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That's how you close an open wound, babe

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It’s at least the fifth time he's made it, that fucking comment.

It makes Billy’s blood bubble up to his face, makes his jaw clench, takes the power imbalance off his hands in a fast swipe, and Billy—fuck.

Billy hates it.

Don’t cream your pants.

“I wouldn’t”


“Cream them for you” comes out weaker than he intended. That’s what happens sometimes with lies. Billy saves himself with a smug smirk, but knows he isn’t a very good liar.

What he really feels: sweat sliding down his spine. The muscles of his thighs weak and shaky after practice. Throat working around his Adam’s apple when he swallows down. Breath catching when Steve––

Cackles. Eyes creasing at the sides. Billy’s got his full attention on him. It’s what he’s been trying to get (what he’s always trying to get) all morning. And usually, Steve just blatantly ignores him but it looks like he just got what he wanted. Contradictorily as it is, he’s absolutely not prepared for it happening.

They’re alone in the lockerroom.

And Steve is looking at him. Looking at him intently.

Billy’s been even harsher to him, today. Pressing at every corner. Has been scratching a match on him.

He’s been doing it because he can feel it (he can always, always feel it), the way Steve Harrington has been standing right by the edge these last few days, just one step away from losing his footing. And Billy can’t resist it, this need to find a way under his skin, this need to push and pull.

This need to make him–

“Is that a dare?”

–notice him, look at him like that. Pull back.

It’s like inhaling smoke, the tone of his voice, heady and unbalancing. Billy’s got gasoline under his nails, at the tip of his tongue. When it comes to Steve Harrington, he feels like a pyromaniac. 

“Why, are you taking it?”

Steve cocks his head, shoulders rising, the corner of his mouth spiking up.

 "That’s what’s you want me to do"

And Billy does. God, he does. Wants to light him up and get caught up in the conflagration.

But wanting something and getting something are two completely different things. That’s why Billy’s not ready, not ready at all, when Steve walks right into him, bodies colliding. That’s why, for all his cockiness, he’s almost tripping. Steve catching him by the waist, pushing him back till his calves hit the bench. Chest to chest, almost mouth to mouth, oxygen combusting.

Steve puts a hand upon his heart: works like an ignition, blood reverberates in Billy’s ears as it rattles, rattles.

“Sit down”

It’s deafening. Barely a whisper. They’re eye to eye and there it is, that softness Billy wants to carve himself into, right there in the back of his eyes. Billy knows it will remain even if he burns the rest down. It’s what Billy really craves. A pure, undiluted kind of feeling. 


It’s not bad upon bad upon bad when it comes to Steve Harrington. Billy though it was, when he first landed here. Though that’s what he wanted. But that’s not what Steve is. It’s neither what Billy wants, not really.

He wants that softness in the back of his eyes that looks like mercy.

But the only way he has ever known of getting what he wants, is setting it on fire. 

“Are you gonna make me?”

“No” Steve shakes his head. The problem is, he only pulls back in his own terms, now (since then–). Leaves the wrestle for power between Billy and his own head, his own need. His own lack of control.

He clenches his teeth. Squares his shoulders.

Wants to do as Steve says. Wants to go at him until he fights back

He sits down. 


He knows what’s gonna happen. Can’t believe it’s gonna happen. Tenses when Steve kneels down in front of him, hands spreading right above his knees, two spots of heat sliding upupup,  guiding his legs open. Billy gasps when they reach the sensitive skin of his inner thighs, fingertips daring under the hem of his gym shorts. He’s about to say something biting but bites at his lip instead.

“Let’s see if you’re right”

Billy moans. It’s low but it feels loud. Shameful. He doesn’t want to, but he can’t help it when Steve takes the first lick. A long, breath-hot line drawn from the base of his balls all the way up to the underside of his cock, lips closing around the tip, dampening the fabric, looks up at Billy with the tension of a smile growing into the cut of his cheeks, as if he knows he’s winning something more where he has already won his willingness, Billy’s cock growing harder with each pass of his tongue, with those eyes that won’t let him, nerves aflaming, hips bucking forward.

Seeking more. Needing more.

And Steve gives him more.

Rubs his cheek against his length, bites lightly at the skin, mouths him wet, and hot, and sloppy, the curve of his tongue showing between his parted lips. Keeps on going until the fabric is sticking to Billy’s cock, showing all his shape through the soaked dark green, until Billy whines and gasps with every calculated touch, until he’s so close so fast, until he’s so about to, that he feels his hands go stiff with how hard is he holding to the edge of the bench.

He's– he knows. Fuuuuck he knows– about to do exactly what he say he wouldn’t. His teeth sinking deep into his lower lip, eyes falling shut. Except Steve is pulling back, sitting on his heels, and for the split of a terrifying second Billy thinks he’s going to make fun of how eager Billy is, how needy. That he’s gonna walk away and let him here, hanging in this so close, this just about to––

Get what he wants.

(Steve. Steve. Steve)

But Steve doesn’t walk away. Doesn’t laugh. He has eyes like the spread of a fire, they dance and spark and flicker. He touches Billy again, just the barest of touches, knuckles goshing under the curve of his knee, as if he knows, he’s aware, of the way he hurts.

How badly Billy is caught up in him, eyes on his flame, the rest of the world forgotten in darkness around him.

 “I want you to tell me” Says Steve “How much you want it”

It bares you, that gaze of his, leaves you naked. And all Billy has ever done is cover himself, take shelter. It will be real, if he says it. It will be the truth, if he says it. Won’t be a quick blowjob in the lockerroom, cold and fast and noncommittal, because what Billy feels for Steve Harrington it’s been dripping gasoline for so long– it could catch a spark out of nothing.

Billy shakes his head. Steve chuckles.

“What are you afraid of? You’re not the one on his knees, Hargrove”

He doesn’t say it as if he knows it’s a lie, he’s just wrong. Billy wants to tell him,

But I am, I am. I’ve been down my knees since the day I met you.

But this is a dare, and deep down, Billy is a fucking chicken.

“I don’t know what you mean”

But Steve– there’s something about Steve. Billy doesn’t think he’s is afraid of anything anymore.

 “I mean me” one beat, pounds in his chest. Two beats, hurts in his ribcage. His own heart is blowing his cover “Making you come in your pants. Tell me how much”

Billy’s breath caughts. Steve’s hand is soft, tentative, feels a lot like his own longing.

He says nothing. Steve’s tongue presses against the corner of his mouth, as if catching the aftertaste of a thought, his hand moving up, closing around the pulsing shape of Billy’s cock, and Billy feels it kick, veins throbbing. Air falters on the way out of his windpipe and when he tries to breathe in, it feels like in the space between them, there isn’t left any oxygen.

He says nothing.

He’s saying everything without a single word, and Steve can feel it.

“Alright” whispers Steve, closes his eyes, leans in, hands curling around the shape Billy’s hips “Alright” repeats even softer, leaving a light, damp kiss right under the curve of Billy’s crown, then his shaft, nose nudging at the side, and Billy squirms, whines, gasps when he feels a hint of teeth, Steve´s lips kissing the skin better right afterwards, his eyelids fluttering.

Billy can’t help it. Can’t resist it anymore. Threads his fingers in Steve’s hair and it feels so soft, so soft, and Billy wanted this, wanted to touch him like this, have him like this, wants things that feels so big words seem tiny tiny tiny.

“S-teve” he stutters. Chokes. Steve is French-kissing the head of his cock. Lips soft against that damp spot of fabric where he’s been dripping into his gym shorts.

“Mm-huh?” his lips part, tongue sticking out, licking with the tip at the darkened patch. And Billy knows it’s gotta taste salty. It’s gotta taste sweet. Wants to tug at Steve’s hair, guide him up. Know how he tastes inside his mouth. Kiss him clean till the only thing that remains is Steve’s own flavor. Wants to—

“Ah-I’m. SteveI’m

Steve closes his lips around it and sucks and,


“God, look at that”

Steve’s eyes are dark, half lidded and fixed. Billy’s legs are shaking. The front of his shorts is soaking wet. Cum and precum and spit and sweat. Billy feels like a wild thing, wired up into pure instinct. When Steve looks up at him, his head starts spinning.

He looks so pretty like this—lips glistering when he smiles, triumphant and wicked.

“Are they creamed enough for you?”

And his fingers are tracing the rim of the elastic, daring inside, pulling it down. He lowers it just enough to let the head of Billy’s cock pop out.

“Fuck your’re covered in it, Billy”

He leans in, drags his tongue over the underside, licking oversentive skin and sticky white, eyes falling shut like it tastes delicious.

Knew I would make you” he gasps, and the words feel soft and heated against Billy’s flesh. He opens up his mouth and swallows the whole head in, the tenderness of the inside of his lips wrapping around it, pressing and sucking until Billy is moaning low and helpless, the feeling too soon, too much, his thighs spasming and tensing when Billy tries so hard to keep them from shaking so Steve doesn’t notice, so Steve doesn’t stop. “I knew it Billy I—I wanted to make you”

He sounds pained and aroused and tripping on the edge.

Lowers his hand to rub between his own legs, hips bucking forward.

And Billy’s mind goes blind.

“Come the fuck up here” he grunts, but he doesn’t wait, takes Steve by the front of his shirt, his armpit. Drags him into his lap.

“Heyheyhey what are you—?”

“Shut up”

It’s just half a kiss. Half a crush. Half a bite. Given with teeth and to much force, blind and rushed. Steve tastes warm and soft and heartbreaking, and if Billy were ever to allow himself to kiss him with tenderness he’s not sure if he would ever be able to stop.

He hooks his index and heart into the waistband of Steve’s shorts and tugs down, fits it under his balls, the sight of all it obscene and impossible hot, down-right crazy when Billy extends his palm, cups the soft, velvety weight of his balls and up to Steve’s hard cock, head twitching, veins pulsing, Steve’s arms curling around his shoulders when Billy closes his fingers around it.

“How do you want it?”

Steve gasps, curses. His forehead brushes against Billy’s cheek. An almost kiss on the corner of Billy’s mouth, barely a whisper.


Billy nods.

Let’s go of Steve’s cock. Shoves his hand into his own pants and gets it out creamy-white and thick. Steve is looking down at it like hypnotized.


He doesn’t go fast.

Steve’s eyes fall shut the moment Billy touches him again, slicks him all nice and slippery with Billy’s come and the clear, syrupy-thick spurts of his own precum, Billy making it drip out of him with the most delicate of touches, the rim of his fisted fingers  bumping slightly against the taut flesh on the base of his crown. Steve’s nails dig into the muscles of Billy’s shoulders, voice ragged, uncontrolled, “Shit, Billy. Holy shit”  body al tense, expectant, like he’s just there, just there, just riding it up right at the highest end, tongue flicking out and running all over his lips, his bare teeth, the corners of his mouth all tensed up,  as if this is something he’s savoring, something he was dying to get a taste off. He groans “Fuck” when Billy squeezes, juts a tiny bit, just so Steve’s legs kick close instinctively, thighs pressing hard against Billy’s hips, arms crossing around Billy’s shoulders as in sync, their foreheads bumping, Steve’s whole body closing around Billy, narrowing down reality to the size of two scarce millimeters, ”You’re so pretty, Harrington” Billy says, “You’re gonna make such a mess of us both” Steve groans like he’s mad, mad. All gasoline and spark, and combustion. Fucks Billy’s fist in short, fast thrusts. The meaty outline of his cockhead catches against the rim of Billy’s grip when he pushes forward, slides backwards, Billy’s thumb pressing right into the underside, and Steve moans at the feeling, loses a bit of rhythm, “Billy I. Billy I’m—“, and Billy feels high and raw and naked, wearing his skin inside out, wants to make Steve feel peeled off of his just as hard, left him laid out and exposed. The nakedness revealed after the fire.

“Say it too” Billy bites at his lips, lets his tongue dart inside of his mouth. Wants to steal a little breath. Wants to make him taste how this need feels like “Say you wanted me too. Wanted me to do this to you. C’mon, Harrington. You can’t ask for it, if you’re not willing to give it”

“Fuck, Hargrove ah–

Billy wants to make him cum so sweet, write himself like a burn on the back of Steve’s mind.

Jerks him off mean and slow. Steve’s things are trembling with how much tension they’re holding “Say it”

Steve’s eyes look defiant.

“I wanted you. I wanted you too. Fuck. Fuck” breath blows out of him when Billy kisses him. Hard and deep and out of oxygen. Steve repeats his name and it sounds like crying and Billy drinks the need dripping out of his mouth.

“C’mon, pretty boy. C’mon. I’ve got you now” Billy’s fingertips brush right over that spot where he knows desperation makes the skin itch and hurt. Steve’s moans break on their way out, fingers pulling at Billy’s hair, nails digging into his scalp. “C’mon, c’mon, baby I want you to cum”, closes his fist against the head, works it into the sticky mess that’s left inside.

Billy–FuckBilly .Fuuuck” and God, he’s coming right into the palm of Billy’s hand, crying out, legs shaking, his cock spurting cum out in shorts spasms. And Billy can’t help to kiss him tender, kiss him good, hold him tight as he rides it down, nuzzling at that frown between his brows that looks as if he’s afraid of missing something, of saying something, and just––

“Hey. What?”

Steve breath catches, an aftershock. His eyes are so warm so warm so warm. The morning when it’s clear. The forest after the devastation.

“Was that all?” Steve says, the words not just a sound but a feeling, shape diluting against Billy’s mouth “Was this all you wanted?”

Billy shakes his head. Feels emptied, skinned out.

Steve’s the only thing that’s left. His eyes like a reborn.


I want it all, I want it fucking all.

Steve looks down at his lips. Kisses a smile in them. A solar storm.

“Me neither”