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sepulchralsmile · 16 days

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give me your watchword, give me whatever you like

my harringrove relay race contribution following @kaizenkhaos! hope you all like!!

Well, it’s official. Steve has finally lost it.

And he thought he was doing so well, too.

Forget all the probable brain damage from concussions over the years, all the times he’s dealt with the supernatural and alternate universes, every nightmare he’s had since junior year of high school. Sure, it wasn’t great, but he was still able to trust his own sanity, of all things.

At least until now.

Right now he’s almost completely certain he’s hallucinating. Because there is no way in hell he sees Billy fucking Hargrove on the dance floor at the gay bar he and Robin are in; shirtless and sweating and dancing.

And like, the last time Steve saw Billy was right after Starcourt, when he was stuck in the government hospital all the way in Indianapolis. He’d driven Max there a couple times, when her step mom wasn’t feeling up to it, and had popped into Billy’s room maybe three times in total. Each time he went Billy was the same: quiet, pale, and looking entirely too fragile in the hospital bed. Not like the loud, boisterous, larger-than-life Billy Hargrove that he’d thought he’d known. They’d had a couple of stilted conversations— most of which consisted of Billy just staring at him— and that was pretty much the end of their interactions. About a month later he was transferred to Chicago, and then the only one to see him after that was just Max.

But he’d figured Billy would probably leave Chicago the second he was cleared and book it back home to California. Max was there with Lucas. Apparently, he’d stayed.

And apparently, he was at the same bar the exact same night Steve and Robin went. The same gay bar.

So, yeah. He’s officially lost his marbles. Sucks that it has to be now, like, right at this moment. But it was probably inevitable, to be honest.

“Hey!” Robin screams in his ear, leaning close and shoving a shot into his clammy palms. She’s been up at the bar for the last ten minutes, fighting against the crowd to get them drinks. She furrows her brows at whatever’s on his face. “What’s wrong? What’s with the look?”

Instead of answering right away, he throws the drink back first. Resists the instinct to ralph it back up immediately, focusing instead on swallowing through the burn down his throat. Fuck. He has to screw his eyes shut for a second and try to breathe through his nose. It’s been a while since he’s had tequila, but Robin’s been pushing him all night to just relax, so it figures that this is what she would poison him with.

It at least helps soften the edges of everything, so when he finally opens his eyes and blinks past the burn of alcohol, he’s brave enough to point across the room. “Tell me what you see, please. And be honest. Even if there’s no one there.”

Robin’s head swivels in the direction that he’s pointing, and her mouth immediately drops open, while his stomach sinks into his gut. No way. No fucking way.

“Holy fucking shit!” Robin screams, punching him in the shoulder, “That’s fucking Hargrove!”

“So you see him too?” He asks weakly, mouth clicking on a dry swallow.

“Um, it’s kinda hard not to,” Robin rolls her eyes at him, shoving him in the chest this time. “I mean— just look at him.”

He is. Steve’s been staring at him this entire time. Billy’s still in the middle of the floor, just moving with the music, dancing with no one in particular. He’s completely shirtless; scars on full display but not looking like that’s bothering him in the slightest. He’s grinning to himself. There’s perspiration on his chest, making it shine when the strobe lights beat down on him.

He looks the same as he did in high school but… bigger. So much bigger. No longer suffering from the extreme weight loss and muscle atrophy from Starcourt. His hair is glossy and shiny, reflecting the colors of the lights strobing around him. He looks so healthy, too, it’s like he’s practically glowing. Which could be the effect from the club’s lights— but he’s not entirely convinced. There’s no doubt about it: Billy looks good.

It’s all just making Steve hot under the collar, but it’s like he can’t look away. It’s just… fucking insane. That’s why he can’t stop looking. No other reason, at all.

When he turns back, Robin is watching him now— eyes narrowed in a way that only spells trouble for him. She opens her mouth, ready to say something that’s probably about to completely disrupt his entire existence and peace as he knows it.

“Do you think he knows it’s a gay bar?” Steve blurts before he can think better, screaming over the bass. Fuck, that shot is getting to him. His cheeks go warm.

Now Robin is looking at him like he’s the craziest thing in here. “Uh, yeah Steve. I’d say he probably knows this is a gay bar.” Her eyes narrow into slits and she leans in closer. “Why are you acting so weird?”

“Me?”

“Yes, you!”

“He’s— he’s in a fucking gay bar!” He gestures towards Billy’s direction, verging on hysterical. Robin doesn’t seem to understand how fucking crazy this information is, though, laughing at him outright.

“I hate to point this out, honey— but we’re in a gay bar, too.”

“Yeah, but we’re—” he waves a hand in between them, “you know.”

She quirks a brow. “And what if he’s ‘you know’ too?”

He scoffs, shrugging her off. Refuses to even let himself start thinking in that direction. “No way.”

“Steve, he is literally in a gay bar,” she looks over his shoulder and her eyes get big and wide, “and he’s also coming this way, so. Look alive!”

He wheels around and— sure enough, there’s Hargrove. Making his way towards them, eyes pinned directly on Steve. Slinking over to them, smooth and deadly like a big cat; prowling like he’s just seen a tasty cut of meat. He doesn’t look mad, or anything, but the intensity is enough to have Steve backing into Robin.

“We gotta go,” he hisses out the corner of his mouth, hand reaching behind him to find her.

But Robin, the fucking traitor, pushes him forward hard enough that he goes stumbling right into— oh, yep. That’s Billy’s chest. His naked chest. The one that’s hard as a rock with packed muscle. The sweaty one. And yeah, that’s definitely Billy holding him by the forearms and straightening him out. Oh, Christ. He’s so warm. This is so bad.

“Harrington,” Billy drawls, grinning like the cat who got the canary. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Steve flaps his mouth open and shut for a couple seconds, desperately trying to find something to say that isn’t just holy shit holy shit holy shit. His voice is deeper than it was in high school. It’s currently Doing Things to Steve, right now. Billy just quirks the corner of his mouth up, amused, eyes roving over Steve’s face before settling on Robin behind him.

“Hey, Buckley,” he greets, like it’s no big deal, like they see each other every Tuesday, or some shit. “How’s it goin’?”

“Pretty good; just living life, all that jazz,” Robin babbles from behind him. Steve’s expecting the light push on his back this time, firmly fighting against it and staying in place instead of stumbling into Billy again. Gritting his teeth and trying to think past the pounding pulse in his neck.

“Good to hear,” Billy nods, eyes flicking to Steve to give him a full-body once over before shifting back to her. “Cat got Harrington’s tongue or something? I’ve been told I can make people speechless.” He tosses a wink her way, and Steve can hear her gagging audibly over the pounding bass.

“Are you gay?” he blurts out before he can stop himself. The second the words are out of his mouth he clamps his jaw shut, wishing there was some way he could wire it closed before he says mortifying shit like that. It’s just that… he has to know. He has to. Like, it’s not enough that Billy’s here— but he’s gotta hear the words too, like an extra form of assurance.

Turns out whatever he was worried for was all for nothing, though, because Billy just tosses his head back and laughs. A full on belly laugh, too, like this is the funniest shit he’s heard all week. Which, you know, is fair. And he’s not ashamed to admit it’s an attractive laugh, so. Steve’s cheeks go even hotter, if it’s possible.

“Holy shit,” Billy wipes a tear from his eye, still giggling a little. Steve desperately tries not to hone in on that sound. “Damn, I needed that. Yeah, Harrington, I am. Which is why I’m celebrating my birthday in a gay bar.”

“It’s your birthday?” Steve latches on to the most random part of the statement, trying to get his head to stop spinning about the fact that Billy just came out like it was nothing. Like it’s not throwing his mind through an absolute loop. Completely erasing the previously formed perception of the macho, straight Billy Hargrove that he knew in high school. Upending his idea of reality as he knows it.

Billy’s grin is softer, now. It looks really good on him, Steve finds himself noticing. “Yeah, pretty boy, it is.”

And— oh god, he hasn’t heard that in so long. That’s the only reason why he gets a full body shiver at the nickname.

Of course Billy notices, though, because his smile sharpens into something more deadly. He leans into Steve’s space, and it takes all of his self control not to pant like a dog at the combined scent of Billy’s sweat and cologne. It’s heady and overwhelming; making his nerves light on fire while his mouth gets wet. Fuck, this is bad. This is way bad. Billy’s canines look sharper in the pulsing overhead lights.

“So, Harrington,” he purrs, so close now it’s impossible not to hear him over the thumping bass. A shiver runs down Steve’s spine. “You gonna give me a birthday dance? A little present just for me?”

He’s pretty sure he short-circuits then. Just, like, goes completely offline while he stares at Billy, mouth hanging open like he’s trying to catch flies, or something. Of all the things he expected— it wasn’t that.

Billy just watches with an easy grin, one eyebrow going up as he glances over Steve’s shoulder.

“Should I take that as a no?” He asks Robin, teasing, “Or is going speechless a good sign?”

“A good sign!” Robin yells over his shoulder, before she leans forward into his ear and grabs him tightly around the biceps, “Say something, you idiot,” she hisses in his ear.

He fucking would if he could, okay? As it is, he’s having trouble even taking in air without choking and hacking on it like he’s deranged, or something. Billy Hargrove is offering him a dance. Scratch that: a gay, shirtless, indecently sweaty Billy Hargrove is offering him a dance.

Billy waggles his eyebrows. “Well?” One of his hands sweeps along Steve’s side, grazing his arm on the way down before landing on his waist. All the hairs on his body stand up, like he’s been electrified. “C’mon, pretty boy, don’t leave me hanging.”

And, like. God. That old nickname is really doing something for him. Makes him go hot all over, cheeks heating up under Billy’s gaze. Erasing any and all forms of higher thinking in his brain. It’s enough to make him nod at Billy, like he’s in a trance. Mouth going as dry as cotton and clicking with every swallow.

Luckily, Billy doesn’t seem to mind the fact that he’s gone nonverbal. He just flashes another smile at Robin with gleaming white teeth— something shark-like about it— and tugs on the hem of Steve’s shirt, dragging him out onto the dance floor.

Steve follows him, mouth still dry as dust and heart rabbiting in his chest. Trying to keep his breathing calm and steady. There’s so many bodies that they’re practically pressed together as they weave through the crowd, settling some place between the center of the dance floor and where Robin is standing on the outskirts, sending him a quick thumbs up when his anxious gaze catches hers across the room. Good luck! she mouths, making big eyes at him. Steve just swallows down his nerves and turns back to Billy.

Jesus, he used to be smooth. Once upon a time he was a real lady-killer with a silver tongue and an endless vat of confidence. Now he feels like a deer in headlights, waiting for Billy to make the first move.

And he does. One second he’s staring at Billy, motionless and tethered to the spot. Holding his breath in anticipation and waiting for whatever happens next. The next moment, Billy’s using his grip on Steve’s shirt to twist him around, so his back is plastered to Billy’s chest. Billy’s sweaty, naked chest. It’s like a firm brick wall behind him, making him shockingly aware of how easy it is to manhandle him around— also making him fucking salivate. Billy’s so goddamn strong, it feels like his head is spinning.

Before Steve can start fucking hyperventilating, Billy’s other hand falls to his hip. Both hands grip him tight, slipping under his t-shirt to touch his waist, skimming his fingers along the skin underneath lightly. His hands are so warm Steve’s pretty sure he’s about to spontaneously combust, or something. Deep breaths, he tries to tell himself, just keep taking deep breaths.

When Billy starts nudging him a little to move his hips, Steve goes with the movement. Sort of. He tries to sway to the beat, but he can barely hear past the roar of blood rushing in his ears. Can’t even hear the music playing. Trying not to seem like a robot, even though he’s shifting all stilted and weird like he’s never danced a day in his life before.

He’s just having a hard time getting out of his head, is the thing. It’s throwing him through fucking loop, trying to reconcile the image of Billy he’d had up until this point— and the knowledge that he’s been dead wrong probably this entire time. All he can think is a constant loop of holy shit, I’m dancing with Billy Hargrove in a gay bar.

Behind him, Billy huffs into his ear. His hot breath ghosts down Steve’s nape, sending another round of goosebumps breaking out over his skin. “You okay, baby? Need some help?”

And. Wow, um. Okay.

He’s so caught off guard by the sheer wave of want lurching through his gut that he doesn’t even reply, just nods desperately and pushes himself closer to into Billy’s chest. Relishing the way Billy tightens his grip even more, moving his hips into a smooth, steady grind. Grumbling low and deep behind him, like he’s satisfied.

Steve should probably be ashamed of panting openly in the club, eyes shutting tightly as his jaw hangs loose. He can’t find it in himself to give a shit, though, especially when he can feel Billy’s ragged breaths on the back of his neck. Billy’s hands go from clenching the sides of his hips to smoothing down, lowering closer to his center, holding him around the front of his hip bones. Dragging fingers across his stomach in a way that makes Steve shake where he stands. Still firm and unyielding, physically dragging Steve back into the clutch of his hips as the bass around them pounds relentlessly.

He feels the light imprint of lips on the back of his neck, followed by the quick, darting lick of a tanuge.The frisson of white-hot heat that’s been building in his gut feels like it bursts through his stomach and spreads across the rest of his skin, making him shiver back into Billy’s grip and desperately scrabble at something to hold onto; eventually gripping Billy’s forearms and feeling the cord of muscle tighten under his fingers with each movement.

Billy makes a choked noise behind him, right in Steve’s ear, making him feel wild. He can’t help but laugh out loud in disbelief as he recognizes the scene he’s currently in: pressed up against Billy Hargrove in a gay club grinding with his mouth open, looking all sorts of wanton. He doesn’t even wanna think if Robin’s still watching at this point. He’s almost close to no shame, pushing back into Billy’s grip and turning his head so their mouths are closer.

“Harrington,” Billy grounds out, and Steve hates how much he already misses pretty boy instead, “you’re driving me crazy, pressed up against me like that.”

“Yeah?” Steve’s breathless, feeling a little manic. Shoves his hips back into Billy’s while giggling all high and desperate. Trying to maybe get those lips on the back of his neck again. Or somewhere else. Can barely even recognize himself when he asks, “You gonna do something about it?”

Billy makes a low noise behind him, fingers tightening enough to bruise as he drags Steve back towards him again, breathing hot down his neck. Steve jumps at the cold press of Billy’s nose to the side of his throat, but calms down a second later when he feels warm breath fan out over his nape.

“You saying I should?” Billy grits out roughly. The vibration against his neck has Steve fighting back a gasp, squirming in his hold and digging his fingers in the meat of Billy’s forearms. He feels like he’s about to catch on fire in the middle of the club.

It feels like he’s been possessed or something; scooped out of his own body and replaced with a pod person. It’s the only way he can explain the hot rush that spreads like a wave through his body. It’s also the only way he can justify tilting his head to the side. Asking without really asking. Hoping that maybe Bilyy understands what he wants, even if he doesn’t say it out loud.

They lock eyes over Steve’s shoulder. Billy’s eyes are bright and magnetic, fixed on Steve’s face with a sort of hunger he’s pretty sure he’s never seen actually directed towards him. Billy looks like he’s burning up too; sweaty and seeming just as desperate as Steve feels.

“Lemme taste you, pretty boy,” Billy practically begs into his ear, breathing gone harsh and choppy. Steve feels all the air leave his body at once as a hot rush of a tidal wave knocks him down, raising his temperature by a couple thousand degrees. “C’mon, baby, just wanna get my mouth on you.”

God. He just. Can’t help but shiver at pretty boy and baby.

And it’s Billy’s birthday, okay? Who is he to resist the wishes of the birthday boy? What kind of a person would he be? It’s pretty flimsy reasoning, he’s aware, but it’s the final hurdle he clears before he’s nodding in response, tilting his head back just another inch so Billy can lean in and finally close the distance. He screws his eyes shut and holds his breath, waiting for Billy to pounce.

And he does. Without waiting another second, he swoops in; twisting Steve so they’re facing each other head on. There’s barely a second for Steve to get startled by the abrupt change in movement before Billy’s leaning forward, licking into his mouth without any other preamble. The first kiss is more like a chaotic frenzy: teeth clacking together as they pant into each other’s mouths, Billy licking behind his gums and going straight up to the roof of his mouth. Trying to taste every inch of Steve’s mouth, it feels like. Steve’s hands scrabbling for purchase on his biceps. Before long, though, it peters into something less harried and desperate, and more into something wide and enveloping. Without a second thought he’s winding his arms around Billy’s neck; one hand gripping onto his sweaty shoulder while the other wanders up to his hair, digging his fingers into the curls at the root. At that, Billy makes a low noise, and pushes into him further.

It feels like he’s losing his mind. Losing time too, for sure, because at this point it feels like they've been kissing in the middle of the dance floor for hours. He kisses Steve in a way he’s never been kissed before: pure want and need practically pouring from him in every movement. Steve breaks away to take in a gasp of air, head spinning, and Billy quickly draws him back in with a hand on his jaw. His fingers grip tight enough to make Steve open his mouth a little more, and he nearly collapses when Billy immediately licks behind his teeth, holding him there firm as he gets a thorough tour of Steve’s mouth. The last time he made out with someone was like three months ago, and it was nothing compared to this. No kiss he’s had has ever been something like this. Something that makes him feel so desperate he’s gonna die if he doesn’t get more.

Billy finally takes pity on his mental state by gradually lightening up on the pressure, slowing down until he’s just sucking wet kisses to the side of Steve’s mouth and jawline as he tries to get his breathing back under control, staring blankly at the jumble of bodies ahead of him as he tries to get oxygen back up to his brain.

Holy shit. He can’t help but shake in Billy’s arms a little, wrecked from the continuous attention, squirming at the kisses pressing down from his jawline to the side of his neck. His fingers tighten in Billy’s hair involuntarily, and the huff he gets against his neck in response almost has him dragging Billy back up to his mouth. He resists. Barely.

Billy finally pulls back from his neck with an audible pop! and eyes that look just as dazed as Steve’s probably do. Steve can only watch, entranced, as Billy licks a line of spit from his shiny red mouth. Lips swollen from practically mauling Steve’s face just a minute ago. Billy’s eyes never leave his. Steve’s panting like he just ran a marathon, and his arms shake where they’re tightly wound around Billy.

“Woah,” he breathes, and then immediately wants to smack himself after. Woah? That’s all he can say? After Billy Hargrove just tongue-fucked him for like ten minutes straight in the middle of the club?

Billy lets out a breathy laugh, hands smoothly moving down from his waist to dig into his back pockets. Steve stops breathing for a second. Billy flexes his fingers in the pockets, cupping Steve’s ass through the denim. “God, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

Steve blinks back at him, thrown. His mouth drops open a little. “Really?”

He’d honestly thought it was the fluke of the century; making out with Billy Hargrove in a gay club kind of seemed like a serendipitous anomaly that the universe chugged out maybe once every ten thousand years. One of those things that made sense at the time and with the circumstances, but if he’d actually heard it he would never believe it. Finding out that Billy actually wanted to kiss him? And it apparently wasn’t the first time he wanted to do it? Steve was pretty sure his brain was melting in between his ears, trying to make sense of the whole thing. It takes him a minute to blink past the confusion so he can ask, “For how long?”

Billy throws his head back and laughs the second time that evening. Steve can’t help but admire the lines that crinkle around his mouth and eyes. Somehow, Billy even makes wrinkles look good. He tightens his grip around Billy when he notices others admiring, too.

“For-fucking-ever, babe,” Billy finally gets out, eyes roaming over Steve’s face. Looking intense and searching as he bites his lip. Steve’s eyes track the movement, and he feels his own mouth go dry. Making him feel breathless and squirming as Billy keeps on looking. “If I could’ve had you that first day, I would’ve.”

And— what?

He can’t keep the surprise off his face even as Billy lets out another bray of laughter. He’s too busy trying to comprehend a reality where Billy apparently wanted him this whole time and— “What the fuck?”

Billy at least has the decency to look sheepish, peering at Steve from under his thick lashes. Knowing exactly what that look is doing to him. “I never said I was smart about it. I wanted you so fucking bad, I couldn’t even think.”

Steve has to shut his eyes. Shake his head past the disbelief and utter shock he’s experiencing right now. “Fuck, Billy, I—”

“Why do you think I was always on you, huh?” Billy’s voice is right in his ear again, deep and smooth. Making Steve’s hands drop to his shoulders and grapple for purchase. “Had to always have your eyes on me, no matter what. Couldn’t help myself.”

And, okay. Yeah. Now that he says it like that, Steve has a way easier time believing that Billy’s actually wanted him for this long. All at once his mind brings up every interaction they had in high school, rolling down through the words and images and lighting up with understanding— followed by embarrassment at somehow not seeing it before. Jesus, Billy was obvious in high school, now that he actually thinks about it. “Holy shit.”

“Yeah, it was pretty fuckin’ embarrassing,” Billy laughs, shrugging his shoulders. Squeezes Steve’s ass again, making his head spin. He leans closer, and Steve feels the air between them ignite. “But I have your eyes on me now, don’t I?”

When Steve doesn’t answer at first, still too overcome by everything, Billy tightens the grip on his ass through his back pockets, digging his fingers into the meat of his cheeks. Tugging and kneading so rough that Steve gasps wetly, writhing in Billy’s grip and pressing himself forward. “Don’t I?”

“Yes,” Steve practically sobs, fingers straightening and curling over Billy’s sweaty skin, fingers slipping as he tries to regain balance and control. He can feel it slipping fast; the scales tilting into further desperation as Billy holds him close, whispering hot into his ear.

“You gonna let me take you home?” Billy practically purrs now, one hand reaching up to cup his jaw again. Pulling him back a little so they’re looking into each other’s eyes. His grip is tight, but his gaze is warm as he asks again, “You gonna let me treat you right, pretty boy? Show you what I wanted to do to you in high school?”

“Yes, fuck, yes,” He blabbers back, not able to say yes fast enough. Maybe there’s a part of him that should feel ashamed at how eagerly he accepts, but it’s easy to ignore when Billy keeps staring at him like how he is now: utterly obsessed. Looking like he’s about to devour Steve right there in the middle of the club, and— oh fuck. “Wait,” it’s a conscious effort to fight past the cobwebs clinging to his brain, “Robin.”

Billy snorts, nodding at something over his shoulder. “Pretty sure she’ll be fine for the night, baby.”

When Steve cranes his head over his shoulder he sees Robin hovering by the bar, engaged in an animated conversation with a girl that involves way too many hand gestures. Still, she looks like she’s holding her own. And it’s kind of reassuring to know that she wasn’t just, like, staring at him making out with Billy for the last ten minutes. Even out of morbid curiosity.

Feeling bold because of the kiss, and more brazen than he’s ever felt in a while, Steve turns back to Billy. Slides his hands up his chest, resting over his pecs. Thumbing at his nipples, getting his fill of warm, sweaty skin beneath his palms. Reveling in the way Billy shivers beneath his touch, gripping him even tighter. “Okay, birthday boy: take me back to yours. Rock my world.”

He feels a little shaky saying it, but the answering grin he gets from Billy is worth it for the trouble. One of Billy’s hands leaves his back pocket to hold his hand, fingers intertwining with Steve’s in a way that has his brain melting even further. Oh, god. How is hand holding the thing that’s fucking him up the most?

“C’mon, pretty boy,” Billy tugs at their tangled fingers, “let’s get outta here.”

Billy pulls and Steve stumbles after him, sending one quick wave Robin’s way before he follows; cheeks red and eyes bright. When Billy turns to glance behind him he just gives him a smile. Billy squeezes their hands once before turning back around. Steve lets himself be tugged, running a free hand through his hair as he lets the goofy grin spill across his face. Jesus. He’s probably about to be fucked by Billy Hargrove tonight. And he’s excited about it. Whew. High school Steve wouldn’t know what hit him.But high school Steve apparently affected Billy a lot, so— he squeezes his own fingers around Billy, going breathless and smiling back softly when Billy tosses a fond look over his shoulder. Yeah, tonight’s gonna be good.

~~~

i hope you all liked it, i'll be posting it on ao3 as well later :) next in the race is @writer-in-theory!!

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #my fic #harringrove fic #harringrove relay race

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