Hop In This Handbasket We’re Going To Heck
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The ghost of Billy Hargrove leaned in the open window of Steve’s car with that trademark smirk and, honestly, Steve was kind of impressed by how detailed his own hallucination could be.
“Wanna fuc-What the shit? HARRINGTON?”
They blinked at one another for about ten seconds before Steve’s brain finally managed to fire off a thought.
Steve couldn’t stop the words from spilling out of his mouth, his own stupidity a constant echo in his empty head. Billy’s face reflected his thoughts as he yanked on the door handle until Steve reached over to hit the lock with shock-numb fingers.
“Real fucking freezing. Let me in, pencil dick.”
Or: The Pretty Woman AU literally nobody asked for.
- Part 1 of I Don’t Want To Let You Go
Billy lifted his clean-shaven chin with the tip of his sword, admiring the way the bruise on his cheek brought out his eyes, blood staining his lips like a harlot’s rouge. He was damn pretty, for a Beta.
“What say you, Captain Harrington? Do you surrender your ship and crew?”
Captain Harrington’s eyes narrowed, jaw firming as he held steady on his knees, refusing to lean away from Billy’s sword. It made something queer tighten low in Billy’s stomach to watch him hold strong.
- Part 1 of Ahoy Mateys
It was a new lifeguard.
And he wasn’t a Beta, either.
No, he was.
Now that Steve looked around, he noticed that the prime deck chairs all held posing, preening, perfectly coiffed Omegas, mostly mated but still blatantly ogling the new lifeguard.
There was a lot of him to ogle.
“It simply isn’t done. Alphas don’t enjoy that.”
Billy smirked as Steve took his pawn, tongue slipping out and eyes dancing.
“Just like Omegas don’t enjoy playing chess?”
Steve faltered, biting his lip as he searched Billy’s face for censure, finding only fondness and amusement.
“You’re saying—Billy, are you implying that you would welcome me in such a way? Even though I’m an Omega?”
Billy’s eyes rolled expressively before he stared challengingly into Steve’s face, lounging down on one elbow on the bed.
“I’m saying that I think you should fuck me, Steve.”
- Part 2 of Ahoy Mateys
“Single rider! One boat for a single rider!”
Steve slashed his hands through the air, checking over his shoulder at the thinning crowd, most of them thankfully ignoring the scene beside the unpopular ride in favor of scarfing down their corn dogs and funnel cakes.
“Oh my god, Keith. Could you keep it down, please?”
Keith slurped on his big gulp, eyeing Steve up and down before pitching his voice somewhere just above front row at a KISS concert.
“One boat for one lonely single rider!”
Steve flipped him off with a tight smile as he climbed into the rickety little boat, flopping down with a sigh. At least he was off his feet. The kids had run him ragged all over the carnival and he just wanted a minute of peace and quiet.
The old, neglected “Tunnel of Love” ride was perfect.
Except for fucking Keith.
“Single rid—Ow! Not cool, man!”
Steve looked back over his shoulder to see Keith rubbing his arm as none other than Billy Hargrove climbed into the boat behind him, smirk firmly planted on his face.
- Part 1 of Heck of a Halloween
To say they stood in line would have implied that there was a line of people to stand in, rather than just a wobbly, rusted barricade in an abandoned field.
“I dunno, man. I don’t think it’s running. There isn’t even anyone attending it.”
As he said the words, the ride started spinning.
It was eerie, raising the hairs on the back of his neck as Billy slapped him on the arm with a laugh.
“There, see. It’s just automatic or some shit.”
That seemed...very unsafe to Steve, but.
He didn’t have the greatest track record of making safe, sane decisions.
For instance, here he was, at the carnival with his fuck-buddy who wasn’t a buddy at all.
Fuck-bully? Was that a thing?
Fuck-antagonistic prick with the prettiest goddamn eyes Steve had ever seen?
Kind of a mouthful.
Not unlike Billy.
- Part 2 of Heck of a Halloween
It sounded too good to be true, because it was.
Billy knew better than to trust good things. They were almost always a lie.
And Steve Harrington, with his expensive watch and tired eyes and fucking beautiful mouth, well.
That was the worst lie of all.
Because now Billy wanted, again.
- Part 2 of I Don’t Want To Let You Go
So, the house was haunted.
“Stigmatized.” according to the real estate agent, who hovered nervously on the front porch while Steve took a look inside.
Nothing special, really.
- Part 3 of Heck of a Halloween
Billy had been trying to read this book for a week.
But, for some reason, every time he brought it out and settled in for a good read, Steve appeared out of nowhere to demand his attention.
First he needed Billy to fix the sink. Then he wanted Billy to taste his Alfredo sauce. And on and on and on until Billy started to check around the corners of their apartment for Steve before bringing his book out.
He had just gotten into the center of the action, halfway through, when it happened again.
The dulcet tones of his love ringing through the air like a drill through his skull.
“Billy? Could you come here for a sec?”
Most of the guys looked about ten to twenty years older than Steve, all broad backs and facial hair.
Steve still didn’t really need to shave more than his mustache and a little patch on his chin.
One of the bearded guys caught sight of Steve and elbowed the guy next to him with a snicker than sent prickles of anxiety down Steve’s spine.
The guy looked up, hammer in his fist, and Steve tripped over nothing because he was—
He wasn’t much older than Steve, probably, judging by his unlined skin and sparse little mustache. But he was. Noticeable.
Muscled arms hung out of his dirt-streaked white tank top, nearly translucent with sweat where it clung to his hard, defined torso.
Sun-bronzed skin with golden curls cut in an ultra-modern mullet, ringlets springing free to cling to the sweat around his deep blue eyes.
Deep blue eyes that scanned Steve up and down, catching on his lavender striped polo shirt with a sneer before looking Steve in the eye and spitting loudly onto the ground.
Fucking was what they did best.
Now that they had been reprogrammed and didn’t have to kill their totally gross good selves, they had to find something else to occupy their time.
They had discovered fucking and never looked back.
It felt like something they were made to do. Pulling hair and scratching skin and choking each other out satisfied that deep, inner need for evil.
Evil Ted never felt more satisfied than when Evil Bill was inside him.
But there was something building.
Something terrible and frightening, something that made him flinch when he tried to examine it too closely.
Something that compelled him to do stupid things.
Things like, staring at the smooth line of Evil Bill’s throat while he worked above him, grunting and flushed.
Life after high school was truly stellar.
No history reports or math tests, no long, boring books to help Ted struggle through until he stopped looking like he was going to cry.
Best of all, they had their own space. A most superior domain.
Tiny and cluttered and more than a little odiferous, but most superior indeed.
Because it was theirs.
His and Ted’s, and no one else’s.
Fandoms: Bill & Ted (Movies)
21 Jan 2021
Bill never told anyone about it, he just collected magazines filled with babes dressed in lacy lingerie and that was enough to get him off.
It was a little bit weird that he was more interested in the things they were wearing than the bodies beneath, but. No one had to know.
It was his personal problem.
He was with Ted, now. Now, and forever.
Bill couldn’t imagine ever wanting anyone else when he had the best dude in the entire world right there.
Ted was definitely a dude. And Bill had never seen a dude wearing lace.
It was almost as if the gods heard that thought and decided to strike him down for his hubris.
They worked together quietly, the silence only broken by Bill’s exclamations of disgust and angry muttering every time they discovered something else the robots had broken in their sex frenzy.
Ted cleaned up a remarkably still intact fresh glass of water from beside the bed, peering into it thoughtfully. “You think they do this kinda stuff a lot, Bill? Seemed like—like they really knew what they were doing.”
Bill clammed up again, scowling down at the shattered lamp he was sweeping up. “Thought we weren’t gonna talk about it.”
The princesses never found a life where they were happy with Bill and Ted.
Mostly due to the most unexpected fact that they found a life where they were happy with each other.
To be honest, the divorce hadn’t even been that hard. They had all gone through it together, and the moment Ted reached out his hand for Bill’s when they signed the final papers made every moment of anxiety and uncertainty feel worth it.
Ted always made everything feel worth it.
Sweet, fresh cream.
Billy had always heard people say that Omegas smelled sweet, but he had just taken it for hyperbole. Yes, they smelled nice, but, in a vague sort of way, nothing he could pinpoint.
This one, though.
He smelled like a decadent, sinful dessert. And Billy was suddenly ravenous.
Billy puffed up his chest a little, in the way that made most Omegas swoon as he leered over the desk with his practiced, seductive smile.
The one that said ’Here I am. Exactly what you’re looking for.’ Without promising a morning after.
Billy didn’t do mornings after.
The lights dimmed as the bright, dancing pop music dropped out, leaving eerie silence behind.
When the guy walked out on stage, it was like he stole all the remaining light in the room, like Steve couldn’t see anything else.
He almost looked like he’d wandered onto the stage by accident, if he hadn’t been the most gorgeous man that Steve had ever seen.
Long blond curls and a face like an angel. Lucifer, specifically.
Billy raised both bottles of champagne in one fist, clinking them together as he clutched them by their gold-foil necks.
They were chilled, condensation rolling down the dark green glass sides in heavy drops.
Steve sighed and ran a hand through his messy hair. “Billy. I’ve got paperwork to do.”
Billy groaned and set the bottles on the table with a pout. “Steve, it’s valentine’s day. As my boyfriend, you are contractually obligated to celebrate with me. Fuck your paperwork and come fuck me, instead.”
Eddie didn’t love sunshine.
He liked it, okay? He wasn’t, like, a cartoon villain. He just didn’t go gaga over it like some people. (He also refused to say the word gaga aloud ever since the infamous shower singing incident of ’17.)
But, he didn’t plan his days around the fickle radiation of one distant star.
No, okay, shut up. He didn’t mean Richie. Fuck.
Richie discovers Eddie is wearing a jockstrap, smut with feelings ensue. That’s it, that’s the fic.
The available data was this:
Richie had a history of hiring escorts. Male escorts. Like, for sex. For gay sex, with men. This confirmed at least one of Eddie’s hopes, even as rage filled him at the way Richie’s manager and supposed friend had let that slip in front of a stranger.
Richie deserved better. Eddie was going to tear Steve to fucking shreds if their paths ever crossed again.
Apparently, the escorts Richie hired all had some traits in common with Eddie. A lot of traits. A suspicious amount of very specific traits.
The list-style description that Steve had rattled off was seared into his brain. It played in his head now, when he looked in the mirror across from the bed.
Short, brown hair, big brown eyes, polo shirt, small build. Bitchy face.
The inevitable conclusion was that Richie wanted to have sex with guys that resembled Eddie, but not Eddie, himself. This could be for any number of reasons, not the least of which was Eddie’s horrible, abrasive personality. Or multiple disfiguring scars.