Steve did not like Billy. He knew from the moment they met that he did not like him, though he could never tell whether it was because the prick was an annoyance or a threat. After enough teases, taunts, pushes, and punches, he became more to him than someone that he simply did not like. Steve fucking hated Billy. He hated his stupid hair, his stupid jeans, his stupid car, his stupid music, his stupid smirk, and his stupid tongue.
Fuck that tongue!
Naturally, he wasn’t entirely thrilled to see him at Tommy Hill’s party. It was New Year’s Eve. Steve had already downed enough beer to make his head spin and moved on to the next when he saw Nancy Wheeler in Jonathan Byers’ arms. He wasn’t surprised to see Billy Hargrove digging into the fridge, but he chose to at least try to ignore him. This task, however, proved to be easier said than done.
Billy turned to face Steve. It wasn’t the younger boy’s presence alone that startled him, but the angry red patch surrounding his bottom lip, which looked as if it had been sliced open with a rusted knife. Steve remembered getting into that godawful fight Billy less than two months ago, but did not remember hitting him that bad.
“What are you looking at, pretty boy?”
“N-nothing,” Steve manages to say. “Just getting something to drink.”
A smirk played at the corner of Billy’s fat lip before he held up two bottles of beer. Steve took one and walked away, ignoring the young punk’s wicked grin and wriggling tongue.
At precisely three hours until midnight, some bright spark had proposed a game of seven minutes in heaven and Steve was just tipsy enough to agree to play. Jonathan Byers was the first to spin the bottle and was fortunate enough to have it land on Nancy Wheeler. Of course, Steve thought, but said nothing. They went home as soon as their seven minutes were up, much to Steve’s discontent. Tommy Hill was the next to spin the bottle, which landed on Christine Black. Have fun cutting your tongue on those braces, asshole. Neither of them spoke of what happened and both spent the rest of the night drinking. Finally, it was Steve’s turn. Although he hadn’t believed in prayer since he was ten, he prayed as hard as he could that the empty wine bottle would at least land on someone beautiful.
It had landed on Billy Hargrove.
Steve was rendered speechless, as he and the other boy’s eyes met. Billy seemed to ignore the boy simulating fellatio on one side and the girl’s evident disgust on the other. Instead, he jumped to his feet, motioned Steve to do likewise, and lead him to the nearest closet. Steve seemed to have no other choice but to follow. Wolf whistles and catcalls echoed through the room, followed by many a crude gesture and comment. Billy flipped off every last one of them.
When the boys had soon found a closet and had shut the door, Steve couldn’t help but feel somewhat trapped. The closet was small, cluttered, and stank of mothballs and old perfume. He did not feel any better when he felt a pair of rough hands on his waist.
“What are you doing?”
Billy raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you don’t know how this game works.”
“I do. I just…”
“You just…didn’t see this coming.”
“No, I can’t say that I did. How many times do you end up in a closet with someone who beat the shit out of you a few weeks ago?"
Billy snickered softly. It wasn't meant to be a joke. “I take it you’ve never been with a guy before.”
Steve shook his head. “No, I haven’t. Have you?”
Billy did not answer. Instead, he rummaged through his jacket and brought out a silver flask, which had an intricately detailed illustration of a sacred heart on its surface and looked to be quite old. He took a large swig and barely flinched before handing it to Steve, who reluctantly took the flask, took one sip, and nearly choked.
“What the hell is that?” he asked once he was done coughing. “Paint-thinner?”
“It’s bourbon, princess. Swiped it from my old man.”
“How does that not sting you like a bitch? Your lip, I mean. What happened…?”
Before he can ask the question, Steve was backed into a corner and Billy’s hands were slowly creeping their way underneath his shirt like two snakes.
Jesus, he thought. His hands are so warm.
“You’ve really never been with a guy before?” Billy asked.
“Then I’ll try to make this good for you.”
Steve gulped. He thought for a moment that he should punch the prick in the face and run, but the way he was smiling at him rendered him perfectly still. The bastard that nearly sent him to the hospital was fucking smiling at him. Why is he smiling at me like that? Billy was now so close that Steve could feel the bulge in his pants against his own. Is he hard? He held his breath the other boy’s lips meet his own. Is he really going to kiss me?
He was too buzzed to care if this was a bad idea.
Billy’s lips tasted of blood and bourbon and were as warm rough as his hands. There was tooth and claw to his kiss, but also a strange tenderness to his touch. Steve wasn’t sure if it was the kiss itself or the amount of booze he’d had that caused him to do so, but he began to respond. When their lips made way for tongues, he snuck one hand into the other boy’s shirt and the other into his hair. He almost expected to feel crust or grease between the curls, but it was so soft he found himself playing with the strands just to hear the soft growling he’d get in response.
Why is he kissing me? Why am I kissing him? Why does this feel so good? Why am I so hard? The wisest man in the world could find either the best or the worst answer to all of Steve’s questions and he would not give any less of a fuck.
He only stopped when he heard his pants zip open.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“What does it look like I’m doing?”
Steve’s pants fell down to his knees with a sharp tug, followed by his boxers. He felt dangerously exposed. Before he could do anything about it, he was backed into the wall with a hot mouth on his neck and a warm hand on his cock. Oh, God! Steve was used to the small, soft, and slight hand of a girl’s touch, but no girl had ever touched him like this. Nancy certainly never touched him like this. Billy, on the other hand, touched him with a certain expertise that couldn’t have come from touching himself alone. There was something else to the way he fondled the balls, traced the length, and teased the tip.
He’s done this before.
“Hargrove,” he manages to gasp. “Are you…?”
“You sure ask a lot of questions, pretty boy.”
With that, Billy’s firm grip tightened and his steady pace quickened, almost as if out of revenge. Steve’s legs were suddenly weak and he had to hold onto the other boy’s jacket to keep his balance. He didn’t expect to be held so tightly. When he came, all he could see was the silver pendant resting on Billy's chest.
As he continued to spill into the other boy's hand, Steve expected to hear some smart-ass quip from Billy. What he got instead was one last kiss. It was strangely more chaste than before and it was not long before his boxers and jeans were back up and his spent dick was tucked back in, as though completely untouched. His legs were still weak.
“This never happened,” the younger boy growled. “If anyone asks, nothing happened. Say anything otherwise and I’ll kill you.”
Before Steve could so much as open his mouth, the door had burst open and a crowd of drunken friends, classmates, and other strangers were closing in around them. Billy was the first to rush out the door and soon disappeared into the crowd. He was nowhere to be found for the rest of the evening.
When the party was over and everyone had left, Steve returned home to an empty house. It wasn’t until he reached his bedroom that he had noticed the bruise on his neck.
What the hell happened tonight?