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i want you to hit me as hard as you can

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Steve wraps his knuckles tightly with a length of medical tape, flexing his fingers and clenching his hands into fists to make sure he can move his hands appropriately. He’s not about to be landing open-handed smacks to someone else’s face, but catching himself if he falls, grabbing someone’s body to land a good kick, tossing another wolf to the side - those are things he needs to be able to do if he expects to win a fight tonight.

He bounces in place and works his head around to loosen up his neck, comfortable in a pair of dark gray joggers that are loose enough to work in but tight enough that they won’t fall off or trip him up. Bare feet, ankles already taped. He’s got energy crawling under his skin and his wolf howls deep in his mind in anticipation for the spilled blood to come.

“You good?” Dustin asks from the side, readying Steve’s water bottle and the straw so he can just squeeze it into Steve’s mouth. He’s got vaseline and bandages, a tiny first aid kit with the needle and stitching-thread. It’s all Steve needs; the wolf will heal the rest.

“Good,” Steve replies breathlessly. He is. He’s ready. Wants to get his fists colliding with someone’s face. With their ribs. Kind of wants the sensation of pain in return - a broken nose, a busted lip.

Dustin is his favorite wolf among the many Steve had adopted into his clan when he became Alpha. Steve’s father had passed the title along to him because he didn’t want it anymore. Wanted to be free of the responsibility of being an alpha. Didn’t want to have to watch over Steve anymore since the only wolves in their clan were Steve and his parents.

If they knew what Steve did for fun… but it doesn’t matter. They’re not around and Steve only ever talks to them on Christmas and his birthday.

Dustin stands up and checks his wristwatch before nodding emphatically.

“Alright, you’re up, buddy. Good luck out there.”

Steve just grins, teeth sharp and eyes glinting gold.

The underground fighting ring isn’t actually underground, which had confused Steve at first when Tommy introduced him back in high school. It’s in a warehouse way outside of town, closer to Indy than to Hawkins, in some industrial park with old warehouses that are drafty and freezing in the winter and stuffy and boiling in the summer. The windows are all cracked. The door sticks when you try to open it.

And no one bothers them there.

It’s been Steve’s go-to to get out all of his alpha aggression, once a month like clockwork the week before the full moon. When he’d been sixteen and his claws itched to come out, he’d signed up with a fake ID that the coordinator didn’t look at for more than two seconds before he said, with an indifferent tone, “You fight in ten minutes. Go get ready.”

They all use fake names, even if everyone knows each other. It’s the only fighting ring in the entire state of Indiana, after all.

Steve steps out onto the grimy, cold cement floor and looks past the people gathered in cheap, steel fold-out chairs, whooping and hollering. It smells like blood and piss and dirt, spilled beer and stale vomit. The cage in the center of the room draws his eye - there’s a spotlight that hangs from the tall, tall ceiling and it’s the only light in the whole place except the makeshift bar in the corner where they sell wolfsbane beer and liquor.

The best part of the fighting ring is that Steve never knows who he’s going to fight until they’re walking up to the ring.

And tonight?

Tonight it’s Billy Hargrove, the rival alpha from Hawkins.

Steve licks his lips in anticipation as he spots Billy stalking out of another decrepit office on the other side of the warehouse. He can tell when Billy catches sight of him, too. Sees the gold flicker in his eyes and watches as that long, wet tongue slathers out along the sharp edge of his teeth and curls over his bottom lip. It’s the same disgusting gesture he’s made since high school. Steve hates it and loves it all at once.

Their eyes are locked, deep chocolate with ocean blue, as they hover excitedly at either corner of the cage. Steve sees Billy’s younger sister trailing behind him much like Dustin trails after him - both betas, both going to Hawkins High currently, both in the same friend group and friends themselves, despite both of them being their alpha’s Right Hand. Dustin’s a bit of a dick sometimes and Billy’s sister, Max, is a total ass and Steve kind of loves her, even if she’s in the rival pack.

She’s dating one of Steve’s betas, Lucas, and even though she can get a little prickly about Steve’s presence, she also recognizes that Steve’s not a bad guy.

Because he’s not.

He’s just another alpha in Hawkins, and Billy moved into his territory.

He’s not sure how much she knows about… the other stuff.

The moment is broken when the announcer calls Billy’s name and he smirks, expression going cocky and dangerous, sharp and smug, as he steps into the cage. Billy is stockier than him, wider, and shorter by a couple of inches. Wide jaw, round nose, thick lips. Smells dark and deep, like leather and sandalwood and cigarettes. Steve takes in those thick arms and legs. He’s muscled all over, and Steve idly thinks about the number of times he’d caught Billy in the weight training room, pumping iron until his muscles bulged and skin went sweaty.

Steve licks his lips, arousal stirring gently in his gut.

Billy is one of the only alphas in Hawkins who can give Steve a run for his money - Billy and Hopper, exclusively. But Hopper doesn’t participate in these kinds of fights. Hopper’s not the kind of person Steve wants to fight, either.

It’s Billy who lands the first shot to Steve’s jaw in the mean right hook Steve can duck about a good four times out of five. He backs up and shakes it off, a little growl slipping out, and shoves Billy’s arms away as he aims a knee to his ribs. Grins with sickening satisfaction at the pained groan from the blonde’s mouth.

Steve narrows in there, aiming his kicks and punches until Billy starts favoring that side. He’s taken a few blows himself in the process. His eye is swollen, his nose broken and bleeding, and his lip busted open from all the shots Billy’s taken at his face. But Steve’s gotten used to it. He likes the pain, likes the adrenaline, likes fighting. He can push through the assault to start his own strategy, something he’d been working on over the past few months of fighting.

Once Billy starts to favor that side, Steve pretends to go for the spot, making Billy flinch to protect it, before he lands a swift kick to Billy’s knee and knocks him down with a suddenness that surprises even himself. But Dustin’s shrill calls from the background noise of blood rushing through his ears spur him on.

Steve lands heavily on top of Billy, most of his weight falling onto Billy’s chest and shoulders. He shifts up onto his knees, bracing them on either side of Billy’s head, and starts a chokehold on the other alpha with his legs.

He squeezes around Billy’s face, around his neck, knees starting to slip beneath his head and trap him right between his thighs. He tenses his hips and Billy makes a soft choking noise from having his air cut off.

Steve raises his fist and holds it there with Billy pinned beneath him panting hard and spitting blood out of his mouth and onto the floor on the side. The bell goes off with Billy still laying there as if frozen by the new development in Steve’s fighting catalogue.

He stares up at Steve with narrowed eyes and mouth open to breath heavily. Maybe it’s from the exertion of their fight, and it could be written off as simply that. But the more likely reason is Billy wanting deep lungfuls of Steve’s scent and tasting it on the air. It’s Billy being overwhelmed by Steve’s power and submitting, even in that small bit, to the alpha in Steve. It made his blood sing as much as it ever did when Billy had him in a similar position.

Last month, Billy had him in a chokehold face down on the mat while Steve struggled beneath him, and when Billy’s arm squeezed in just the right way, Steve went lax beneath him.

Submitting.

Jumping off of Billy’s body, Steve stands and shakes his body out. Loosening up his limbs, from being so tense in the fight, from sustaining so much adrenaline and focus all at once. He stares back down at Billy through his good eye, panting heavily for his own breath, and doesn’t even look away as the announcer raises his hand and calls out the victory.

Billy licks his lips, eyes still locked with Steve’s.

Steve grins, all cocky and self-satisfied, probably smug enough to rival Billy when he wins and struts around like a goddamn rooster. No, Steve just grins and leaves the cage because he knows what’s to come later.

Dustin meets him on the side with a towel that Steve uses to mop some of the blood and sweat and spit from his face. He’s sure he looks awful like this, but with his alpha power, he knows by tomorrow he’ll be right as rain and healed like nothing had ever happened to mar his good features. He snags the water bottle from Dustin and sprays some into his mouth only to spit it out bloody and gross enough for Dustin to break his babbling to wrinkle his nose up in disgust.

So, maybe Steve’s picked up a few bad habits from Billy.

“You did great tonight,” Dustin tells him, and Steve reaches out to ruffle his hand through Dustin’s messy curls.

“Are you good to drive yourself home?” He asks the question like Dustin doesn’t drive here and back by himself every other weekend instead of acknowledging how he’d won his fight tonight.

The public fight is nothing compared to what’s to come later.

“Yeah, Steve,” Dustin replies, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. His curls fall around his face, bracketing his round cheeks like a curtain. Dustin’s smile is sweet and familiar, makes Steve think of sunny summer afternoons without a cloud in the sky. He loves this little nerd. “I’ll call you when I get home.”

“Sounds good,” Steve says, grinning around the split in his lip. Around the bruising of his nose, which starts to bleed a little bit again. His eye is almost swollen shut, but he’s good. He feels great, loose and limber, like his limbs belong to his body again instead of vibrating with so much unleashed energy that he could vibrate right out of his skin. “See you tomorrow, okay?”

“Night, Steve,” Dustin calls, heading over to his car.

“Night, Dusty.”

Steve lingers in the parking lot for a while, smoking a cigarette and tossing it into the snow. He’s waiting for Billy to show up but there’s no sign of his blue Camaro anywhere near the warehouse. He stamps down on the disappointment flaring through his gut and pulls the door behind him before peeling out into the road.

It takes him twenty minutes to drive back to Hawkins proper, another 10 to get through the lights and stop signs to pull up to his house in Loch Nora, and Steve chainsmokes the entire way. His parents are never in this home anymore - they even signed the deed over to him, wanting nothing to do with Hawkins and the son they practically abandoned. When the kids graduate, for those who want to stay in Hawkins, they’ve got rooms at Steve’s house. It’s expected for packs to live together, after all. But for now, Steve’s house is big and empty and lonely.

He throws the car into park and slams the car door behind him, stalking angrily up to the front door. There’s sure to be a cloud of angry alpha pheromones swirling around him as he yanks the front door open and slams that behind him as well. Steve is cursing under his breath as he stomps the snow from his boots.

“Of course he didn’t wait for you, you fucking idiot,” he mumbled to himself, eyebrows furrowed and gritting his teeth. He toes his boots off and throws his jacket into the closet, flinging the door closed with a loud bang.

The energy that had been let loose with the physical fight comes back full force and he’s about to take himself to the punching bag he’d set up in the basement when someone knocks on the front door.

It’s past midnight. The kids would call before they came over, even if it was an emergency. It still sets his heart racing as his fingers fly through the locks and he tugs it open with the security chain still in place.

On his doorstep is none other than Billy Hargrove. He’s changed into a black t-shirt under his leather jacket and a pair of gray sweats, appealingly soft in contrast to the cut through his eyebrow from where Steve had landed a jab, and the scrape against his jaw when Billy fell and hit the mat. He can tell by the lingering of blue eyes on his own face that Billy is taking stock of the damage he’d left behind, too. Steve licks his lips just to watch Billy’s eye flit down to them.

“Hargrove,” he greets, still a little pissed about being stood up in the parking lot. They usually fucked out the rest of their tension in one of their cars after the fight.

“Harrington,” Billy drawls, sucking at the end of his cigarette before he flings it carelessly into the snow-covered bushes. “Gonna let me in?”

“Let another alpha into my territory?” Steve bristles at the suggestion. It goes against every one of his instincts. He’s in the fight or flight mode, jittering with anticipation, because he knows that when it comes to the two of them, “fight” turns very quickly into “fuck.” Steve sucks his teeth and tilts his head to the side. “Why would I want to do a thing like that?”

Billy leans in like he’s about to share a secret. His voice is low and husky and it rubs Steve in all the right ways. “Because you still got that wolf howling in your head.” The blonde runs his tongue out over his teeth and narrows his eyes in on Steve’s face. “And you want me to fuck it quiet.”

Steve’s stomach clenches. He really, really wants that. Wants Billy’s hands shoving him into the wall, holding him down on the bed. Wants his nails into Billy’s shoulder, his tongue sliding down those immaculate abs. Wants to feel Billy’s teeth in his neck, the ultimate act of submission that no one’s ever had the pleasure to receive from Steve.

He wants to press his teeth into Billy’s neck, too.

Just the thought of it has Steve’s stomach tingling with awareness.

Steve closes the door and for a moment rests his forehead against the doorframe. Does he really want to get this involved? Does he want to let Billy into his home, into his life outside of fighting and fucking? Does he want to smell another alpha on his sheets for days?

He finds he does, when it’s Billy. He wants so much when it’s Billy.

He unlatches the chain and jerks the door back open, silent, and swings the door open and gestures for Billy to come inside. The other alpha does, boots falling heavy against the floor as he slowly steps inside. He’s so close to Steve that he can feel the heat of Billy’s chest brushing over his arm. Steve sucks in a breath at the sensation, then closes the door and carefully locks it up. When he turns around, Billy’s gazing around the inside of the Harrington household, and Steve can’t help but rub the back of his neck nervously.

What does Billy even think of the Harrington house? Probably thinks Steve has it all, with this big empty house, decorated in furniture that’s ten years old but still in pristine condition. He probably thinks that because Steve comes from money that he must be happy. And, like, Steve’s getting there with his growing pack, taking care of and watching over these rambunctious kids that have broken their way into his heart. They look up to him, even just a little bit, and it makes his wolf sing in happiness. But money can’t buy Steve happiness.

He’s tried. Throwing money at things doesn’t work.

When Billy looks back at him, it’s with his tongue digging at the inside of his cheek.

“Nice place you got here,” he comments, hands stuffed into his pockets. Steve always forgets that Billy is from California and that he’s not really used to the cold, even after three years of living in Hawkins. Billy’s tongue slips out of the side of his mouth and flicks in a way that makes Steve’s stomach tingle thinking about all the things that tongue can do to him. “Gonna give me the grand tour?”

It makes Steve prickle at the wrongness of showing another alpha into his house. Letting them sniff around, get a feel for the layout, spot all the weaknesses in Steve’s defenses. It’s grating against all his survival instincts. Billy’s been a wildcard since high school, after all, has gotten one over on Steve many times. But at the same time, there’s something almost pleasing to have Billy there, like someone’s soothing Steve’s wolf’s lonely howls and restless pacing within him. Like Billy is soothing Steve’s wolf.

Billy knows what he needs, usually.

And Steve knows what Billy needs, too. He can only hope he has a similar effect, else he doesn’t know why Billy would continue to meet him in the parking lot after they beat in each other’s faces. Why Billy would come to his house, and then ask for a tour. Like he doesn’t know what that means to another alpha.

Steve licks his lips and nods down to Billy’s shoes. “Take those off and I’ll show you around.”

No use tracking mud and snow through the house to make the housekeeper’s job any harder than it needs to be.

Steve leaves him there without looking over his shoulder - it’s a complete show, a performance if there ever was one, because all his senses are trained on tracking Billy’s movements behind him. He hears the fumble of a hand against the wall, the heavy thump of leather boots falling to the floor, then the shuffling of socks over the hardwood of the foyer. When he glances over his shoulder, it’s to see Billy following after him, his jacket still on. Steve sighs and just goes to grab for it, pausing when Billy flinches from hands so close to his face, and slows his movements until his fingers curl into the lapel of the jacket. “Take this off, too.”

Billy lets him tug it over his shoulders and off his arms without a single word of complaint. That alone settles something that had been itching just under Steve’s skin. There’s an intimacy to taking someone’s coat for them that Steve hasn’t experienced in a very long time. He hasn’t dated, hasn’t done anything beyond his hookups with Billy for the last two years or so. And usually, those were in the back of their cars… Or, notably after one match in the summer, on the hood of Billy’s Camaro.

Tonight, though. Tonight they’re in Steve’s den.

Steve places the jacket over his arm and tilts his head to the side. “Follow me.”

He shows Billy the living room since it’s just off the foyer and lays the jacket on the back of the armchair where Steve spends a lot of his time. If he’s thinking about how his chair is going to smell like Billy after, that’s his own business.

Maybe Billy will be haunted by the smell of Steve lingering on his jacket in return.

He steps back into the hall and proceeds to show Billy the kitchen, the backyard with the patio and the pool, the dining room, the downstairs bathroom, nods a head to the laundry room and says nothing when Billy opens the door without asking and sticks his head into the room. Steve can hear the subtle sniffing noises of Billy’s nose, like he’s sizing up Steve’s house with his senses, which makes very little sense.

They pass the downstairs master, where Steve’s moved all of his things since his parents left, and Steve doesn’t even realize that Billy’s stopped in the middle of the hallway until he goes to point towards the steps and turns, and catches Billy unsubtly sniffing around the door.

“This your room, pretty boy?” Billy asks, staring at his door, then cuts his gaze over towards Steve standing at the end of the hallway. His eyes have gone golden and flash in the low light as Billy starts breathing through his mouth.

Steve’s stomach tightens in reaction. “Yes.”

Simple question and a simple answer, because it’s obvious.

Billy’s tongue flicks down over his bottom lip as his mouth curls into a wide, mocking grin. “You’re not gonna include your room on the tour, pretty boy?”

Steve opens his mouth to reply when the scent of Billy’s arousal hits his nose and, like a salivating dog, he reacts to the smell like he does every other time. He can tell his own eyes flash back at Billy almost as if in challenge - or, more accurately, in meeting Billy’s challenge. Steve stands at the end of the hall, turning to face Billy head on.

“You wanna see my bed, Hargrove?” Steve tosses back, raising a single eyebrow. He’s acting unaffected, as if his scent isn’t flaring with his own desire for the other alpha.

Billy stands there looking soft and rough all at once, looking like a goddamn dream come to life. Steve would never give Billy’s ego the fodder, but he’s dreamt about the blonde before. Has dreamt about him more often than he’ll even admit to himself. Then, Billy’s nostrils flare and his mocking grin melts into a devious smile. His hand hovers over the doorknob.

“I’m gonna see it, Harrington. Just a matter of whether or not you’re gonna join me.”

Then, the alpha is pushing the door open and stepping inside, leaving the .

Steve swallows thickly against the chill down his spine even as his dick twitches in his boxers. He walks over and stands in the doorway only to have the sight inside of his bedroom leave him breathless. Billy’s sitting on the edge of his bed, hand smoothing over the soft cream-colored covers, no doubt feeling the softness of the down comforter beneath his fingers. Steve’s proud of his bedroom, left no expense spared for the very heart of his den, where the alpha himself slept. And there’s Billy, looking like he wants to bury his nose in the sheets and roll around in Steve’s scent. The image is incredible.

Steve has to grip the doorframe with fingers that tighten enough to make the wood creak ominously, as if Steve is about to break the wood itself.

It’s on a dry swallow of Steve’s that blue eyes meet his own, and both flash gold with want.

Because, fuck, he wants so much from Billy. More than he’ll ever ask for, that’s for goddamn sure, but that will never keep Steve from thinking of all the things he wants.

And Steve can’t get the image out of his mind of his teeth set against Billy’s neck. Can practically taste the salty sweat of his neck, the musk of his alpha scent.

Steve doesn’t bother locking the door and pushes Billy back against the sheets to shove their mouths together in an aggressive kiss - overly aggressive, really, because soon enough Steve tastes the metallic tinge of blood in the kiss, and it tastes like his own. He pulls back and Billy reaches up to smear something warm and wet over his lips with a rough thumb. Steve’s fangs drop as much as they can outside a shift, going sharp and long, and his lip curls back with a soft growl of pleasure.

Billy’s eyes look black against the tiny rings of blue around his pupils.

“Your nose is bleeding,” Billy murmurs, his voice rough as sandpaper with a low growl undercutting it. Billy’s hand shifts to grab Steve’s hair and he mouths at Steve’s lips. “God, you got me good tonight, Steve.”

Steve.

Billy only ever calls him by his first name when he’s so keyed up that he lets his unaffected facade fall down. Steve can’t say anything about it though; he’s the same exact way. He bites harshly at Billy’s lower lip and his dick twitches at the pleased groan that falls right out of Billy’s mouth.

“Knocked the breath right out of me when you threw me on the ground,” Billy continues breathlessly, and the way he pants… It makes Steve’s heart beat faster in his chest. Makes his own breath catch as warmth flushes through his veins. “Got your body on top of me and fuckin’-” Billy rolls his body against Steve’s. Mouths at the bruise on his jaw. “-fuckin’ got your thighs around my neck. Squeezed me ‘til I couldn’t breathe, Stevie.”

Steve growls and claims Billy’s mouth again, blood be damned. His teeth cut slightly at Billy’s lips and it spurs Billy’s fangs to drop as well, so that when Steve pulls away, both their mouths are stained red with their passion. He sees Billy’s eyes drop to his neck, and Steve can’t help but let his eyes follow a similar path to Billy’s neck.

Billy licks heavily at his fangs, tongue wagging out of his mouth and down his chin. With his dark blonde curls splayed across his pillows, Billy looks like a fallen angel - dangerous and beautiful - with a tan that, even in the dead of winter, makes the gold of his curls seem deeper. Steve wants so much more than either of them can give, has so many wishes and dreams stored up in his head. He just doesn’t know how any of them could ever work out between two alphas.

It just… isn’t done. It’s not proper.

And Steve is past caring about propriety.

He pulls back to rip Billy’s shirt open with a snarl curling his lips back, teeth bared, and Billy’s own chest grumbles on a growl of his own. Steve’s so turned on. He’s going to smell Billy on his sheets for weeks. Won’t wash them for days after, just so he can have this. The smoky smell of Billy’s lust on his pillows and on his sheets, a tangible memory of Billy being here. Being reachable in ways he never is.

“Gonna fuck me, alpha?” Billy asks, and that title falling from those lips has Steve hard in his boxers.

And it gets him riled up, enough that he tears Billy’s sweats off him too. Enough that he makes Billy suck on his fingers before he puts those fingers inside him, gets him stretched open. Enough that he can’t wait any longer and shoves his clothes off with uncoordinated and quick movements, then grabs the lube and slicks up his cock with perfunctory strokes.

Billy always knows the right buttons to push to get Steve to do whatever he wants. Tonight, obviously, he wants to get fucked, and Steve is only too happy to help him.

He pushes the head inside, breath hitching along with Billy’s as he stretches the blonde open with tiny thrusting motions until he’s seated all the way inside. They’re both panting by the time Steve bottoms out, and just as Steve’s about to ask if he can move, Billy hikes his legs around Steve’s slim waist and digs his heels into Steve’s ass.

“You gonna fuck me, Stevie?” Billy growls against the brunette’s ear. “Or do I gotta do all the work here?”

Steve growls back, snapping his teeth at Billy’s jaw in a failed attempt to curb his desire to bite Billy’s neck. They’ve tried that all of once and Billy had nearly choked him out while still balls deep inside of Steve, and - god help him - Steve doesn’t think he’s ever cum that hard. Steve still remembers how Billy’s hands had felt practically crushing his windpipe, fingers wrapped tightly around his neck. Steve had bruises for days, even with his werewolf healing.

Steve starts up a brutal pace, hands curled around Billy’s thighs to keep him pressed open, keep him taking it again and again, keep him right where Steve wants him. Hot and tight around Steve’s cock, Billy arches his back off the mattress and Steve grabs roughly at one side of his chest. How could he resist looking at a chest like that? He thumbs at the nipple and scrapes it meanly with the edge of his nail just to hear the way Billy whimpers. God, he loves that noise.

And Steve would do a lot of bad, bad things to protect the man who makes that noise.

He squeezes Billy’s chest hard and fucks him harder, using whatever grip he can to pull Billy into his thrusts. Billy roars below him, claws slipping out and leaving little cuts behind on Steve’s shoulders, as he shoots ropes of pearly white over their stomachs and up Billy’s chest. Just the sight of Billy blissed out, eyes a dark, deep blue peering back at him, a hint of drool in the corner of his mouth - it has Steve tumbling over the edge and into his own orgasm. He stabs his hips in hard against Billy’s spot until the other alpha is growling with the overstimulation and tightens his thighs around Steve to still him.

Because as much as Steve overpowered Billy earlier that night, Billy still has the strength to take Steve down too. The implication makes him shiver as he slips his spent cock from Billy’s hole. There’s a thick trail of cum leaking from inside him and on to Steve’s sheets, and he can’t help the way his thumb swipes it up and stuffs it back inside Billy.

He flicks his eyes up when Billy moans and finds himself caught in a trance when their eyes lock. Billy’s tongue slides over his lips as his hips can’t down against Steve’s touch.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, Hargrove,” Steve whispers, leaning up to capture his mouth in a harsh, biting kiss.

When Billy leans back, mouth tinged with red, he smiles up at Steve. “Could say the same about you, pretty boy.”

His hand reaches out and for a second, Steve thinks Billy’s going to touch his cheek, and his heart soars high before it crashes right back down when Billy’s hand pushes against his face and shoves him aside so Billy can leverage himself from underneath Steve’s body. Steve grunts as he rolls over onto his side. Billy is fishing through his pockets, probably trying to find a cigarette.

“Listen, Harrington, about tonight-”

“Billy, would you just-”

Steve reaches out to touch Billy’s shoulder right where it meets his neck only for Billy to flinch away and look over his shoulder at Steve like he’s been betrayed. The energy between them is ruined again, neither of them able to communicate when it’s anything but sex.

“Don’t call me Billy like we’re dating or some shit,” Billy sneers and stands up with a slight wince. He starts rooting around for his clothes and Steve…

Steve feels like he can’t breathe. He always chases off everyone he ever-

“We’re just fucking, okay? Fuck, you ruined my goddamn clothes, Harrington. I’m gonna have to steal some of yours.”

Steve nods with empty, unseeing eyes and gestures to the dresser before he turns over in the bed and faces away. It’s a dumb move, instinct wise. Showing his back to another alpha. Giving Billy a chance to truly take him out. But he just feels… sensitive.

The soft shuffling noises of the drawers and clothing being taken out of them, the quiet snick of it closing. Billy’s barely-there steps because he’s always so light on his feet yet planted in a way Steve never can quiet copy. The bed shifts next to him and Billy sighs.

“Hey. I didn’t mean to-” Billy cuts himself off, obviously chewing over his words, and by the time Steve looks over his shoulder, Billy continues, “-to snap at you.”

Steve’s brain goes offline for a completely different reason. Billy’s wearing one of Steve’s Hawkins High shirts, the green faded from years of use and wash. He’s got on a pair of sweats that he rolls the ankles of to make room for his boots.

“You’re, uh,” Steve swallows thickly. Billy just looks so good in his clothes. He can smell their scents mingling and it makes his mouth water. “You’re forgiven.”

Billy snorts out a laugh and stands up again. “Good. ‘Cause I gotta get home.” He rubs a hand over his stomach, where the edge has ridden up to expose the soft expanse of skin. “It’s been fun, Harrington. Get your ass up and show me out so you can lock back up.”

Steve swallows. Does as he’s asked because it’s easier. Slides his previously discarded boxers on and pads through the hall and to the foyer. It’s much colder out here than in the bedroom, on the covers, keeping each other warm.

Billy slides his shoes on, then his jacket, and turns to Steve. Nips at the end of his chin. Steve’s can’t help the small whimper in response, the way his chin angles up to show off his throat just the slightest. Showing submission.

His face burns bright red and he drops his chin to his chest as quickly as he can, turning away. But a hand reaches out and fingers curl around his jaw. Steve’s face is directed back towards Billy, and when he looks at the blonde, Steve gulps audibly.

“You be careful sounding like that with me, Bambi,” he warns, thumb skating down the front of Steve’s neck to rest at the very base of it, at the hollow of Steve’s throat. “A boy might start to get ideas.”

Steve stops breathing for the long moment when Billy keeps their gazes focused solely on each other and keeps his hand on Steve's neck. Billy’s scent flares and Steve struggles not to take deep mouthfuls of the scent, to taste it on his tongue. To breathe it in until he breathes in nothing else.

This is… this is something between them. Whether either of them admit to it or not, it’s something different, and special.

Billy pulls away and waves a hand at the complicated series of locks and Steve hops to, undoing them all and throwing open the door.

It’s cold out and a gust of wind hits Steve’s body, makes him shudder and goose-flesh pimple across his skin. He’s only wearing boxers. Billy licks his lips and steps around Steve, their bodies brushing for absolutely no reason. Steve shivers again for a completely different reason.

“See you around, Harrington,” Billy drawls, turning around to walk backwards towards his car. “I’ll get you next time.”

There’s a double entendre there that makes Steve snort out a small laugh. “Get home safe, Hargrove.”

That’s new too, as new as Billy showing up at his house and getting fucked in his bed. The words make Billy’s eyes go wide, makes his pause mid-step, and Steve fights back the urge to slam the door closed. His fingers grip the door tighter and he huffs and rolls his eyes when a smile spreads over Billy’s mouth.

“Didn’t know you cared, sweet thing,” Billy jeers, tongue flicking out of his mouth and over his teeth and lips in that characteristic way of his.

The little pet name does more than the tongue action, which is something Steve will never admit to. He knows the renewed scent of his arousal drifts over to Billy on the wind when the other alpha’s nose twitches and the smile turns from smug to shit-eating.

“Go home, Hargrove,” Steve barks out, slamming the front door now.

Billy’s raucous laughter still echoes through the door and, as Steve leans back against it, he feels a smile curl across his lips.

This thing between them is as impossible as it is irresistible. And Steve’s never been good with impulse control.