a way to pass the time,’ he says, and then he doesn’t say anything else, closes his lips over Harrington’s, shallows down the gasp he lets out. He feels Harrington’s tongue pushing past his lips, opens his mouth to let him in, let his tongue lick the space behind his teeth, curl around his own tongue, lighting flames in Billy’s body, making him falter for a second, before - before he remembers what they’re here for.

Rutting against each other with clothes on is so two months ago.

Billy needs more.

He grips Harrington’s head between his palms, keeps him from leaning forward when Billy draws back.

Harrington looks wrecked. His eyes are unfocused, and his breath is coming out in pants, and Billy can’t resist, has to move in, catch his bottom lip between his teeth, nip at it, just to hear the noise Harrington lets out, that small, wounded thing in the back of his throat.

Billy’s - not breathing so evenly himself.

He strokes Harrington’s cheekbones with his thumbs, forces him to focus on Billy. ‘You with me?’

Harrington nods, kinda dumb about it. Hums, softly.

Billy bites his lip to keep from diving back in. God, the plan is to ruin Harrington. He’s feeling pretty ruined, himself, if he’s honest.

He stares into Harrington’s eyes, black as tar, all blown up for him. ‘You gotta be good for me, King Steve. Can you do that? Can you be good for me, babe?’

Harrington goes to nod again, but -

‘I’m gonna need words here, Stevie. Can you do words?’

Harrington swallows. Closes his eyes for a second. Takes a breath. ‘Yeah, you asshole, jesus, of course I'm gonna be good for you, just. Get on with it.’

Billy smiles, a wide, feral thing, pecks Harrington’s stupid, pretty lips. ‘Spread your legs for me, baby,’ he mutters against Harrington’s mouth, and.

Harrington goes to say - something, ask, goes as far as wha- , because.

Billy drops to his knees, crouches in the space between Harrington’s legs and the car console. Puts his hands on Harrinton’s knees, doesn’t wait for him to catch up. Spreads his legs as far as he needs, just enough for Billy to fit between them, to bring him on the same level of Harrington’s crotch.

He watches as his dick kicks under his jeans.

Billy licks his lips. His mouth waters at the sight. Can’t wait to get his lips around Harrington.

Harrington is - he’s not moving. Not breathing, not blinking, not - he’s just. Looking between his legs, looking at Billy, so.

Billy has to put on a show. He just. He has to.

He slides his hands slowly up, up, up Harrington’s thighs, lets his fingers rest as close to his bulge as possible, never touching, knows Harrington can feel every small circle he traces, knows his dick’s making a mess in his pants. He grins. Presses his legs together. Can’t think about the way his own cock’s sticking to the fabric of his pants, pressing against it, ready to rip the seam apart. He needs to focus on Harrington. Billy has plans.

He moves his hand, traces the line of Harrington’s dick with one finger. Laughs a bit at the hiss Harrington lets out. Puts his hand on the zipper. Drags it down, enough to make a thatch of dark hair visible.

Billy - he can’t help it, okay, he needs -

He buries his face in Harrington’s crotch, breathes in the smell of him, smiles a bit against him, because they’ve been doing this for two months and Harrington’s been picking up habits, seems like, because Billy’s hit with Harrington’s scent, the one he knows so well, but he’s also hit with something that smells suspiciously like fuckin’ Paco Rabanne.

He stores that information for later. Makes a promise to himself to milk it out as much as he can get away with.

Fuckin’ - Paco Rabanne. Jesus.

Billy’s ready to blow in his jeans after like. A whiff.

He nuzzles against the dark hair, stows the scent away for later, for nights when Neil’s being a particular kind of asshole and Billy can’t get the real thing. He lowers the zipper, finds skin, scoffs. Looks up at Harrington. Raises one eyebrow.

Habits.

‘Don’t give me that look, Hargrove,’ Harrington says, voice already kinda wrecked, ‘you been goin’ commando on me from the start, okay.’ He pushes his fingers through the curls on Billy’s forehead. It’s - it’s distracting. Takes Billy’s breath away. ‘And,’ Harrington drawls, raises one corner of his mouth, ‘I was hoping I’d get lucky tonight, okay, so. Don’t have the right to complain, you asshole. I’m only making your job easier.’

God, he’s such a bitch. Billy should probably like. Put him in his place, or something. He should, except.

Except Harrington keeps wading his fingers through Billy’s hair, keeps petting him, keeps letting out these - sighs, soft, and it’s Valentine's Day, and they’re on a date, okay, never mind that Billy’ll deny that for the rest of his life, so.

He allows this for a minute. Just - lets himself be petted. Mutters, ‘You’re such a bitch.’ Looks Harrington straight in the eye while doing it.

Keeps looking at him while he shoves his hand down Harrington’s pants. Finds his cock, hot and pulsing. Gives it a couple of strokes, just to hear Harrington’s groan.

Harrington throws his head back, claws at Billy’s shoulders. ‘Billy - ’

‘You promised, King Steve,’ Billy drawls, feels the way Harrington’s getting his palm wet. ‘You’re gonna be good for me, remember?’

Harrington tightens his jaw. Looks down at Billy between his legs. Nods, sharp, desperate. ‘’M good. I’m good.’

And he. He really is. He’s so good for Billy, so.

Billy rewards him with a twist of his wrist, closes his palm around the hand. Raises his other hand, too, to take Harrington out of his jeans. Big boy, and all.

His dick’s barely out before Billy’s leaning down, licks a line from the shaft to the head, flushed and leaking, just for him.

God, he loves how wet Harrington gets. How wet for Billy. It’s a power high like no other.

He takes the head in his mouth. Closes his lips around it. Laps up the liquid gathered at the slit. Keeps his eyes trained on Harrington’s face the whole time.

He knows he looks good like this. Knows watching Billy moving between his legs gets Harrington off just as much as Billy’s tongue on his dick does. So.

He puts on a show.

He hollows his cheeks, twirls his tongue around the head, pushes it flat against the vein pulsing under his touch. Feels the way Harrington throbs in his mouth, the way he keeps dripping on his tongue. Hears the moan above him, a choked, pained thing. Rolls his hips forward, just to show Harrington how much he loves being on his knees for him.

He - he isn't exactly pretending. His dick’s leaking like crazy in his jeans, making everything sticky and wet.

It’s gross.

Billy’s never been more turned on in his life.

Harrington moves his hands, goes to tangle them in Billy’s curls, and Billy looks up at him, raises his eyebrow, like, what’d I just say, but.

Harrington’s chest is heaving like he’s ran a marathon, and he’s smiling sweetly at Billy, and his hands are pushing stray curls behind Billy’s ears, and cradling his face, just touching, not pushing, and.

It’s a lot. It’s - it’s a lot. So.

Billy lowers his mouth lower, takes as much of Harrington’s length as he can, and like, he’s getting better at this, he is, but Harrington’s big, bigger when he’s so hard, and Billy always gets him there, and it’s not like Billy’s had a lot of experience sucking cock before, but.

He’s getting better.

Harrington grunts like he’s been punched in the balls, and Billy can feel his pulse on his tongue, can feel Harrington’s fingers tightening in his hair, and then, then, Harrington’s not just touching anymore, he’s pulling Billy back, kinda desperate, kinda lost, and Billy smirks at him, goes to dive back in, but.

Harrington’s still holding his face in his palms, holding him in place, keeping him at a safe distance. Forcing Billy’s head back, and it’s. It’s not a bad view, okay, Harrington panting above him, jeans open just enough, dick twitching violently between his legs, drenched in Billy’s spit, in Harrington’s pre, making a mess on Harrington’s really fuckin’ expensive polo, and Billy’s proud, okay, ‘cause Harrington looks ready to blow if a gush of air hits him wrong, but.

‘Stop, stop, okay, you gotta - ’ Harrington gets out between breaths, keeps Billy’s mouth away from where Billy needs to be, from where Harrington needs him to be, okay, Billy knows it takes everything in Harrington to stop him, but.

Billy has plans. There’s no way he’s making it easy for Harrington tonight, one-and-you’re-done. So.

‘What’s the matter, King Steve?’ he says, keeps smirking up at Harrington, keeps glancing between Harrington’s face, flushed and open, Harrington’s dick, kicking against Harrington’s stomach when Billy licks his lips. Lets his tongue trace his lips. Knows Harrington’s thinking about his mouth around him, about Billy tasting him on his tongue. ‘Seemed like you were enjoyin’ yourself.’

Harrington takes a breath. Sucks half the oxygen in the car. ‘I was, you asshole, you know I was, okay, I - a lot. Too much,’ he says, and then, because Billy’s smirking at him, knows exactly what Harrington means, needs to hear him say it, because he really is an asshole, ‘I’m close, okay, so you gotta - just gimme a minute.’

And Billy - he’s not gonna. Like. Not by a long shot. That’s not the plan.

He fists his hand around Harrington’s dick, starts pumping him, quick, easy, with how much Harrington’s leaking, says, ‘Nah, I’m bored. Haven’t got a minute,’ and.

Harrington throws his head back, tightens his hold on Billy’s hair, just this side of painful, arches his hips up, whole body tensing. Comes all over Billy’s fist. All over his shirt. His really fuckin’ expensive shirt. Catches Billy on the jaw. On one side of his mouth.

Billy’s not religious, but. He thinks maybe this is heaven. This is his heaven.

He licks his lips, tastes Harrington on them. Winks at him. ‘Knew you were enjoyin’ it,’ he says, just to hear the groan Harrington gifts him with, and then.

Harrington’s clawing at his shoulders, dragging him up, dragging him close, and Billy - he goes, okay, doesn’t need to be told twice, climbs right into Harrington’s lap, opens his legs, straddles him, grinds his dick in the mess Harrington made between them, just enough to take the edge off.

‘Jesus, Hargrove, fuck,’ Harrington pants in the space between them, grabs Billy’s face in his hands, crashes their mouths together. Billy opens his lips wide, lets Harrington lick his own taste from his mouth, swallows down the moan that follows. Lets Harrington bite at his bottom lip as he pulls back.

‘I don’t know about jesus, babe, but that’s definitely the plan for us,’ he says, and it’s terrible, okay, it’s a terrible line, almost unforgivable, but.

Harrington buries his face in the crook of Billy’s neck, giggles, licks at the spot just above the collarbone, so.

Totally worth it.

Billy holds Harrington’s head there for a second, ‘cause it feels nice, okay, just this small thing, Harrington’s breath against his neck, his laughter, knowing Billy caused it, it’s. It’s nice, so.

He holds him there, just for a second, just until he feels Harrington’s hand snaking down between their bodies, getting closer to Billy’s crotch, and of course, of course Harrington’s already thinkin’ about repaying the favor, ‘cause that’s just how he is, the big selfless jerk, and Billy kinda loves him for it, not that he’s ever telling Harrington that, but.

That’s not how the plan’s gonna go.

He grips Harrington’s wrist, holds it close to his chest, dives in to leave a peck against Harrington’s pout.

Harrington furrows his brows. ‘Billy, c’mon man,’ he says, tries to free his hand from Billy’s grasp. Cute. As if. ‘I wanna take care of you, just - ’ He tries again, fails, grunts, all frustrated-like. So fuckin’ pretty. ‘Just lemme, Billy, c’mon.’

Billy bites his lip. Looks at Harrington, pouty, struggling, fuckin’ - breathtaking. Throws him a smile, one that definitely comes out sweeter than intended. Finds he doesn’t - really care, at the moment.

He puts one palm flat against Harrington’s chest. Moves closer. Brings his lips close to Harrington’s ear. His fingers find a nipple under Harrington’s shirt, and Billy traces it with the tip of his finger. Feels Harrington shiver beneath him. Feels his dick give a kick against Billy’s groin.

He hasn’t even gone soft. Looks ready to go again. Looks exactly how Billy wants him. Ruined. Spent. Not nearly done.

‘Don’t worry, King Steve,’ he whispers in the space between them, ‘you’re gonna take care ‘a me alright.’ He grips Harrington’s dick, gives it a squeeze, light, teasing, just to feel it pulsing in his grip. Winks at Harrington. ‘Don’t go soft,’ he says, and.

He pulls back, lowers his hands down his body, looks straight at Harrington. Puts on a show. Traces the way Harrington swallows, dry, throat closing around nothing. It spurs Billy on. Makes him wanna ruin Harrington. Makes him wanna get ruined.

He toes off his boots, lets them fall on the floor. Unbuckles his belt. Opens his jeans, slow, smiles at the way Harrington’s eyes follow every motion. He lowers them down his thighs, lets his dick spring free, finally, finally, so hard it smacks against his stomach, leaves a wet trail where it touches.

Harrington - he’s breathing like there’s not enough oxygen in the world to keep him alive. Breathing like he’s never had a boy, hard and waiting for him, or maybe he has, but it never mattered, not before this.

That thought - it breaks something inside Billy. Punches a groan out of him. Makes his cock drip on his shirt. Makes Billy wanna do something stupid, like kiss Harrington, or keep him, or maybe tell him he’s in -

Which. It’s not the plan. Not how it’s supposed to go. So.

He wiggles out of his jeans. Throws them in the backseat. Kneels on the seat between Harrington’s legs, lets Harrington take in the sight of him.

He knows he makes a pretty picture, okay, he’s a nine on a bad day, but like this, shirt open, chest gleaming with sweat, hair a mess from Harrington’s fingers, naked from the waist down, hard, leaking between their bodies, he.

He can ruin people.

He doesn’t want -

He wants to ruin Harrington.

Doesn’t seem like it’ll take much more, not with the way Harrington’s looking at him. Like he wants to eat him alive.

Billy thinks he might let him. Thinks maybe Harrington’s the only person worth getting destroyed by.

Harrington keeps looking, until just looking’s not enough, puts his hands on Billy’s hips, tries to drag him forward, wants to bring him closer, bring him right where he wants him, and Billy - he wants, but.

He fists a hand in Harrington’s hair, forces his head back, keeps Harrington’s mouth away from him, ‘cause Billy’s never been good at staying patient, never been good at turning down a chance to feel good, never been good at refusing Harrington anything.

‘Thought I was gettin’ you off,’ Harrington whines, whines, arching an eyebrow, digs his nails in the meat of Billy’s thighs, ‘cause the bastard knows, he knows what that does to Billy. What he does to him.

Billy raises a hand, brings it up to Harrington’s mouth. Hooks one finger in his bottom lip. Harrington opens up for him, so pretty, so perfect, all Billy’s, so.

Billy has to, he has to push Harrington’s tongue down, keep it pinned to the bottom of his mouth with the pad of his finger. The moan Harrington chokes out is the best sound Billy’s ever heard.

It makes him feel alive. It makes him feel -

‘Who says you’re not?’ he says. Leans closer. Pushes his tongue in Harrington’s mouth, drinks up the whine that follows. ‘Just gotta be patient, baby. Movie’s not even halfway through yet.’

And Harrington - he looks behind Billy, at the screen, where Molly Ringwald’s still goin’ through it, and Harrington’s not stupid, okay, no matter what anybody says, so.

‘No, Billy, I can’t, okay, I - I won’t last, man,’ he says, and he looks like it.

Harrington looks -

He looks -

Billy has to - he closes his eyes, for a second, okay, ‘cause Harrington just came in his palm, and he’s still hard as a rock and trapped between their bodies, and he’s looking at Billy like maybe he’s about to have a stroke, or like maybe he needs more, more, and Billy - he gets that, so.

‘Don’t be a cheap date, King Steve,’ he drawls, voice raspy and sticky and slow, ‘it’s Valentine’s Day, babe. Let a guy have some fun.’

And Harrington - he shakes underneath him, says, ‘Billy - ’ and.

Billy pinches his nipple, once, which. It’s effective. It shuts Harrington up in a heartbeat.

He leans forward, rests his elbows on Harrington’s shoulders. Grinds his hips down, just to drink up the groan Harrington makes.

‘Here’s how it’s gonna go, baby,’ he says, leaves every word on Harrington’s lips, makes sure Harrington knows. Knows Billy’s not asking. ‘I’m gonna turn around, and you’re gonna open me up with your tongue,’ and he traces his own across the seam of Harrington’s lips, tastes salt, tastes need, ‘and then I’m gonna sit myself on your dick, and you’re gonna stay there and be good for me and let me watch the movie, and you’re not gonna spoil it for me. That clear, King Steve?’

Harrington - he leaves this sound, that sounds like Billy’s name, that sounds like dying, but. Billy’s getting impatient, here, and he’s been a perfect gentleman, so far, letting Harrington come all over his shirt, his best shirt, so.

‘That clear, King Steve?’ he says, puts a little fire in it, and he hasn’t been a threat to Harrington in months, at least not that kind of threat, but Billy’s gripping Harrington’s jaw, and Harrington just - looks at him, eyes taking over his face, and Billy can feel the way his throat moves when he swallows, can feel his cock kicking between them, so.

‘Words, baby, c’mon,’ he adds, and it’s not - it’s not soothing, like, Billy would never, but. ‘Know you can do it.’

And Billy - he’s an asshole, okay, but King Steve is an asshole too, the OG resident asshole of Hawkins, so.

‘Thought we weren’t here to watch the movie,’ Harrington says, tongue-in-cheek an’ all, rolls his hips under Billy, and it’s -

It does things to Billy, okay, ‘cause that’s what this is about, between them. This - this fire, that burns and burns and never quiets down, and it’s so easy, moving against one another, and they’re both so wet, wet from the way Billy’s been leaking for hours, feels like, wet from Harrington’s come, from the way his dick just. Doesn’t seem to stop dripping between them, and Billy did that, and that’s what this is about, between them, and it’s -

It’s so good, and Billy -

He’s -

Floating, almost.

Hasn’t even come once, yet.

It’s all too much, Harrington’s eyes, the way they rake over Billy’s body. Harrington’s lips, the way he can’t seem to stop licking and biting them. Harrington’s -

Harrington, just. He’s too much, and Billy’s floating, and he needs to be fucked, like. Now, so.

‘Put that pretty mouth to a better use, King Steve, god, just - ’ and he can’t stop himself, doesn’t really try to, has to shut Harrington up, brings their lips together, and Harrington leaves this - this chuckle, like maybe this is good for him, too, like maybe he’s floating, floating like Billy is, and Billy drinks it up, lets it vibrate all the way down his body, light him up inside.

And he’s been waiting for so long, so.

He pulls back, hands on Harrington’s shoulders to push him back, ‘cause he knows Harrington’s bound to follow if Billy lets him, and Billy needs to feel that tongue inside him, like, now, now, so.

‘You promised, babe,’ he says, and he’s already halfway spun around in Harrington’s arms, ‘be good.’

He sets his elbows on the console, spreads his legs, far as he can go, feels his cock dripping on the floor between his thighs, making a mess on Harrington’s stupid-ass car, which. Good.

And Harrington - he shivers underneath him, like maybe the sight of Billy on his lap, hard and aching for him, maybe - it does things to Harrington, and Billy has to fight back a moan the moment Harrington’s hands find his hips, grip them tight, hold Billy right there, not that Billy was planning on moving, ever, but.

Harrington holds him tight, and Billy feels the way he’s panting behind him, fast and heavy and gone, and Harrington is an asshole, but he’s also a fuckin’ girl, apparently, because he leans forward, touches his lips to Billy’s back, starts trailing kisses down the line of his spine, and Billy would never, ever admit to it, but it has him leaking like crazy, cock kicking in the air, with every press of Harrington’s lips against his skin, and that’s not what this is, not tonight, so.

‘Get movin’, King Steve,’ he snarls, voice miles away from steady, but it’ll have to do, because Billy - he can’t do composed, not right now, ‘not gonna open itself up.’

And Harrington huffs against Billy’s skin, digs his nails in the meat of his hips, just a reminder, King Steve, still here, mutters something that could potentially be such a baby, but Billy’s not gonna worry about that now, because Harrington grabs his ass, keeps it open, fuckin’ - buries his face in it.

Billy’s like. Supremely glad he had enough sense not to take the Camaro. Harrington’s tongue is lapping at his hole, and Billy digs his nails into the console, fists one hand in his mouth to keep from shouting, grits his teeth to force the sounds back down, because, like.

It’s good. It’s - it’s so. Good.

Billy’s been keyed up for so long, and Harrington’s licking at him like he’s never tasted anything better, and moaning like he never wants to stop, and like, there’s now way Billy’d let him, like, Harrington’s touch is electric, every small lick going straight to Billy’s dick, and Billy’s so glad they didn’t take the Camaro, because there’s no way Harrington’s ever getting the puddle of pre between Billy’s legs cleaned up, not completely, and.

That thought hits Billy outta nowhere, and Harrington chooses this exact moment to push his tongue inside, starts fucking it in and out of Billy, keeps moaning against his skin, and his grip’s leaving bruises in Billy’s hips, that’ll stay there for days, and Billy’s come is staining Harrington’s fancy-ass car, staying there, and.

It’s - it’s a lot.

It’s a lot, and then Harrington lifts a hand from Billy’s hip, and Billy isn’t wondering, isn’t noticing, and then there’s a finger inside him, and Harrington’s still licking into him, starts giving these kitten licks around his hole, starts moving his finger in and out, and.

‘You’re already open,’ Harrington mutters against his back. Leaves a kiss in the middle of Billy’s spine. Doesn’t stop fucking into him.

Billy’s - he’s not all there. Takes a couple of seconds to register Harrington’s words, and Harrington’s lips keep trailing down Billy’s back, and his hand feels really fuckin’ good inside him, so.

He opens his eyes, and like, Molly Ringwald is staring longingly at Michael Schoeffling on the screen before him, I know this much is true, and Billy’s kinda floating, kinda struggling to keep himself focused, and then Harrington’s pushing in again, but this time it’s more, and Billy’s brain helpfully supplies him with it’s two fingers now, dumbass, and Harrington asked him something, didn’t he, except apparently it wasn’t a question, because Harrington has two fingers pushing into him, and Billy - of course he opened himself up before meeting Harrington, okay, he had a plan, which mainly involved Getting Railed by Harrington, and that’s not gonna happen, not if Harrington keeps pushing his fingers in like that, so.

‘Wasn’t gonna wait for you all night, Stevie,’ he says, and it sounds like someone punched it out of him, he sounds breathless, he sounds - gone. ‘I’m a grown boy, baby. I have needs.’

And that’s not the deal between them, Stevie and baby and lips on Billy’s back, but Harrington laughs behind him, this tiny, soft thing, and Billy’s kinda gone, gone for him, and then.

Harrington crooks his fingers like that, and Billy’s cock drips, pre sliding down his length, adding to the mess on the floor, and Billy needs to have Harrington in him, needs more than his fingers, fuckin’ - refuses to come just from that, and that seems really close to happening, right about now, and Harrington keeps pushing in in in, and.

‘Stop, Harrington, stop,’ he grits out, muffled against his fist, the one shoved in his mouth to keep him from screaming down the whole drive-in, and when he takes it out it’s teeth-bitten and dripping wet, and Billy reaches behind him, meets Harrington’s palm still latched on his hip, grips it hard in his own. Gives a squeeze, once, digging his nails in to get his point across, and.

It works.

Harrington - he stops. Takes his fingers out of Billy, and there’s a split second, just one, where Billy’s terrified he’s going to beg, ask Harrington to push them back inside, tell him he’s never felt so empty, and he knows Harrington would, even though Billy can hear him breathing like he’s so close it hurts, and Billy needs him, needs him inside, so.

He shuts his eyes, focuses on his breathing. Thinks about Rochelle Simmons. About Harrington’s type. Harrington’s type of girl. Tries to ignore the way his dick throbs between his legs. Ignore the way Harrington’s panting behind him, the way his hands haven’t left Billy’s sides, keep petting at him, rubbing, like Billy’s a wild animal, like he needs to be soothed, and it’s -

It’s counterproductive, okay, ‘cause Harrington always lights a fire inside Billy, always, all the time, and he keeps touching Billy, and every point of contact sends jolts down Billy’s spine, makes his cock kick in the air, trying to find some kind of release, aching for it, and Billy’s floating, and everything is fuzzy and blurred at the edges, and he thinks this is it, game over, you lose, and then.

‘You need a second, Hargrove?’ Harrington says, and everything comes into focus again. ‘It’s okay, man. You wanna think about Molly Ringwald for a while, that’s fine with me.’

And like. No.

Harrington doesn’t get to be cocky. He doesn’t get to tease Billy. He doesn’t get to win.

He doesn’t get to win, so.

Billy’s facing Harrington in a flash, fingers hooked around the waist and of his jeans, dragging them down, and Harrington’s just - sitting there, staring at Billy with his stupid, pretty eyes, so.

‘Lift your hips, you asshole,’ Billy says, and he sounds desperate, and he also couldn’t care less, because Harrington does. He fumbles with the buttons, the ones Billy didn’t bother with before. Lifts his hips. Pushes his jeans down, toes them out of the way, and.

Fuck, he’s -

He’s pretty. Billy tells him that, a lot, and he means it, every time, but.

Harrington, like this, panting and hard and looking at Billy like that, this. Billy’s been in this world for seventeen, almost eighteen years, and he’s seen a lot of ugly, but he’s never seen anything as pretty as this.

They stay like this, for a moment, Billy crouched over Harrington, fingers dancing all over his hips, his thighs, the dark hair under his stomach, Harrington looking at Billy, mouth parted in a breath, eyes moving all over Billy’s body, like he doesn’t know where to start, like he needs all of it, anything, everything, and Billy - he knows. He wants everything, too.

He wants everything. He needs -

He needs Harrington in him, now, so.

He tugs a bit at Harrington’s hair, to get his eyes on Billy’s, and it’s always a show, so. He licks his lips. Waits for Harrington to follow the movement. Smiles, a bit, when Harrington does. He cups Harrington’s jaw, brushes their lips together, a small thing, barely there, and.

‘Stay sharp, pretty boy,’ he says. Turns back around. Faces the screen. Opens his legs wide, frames Harrington’s between his own. Reaches behind him, finds Harrington’s cock, so wet it’s like he’s already blown again, and Billy - he sinks down on it.

Harrington - he lets out this sound, and like. If Billy didn’t feel his dick pulsing in his ass, well. He’d kinda be afraid Harrington’s dying.

Harrington’s hands fly to Billy’s hips, nails digging in, and Billy knows what this means, knows to expect the little thrust Harrington tries next, and isn’t that cute, that Harrington thinks he can do that, thinks he can move Billy the way he wants to. It’s cute, and Billy’d laugh, but he’s suddenly exactly where he wants to be, and Harrington’s filling him up the way nothing else ever does, not that he’d ever tell Harrington that, and he’s trying to move underneath Billy, which. That’s not the way this goes, so.

‘Stay fuckin’ still,’ he growls, planting his feet on the floor. Pins Harrington to the seat with his body, and Harrington grunts behind him, because the way Billy moves makes Harrington slide all the way in, so deep Billy can feel him in the back of his throat, and it’s -

It’s the best thing he’s ever felt, and Billy’s about two seconds away from blowing his load, and that’s about twenty minutes too early from what he’s planned, what he’s been planning all week, and he’s not letting the way Harrington’s dick is spreading him open ruin that, okay, he absolutely refuses to, so.

He needs Harrington to make some noise. He needs him to, because if he doesn’t, then Billy will, he’ll let out the moan that’s been itching to get out of his throat ever since he felt Harrington’s hands on his hips, and Billy can’t let that happen, won’t so.

He digs his nails in Harrington’s thighs, and he digs his teeth in his bottom lip, and he hopes one of them bleeds, he hopes he leaves one more mark on Harrington’s body the way no girl would ever do.

‘Billy - ’ Harrington says behind him, breathes it in his ear, like it’s the only word he remembers, and he tries to move, again, like Billy didn’t just tell him not to, and that -

That’s not gonna work.

‘I said,’ Billy grits out, crossing his arms over the console, leaning over it, body suspended in the space between, lifting his hips just enough to let Harrington slide almost completely out of him, keeping just the tip inside, ‘stay still.’

He can hear Harrington panting, struggling for breath, like he didn’t just come like, five minutes ago, and then. ‘Fuck,’ he says, softly, ‘okay, man, I’m not - I’m not moving, see? Just - Billy, c’mon, babe, I need - ’

Billy whirls his head around, catches Harrington’s eyes, the wild look in them, the need. ‘You gonna be a good boy and do what I tell you to?’

Harrington’s dick twitches inside him, and Billy can feel wetness spreading between his legs, and that’s something to think about later, the whole good boy routine Harrington seems to like so much. ‘Fuck,’ Harrington mutters again, shuts his eyes, looks seconds away from losing his mind. ‘Yeah, man, alright, I’m good. I’ll be good, just - ’

Billy lets out a chuckle, knows he’s won this round, but he also needs to get Harrington back inside him, all of him, and Harrington promised to be good, so.

He sinks back down, slides all the way down till his cheeks meet Harrington’s thighs, till he can feel the soft hair rubbing against his skin. Digs his nails in his arms to keep himself still, because Harrington’s not the only one close to falling apart, and Billy’s gone for Harrington, but he’s also not a fuckin’ baby, okay, he can hold back, he can be patient, the way Harrington’s never been, not once in his upper-class life, so.

He rests his head on his arms, keeps his eyes glued on the screen before him, hopes his voice sounds more composed than he feels, hopes he can fake it, ‘cause hell if he’s letting Harrington know how good he feels inside him, says, ‘You come before the movie’s over, I’m not letting you in me for a month,’ with as much nonchalance as he can muster.

Which is. It’s a lie, okay, like. Billy loves having Harrington’s dick inside him, like. Loves it. And he’s good at playin’ cool, keeping stuff to himself, stuff like it’s never felt like this with anyone before, and it’s not gonna last, and i’m waiting for you to get bored of me, stuff that matters, but he’s always been pretty vocal about how good Harrington’s dick makes him feel, so.

Harrington knows. He knows Billy’s bluffing, he knows there’s no way he’d ever go a month without getting fucked, and he -

He stays still. He stays still, like Billy told him to, and he stays silent.

‘Harrington? You alive back there?’

Harrington lets out a huff, like maybe Billy’s testing his patience, which. He is. ‘Billy?’ he says on an inhale. Smooths his hands down Billy’s sides, like maybe that’ll help his case.

Cute.

‘What is it, King Steve?’ Billy says, moves his hips in a tiny circle, just once, just to hear the way Harrington’s breath catches. ‘Something I can help you with?’

‘Man, c’mon, movie has still like, twenty minutes to go.’

Billy hums. Lifts his hips, slowly. Sits back down on Harrington’s dick. Loves the sound it punches out of him. ‘Does it?’ he says, detached, indifferent, everything he’s not, but like. He’s putting on a show, here. If Harrington’s stuck-up mother never taught him to be patient, Billy’s gonna have to. ‘Guess you’re gonna have to last twenty more minutes, then.’

Harrington makes this sound, all frustrated, the big baby. Like there are better things he could be doing than being balls-deep in Billy right about now.

He brings an arm around Billy’s waist. Folds himself behind Billy’s back. Presses his lips behind Billy’s ear, and Billy knows exactly what’s happening, what Harrington’s trying to do, but. It’s - it feels nice. He decides to let it go on for a moment, leave Harrington thinking he’s gaining ground, which.

He’s not. He’s not, but.

‘Baby,’ Harrington says, lips brushing Billy’s skin with every word, ‘c’mon, Billy, I’m so close, baby, and you - fuck, how do you even - you’ve been hard for so long, baby, just, c’mon, just - lemme move, Billy, okay, just lemme - ’

‘Did I stutter?’ Billy slams their bodies back, pins Harrington behind him. Harrington throbs inside him, because of course he does, of course he likes being bossed around, like. It’s almost predictable at this point. ‘You wanted to watch the movie, so that’s exactly what we’re doing. Stay. Still.’

Harrington huffs in Billy’s ear, and then he. He does what he’s told. For once in his life, Harrington just. Does what he’s told.

Except he kinda doesn’t, because he’s still got his arm around Billy, hugging, almost, tender, almost, and the other one comes around, starts playing with the blonde thatch of hair between Billy’s legs, just - staying there, isn’t moving lower, doesn’t dare, because Harrington’s a little bitch and he’ll push any limit he knows he can get away with, and Billy kinda - lets him, and.

Thing is, Billy’s seen this stupid movie already, okay, Max dragged him with her back in Cali, back when things were different between them, and Billy was the kind of big brother you can whine about going to a stupid rom-com to, not the kind you have to stick syringes full of stuff powerful enough to knock a horse out to, so.

He already knows how the movie goes, already knows how stupid and predictable and straight up racist it is, and he has absolutely no intention of ever watching it again, ever, and Harrington’s dick keeps nudging this - spot inside of him, the one that sends flames all over his body, the one that makes his cock twitch and kick and leak like crazy, and Harrington’s actually being pretty good, like, Billy has to give him that, and.

Billy’d like to come sometime today, preferably with Harrington still hard inside him.

He leans over the console again, to get that perfect angle that makes him grit his teeth to keep from shouting. Clenches his ass, to test the way Harrington’s stretching him, to test if Harrington’s willing to stay still, and he does, so.

Billy thinks he deserves a reward. His cock kicks in the air, a drop of pre trickling from the slit, like, Harrington’s not the only one who needs this, and Billy’s kinda done holding back, so.

He starts moving his hips, rolling them in these tiny, barely there circles, and he knows it’s enough to get him off, and he knows it does absolutely nothing to get Harrington off, and Harrington groans behind him, tightens his grip on Billy’s hips, because it’s not enough.

‘Billy.’ God, Harrington sounds two seconds away from saying fuck all and slamming into him. ‘I’m being good here, man, I don’t even like this movie, okay, I don’t even like Molly Ringwald, just - just lemme come, Billy, just - ’

And Billy laughs, because, ‘Man, King Steve my ass. You came, what, ten minutes ago and you’re already begging.’ He shakes his head, all disappointed-like, clicks his tongue. ‘Nothin’ but a pillow princess, Stevie, ‘s all you are.’

Harrington - he hums, like he’s contemplating his new title, like maybe he agrees, like maybe he likes it. Drags Billy by the waist, brings his back flush to his chest, and they’re both sweaty and wet and gross, but. Harrington moves his lips to Billy’s neck, starts kissing all the way up to his jaw, leaves a tiny bite on his cheek, and then. ‘Maybe,’ he says, whispers it against Billy’s skin, shakes Billy’s word with it, ‘but I’m yours.’

And like. Billy’s a human, okay, he only has so many defenses, and. Harrington just fuckin’ obliterated each and every one of them.

Game’s over.

Billy lets out this - this growl, this wild thing, because Harrington is his. Plunges one hand in Harrington’s hair, crashes their mouths together, swallows down every sound Harrington makes when Billy starts moving up and down his dick, lets Harrington swallow his own.

And the movie has ten minutes to go, and Billy wanted, he wanted to make this last, but Harrington keeps their lips locked together, and it’s a messy thing, less kissing and more panting into each other’s mouths, because that’s all they’re able to do, and Harrington still hasn’t moved, just lets Billy move the way he wants on top of him, riding him so hard the car’s moving with them, windows fogged up from their breathing, and.

‘Don’t stop, Billy, please, baby, just don’t stop, I’m close,’ Harrington says, begs, and he doesn’t need to, because Billy wouldn’t, can’t, can’t stop, so.

‘Make me come, Stevie, c’mon, wanna feel you inside me, babe, c’mon,’ and he tightens around Harrington, takes him as deep as he can, hopes it does the job, and it.

It works.

Something snaps, and Harrington digs his fingers in Billy’s sides, like he can’t take it anymore, can’t take being still, thrusts one, two, three times, and then Billy feels wetness dripping out of him, feels Harrington’s moan on his back, vibrating through his body, and it sounds less like a moan, more like Billy’s name, and that’s. It’s a lot.

It’s too much.

It’s too much, and Billy needs -

He needs -

And Harrington’s still coming down from his high, but he’s a fuckin’ knight, okay, he never leaves Billy hanging, and he’s already come before Billy twice today, and he must be feeling kinda guilty about that, because he keeps pushing through his orgasm. Keeps fucking into Billy, sliding in so easy, now that he’s made a mess, keeps pushing his come inside, and that’s -

That’s what sends Billy over the edge, the thought of Harrington’s come leaking out of him, running down his thighs, ruining their clothes, ruining Harrington’s fancy-ass leather seats.

He shouts into Harrington’s mouth, hips thrusting uselessly in the air, comes all over the console. The floor. The leather seats.

Harrington holds him tight against his chest through it, pumps his cock to milk the last drops of his orgasm, and Billy’s melted against him, letting his head fall back on Harrington’s shoulder, floating, struggling for breath, and he can’t stop the moans rolling out of his mouth, finds he doesn’t want to, not with the way Harrington’s keeping him close, breathing hard, like watching Billy blow all over his fist is enough to get him going again.

They stay like that, both too spent to move, and Billy allows himself that moment. He stays there, lets Harrington hold him, lets him trace his fingers all over Billy’s stomach, his chest, spreading the mess they both made, goosebumps following every soft touch, and it feels - it feels nice in a way nothing ever does, and Billy hasn’t felt this calm in years, maybe ever, and Harrington keeps leaving tiny kisses along Billy’s neck, his cheeks, his shoulder, wherever he can reach, and it feels so good, and then.

‘I can’t believe you came all over the leather, baby, jesus, how am I ever gonna get this out?’ Harrington says, and he doesn’t sound angry, doesn’t sound mad, sounds - amused, almost. Fond. Like maybe he - he likes the idea of having Billy’s come all over his car, or maybe it’s more than that, maybe he likes the idea of having Billy -

And that shakes Billy out of it, out of this - this moment of. Weakness, Neil’s voice rings in his head, plays in a loop along with Harrington’s baby, and it’s - it’s a slap to the face, and Billy doesn’t get that, doesn’t get baby, doesn’t get to have moments of weakness, doesn’t get to have Harrington, so.

He clears his throat. Pats Harrington’s thigh, still trapped under his body. ‘C’mon,’ he says, and it feels like acid in his mouth. ‘It’s gettin’ late, King Steve. Take me home.’

His car’s still at Harrington’s, but. There’s no way he’s getting away with parking the Camaro without waking up Neil, and Billy values his life, despite all appearances, so.

He raises himself up, letting Harrington’s dick slip out of him, wincing a bit at the loss. Hides it by looking for his jeans. Puts them on, looking anywhere except at Harrington, and Billy hasn’t told him to stay still, not now, but. He hasn’t moved, is still pinned to the seat, jeans around his ankles, dick hanging limp and spent between his legs, chest flushed from where Billy was panting against him a moment before, and he looks so pretty, so -

I’m yours.

And he’s - he’s not, okay, he can’t be, Billy doesn’t get to have this, even with the way Harrington’s eyes keep following Billy’s hands, the way he puts himself back together, even with this look he has on, like maybe he wants - he wants more, but.

More isn’t Billy. Billy doesn’t - can’t have that, so.

‘C’mon, Harrington, move over. Movie’s about to end. We gotta beat the crowd,’ he says, and tries really, really hard not to let his voice betray him. Betray how much he wants to just. Let Harrington hold him for a while. For - forever.

Harrington sighs, resigned. Nods, like he knew this was coming. Like he was still hoping Billy’d prove him wrong. Pulls his jeans up his legs. Moves under Billy, climbing behind the wheel. Doesn’t look at Billy. Keeps his eyes glued to the screen, where Molly Ringwald’s kissing the guy of her dreams over a stupid birthday cake, and Billy bites his lip, shallows down everything he wants to say. Everything he can’t.

Harrington pulls out of the spot Billy parked them in, the spot he found weeks ago, the one he’d been planning on bringing them to for weeks, and he’s still not looking at Billy, still silent, and.

That’s the way it’s supposed to go, okay, they fuck and they kiss and they go back to their lives and they don’t - there’s nothing more there, okay, can’t be, Billy knows that, but.

Harrington doesn’t even ask, takes the road to Billy’s place like he’s done it a thousand times before, like he’ll do it a thousand more.

And maybe he has, because he knows not to park anywhere near Billy’s, near Neil’s house, knows to stop the car a good two blocks away, knows to look for the darkest spot to let Billy out.

Harrington keeps the car running, and he doesn’t say it, not really, but. Get out rings in the space between them, an echo of something from months ago, but this time it’s Billy who feels like he got a plate in the head. He opens his mouth, itching to say - something, anything, because this feels wrong, but his hand’s already on the handle, and Neil’s house is waiting for him at the end of the road, and that’s not what this is, between them, okay, they don’t -

He clenches his jaw. Gets out of the car, and it’s like all the wind’s been knocked out of him, being away from Harrington, walking towards Neil and respect and blood, and he’s halfway down the street, almost there, and then.

‘Hargrove?’ When Billy turns around Harrington’s wearing this - this mask of confusion, really, and it makes him so pretty, and Billy has this sudden - urge, or whatever, that hits him out of nowhere, to run back to the car, grab Harrington’s stupid face, kiss him for the rest of the night, the year, the rest of forever, and maybe it’s a good idea, to kiss Harrington to shut him up, because they’re still standing two blocks from Neil’s house, and rumors spread like wildfire in towns like Hawkins, and Harrington’s crying out his name in the middle of the street, in the middle of the night, so maybe Billy should, should kiss him to shut him up, and then.

His eyes fall to Harrington’s hands, and it makes sense, then, why Harrington called him back, why he looks so confused, why there’s a smile slowly taking over his stupid, pretty face, like Harrington just figured something out, and maybe he did, because -

‘You dropped something,’ he says, holds out the Zero bar. The bar that fell out of Billy’s pocket. The one Harrington knows Billy hates, because Billy’s said so, multiple times, every time Harrington’s wolfed one down when he’s around Billy, because who in their right mind would ever eat nougat voluntarily, okay, but Harrington fuckin’ devours them, because -

Because it’s Harrington’s favorite.

It’s Harrington’s favorite, and Billy hates this stupid fuckin’ bar, and Harrington knows, he knows, and there’s absolutely no reason for Billy to have a Zero bar in his pocket, unless it’s for -

Fuck.

Billy’s by Harrington’s car in seconds, because it’s the middle of the night, and Neil’s house is just a couple of blocks down the street, and Billy would really like to live and see the sun rise tomorrow, like, he’d really appreciate that, so.

He takes a breath. Braces himself for impact. He leans down to look at Harrington through the window. Clears his throat. ‘It’s fine, man, keep it,’ he says, looking at anywhere except Harrington, who’s still wearing this stupid, satisfied smirk on his face. ‘Susan got it for Max and she passed it to me ‘cause she’s like. On a diet, or whatever. Tryin’ to lose weight, or something. Wasn’t payin’ attention to her. Just - it’s fine. Keep it.’

And he turns away, so close to getting away with it, but.

‘Billy,’ Harrington says, and it’s firm in a way Harrington’s voice never is, and it makes Billy’s step falter, and that’s - that’s not the plan. ‘Get back in the car.’

Billy - he does. He - he gets back in the car.

Because he dropped the stupid candy bar. The candy bar he got for -

Like a fuckin’ idiot.

Harrington’s speeding off before the door’s even closed, like he’s being chased by something, and Billy almost laughs, because he’s driving them away from Neil’s house, away from the one thing chasing Billy all his life. He’s staring straight ahead, mouth still curved upwards in this stupid, smug smile that makes Billy want to punch him. With. His mouth, maybe, but. It’s whatever.

Harrington pulls up to this - alley, a dark, narrow thing, and Billy has barely one second to marvel at Harrington’s ability to spot places like that, like, it’s some type of talent, and then Harrington’s on him, leaning over the gear stick, hands flying to Billy’s hair, keeping him in place while Harrington licks into his mouth, like Billy was ever gonna go anywhere, ever.

And he’s kinda - struck dumb, okay, it’s a whiplash, this whole thing, and Harrington's gasping into his mouth, and Billy’s kinda - staying still, because Harrington’s kissing him like he’s never been able to, before, and Billy’s kinda forgotten how to breathe, and.

Harrington pulls back, just an inch, just enough for Billy to see his eyes, the way they’re glazed over with - something Billy thinks may be lust, may be hope, may be -

‘You hate Zero,’ Harrington whispers, like it’s some kind of cosmic epiphany, and maybe it is, maybe he knows it means -

‘It doesn’t mean - ’ and Billy knows he's grasping at straws, here, because he doesn’t get to have this, but -

‘Don’t, Billy, just - I made you a tape, okay, and you hate Zero, and that’s - I know what this means, okay, just don’t - ’ and he kisses Billy again, swallows his protests down, moves his lips so softly over Billy’s, and that wakes Billy up, snaps him out of his daze, and then he’s kissing Harrington back, puts everything he has in the way he gasps into Harrington’s mouth, the way he moves his tongue like that to make Harrington shake in his arms.

Harrington breaks the kiss, pulls back, looks at Billy with this stupid, big-ass grin on his face, and his hair’s mussed up, and his lips are kiss-bitten, and Billy - he can’t help it, he laughs, this small, soft thing. He shakes his head, and he’s lost many battles in his life, knows by now when to admit defeat, and he’s been fighting a losing battle for a while now, maybe from the moment he caught Harrington’s gaze back in October, like, Billy never stood a chance, so.

He lets his head fall on Harrington’s chest, rests his forehead in the space under his neck, closes his eyes.

Bracing for impact.

‘Okay,’ he says, and it feels like surrender, ‘okay.’

Harrington buries a fist in his hair, pulls Billy’s head back up, forces them eye to eye. Still smiling, so fuckin’ beautiful. ‘Yeah?’

Billy huffs, rolls his eyes, because -

‘Yeah, dumbass. Okay.’

And he knows to expect it, this time, when Harrington crashes their mouths together, and Billy’s just admitted defeat, but it doesn’t feel like a defeat at all, it -

It tastes like a victory.

‘You can’t take the tape with you,’ Harrington says against his lips, and it’s like he means something else, something - something more. Something more than just Neil.

‘I. I know?’

Harrington rolls his eyes. ‘I mean - Jesus. You’re supposed to be the smart one here, man, I mean - I guess you’re gonna have to listen to it here. With me, okay, that’s - that’s what I mean.’

Billy - he laughs, okay, because they’re both kinda stupid about this, they’re both kinda - not alone in this, that’s what this means, and he dives in, leaves a kiss on Harrington’s lips, ‘Man, you’re such a sap, how am I even - Yeah, okay, I’ll come listen to your stupid tape with you, jesus.’

Harrington grabs Billy’s face, pulls back to scan his eyes over him, and Billy knows he finds what he’s asking, knows he’s looking back at Harrington the same way.

‘Okay,’ Harrington says, kisses the tip of Billy’s nose. ‘You want me to take you home now?’

And Billy - he doesn’t, not really, not ever, would really like to stay in this stupid alley with Harrington forever, would really, really like to let Harrington keep kissing him, but. Neil, so.

‘Yeah,’ he says, nudges Harrington’s jaw with his nose, breathing him in, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. Doesn’t manage to, not completely, but. The rumble of Harrington’s laugh against his lips helps.

Billy stays like this for a second, nuzzling his face against Harrington’s neck, lets Harrington pet his hair, feels the press of his lips at the top of his head, feels the way their bodies move and melt and breathe together, and it’s -

‘Yeah, c’mon, take me back,’ he mutters, still pressed against Harrington's skin, and he has to, has to draw back, and it’s the hardest thing he’s ever done.

Harrington brushes away Billy’s curls, cups his cheek in one hand. Nods, once, like maybe Billy’s not alone in wanting more. Moves back to the driver’s seat.

They’re back on Billy’s, on Neil’s street in a flash, and they haven’t said a word, and Billy’s kinda giddy, kinda drunk with the way his lips are still tingling from Harrington’s kisses, and.

‘I’ll see you tomorrow, right?’ Harrington sounds - he sounds uncertain, kinda lost, and when Billy turns to catch sight of him he looks lost, too, keeps biting at his lip, and like, that’s wrong, okay, Billy should be doing that, biting Harrington’s lip, and Harrington’s looking at him all lost and uncertain and wrong, and Billy wants to keep this, him, wants to feel Harrington’s lips on his own, and he thinks he can, now, so.

He scans the street around them, finds it empty and dark and safe. Leans between their seats, drags Harrington forward with a hand on the back of his neck, makes him meet Billy halfway, and Harrington lets out this laugh, this breath in Billy’s mouth, and it’s the best thing Billy’s ever heard, ever, and.

‘Yeah, King Steve, see you tomorrow. Got a gift to listen to, right?’

And Harrington lights up, whole face breaking out in this stupid, breathtaking smile, the one that sends Billy reeling, a bit, a lot, and he’s a massive, monumental dork, so. ‘Happy Valentine’s Day,’ he says, beaming like the idiot he is, and Billy -

His chest feels kinda small, all of a sudden, and.

‘Harrington, you - whatever, shut up, just - Happy Valentine’s Day, okay?’ he lets out in one breath, keeps fighting the grin splitting his face in two, keeps losing the battle. He nudges Harrington’s nose with his own, wants, needs to drag this out as much as he can, but. ‘I really have to go, though,’ he mutters, and he watches Harrington’s face close, because they both know what go means, and Billy doesn’t want that, doesn’t want to leave Harrington like that, and the street’s still empty and dark and safe around them, so.

He cups Harrington’s face in his hands. ‘See you tomorrow, okay?’

Harrington nods, smiles like he gets it. ‘It’s a date. Asshole.’

Billy gets out of the car, still smiling, even though Neil’s house is waiting for him at the end of the street, because -

Because Billy spent Valentine’s Day with Harrington, on a date with him, and that’s a thing now for them, apparently, dates, and.

He’s halfway down the street when it hits him.

He spins around so fast he sees stars, and Harrington’s still where he left him, eyes glued on Billy, like maybe he doesn’t want to go, doesn’t want to let Billy go, and it’s - it’s too good an opportunity to pass up, so.

He half-runs back to the car, and Harrington’s waiting for him, window lowered, and Billy dives in, swallows Harrington’s Bil- down, kisses him, kisses him, and.

And it’s too good to pass up, so.

‘Harrington,’ he says, pulling back, revels in his victory when Harrington’s face scrunches up in confusion, ‘there’s no way I’m letting you fuck me to Bruce Springsteen.’