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If Steve said he didn’t jump three feet in the air when he felt a hand (sweat-slicked and far too familiar) slide up and under the fabric of his tiny green basketball shorts, he would be lying. He shouldn’t have been surprised, really; Billy had been touchier than usual today.
It started with hands sliding up jean-clad thighs in the back of the Camaro when they met up before classes started (and that was something they did often, because the early hours of the morning, when it was dark and the sun still thinking about rising, and Hawkins was, for once, quiet, hours where all life seemed to still and the world seemed just that little bit off, those hours were just for them) and then Billy it was kisses behind open lockers and a hard chest against Steve’s back during practice, even when they were on the same team.
And, okay, maybe Steve was a little to blame for this. Maybe he had been trying today, just a little, to make Billy jealous. Maybe he had chosen the jeans he knew drove Billy crazy with want, maybe he brushed Tommy’s elbow with his own during class once too often, maybe he picked to be skins and picked Billy first when he was chosen as drill captain.
So, one could argue, that it was his fault there was a hot hand cupping the curve of his ass and squeezing, ever so slightly.
Steve almost wanted to lean into him, to push further into the rough skin that was palming at the curve of his backside, but this was the locker room and someone could walk in and yeah, Steve didn’t love that they had to hide in cars with fogged up windows, in the darkness, before the day had started and long after it ended, but he and Billy hadn’t discussed coming out, and he definitely didn’t want the first person to know being the Hawkins High basketball coach.
So, instead of giving in to the touch, giving in to Billy, like he so wanted to, he said: “Billy. Stop touching my butt.”
Lips found the side of Steve’s neck. Soft, blonde curls tickled the side of his face. Billy’s voice, strained with want and so much restraint, was in Steve’s ear.
“Why? I know you like it, baby.”
Steve squirmed when Billy’s free hand found the front of his shorts.
“I do,” he said, almost choking on his words when that hand slipped past the hem. “But we could be caught, Bill.”
“Yeah, but you’d like that too, wouldn’t ya, pretty boy?” Billy closed a fist around Steve, who groaned and dropped his head back onto Billy’s shoulder. “Been actin’ like you wanted this to happen, like a brat, tryin’a make me jealous.”
And Steve, he had been desperate for this, for Billy’s attention. (Because ever since Billy got a job at the garage, he’d spent all his spare time working, and when he wasn’t working he was studying, and Steve got it. He did. And Billy made sure Steve knew he was doing this for them, to save so he could get into college and out of Hawkins, could sweep Steve off his feet and drive the Camaro into the California sunset, but fuck if Steve didn’t still miss Billy when it was the middle of the night and the blonde was already passed out in bed rather than throwing rocks at Steve’s window and asking sneak out?)
Steve, who was getting high from the way Billy’s hand was working around him and the thrill that they could get caught, just smiled a little as he said: “Well it worked, didn’t it?”