#Harringrove fic

[ihni]

The sound of the doorbell is what wakes him. The morning sun is shining in through the window, hitting the messy curls on the pillow next to him and making them shine like gold. The sight makes him smile, and his first instinct is to reach over and brush the curls away from his boyfriend’s face. There’s nothing better than getting to watch him wake up, after all; watch those blue eyes flutter open and squint against the light.

The doorbell rings again before he can act on his urge, though. It is followed by loud knocking, which rouses the body next to Steve; unfortunately in a less peaceful way than Steve had imagined. Billy’s eyes shoot open and he tenses as he immediately takes in where he is, and with who. Wide, blue eyes meet Steve’s.

“Shit!” he says and is halfway out of bed before Steve can even react, pulling a shirt – Steve’s, not that it matters – over his head. “It’s Neil!”

Steve has just opened his mouth to protest, say that it’s not – it can’t be, Neil doesn’t know about them – when there’s a knock again, and an angry man’s voice drifts up from outside.

And it is indeed Neil’s voice.

Shit.

Steve jumps out of bed too and nabs for the other shirt that’s been discarded on the floor – but no, no, he can’t show up at the door wearing Billy’s shirt, he can’t, so he drops it again before hurrying to his closet. He pulls on an old T-shirt, and then whirls around and grabs Billy’s face between his hands. Billy’s face, which has gone ashen with fear.

“Stay here,” Steve says. “I’ll get rid of him. It’ll be okay.”

He turns and walks out of the room, squaring his shoulders as he goes. In his periphery, he sees Heather’s head peek out of the guest room that she and Robin stumbled into late last night while blushing and giggling, but he ignores her as he makes his way to the stairs.

The knocking and shouting continues, sending equal measures of anger and fear down Steve’s spine. How did the man know to come here? Billy said he’d told him that he was going to a party last night; said that he wasn’t even given a curfew. The man would have had no reason to suspect that the party was in fact a very private affair at Steve’s place, with just him and Billy and Robin and Heather – a safe place, as all of them knew about each other’s preferences by now – and definitely would have had no reason to show up on Steve’s doorstep this early in the morning. As far as Steve knows, Billy’s dad doesn’t even know Steve by name, and shouldn’t know where he lives.

He’s halfway down the stairs when a hand grasps his arm.

“Don’t,” Billy says, voice shaking. Steve turns – he’s standing a step below Billy, so he has to look up to face him – and sees that Billy’s shaking his head. “Don’t open the door.”

He’s scared, Steve realizes. Really scared.

From outside the door, they can now make out Neil’s angry words between the bouts of knocking. “I know he’s in there! Open the door. William!”

Billy is just standing there, still holding on to Steve’s arm. His eyes are big and pleading. He’s obviously terrified, and it feels so wrong. No one who has fought monsters with the same fervor as Billy should ever have to be scared of a mere human.

A calm settles over Steve, followed by resolve. He gently extricates himself from Billy’s grip – ignoring the way Billy trembles – and says, “Don’t worry. I won’t let him hurt you again.”

He continues down the stairs, but Billy shoulders past him and blocks his way. Puts both hands on Steve’s chest and pushes. “I don’t care if he hurts me,” he hisses. “But he’s dangerous.” The man yells some threats from the other side of the door and knocks again. Rattles the door handle for emphasis, this time. Billy flinches and looks over his shoulder before continuing, “I don’t want him to hurt you.”

“He’s not going to hurt me,” Steve says. He doesn’t know that for sure, but he can’t imagine it. This is his house, or, well, his parents’. Neil is the one who’s trespassing. And Steve knows the Chief of Police.

He walks past his boyfriend and crosses the hall. A hand lands on his shoulder again. Not forcing him to stop or trying to hold him back; just there. Imploring.

“Please,” Billy begs, and it pierces Steve’s heart like a knife because Billy doesn’t beg.

Billy, acting like this, is not right. The man on the other side of the door has brought Billy too much pain already. This has to end. And that end starts now. By getting rid of the immediate threat.

They’ll figure out the rest later.

Steve walks on. Stops in front of the door and only then realizes that Billy’s standing there with him, still with a hand on his shoulder. He’s watching Steve with big, wet eyes and shaking his head silently. Don’t do this, he doesn’t say out loud. Please, just ignore him.

But Steve can’t. Not this time. Not when the man is ranting on his doorstep on a Saturday morning, threatening to break in. Not when Billy’s standing here next to Steve, shaking with terror.

Billy is not getting hurt by that man in Steve’s house. If Neil tries to set one foot inside, Steve will kill him.

Steve reaches for the door, and with his other hand, he pushes Billy up against the wall just inside the door. Close enough to touch, but out of sight of his irate father. He can feel Billy’s heart beat frantically under his hand, and silently vows that this is the last time. This is the last time Billy is afraid.

He breathes in deeply and takes a second to slip into spoiled rich-boy mode. Then he opens the door.

“What?” he drawls, unimpressed. He gives the man outside a contemptuous look. The man draws himself up to say something, but Steve doesn’t let him speak. “Do you know what time it is? It’s Saturday, man. Some people are trying to sleep.”

Neil Hargrove is proper; not a hair out of place. It’s the first thing Steve thinks as he sees him up close – he has seen the man from a distance at times and listened in on the occasional phone call between him and Billy, but Billy has never let Steve even get close to the house on Cherry Lane when he knows that his dad is home.

The man is of average build and doesn’t look particularly dangerous from an outsider’s point of view, but there’s something cold in his eyes that sends shivers of fear down Steve’s spine when he’s pinned under Neil’s gaze. He doesn’t let his discomfort show, though; just lets the man take in Steve’s appearance fully – his messy hair, the way he’s just wearing a shirt and underwear, and how he’s obviously just got out of bed – and waits for him to speak.

“I know he’s here,” Neil growls – actually growls, like an animal. Steve sees movement out of the corner of his eye but doesn’t dare glance to where Billy’s huddling up against the wall. Instead he leans against the side of the door, placing himself more firmly between Billy and his dad.

He has seen the bruises on Billy’s skin and he has hated that he has to let Billy go back to that house time and again, but this is the first time he truly sees what Billy faces at home. He thinks, idly, that he won’t be able to let Billy go back there again.

“What are you talking about?” he asks, and tries to make it sound as if he thinks the man isn’t all there in the head. By the way Neil’s face turns darker, he succeeds.

“My son, William. I know he’s here.”

“William,” Steve deadpans, as if it’s a word he has never uttered before. He raises one eyebrow. “Look, there’s no William here, man. You’ve got the wrong address. Go yell at someone else’s door. Or don’t, I don’t care. Just go away.”

He starts to close the door, but Neil’s hand shoots out and stops him. He doesn’t move to go inside, but he’s holding the door without letting it close, and staring at Steve with narrowed eyes. A challenge. A threat.

“I’m not leaving without my son.”

So that’s how it’s going to be, huh?

Steve draws himself up and narrows his own eyes as he stares back. He manages to dial back on the disgust, but some of it must shine through because he can feel himself sneering. “Who are you again?” he asks. Flippantly.

“My name is Neil Hargrove,” Neil says, pronouncing every syllable with obvious annoyance. Good. “And my son, William –“

“You mean Billy?” Steve says, letting surprise color his voice. “You’re Billy’s dad?” He doesn’t let the man answer, instead he lets out an incredulous laugh. “You think Billy is here?”

“His car is parked down the road,” Neil seethes, and oh. “You’re on the basketball team with him. And I know what he’s like. He’s a dirty little faggot who –“

Steve lets his face shut down. Slips on the mask that he has seen on his parent’s faces on many occasions during boring parties and work functions. The ‘do you know who I am’ persona. His voice is ice cold when he speaks.

“I’m not sure what you are insinuating, Mr. Hargrove, but if I were you, I’d stop talking.” Something like uncertainty flickers in Neil’s eyes. Steve drinks it in. “I don’t know if you know my parents –“ He nods to the brass plaque next to the door with ‘Harrington’ etched into it “– but I’m sure they won’t be too impressed when they hear that some lunatic showed up at their door on a Saturday morning, accusing their only son of being …” He holds Neil’s eye. Can’t – won’t – say the word the man used, not with Billy behind the door. “… a deviant.”

Disgust is dripping from his voice – disgust over this sorry excuse for a human, disgust over the fact that he has to deal with this at all – but that lends him credibility in this particular instance. He sounds just like an offended rich boy. An offended rich boy with influence.

As if on cue – which it most likely is, since Steve suspects that the girls have been listening in for some time now – there are soft steps behind him on the stairs, and Robin’s voice drifts out from behind him, “Steve? What’s going on?”

He lets the door open just a little bit wider under the guise of turning around, allowing Neil Hargrove to see Robin. Robin, whose hair is also sleep-mussed, and who is wearing an oversized button-up shirt. It’s not Steve’s – she must have taken it from his dad’s closet – but Neil doesn’t know that. She paints a perfect picture of a confused girlfriend who just woke up to the sounds of yelling, and Steve is so grateful that he’s friends with her.

“Nothing, baby,” he says, softening his voice. “Go back to bed.”

Robin hesitates with one more look at Neil. Licks her lips, as if she’s worried. “Should I … call someone? The police, or …?”

Perfect. Thank you for the assist, Robin.

“No, there’s no need to bother Jim this early in the morning,” Steve says, making sure to use Hopper’s first name, and turns back to face Neil. Neil, whose face has paled. Who has possibly started to realize that he may have messed up. Steve gives him a stiff smile and lets his voice go cold again as he continues, “Mr. Hargrove here was just leaving. Isn’t that right, Mr. Hargrove?”

Too proud or too angry to say it out loud, the man just gives a jerky nod and steps back. Steve will take it, as long as he leaves.

Starting to close the door again, Steve sneaks one glance at Billy’s pale face an arms-length away, and adds, in a sudden bout of inspiration.

“Oh, and if you’re looking for Billy in Loch Nora –“ He gives Neil, who’s half-turned to leave, a slow once-over, showing just enough disdain to make it clear that someone like Neil Hargrove doesn’t belong in this part of town, “– then I suggest you try the Holloways next. I think I saw him with their daughter Heather at the party last night.” He gives a sardonic little smile at the way Neil Hargrove’s face shutters. Everyone’s heard of the Holloways, just as everyone’s heard of the Harringtons. “I’m sure Tom and Janet will appreciate being disturbed on a Saturday morning just as much as I have. Who knows, it might get you a mention in the Post.”

With that, he shuts the door in Neil Hargrove’s face and locks it, and turns to his wide-eyed boyfriend. Who hasn’t moved from his space behind the door.

He ignores both Robin running out into the kitchen on silent feet – probably to make sure that Neil Hargrove actually leaves – and Heather coming downstairs, in favor of putting his hands on the sides of Billy’s face and lean in so their foreheads are touching. Billy is shivering and his breaths are uneven, but he reaches up and grabs at Steve’s wrist and the back of his head with something akin to desperation.

“I can’t believe you,” he whispers. “You’re crazy.”

“Crazy about you,” Steve says, and is rewarded with a shaky little laugh.

“Shit,” Billy breathes. “I was so scared, Steve. I thought he was gonna –”

“But he didn’t.”

They stand there for a little while, just looking at each other. Holding each other and breathing each other’s air. Gradually, Billy’s tremors subside. His heart rate slows.

Eventually, Robin comes back into the hall and announces, “He’s gone. Got in his car and left.” She adds, pointedly, “Didn’t look like he was heading for the Holloways’, either.”

Steve looks at her and then drifts his eyes over to Heather, who’s sitting on the second to last step on the stairs, looking at them with one eyebrow raised. He winces. “Yeah … uh, sorry about that, I guess. I should have asked first.”

“You should,” Heather agrees. “But you didn’t, which means that you owe me one.” She looks between Steve and Billy and says, “I would have agreed if you’d asked, but you know. You still owe me.”

Steve laughs. Heather turns to Billy and points one well-manicured finger at him. “So I guess we’re dating now, you and I. I hope you know that I expect to be wooed.”

After Billy gives her a little salute, she nods and turns to Robin. Smiles lewdly as she takes in her appearance in the oversized shirt. “You look good in that,” she says, biting her lip. “Let’s see what other fun clothes we can find in that closet.”

The girls disappear up the stairs, giggling. Steve has a suspicion that his parents’ closet are going to be in complete disarray soon, but can’t bring himself to care. It’s a small price to pay.

“Do you want to go back to bed, too?” Steve asks, and belatedly realizes what it sounds like. “To sleep some more, I mean!” he adds. Because a Neil Hargrove scare first thing in the morning is probably not exactly a turn-on. “Or do you want breakfast? I can make breakfast. We have –“

“I want to go back to bed,” Billy says, thankfully cutting off the rambling.

“Okay,” Steve says and reaches out for his hand. When Billy’s hand slots into his, is it perfectly steady. No more tremors. “Okay, let’s do that.”

But Billy shakes his head. “I don’t wanna sleep, though.”

“… no?”

Billy’s looking at him through his lashes – his ridiculously long lashes, which he knows is Steve’s Kryptonite – and gives a small smile.

“Not gonna lie, babe. That was a terrifying experience. But …” He takes a step closer, brushes the lightest of kisses against Steve’s lip before leaning in and whispering in his ear, “… the way you shut him down like that, that was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Then he abruptly turns and sashays away, but not before giving Steve’s butt a quick squeeze as he passes.

He stops at the bottom of the stairs with one hand on the bannister, and looks over his shoulder all seductively. “You coming?”

Oh, Steve is coming, all right.

He chases Billy up the stairs. (And this time, when he catches him, he’ll hold onto him and never let him go back to that house again.)

#harringrove #steve harrington #billy hargrove #buckleway #heather holloway #robin buckley #stranger things #harringrove fic #ihni writes #got this scenario stuck in my head and had to write it down #wrote it over the course of a few hours #:)

[accio-motivation]

'I'm not a queer', Steve thinks when Billy pushes his cock all the way inside.

He's not a queer because before he met Billy he has not even kissed another guy and he has always enjoyed having sex with girls. Right now he's just experimenting, it's nothing serious. And he can still say that he didn't like it afterwards.

Afterwards.

After Billy made him moan like a pornstar and beg for his cock like a cheap whore.

But Steve doesn't like it.

Doesn't like the way Billy's grinning down at him right now, all smug and hot, sweaty curls sticking to his forehead.

He looks like an angel and Steve doesn't like it, so he grabs him by the nape of his neck and pulls him down for a kiss. Just so he doesn't have to see Billy like this anymore.

Because Steve's not a queer.

He doesn't like it when Billy hits that one spot inside of him, that makes his eyes roll back in his head. He doesn't like that the feeling of being stretched open on Billy's cock makes him squirm and whine because he feels so full. So complete.

But he hates Billy, actually.

Hates him so much that he's leaving ugly red scratch marks on his tanned back, that will look absolutely terrible tomorrow morning when he has to go back to the public pool.

Hates him so much that he's burying his fingernails in the flesh of Billy's hips which will surely leave half-moon shaped marks. Because he wants to keep Billy close. Wants his dick even deeper inside of him. Wants Billy to fuck him harder.

And Billy does.

He presses one more kiss to Steve's open mouth before he straightens his back. He grabs Steve's thighs, spreads his legs even wider and increases the pace of his thrusts. Steve moans, in protests of course, and grabs the bedsheets with both hands, because Billy fucks like an animal and Steve thinks he's going to pass out.

He doesn't like it when Billy calls him his 'good boy'. Doesn't like how warm it makes him feel. Doesn't like it when Billy tells him how pretty he looks right now. How well he's taking his cock. How perfect he is for him.

Steve's going to come like that.

Billy hasn't even touched his dick yet but he's going to come. Can feel his orgasm on the tip of his tongue.

He reaches out and puts a hand on Billy's left pec. He lets his hand travel down to Billy's toned stomach where he can feel his muscles working under the warm skin.

Steve's not into guys but Billy keeps hitting that one spot perfectly and fuck! Fuck fuck fuck!!

He moans Billy's name.

Says a few things he's not proud of. Does a few things he's going to regret for the rest of his life.

And when he comes, it's hot and loud and intense.

It makes Billy groan. Makes him slam his cock so deep inside, Steve thinks he can feel it in his throat. And then he feels something warm filling him up and it makes his already spent cock twitch.

Steve doesn't like it when Billy pulls out and he suddenly feels a kind of emptiness he has never felt before.

He doesn't like the feeling of cum dripping down his thighs. Billy's cum.

Billy.

He flops down on the bed next to Steve. Breathing heavily. One arm covering half of his face.

He looks as tired as Steve feels.

Steve isn't a queer and he doesn't like Billy but he doesn't say anything when Billy's drifting off to sleep in his bed. Doesn't wake him up. Doesn't kick him out.

He grabs the blanket to cover both of their naked bodies. Has to move closer to Billy, so they both fit, he tells himself. So close that his head is resting on Billy's chest.

Billy's heart's beating fast. Like he ran a marathon. Steve wonders if his own heart is beating as rapidly when Billy carefully puts an arm around him, keeping him close.

He doesn't really care because he doesn't like Billy. And he doesn't like guys. Not in that way, at least.

And maybe that's alright.

He doesn't have to be queer to enjoy another person's warmth. Doesn't have to be queer to like being held. Doesn't have to be queer to like the feeling of Billy's soft cock against his thigh.

Okay, maybe he's a little queer.

Just a bit.

Just for Billy.

#Steve is only gay for Billy #he later finds out that he's bi #actually #he's mind-blown #harringrove #billy hargrove #harringrove oneshot #harringrove fic #bottom steve harrington #top billy hargrove

[lovebillyhargrove]

Fantastic ✨ art by @zayacv commissioned by yours truly (a scene from my 220k harringrove fic)

I've seen the light and I'm ascending to heaven. Thank you so much ❤️❤️ you're super talented and such an amazing person to work with 💖💖

Steve Harrington is a badass just like his unhinged boyfriend 🥰

#harringrove #billy x steve #harringrove art #harringrove fic

[thissortofsorcery]

This is my contribution to the @harringrove-relay-race!! It's been so much fun so far, and I'm so excited to share my piece!

Thank you so much to @kuroubojin for passing the baton to me 💕

--

Billy thought that finally getting King Steve into bed would be different. 

Well, he didn’t think he’d actually get King Steve into bed, in the first place. But as much as Billy hates to admit it, now that he has, he’s feeling a little out of his depth.

In the many, many times he thought about what sex with Harrington would be like, he’d pictured something a little more… Wild. He thought fucking Harrington would be like a fight, biting and clawing and pushing to see who’s gonna come out on top. He thought he’d have to wrestle King Steve down and show him who the real king was, and it would be rough and hot and loud. Impersonal, though. Billy likes to get off fast and easy, after all. There’s no reason to draw it out or to linger after. 

But. But. 

Harrington caught him off guard. Billy never expected the teasing and the pigtail-pulling to pay off in the first place. He didn’t think he’d actually see Harrington’s fire turned on him, giving as good as he got, every barb out of Billy’s mouth being met with burning words and an upturned nose. It only egged Billy on more. 

It came to a point where Billy couldn’t put his eyes on Harrington without his whole body responding, heart thrumming and veins singing with adrenaline, palms sweaty at the sight of an answering smirk. 

And now, well. 

Running into each other at the quarry turned into a shared case of beer and a cigarette, turned into this. 

Billy pinned down on the backseat of Harrington’s damn BMW, leather seats sticking to his sweaty back. Billy doesn’t know how long they’ve been kissing; all he knows is that he lost his shirt somewhere in the middle, and his jeans are open and rucked down to his hips. Harrington’s skin is hot, feverish under Billy’s fingertips, soft skin covering firm, defined muscles that roll with every movement of Harrington’s hips. 

Billy’s never cared much about kissing, but he can’t get enough of Harrington’s mouth. It’s obvious that he likes it, having latched onto Billy’s lips however long ago and not relented since. Billy’s not complaining. Harrington finds places in Billy’s mouth that he never thought could feel this good, takes over every one of his senses easy as breathing. He’s a tall wave bowling Billy over, taking up all the space in his head and chest and lungs, and it’s all he can do to hold on. 

There’s no fighting while they fuck, no raucous and derisive laughter, taking potshots at each other like they have something to lose. 

It’s good. 

Billy was sure it would be, but… It’s like nothing he’s felt before. Harrington is everywhere; the scent of his hair products in Billy’s lungs, the taste of his sweat on Billy’s tongue, his body a heavy weight on top of Billy’s. His name on Billy’s lips, a litany of Steve, Steve, Steve that Billy barely registers is coming from him. 

Harrington’s mouth never leaves his skin, not for a second, the maddening slide of his tongue leaving a line of fire wherever it goes. Harrington’s breath is hot on his neck. 

Billy can’t figure out why it feels so overwhelming, why this feels so different from anyone else he’s fucked before. After a while, he stops trying to. 

By the end, Billy doesn’t know which way is up, if it’s been minutes or hours. He can barely hear himself breathe over the thundering of his pulse in his ears. He forgets that he’s not supposed to drag this out, that he’s not supposed to linger, too busy riding the aftershocks of the pleasure Harrington brought out on his body. 

He’s struck dumb. Or fucked stupid, more like. 

This is nothing like he thought it was going to go. It was supposed to be about getting off, but Harrington turned it around on him. 

The backseat is cramped, and Billy’s skin is uncomfortably sticky against the warm leather, but his body sings when Harrington rearranges them so Billy’s lying on top, on his stomach, and with his nose tucked into Harrington’s neck. 

“C’mere,” is all Harrington says. Then he drapes his dumb members only jacket over Billy’s back. “I know how cold you get.”

Billy thinks he might be able to fall asleep like this. He’s not even itching for a cigarette. 

“You good?” Harrington says, and Billy grins against his chest. Harrington’s chest hair tickles his lips. 

“You gotta ask?” Billy laughs, a soft, light thing. He didn’t know he was capable of making a sound like that. 

Billy still can’t feel his toes, but he’s not gonna tell him that. 

“Dunno,” Harrington mumbles. There’s a note of uncertainty to his voice now, a dip in his confidence that Billy wasn’t expecting, not now.

Billy lifts his head to rest his chin on Harrington’s chest. He’s staring at the darkened car ceiling, but his hand is tight on Billy’s hip. 

“Could be better,” Billy says, and Harrington’s eyes jump to him, a touch too wide. Billy’s smirk grows. “The beer’s outside.”

Harrington bursts out laughing, pale throat stretched and gleaming in what little light spills into the car.

“If I go out and get it you’re gonna freeze to death,” he says, one hand coming up to Billy’s face. The tips of his fingers stroke lightly over his forehead, almost imperceptible, and push a stray curl away from Billy’s eyes. 

It hits him then, why everything feels so different from his other fucks. He barely has two brain cells left to rub together, caught in Harrington’s warm gaze, and it’s been niggling at him this whole time. How is it that Harrington can make Billy’s brain just shut off. 

“Wouldn’t want that,” Billy mumbles distractedly.

“No.” Harrington’s smile goes soft around the edges, and his fingers stroke Billy’s cheek. “I wouldn’t.”

Harrington’s looking at him like he’s precious. Like something he wants to keep. 

Billy’s retort gets lost on the way to his mouth.

“I’m good,” is what he ends up saying. Harrington smiles. 

He is good, Billy thinks. Right here, under Harrington’s jacket, legs tangled together, the chill of the night shut away for now. 

He’s better than he’s been in a while. 

--

Thank you for reading my piece!

Please look forward to the next one, done by the the lovely @billysblueeyes!!!! Go go go!!

#harringrove #harringrove relay race #billy hargrove #steve harrington #billy x steve #sorcery writes #mine #harringrove fic #harringrove ficlet

[king-vecnass]

'For thus merely touching you is enough, is best...'

An illustration/Cover for the fantastic work "you only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves" By Seasidhe/Sidhe, as our Collaboration for the Harringrove BigBang. A fantastic fanfic centered around poems and I just adore it. ❤️ I will link the fic as soon as it goes live, so keep an eye out, and thank you to Sidhe for being an amazing and resolute partner. (We made it!! ✨) EDIT: Link to the fic is HERE! you only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves - seasidhe (sidhedcv) - Stranger Things (TV 2016) [Archive of Our Own]

#billy hargrove #steve harrington #stranger things #harringrove #harringrove bigbang #harringrove fic #fanfic #art #vecnart

[chrisbitchtree]

My @bigbangharringrove fic, A Year In The Life, is up now on AO3! You can read it here!

It’s accompanied by these absolutely stunning pieces of art by the incredible @dreaminginpencil!

I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

#harringrove bigbang #harringrove fic #stranger things fanart #harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #billy x steve #chrisbitchtree writes #dreaminginpencil

[camaro-and-smokes]

✨ This is my contribution to the Harringrove Relay Race! ✨ @harringrove-relay-race

Screwdriver

S: I'm not looking to fuck right now, but my bathroom sink is currently flooding the bathroom

S: I know it's kind of random, but can I borrow a flathead screwdriver by any chance?

S: I don't really know my neighbours and you're the closest person to me on Grindr

S: 😅

Billy stared at the four messages he'd received, not quite knowing what to think about them. They were from Steve, the guy he'd been messaging on Grindr for a while here and there.

It had been a kind of a mistake for Billy to even see Steve's profile. Steve had said he had been meaning to delete the whole profile since all he'd gotten through it was heartache and pain, but then had decided against it. Billy had the same kind of experience, so he'd suggested that they could just talk. And Steve had agreed.

They really didn’t know that much about each other, they talked about just casual stuff; work, TV shows and such. But Billy didn’t have anything special to do that evening, so why not. Steve seemed like a decent guy and Billy had an extensive selection of tools at home because of the Camaro he’d kept as a second car since it always needed something to be fixed.

B: Yeah why not.

B: Send me your address and I’ll bring it. BTW you should turn off the main water in case you haven’t yet.

Billy put his phone into his back pocket and went to the garage to rummage through his tools. Soon the phone blipped with a message.

S: Thanks, the water’s turned off. I’m panicking, didn’t even think of that. The address is 357 Oak Street, 3rd floor.

Billy snorted.

B: No problem. I'll be there in fifteen.

Steve didn’t actually live that far from Billy, which was surprising. Billy was sure he had never seen Steve around. Brown-haired, doe-eyed and tall men were his kryptonite. He was pretty sure he’d remember a guy looking like Steve.

He parked his truck and Steve buzzed him in.

Billy stepped out of the elevator in Steve’s floor. It wasn’t hard to know which one was Steve’s door: it was the one ajar through which he heard cursing. He walked to the door and knocked on it before opening the door wider.

“Hey, it’s Billy,” he said after he opened the door and couldn't see anyone in the corridor.

“Yeah, come in, I’m a bit busy right now,” came from somewhere behind the open door. “Shut the door.”

Billy closed the door and turned to look at the corridor opening behind the door – and almost inhaled the gum he’d been chewing, followed by a coughing fit.

Steve was on his knees on the bathroom floor, leaning under the sink into the sink cabinet – his ass high up in the air, clad in nothing but wet, green basketball shorts that were glued to his ass and his hairy legs – jesus christ how can someone be that hairy – and not leaving any other assets to imagination either.

He backed out from the cabinet, turned around and sat on the floor. “Oh good, thank fucking lord,” he let out, looking tired but clearly relieved. When he saw Billy all red from coughing, his expression turned worried. “You okay?”

Billy nodded, still trying to catch his breath, and lifted the toolbox in his hand.

Steve got up and walked to the bathroom door, looking flustered and rubbing his hands to his thighs.

For fuck's sake would you stop doing that Harrington.

Billy was half hard already from seeing that wet ass, no further sights needed.

“I wish we could’ve met under other circumstances,” Steve said, smiling awkwardly, not knowing where to place his hands, on his hips, his arms crossed, again finding their place on his hips. He pointed at the toolbox. “Uh… I needed only one...”

Think about the tools. THE TOOLS.

“There are more than one size,” Billy croaked before coughing a few last times to his sleeve. “You didn’t tell me which, so I brought all I have.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?” Billy asked, his brows raising.

This is turning into a porn film cliché.

Steve turned red and grimaced, trying to turn it into an awkward smile. “Like I said in the message, I panicked.”

If he curls his hair around his finger and bats his eyelashes a few times I swer I won't be able to hold it.

Billy looked Steve in the eyes for a moment, trying to concentrate to all possible horrors of mismanaging a burst water pipe or a broken tap could cause. Then his eyes fell to Steve’s chest and the dark hair, a lot of it, that was clearly visible under the wet white t-shirt and he felt himself blushing.

Act normal, act normal, act normal....

To keep his thoughts on the task, Billy set the toolbox on the floor and took off his jacket and set it on the chair that was in the corridor. “Okay, let me take a look. Is the floor wet?”

Steve shook his head as he stepped aside to let Billy into the bathroom. “Not anymore. I mopped the floor, but I just didn’t see a point in changing clothes. Didn’t want to get the rest of my wardrobe wet.”

The bathroom was small, so they brushed against each other just a little as they passed, enough for Billy to get a whif of Steve's scent. He smelt of cedar wood, hairspray and a little sweat – a winning combo, apparently, since Billy's had to hold back a whimper and lock his eyes to the sink cabinet. “You didn’t think to call a plumber?” he asked, trying to keep his voice even, as he squatted in front of the sink and looked into the cabinet to check what kind of screws he had to open.

“I did. The one I reached said that if the drain isn’t clogged and the tap isn't leaking there’s no point in me paying for the nighttime extra and that he comes to fix it first thing in the morning. But he said that I should get rid of anything that’s under the sink so that he can get to work when he arrives. So I was doing that when I realized that I didn’t even have a coin I could try to pry open the screws.”

Billy took a deep breath. “Okay, well, that’s good. Based on your messages I was afraid that you were trying to fix the pipes with the screwdriver.”

Steve snorted, amused. “Well, I might not be a handyman but even I’m not that dumb.”

Billy looked up at Steve with a smirk. “You need to take this cabinet out for the plumber?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, it’s good then that I brought my whole toolbox then because not all of these won’t open with a flathead, they need a Phillips.”

“They need a what now?” Steve asked, raising his eyebrows.

Clueless pretty thing, definitely checks the box.

Billy got up and chuckled. “I’ll take the cabinet apart for you, now that I’m here. But could I get a glass of water first? The coughing…”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Steve said and left the bathroom to fetch it.

Billy was setting up the electric screwdriver when Steve returned with the glass.

Steve was still wearing the same wet clothes, because of course he was.

I want to claw those off and bury my face into that chest hair.

Steve looking down at himself all of a sudden made Billy realize that he had probably stared a bit too intensively and blushing. He downed his water quickly before handing the empty glass back to Steve.

“Uh… I’ll leave you to it,” Steve said, smirking. “I'll go change.”

Yeah, you had to point that out. What, you want me to follow instead of taking this shit apart and fuck your brains off?

Well, okay, maybe Billy wanted to do that, but that was not what they'd agreed upon. Better if he stayed on his lane, for now.

This isn't a porn film, not a porn film...

“Yeah, this shouldn’t take long,” Billy replied, not daring to look back at Steve again, and got to work.

Once he had taken the cabinet apart he put away his tools and looked into the living room where the bathroom opened to. Steve was sitting on the couch, staring intently at his laptop and tapping away. He was wearing eyeglasses, something Billy hadn’t seen in any of the photos Steve had shared online. They fit him, framing his face nicely. Billy's eyes wandered lower and he realized that Steve was wearing only sweatpants, his glorious chest hair all on display. There was a lot of it indeed.

I want to press my nose into that, snuggle into it, run my fingers through it, tug it when I come. He cleared his throat. “Uh, I took the cabinet apart.”

Steve looked up, smiling and put the laptop away. “Hey, that’s awesome. Thanks, man! How can I repay you?” he asked as he walked to Billy.

Do not think about it, do not think about it, DO NOT…

“Uh...” Billy managed to get out, rubbing his neck with his hand. This wasn't a fucking porn film, he reminded himself, even if a handyman came to fix something at the house and oops, only the good looking little missus is at home, wearing skimpy clothes and instead of fixing anything they end up fucking against the kitchen counter like horny bunnies. Okaaayyy, well, Steve had been wearing wet skimpy clothes that left nothing to imagination and now he was wearing even less, he was maybe also a bit clueless and…

Billy tried to keep his head in check and glued his eyes on Steve's face. “Can I take you to dinner?”

Steve raised his eyebrow and measured Billy from head to toes with a lazy gaze.

Billy felt naked.

Steve smiled. “Uh… Should I be the one doing that, though?” He was quiet for a moment and smirked. “What if I'm all out of money and you have to get your pay, are there other ways I could do that?”

Billy swallowed and turned beet red. He let out a laugh and licked his lower lip.

Steve hooked his right thumb on the waistband of his sweats, pulling it down a bit and revealing the beginning of a very hairy happy trail.

The fucker.

Billy started to unbutton his shirt. “Well... Maybe we could come to a mutual agreement about that.”

=====

Please look forward to the lovely, wonderful and amazing work from the next contributor @hg-deranged-edition

=====

The ficlet is based on this meme:

#harringrove relay race #harringrove #harringrove ficlet #harringrove fic #steve x billy #billy x steve #suometar writes #stranger things #billy hargrove #steve harrington

[oopsiedaisiesbaby]

This is my contribution to the @harringrove-relay-race ✨ Thank you @chrisbitchtree for passing the baton ❤️

Dangerous Girl

Bull Rider Billy & Buckle Bunny Steve (CW: feminization, barebacking)

Also on AO3

The buzzer sounded and Steve blinked for the first time in a little over eight seconds.

Just like every other time, it had been the longest eight seconds of Steve’s life.

He watched as Billy seemed to effortlessly jump off of the wildly bucking bull before running a few yards to safety. Steve felt his entire body unclench, only becoming aware that he’d tensed every muscle as they released, achingly slow.

Fiery blue eyes caught Steve’s and he felt himself freeze again. Pinned by the heavy gaze that was interrupted only by the guard of a helmet.

Billy should’ve looked ridiculous as he took off the helmet, shaking out the blonde curls of his mullet and grinning wickedly. Except he really didn’t and Steve’s heart raced as Billy licked his lips, eyes still locked on Steve, causing all of the buckle bunnies around him to titter excitedly.

They all thought Billy was eyeing them. That they’d be the lucky one to ensnare The Billy Hargrove.

Steve knew better though.

Knew that no matter how hard he tried to fight it, that’d he’d be the one warming the bed in Billy’s travel trailer yet again. It happened every time Billy came back to Texas.

Steve would be drawn to whatever rodeo circuit Billy was currently dominating. Would hang on Billy’s fence just like those desperate buckle bunnies. He’d then make his way to the local bar and bend over the pool table to flirt shamelessly with Eddie or Argyle or whichever other bull rider was willing to put themselves into the line of fire that night. Eventually Billy would have enough and drag Steve out and fuck him six ways to Sunday.

He didn’t know why he bothered trying to convince himself that it wouldn’t happen.

It’d been happening since they were teenagers and Billy was just touring the local circuit. It didn’t matter how terribly he’d broken Steve’s heart when he’d signed up for a PBR membership at 18 and taken off to tour the entire continent, leaving Steve behind in their small, backwoods, Texan town.

The moment Billy had been back in Texas, Steve had dragged Jason and Robin to an event three hours away in Dallas just to let Billy defile him in a bar bathroom because they couldn’t make it out of the bar. Jason and Robin had not been amused on the drive home the following day.

He’d seen how they’d eyed Eddie and Heather though. They didn’t have much room to talk.

He drove the two and half hours to Houston a few days later by himself, just to do it all over again. He followed Billy to every single Texas show, turning around and heading back home just to wait another year then rinse and repeat for the last four years.

Finally, after what felt like ages, Billy broke eye contact and shuffled out of the arena. The spell broken, Steve removed himself from the fence and started trudging out towards his truck to drive himself to the local bar.

He was busy watching the way his boots kicked up dirt with each step which is why he let loose a scream when he suddenly found himself being yanked backwards and slammed up against a travel trailer. Steve’s scream was muffled by plush lips pressing against his, stubble scraping the sensitive skin of his face as fingers tangled in his hair.

Steve melted into the kiss, the familiar smell of Billy’s sweat and cologne hitting his nose just as his tongue forced its way into Steve’s mouth. Steve whined into the kiss as a strong hand grabbed his thigh and hiked it up so that their hips could press together a little tighter.

Hands lifting to grip the leather vest tightly, Steve finally found enough will power to push Billy back just enough to get some air.

“What the fuck, Billy?” Steve gasped, head thunking back against the metal of the trailer.

He was saved from the pain of collision by Billy’s hand cradling the back of his head.

“Couldn’t wait for all the bull shit at the bar,” Billy admitted, panting. “The way you were hanging on my fence with your fucking tits out almost got me bucked two seconds in.”

Steve glanced down at his chest where he’d left his pearl snap button up undone obscenely low. It was the same amount of buttons Billy usually had undone when he wasn’t buttoned up for riding. It was only fair.

“I don’t hang on your fence,” Steve muttered, rolling his hips and grinning when Billy cursed and stopped cupping the back of Steve’s head to plant it against the trailer.

“Don’t lie to yourself, princess,” Billy hissed, rocking against Steve in a dirty grind. “My own personal buckle bunny, getting wet just from watching me ride.”

“Don’t lie to yourself, Billy,” Steve scoffed, eyes fluttering closed as they continued to rut against each other slow and filthy. “You’ve got plenty of bunnies to choose from.”

He’d meant it as a jab at Billy but Steve felt pain lance through his chest at his own words.

“Don’t care about any of them,” Billy grunted, burying his face in Steve’s neck and mouthing at the sensitive skin. “You’re the only bunny I care about hanging on my fence.”

“Bullshit,” Steve whimpered as Billy bit down.

“Bull true,” Billy mumbled, dropping his hand from the trailer and grabbing Steve’s other thigh.

Steve jumped so that Billy was supporting all of his weight and his already skin tight wranglers became suffocating. Billy gave Steve’s neck one last bruising suck before lifting his face to kiss him senseless again.

Letting his hands wander to plant against Billy’s drenched button down, Steve felt the strong muscles shifting under the fabric and sighed into the kiss. Fuck, he’d missed Billy. Only getting to see him a few times a year wasn’t enough and Steve yearned for more.

“It’s just you, Steve,” Billy breathed as he pulled away, pushing his sweaty forehead against Steve’s. “You know that, right?”

Steve hoped against all hope that it was true.

It’d been just Billy for him since he was 14 and Steve’s family moved to the sad little town of Hawkins, Texas.

“Then take me to bed and prove it to me, cowboy,” Steve dared, smiling when Billy’s grin turned sharp.

Billy pulled them away from the trailer and started marching along the length of it until they were inside. The smell of horse, cologne, and something quintessentially Billy that had Steve clenching in anticipation.

When Billy reached the steps to his bed, he set Steve down letting him climb up the short ladder and slapping his ass for good measure. Steve turned around to glare and was met with Billy’s self-satisfied grin.

“You knew what you were doing when you put on those jeans, princess,” Billy said like that explained everything.

It did.

Steve sat on the edge of the bed, leaning back on his elbows as he watched Billy climb up onto the raised area that constituted the trailer’s bedroom. Billy paused at the edge of the bed, kneeling between Steve’s knees

“You wet for me, princess?” Billy asked, sliding his palms up Steve’s denim clad thighs, eyes burning as he looked up at Steve.

Nodding, Steve bit his lip as he considered telling Billy just how wet he actually was. He wanted it to be a surprise though.

Billy gently removed Steve’s boots with an ease that never ceased to amaze Steve. He felt like he was going to war every time he tried to take them off himself.

He slowly moved on to Steve’s belt before working on his button and fly. Billy was moving so slow it was painful and Steve’s dick twitched as the pressure of his tight jeans released. With a smirk, Billy teasingly pulled down Steve’s jeans and briefs before settling back between his thighs.

His broad shoulders forced Steve’s thighs apart far enough to make his hips twinge. Steve held his breath in anticipation as Billy kissed his way up the inside of one of his thighs before parting Steve’s cheeks with his thumbs and choking.

Steve bit his lip against the smile fighting its way across his face as he felt Billy’s breath stutter against his dick.

“Fuck me,” Billy breathed reverantly as he dipped a thumb inside of Steve’s already lubed and stretched hole.

Steve groaned at the sensation of finally being filled, back arching against the bed.

“Watching me ride really got you fucking soaked, huh?” Billy asked, voice thick and gruff as he dipped a couple of fingers inside of Steve.

Gasping and falling back against the bed, Steve whined as Billy stroked his prostate with gentle pulses of his fingertips.

“Need you in me,” Steve pleaded, pitchy and whiny in the worst way as he squirmed. “Been thinking about it all day, waiting for your ride.”

“I can’t -“ Billy cut himself off as he shifted around, yanking his boots and clothes off in a flurry that contradicted his slow, teasing approach from moments before. “I can’t do foreplay right now, princess.”

Billy flushed at the admittance, tossing his last piece of clothing to the floor and grabbing Steve’s thighs. He hauled Steve up the bed and situated himself so that he was hovering over him, lining up and looking at him in askance.

“Don’t need it,” Steve whispered, grabbing Billy’s pendant where it was dangling in his face. “Need you in me right now.”

Nodding, Billy lined up and pushed in tenderly. His face was red, veins popping as he tried to hold himself back.

Steve didn’t want him to hold back. It’d been months. Steve wanted the raw, desperate, reconciliation sex they always had. The kind that made his toes curl.

“Give it to me, cowboy,” Steve demanded, tangling his free hand in Billy’s curls.

“Christ, princess,” Billy moaned, his eyes fluttering closed as he allowed himself to fuck into Steve fully. “You got me so fucking pussy whipped.”

It was a gross statement, practically a line if he really thought about it. The way Billy had said it, like a confession had Steve feeling split open and unmoored.

“Yeah?” Steve checked, running his fingers through Billy’s curls.

“Yeah,” Billy croaked, eyes opening to gaze down at Steve.

Steve nodded to show he was ready and wailed as Billy started to fuck into him without abandon. He had to drop his grip on Billy’s necklace for fear of ripping it from his neck with how forceful his thrusts were.

It was the same, toe-curling, eye rolling rhythm they always had but something was missing and Steve couldn’t put his finger on it.

He didn’t have long to consider it as Billy angled his hips down so that he was brushing roughly against Steve’s prostate with each quick thrust. Steve looked up to gauge how close his head was to hitting the wall when he saw it.

“No hat?” Steve gasped, his voice nearly breaking, making Billy freeze as he gaped down at Steve.

It was silly, but Billy always wore his hat when they met up at the bars afterwards and Steve was feeling a little off kilter due to its absence. Billy’s surprised expression slowly melted into a lascivious smirk.

“Is that what does it for you?” Billy asked as he grabbed the black Stetson off its hook above the head of the bed.

He plopped it on top of his dirty, sweaty curls before quirking a teasing eyebrow at Steve.

“Shut up and fuck me, cowboy,” Steve mumbled, face flushing as he squeezed Billy’s hips with his thighs.

“As you wish, princess,” Billy agreed, before fucking into Steve so hard that he jolted up the bed.

Steve moaned, hand flying up to brace against the wall so that his head didn’t slam into it. He grinned up at Billy, hiking his legs higher on his waist to allow Billy to deepen the angle.

It was like a lightning storm every time they came together and Steve was helpless but to give in. It only got more overwhelming as Billy started running his mouth.

“We’re gonna go the bar after this,” Billy promised, breathless with exertion as he continued to fuck into Steve at a ridiculous pace.

“My cum’s gonna be dripping from your pussy when you bend over the pool table like a slut.”

Steve whimpered as he imagined it. Feeling Billy’s cum slide out of him as they hung out with their friends.

“Everyone always wants a piece of you,” Billy grunted, hands twisting in the sheets on either side of Steve’s head. “But everyone will know you’re my bunny.”

The crackling electricity of arousal hummed insistently in Steve’s belly.

“How?” Steve asked through stuttering breaths as Billy’s hips snapped into his at an unparalleled pace.

“Gonna put my necklace on you,” Billy panted, mouth dropping wide and tongue wetting his bottom lip as he struggled to keep his insane rhythm while coming down from the adrenaline rush.

Steve’s hand flew back up to the necklace in question, tightening up reflexively around Billy.

“Shit,” Billy choked out, eyes screwing shut as he trembled above Steve. “Pussy’s so fucking tight.”

“Yeah?” Steve asked, wrapping a hand around himself, orgasm buzzing close at seeing just how overwhelmed Billy was.

“Yeah,” Billy breathed, letting his eyes open so he could look at Steve again. “You’re so fucking pretty.”

“Show me how pretty I am,” Steve demanded softly, muscles tensing as his fingers and toes tingled. “Cum in my pussy.”

“Gonna fill you up,” Billy promised gruffly, rhythm growing sloppy. “Make you mine.”

Whimpering, Steve started stroking himself faster as he practically vibrated out of his skin.

“Come on, cowboy,” Steve urged, screwing up purposefully tight. “Show me who I belong to.”

“Belong to me,” Billy groaned, fucking into Steve impossibly harder, hand flying up to cradle Steve’s head so he didn’t hit it against the wall. “My princess.”

“Yes,” Steve agreed, vision blurring around the edges as his toes curled against Billy’s back, shocks of arousal sparking through his veins dangerously.

“Only one who gets to fuck this pussy,” Billy grunted, trembling above Steve as his eyes widened and his breath started to stutter.

“Only one,” Steve promised, voice going high as Billy fucked into him just right. “Give it to me.”

“Oh fuck,” Billy groaned before his breath caught.

Steve watched his muscles strain as Billy shook above him and Steve felt a shock of warmth spill inside of him.

Moaning loud and obscene, Steve gave in to the lightning bolting up his spine and through his limbs as he came all over his belly in strong bursts. The sensation of Billy’s thrusts getting sloppier and wetter had him clenching reflexively causing them both to whine.

Billy fucked him through the aftershocks of their orgasms as Steve’s muscles went limp and Billy’s breathing caught up. He slowed his thrusts to gentle rocks and Steve released Billy’s pendant and grabbed him by the hair and pulled him into a kiss.

Obliging easily, Billy slipped his tongue past Steve’s lips and let himself explore as he trailed callus rough fingertips up and down Steve’s thigh. Steve let himself relax into it fully, sinking against the mattress.

He hummed as Billy pulled back just enough to look at Steve’s face. His fiery gaze burned through Steve despite how gentle it was. Steve would never get enough of it.

Steve whined softly as Billy pulled away further, but settled as Billy fiddled with his necklace. Steve lifted his neck so that Billy could close the clasp and fell back against the bed once it was in place against his chest.

Billy stroked an exploratory finger over the pendant where it rested against Steve’s chest before pressing his weight down on Steve once again.

“Join me on the circuit,” Billy whispered, tilting Steve’s face so that he was staring directly into Billy’s fiery blue eyes.

“Billy,” Steve protested, eyes fluttering closed as he fought the itch in his nose that signaled oncoming tears.

They went over this every time. It broke Steve’s heart more and more each time. He didn’t know how Billy could stand it.

“Not now,” Billy amended, nudging their noses together. “In a couple of months when you graduate.”

Steve sighed and let his eyes flutter close. He’d be officially done with college in just a few short months. He’d be expected to start working for his father in just a few short months so he could take over the company eventually.

Could Steve survive eight or more years of only seeing Billy for a handful of days each year?

He opened his eyes to stare up into Billy’s, the absolute certainty and love reflected back at him making the decision for him.

“Okay,” Steve relented, grinning softly at the pure, unadulterated joy that spread across Billy’s face.

Billy whooped, grabbing Steve’s waist and rolling them over so that Steve was straddling his waist. Billy took his hat off, plopping it on Steve’s head and smiling so wide it had to have hurt his cheeks.

“The boys are gonna be so jealous when they find out I locked down the prettiest buckle bunny on the circuit,” Billy gloated, eyes glimmering with unbridled glee.

“I don’t think you’re allowed to call me a buckle bunny if we’re actually together,” Steve scoffed, smacking Billy’s shoulder.

“I can if you keep hanging off my fence, looking the way you do, watching me win all those buckles,” Billy teased, biting his tongue when Steve pinched his side.

Rolling his eyes, Steve readjusted the Stetson on his head and Billy’s gaze went molten.

“Looks good on you, princess,” Billy whispered, callused hands running up Steve’s thighs.

“Yeah?” Steve asked, rolling his hips back against Billy’s twitching dick.

“Mmhmm,” Billy hummed, grabbing Steve’s hips and holding him in place as he grinded up against his ass. “Think you should wear it while you ride me.”

Steve gasped as Billy’s cock settled between his cheeks, their rhythm growing harder and more frenzied.

“Think I’ll last all eight seconds?” Steve teased, whining as the head of Billy’s dick caught on his rim.

“Only one way to find out,” Billy challenged, guiding himself back into Steve and sliding home.

Steve made it significantly longer than eight seconds and left Billy wheezing about how Steve should upgrade from being a buckle bunny to a bull rider.

Please look forward to the lovely, wonderful, and amazing work from the next contributor, @imsodishy.

#harringrove #billy x steve #billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove fic #oopsiewrites #harringrove fanfiction #bull rider Billy #buckle bunny Steve #cowboy Billy #harringrovefic #harringrove relay race #harringrove fanfic #stranger things

[shieldofiron]

Pretty Boy Live in Santa Fe, 1977

Part 1/3 Also on Ao3 here

For @harringrove-relay-race. Very happy with how part 1 turned out, and there will be more to come. Thanks to @foxxtastic for the intro and next up will be something stunning from our fearless Relay Race leader @half-oz-eddie

Rated M / 5k words / Part 1/3

Part 1: Into Hades

Rolling Stone Magazine - May 2002

Billy Hargrove arrived after I did, in his lovingly maintained blue Camaro, the subject of his song, “Lady Blue.” “Lady Blue” was recently named #93 on Rolling Stone’s Top Love Songs of the Century.

“I wrote, ‘She’s the wind in my hair, the rumble in my soul.’ I thought it was so obvious,” He laughed, his blue eyes still boyish. “My niece made it her wedding song, I said ‘Really? It’s about a fuckin’ car!’”

He showed me several pictures of his niece, the supermodel Tyler Sinclair. It seems good looks run in the family. He suggested the diner and he ordered waffles, winking when I mentioned that we’ll be here a long time.

The decades have been kind to him, maybe a few more lines. It’s not hard to imagine him stepping right back onto the stage, as if no time has passed at all.

“A little extra glitter on the eyes,” He said with a smile, “to hide my crows feet. That’s all I need.”

I ask what he’s going to wear to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame ceremony for Kaleidoscope's induction and his smile dims only for a moment.

“I think I should pull out some old costumes. You know, the butterfly still fits.”

He was referring, of course, to the sheer butterfly cape costume that nearly had him thrown off the stage in Houston Texas in December 1976. He caved to putting on a pair of silvery shorts rather than the nude underwear it was designed with. He later wore it with the nude underwear on the inside cover of Kaleidoscope, the album that will be inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in just a few short weeks. Kaleidoscope was his last album with the iconic Glam Rock band Pretty Boy, which famously broke up at the height of their career while touring for the album, onstage.

It’s not often that a band is inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and there’s a question if all of them will even show up.

“I’ll be there,” Hargrove said, fiddling with the silver band on his middle finger. “I have no problem with seeing him.”

The him is, of course, the lead guitarist and other lead singer of Pretty Boy, Steve Harrington.

Steve Harrington invites me to his oceanfront house in Malibu later that afternoon.

“I haven’t decided if I’m going to go,” He said thoughtfully, his brown eyes darting around the room.

When I mention that Billy is going to go, he seems surprised.

“He didn’t say he was going to punch me, did he?” Harrington smiled, but it doesn’t seem like much of a joke.

For one of the most famous rock stars of the 70s, Harrington is shockingly low key. He wears a t-shirt and slouchy linen pants, and he jokes that he ought to have shaved when I take out my camera. The house is stunning but empty, with miles of blank white walls and overstuffed white furniture.

“I’m looking for a little peace,” He shrugs, “I used to have all these pictures up, all this furniture… It was too much.”

It was hard not to see him as an artist without a muse. He drifted listlessly, picking things up and putting them down as we talked. So it was a surprise to me to hear that he’s been recording.

“I may never release it but… Yeah,” He laughed, “Music. After all this time. Bet you didn’t know.”

He picks up a rare photo from the piano. It’s from the early days of Pretty Boy, before Billy Hargrove. Harrington has his arm around his bandmate, Eddie Munson. Their drummer Chrissy Cunningham is balanced precariously across their shoulders, laughing and cringing at the same time. Bassist Robin Buckley smirks from the corner of the frame, messy bangs in her eyes.

“Who knew, right?” He asked no one, shaking the frame a little.

There are no pictures of Billy Hargrove.

“That’s a… a long story,” He said, when I asked.

But I have time. I tell him Rolling Stone will pay for it. At least that makes him laugh.

It was just by chance that Pretty Boy’s last concert was filmed.

“We were meant to just film in Vegas,” The director, Argyle Molina-Zapata, sat down with me after a private screening of Pretty Boy Live in Santa Fe, 1977, “But there was a freak rainstorm, and I couldn’t get my camera’s out of the back. The crowd was digging it, refused to leave. I remember when Billy hit the high note for ‘Mother Make Me,’ there was this lightning crack… brilliant.”

Molina-Zapata shook his head, “But the footage, what I got of it, was awful. Awful! So I begged Murray to let me come with them to Santa Fe.”

Murray was Murray Bauman, famed tour manager, who handled the Boys, later Pretty Boy from their first album Starfire, all the way to Kaleidoscope.

“And I was lucky,” Argyle nodded, “They had that extra tour bus.”

The tour busses are featured in the first few minutes of the film. They roll around the corner, one reading Billy Blue (Billy’s original stage name was  Billy Blue before he dropped the Blue), and the other, Steve’s Six (Named after Steve’s best friends from his hometown.)

“They were nightmares,” Murray Bauman’s voice crackled over the phone, “Nightmares on tour. Separate buses. Separate hotels. Fuck me, I swear to god at one point they wanted separate stages. And the label caved on almost all of it. Fucking nightmare.”

It’s almost impossible to imagine it when you see them on stage together. There’s something electric that passed between Billy Hargrove and Steve Harrington, something that drove crowds wild. They gravitate towards each other on the stage, orbiting like planets until they can share the same mic. They can’t seem to stay apart.

It’s hard to see exactly what happened that night.

“I’ve watched it a million times,” Argyle laughed, “But the only two people who can really say what happened are Billy and Steve.”

What you can see is this: Steve tearing into “Pride & Prejudice”, the lead off Kaleidoscope and the last song of the night.

Billy was trembling, visibly shaking as he sang and Steve harmonized along.

What can I say, if you ask me to walk away?

Baby, there’s no words for you.

Baby. I don’t know what to do.

Billy danced closer, joining Steve, his handheld mic loose at his side.

Can you ever put away your pride?

Is it worth it to not have me at your side?

I guess it must be, because I’m yours,

Regretfully,

Baby.

Billy leans in, sharing Steve’s mic for the bridge.

Is it really a mystery?

What I mean to you, and you mean to me?

Is it really, baby?

Billy shook his head, curls bouncing. He looked into Steve's eyes. He smiled. Steve looks at Billy, and Billy looks at him. It almost looks like Billy mouths something, but bootleg footage also has appeared where it looks like Billy just nodded. Steve goes a little shell shocked, hand freezing on his guitar, falling out of sync.

And then Steve turned away and left the stage, handing his guitar to a stagehand. Billy turned to the crowd, his expression strangely triumphant. He was always magnetic on stage, but this moment transcends that. It somehow feels like he’s getting everything he wants.

So I guess I’m losing you,

You promised me you would and it’s true.

Baby, there’s no words for you.

Baby. I don’t know what to do.

Steve Harrington hasn’t performed in public since 1977.

“None of us knew what was going to happen that night,” Chrissy Cunningham curled up next to her husband, Eddie Munson, on the large white couch of their Seattle home.

They’re a handsome couple still, draped in rock and roll finery. He toyed with the edge of her scarf, and she curled his long hair around her long fingers.

“We had some of our own shit going on at the time so…” Munson shrugged, “Maybe we were distracted.”

Their living room was crowded and verdant, every spare flat surface covered in plants. Their partner, former record executive Jason Carver, puttered in the kitchen in an apron that read Plant Papa.

“Yeah,” Chrissy smiled, “We had some stuff going on at the same time. But still… It seemed like they were getting better. Didn’t it seem like they were getting better?”

Munson shrugged, “The thing about Billy and Steve… they were soulmates. You don’t write music like that and not… it was like they had a second language, just for them. They were soulmates, I really believe that. Everything they did, everything that happened… they could only hurt each other that badly if… yeah.”

When I ask what they did to each other, Eddie and Chrissy just scooted closer together, like teenagers in a slasher, hiding from the killer. She laid a hand over his leg, her two stone diamond ring catching the sunlight.

“Steve never wanted Billy to be in the band,” Eddie shook his head, “but Jim had a soft spot for Billy. And Steve had… I mean Jim was…”

“Jim was like a father. To all of us.” Chrissy’s knee jiggled.

“We were this little tiny band from Nowhere, Indiana,” Eddie nodded, “And Jim believed in us.”

“I was just a junior exec at the time. I was put on the Kaleidoscope tour in case of catastrophic failure, which by the way it was,” Jason Carver is making risotto while we speak, the steam curling the lock of hair that falls over his face. “But it wasn’t my fault although I was high as hell on coke half the time. I guess I deserved to get fired. But Jim was the real deal. Gold records out the ass, best wife in the world, and his daughter, I mean… she was something else.”

They’re referring, of course, to Jim Hopper, producer on Kaleidoscope as well as Billy Blue and The Boys’ records, and the father of pop superstar Eleven aka Jane Hopper.

“Jim was…” Steve Harrington’s eyes always got a little misty talking about Jim, staring out over the ocean. “Yeah, I guess he was a little like my dad. My own parents were always gone. Which is like… I grew up so privileged so like I’m not saying… I just mean I grew up mostly by myself. And we were just so lucky he even agreed to listen to us when we got to LA.”

“I remember that night,” Joyce Hopper’s voice was raspy, cigarette-y in the way only old movie stars are. She’s a gorgeous woman in jeans and a gardening hat, speaking to me while she tends to her garden at her home in Castellammare. “He came home and said, ‘I have the next ones, the next big ones. Fuck, Joyce, they’re brilliant. Unpolished, but brilliant.’”

When I ask about when Jim discovered Billy Hargrove she just laughed.

“If Steve and the rest of The Boys were unpolished, Billy Hargrove was a fucking ten carat diamond,” She said. “But Steve’s band was Jim’s, and he could polish them up how he wanted. And then when he thought they were just right for it… he set the diamond.”

Jim Hopper was a big man, larger than life both in appearance and in personality. His fingerprints are all over some of the best hits of the decade.

Watching him on old interviews, there’s an immediacy to his presence that leaps off the screen.

“My daughter is the one who really found him. She snuck out with her sister and wandered God knows where. And she just… found him. Called me the next morning, saying ‘Dad, you have to hear this guy.’ He was playing in this… terrible club,” Jim said, tapping his cigar on the table of Merv Griffin’s set. “Absolute shithole, pardon my french. And he’s got a great voice, you’ve heard his voice, right?”

“I have,” Merv said.

“I had to get him out of there. He was a star.”

Billy Hargrove was a teenage runaway from San Diego when he came to LA in 1971.

“I had a girl’s backpack from my stepsister, eight dollars, and an extra pair of underwear. By the end of the next week? I had two more dollars,” Billy laughed. “But I got lucky. I met Heather.”

Heather Holloway was a showgirl at Wildwoods, a nightly revue. She found Billy at the backdoor, and took him to her apartment.

“She saved me,” He frowned. “Whenever I needed her most.”

Heather Holloway, Billy Hargrove’s first and only wife, died in 1979. 

“I got a job singing at Sugar, this great gay club downtown. It was in the late afternoons, so I had a crowd of about… two. But those two brought two more,” Billy smiled, “Heather would talk me up to all the promoters. He’s a singer, he’s great, you’ll love him, he’s so cute.”

“He was an instant hit,” Sugar’s manager, Bob Newby, tells me by phone as well. “I did have to keep a couple of creeps off him, when he just started he was only nineteen. But even if you closed your eyes… he was a hit.”

“Guys used to think that because I was a part of the entertainment, I was fair game. And let me tell you, the novelty of that wears off mighty quick,” Billy shakes his head.

He shares a diary entry from his late wife of a night in April 1972. He came to her home with blood all over his face.

“Some guy thought because I was a fag…” Billy’s mouth twisted, but he went on, cradling the little marble notebook in his hand. “He could do whatever he wanted to me. When I fought back… he cracked a bottle over my head.”

He’s not just a piece of meat. He’s a person. I don’t understand these people. I just don’t understand, Heather Holloway wrote. I cleaned him up and he’s sleeping now.

The next diary entry is from a day later. April 12. Billy and I drove to Vegas and got married. When we spoke in the morning he said he was afraid for me too, even though I’m careful with the girls. He’s afraid of the cops trying to bust up the Wildwoods and picking me up. At least this way, he says. He and I can come home to each other. Look out for each other. Always. The groom wore band aids and his great velvet pants. The bride wore lavender. It was perfect.

“And lucky too. Because within a month… I met Jim,” Billy smiled. “And my whole life changed.”

Upside Down Records signed Billy Blue, unagented, in1972 and he spent the next year working on his debut album with Jim Hopper.

“I didn’t even realize, when it happened,” Billy shook his head. “A couple of girls came by after a show, wanting to talk to me, wanting to meet me. That wasn’t that unusual. But they were young, far too young to get into the club. And the little one, she was asking all these weird questions. Did I have an agent? Did I know if I had enough songs for an album? Weird fuckin’ questions. And then she said I have to meet someone. To be honest, I thought she was coked out of her mind when she said, ‘You have to meet my dad.’”

“I was not,” Eleven promised me, “coked out of my mind. But that’s just Billy.”

Eleven aka Jane Hopper, meets me backstage at one of her shows. She’s dressed in slouchy leather pants, to match her sister and drummer Kali Hopper.

“I knew he was something special. My dad was always talking about the IT factor. That thing that made a person something special. But I didn’t get it until I saw Billy Blue singing on that tiny stage,” She smiled. “He didn’t just have the IT factor. He was IT.”

It’s odd then, that Billy Blue’s first album had a surprisingly tepid response. His first single, in 1973, “Let Alone,” came in at only 26th for the month of April on the pop charts.

“People liked it,” Billy shrugs, “But I don’t think they knew what to do with it. You have my songs, these like… little pop love songs and ballads. I wasn’t that strong of a writer at the time. It was like half my songs, half covers. And so they’d book me, expecting fucking… Peter Frampton. And here comes this big queer with glitter on his nipples.”

But the lyrics of “Let Alone” would hint at his later songs, a hallmark simplicity that shone off his raw voice and poetry that hinted at a troubled past.

And if you were meant to care for me

You would, and that’s how it has to be

You said I couldn’t go on without you

Ha, look at me, looking brand new

At the same time, The Boys’ song “Paper Girl,” penned by Harrington, was number one.

She’s my paper girl

She’s my paper girl

Wakes me up every morning, right on time

She got me smiling, got my head in a whirl

Picture perfect, paper girl

“Billy didn’t have much commercial appeal. Sex appeal, yes,” Jason laughed, toying with Chrissy’s hair. “But for sales? That’s where The Boys came in.”

“I hated that name,” Eddie said, “To start with we were half girls.”

The Boys had already had a somewhat successful tour under their belt by the time Jim suggested a collaboration with Billy Hargrove.

“It was a nice, short tour,” Steve Harrington glances away when I ask about the first tour.

“It was a nightmare. Balls to the wall nightmare,” Robin Buckley’s voice is a warm crackle over the phone. “Steve went on like thirty overlapping benders at once.”

Her partner, soap actress Vickie Carmichael cackles behind her, at their home in Salt Lake City.

“The thing about Steve is… well… he’s never found a good way of coping with himself,” Robin huffs. “Music was about as close as he ever got. But in those early days, he just kept looking for more and more.”

“You don’t think it was about-” Vickie asked, just barely into the phone.

“No.”

“It was about Nancy,” Eddie said confidently when I mentioned their first tour. “Nancy, Nancy, Nancy.”

The Boys got their start in the late sixties, beginning with Eddie and Steve. Eddie gave Steve guitar lessons, which turned into some talent show performances. They used to practice at Eddie’s Uncle’s trailer.

“That’s where we got the name,” Eddie nodded, “My uncle used to just call us that, and it stuck.”

“I don’t even remember,” Chrissy said.

“That’s not how we got the name,” Steve shook his head, when I mention Eddie. “It was our first gig, after we got Chrissy and Robin. Robin put it down after the headliner kept asking when ‘you boys’ would go on, and kept addressing it to Chrissy’s chest. She blew him out of the fucking water.”

Nancy Wheeler was there that night, writing about local bands for a tiny column in the school paper.

“She was beautiful. Smart. So smart. Could hear her talk forever,” Steve said, eyes falling.

Steve Harrington and Nancy Wheeler were married in 1972 after they graduated high school.

“Steve made his own choices,” Chrissy shook her head.

That summer, the Boys plus one drove to LA and Nancy Wheeler took a job at Women’s Day Magazine and later, Rolling Stone. Steve Harrington and The Boys got a “steady gig” at La Bonita Rosa on the strip, playing for drunks every night from seven to eight.

“I really liked playing at La Bonita,” Steve said. “The audience, right there. You could smell the sweat. You could see on their faces if you were bombing. And we used to bomb. A lot. But it was a great place to try things. Experiment. We played there for about a year but… it felt too short.”

Within the year they had met Jim Hopper, who got them into the recording studio and sold their demo nearly on the spot to Upside Down Records.

“They had a great sound. They had got this way of playing. Smooth like a polished stone. Everything sounds good sitting in a frame like that,” Jim said in an interview with Rolling Stone in 1981. “Their songs were… catchy, but basic. But they had the sound.”

Upside Down records set the Boys on a US tour after “Paper Girl,” and “Joy to Love You,” both charted.

“It was like… overnight. One day we’re in a studio, messing around. Kid stuff. I was nineteen,” Steve Harrington shookhis head. “But…”

“That tour,” Chrissy trails off, playing with her ring again.

“I…” Steve Harrington scratched his nose. “I was losing it. Majorly losing it. It felt like we had just moved to LA and we were already neck deep. I mean, I had a number one fucking song. And for some reason I got it in my head to call my mom. She told the maid she wasn’t home. And I could hear her over the phone. My mom. So yeah. I lost it. Lost about half my damn mind on that tour. And people will say it was because of Nancy, because we got married just out of high school, and she wasn’t supportive… but that wasn’t true. Nancy saved me.”

“Nancy never wanted him to be in the band. But… she also didn’t seem to care that much either,” Eddie shook his head, “It’s… complicated. Love is supposed to be. Simple. Like the chords of a song. 1-3-5.”

Jason Carver rolled his eyes at that, “Then what are we?”

Eddie grinned, “We’re a band.”

Nancy Wheeler met me on a Thursday in New York City, slim sunglasses dominating her small porcelain face. We get lunch at her favorite deli shop, and she perches at the counter, loafers dangling. She’s an editor at The New Yorker now, but she still has a soft spot for rock and roll, as evidenced by the Grateful Dead t-shirt under her blazer.

“That tour. I didn’t even know anything was wrong. He just came home with a funny look on his face, saying, ‘We’re headlining.’ So I said, ‘That’s great, Steve.’ He just kept… saying it. It was starting to piss me off, if I’m being honest,” She shook her head. “I should have known something was wrong.”

“I wish she had stopped me. But how could you know right? Hindsight is always 2020,” Steve Harrington said. “I mean, she was my wife. How could she not want me home? But that’s just… sorry. That’s not fair to put on her. I chose to go.”

“I flew out to meet them when they were in Indianapolis, visited my family, and I came a day early to see him,” She smiled warmly, and then it fell. “He was… Well, first, Eddie Munson tried to intercept me at the hotel, so I wouldn’t see him. I told him, ‘I’m here to see my fucking husband.’”

Steve Harrington didn’t add any more details about the tour, just shrugged when I asked.

“He was coked up like you wouldn’t believe,” Robin scoffed. “She walked in on him with two girls and coke all over his… well.”

“I just asked him. Do you want to come home? Do you want to get help? Or not?” She purses her lips. “And so he came home and we found a rehab place near Hawkins.”

“The tour kind of… fell apart. Obviously. We had lost our lead singer and guitarist to fucking… Hawkins, Indiana,” 

Everything stopped for the Boys. Upside Down offered to let them out of their two album contract, but Steve couldn’t afford to pay it down.

“Rehab,” He shrugged. “Is expensive.”

Right as it seemed that everything would be over for the Boys, things were looking up for Billy Blue.

“Jim was always saying, ‘the record is selling alright, the songs are getting there but he needs a… push,’” Joyce said. “‘He’s so close. So close. He’s a star.’”

“He always believed in me,” Billy smiled, toying with his ring again. “Always. Even when I threw a jug of milk at his head.”

Joyce laughed when I asked about that moment, “He came home saying, ‘He milked me, Joyce. But he’ll fix the song tonight.’”

“And I did,” Billy said. “And the album was going alright. I did a little tour, socal and the southwest. And then one night, Jim brings me this song. He said, ‘I want you to tell me what’s missing from this.’”

The song was, of course, the Boys’ biggest hit, “Hades.” Steve Harrington’s first version was called, “To Orpheus” and the chorus goes:

Don’t turn back don’t look behind you baby

I’m close, I’m right behind

The future's so bright, and I want you to take me

Wanna be holding your hand when I make it across the line.

“It was fine, but just kind of… nothing. It was supposed to be about Eurydice, but it was so… nothing. She just loved Orpheus and that was it. There were no insides to her. She was going to follow him to her doom,” Billy shook his head. “That’s not right.”

This was not the version that made it to the recording booth, of course. The Boys’ single, “Hades featuring Billy Blue,” came out in 1975. The actual chorus goes: 

Turn back on me and I won’t forgive you baby

Don’t want you to see me like this

Up ahead is bright, and I want you to take me

If you’re strong enough to cross that finish line

“‘Hades,’ was a real step forward for the Boys. Gone were the teenybopper tunes,” Steve Harrington’s biographer and personal friend Dustin Henderson wrote in his book The Pretty Boy. “Their first album got the kids dancing. But the second proved that they actually had something to say.”

“Still hate it,” Steve Harrington said. “I wrote that song in rehab. It was deeply, deeply personal to me.”

“He came out, all ready. He wanted to start recording right away,” Robin sighed. “Like I mean the next day. All these songs, just pouring out of him. But the label had lost faith in us. And they certainly weren’t going to let us start recording with a guy who had only just earned his thirty day sober chip.”

“The song wasn’t ready,” Billy shook his head. “But I guess he was. Jim said he needed this. So Jim asked if I would come and like… pitch some stuff as a personal favor. Songwriting credit, that’s all it was supposed to be. Get the songs moving, get them going.”

Steve Harrington takes a long time to continue speaking about it. 

“I felt it, writing for that album. I felt proud of those songs. They didn’t belong to anyone else but me,” He toyed with some piano keys while we talked, and then finally sat down and began to play something tuneless and half formed.

“That album was all about Nancy,” Chrissy said. “I mean. I know it. You know it. Nancy knew it. And she kind of hated it. But-”

“You can’t leave your husband right as he gets out of rehab,” Nancy said to me, toying with her wedding ring. “When he writes all these songs about how you’re the only thing… Steve was always like that. Heart wide open. That’s why when he met Billy. I almost thought… it would all be okay. That sounds fucked up but. I thought they could save each other. That the music could save him.”

“It was just a songwriting credit,” Billy raised his hands. “Jim swore up and down. I was just gonna come in there and sit down with this guy Steve. But when I walk into the studio, there’s two mics set up.”

“I was the Boys’ only singer,” Steve Harrington shook his head. “And to be absolutely honest, I was kind of a jackass about it. So to have some guy come in and say he’s gonna sing me my song… well…”

“Steve was the only one who would ever argue with Jim, And he let him have it that day,” Eddie laughed. “He called him the most low down, dirty, rat bitten bastard in California, and that he would die rather than give up his band to someone else.”

“I did not want his band. I did not know his band. And I did not care. And his song sucked. And I told him so. And then I sang it. Better.” Billy smiled.

“Billy was…” Chrissy shook her head. “Incredible.”

I ask Steve what Billy was like that first day in the studio.

“He was,” Something passed over his face. “Alright. He has a great voice, alright.”

“I was good. Better. Best.” Billy smiled.

“But he didn’t understand the song. He wanted Eurydice to… doubt. To think she wasn’t going to get out,” Steve slammed his hands on the keys. “It’s been… almost twenty years. I still don’t understand it.”

I asked why he let Billy stay. But Steve doesn’t have an answer.

“They were like oil and water, right away,” Chrissy said.

“Yeah, but oil on the water can catch fire,” Eddie shrugged.

“Jim asked me to stay,” Billy looked away from me, down at his waffles. “It was a favor to the label.”

“If Billy said louder, Steve said mute,” Robin snickered. “It was kind of great, actually. Finally someone called King Steve on his shit. One day I came in and they were arguing over how close the microphone should be to your throat. Almost got in a physical fight over a fucking microphone. I mean, I love Steve. But he always thinks he’s like… the babysitter. It’s his job to do everything for everybody.”

“Like who was this guy? Really? He came into my studio with no shirt on, most of the time still half smashed from the night before, and he thinks he can make all these changes. But Jim keeps telling me it’s just business, the label thinks it’s good business.” Steve frowned, and then smiled, and then frowned again.

“Yeah, I never wore shirts back then. Or underwear,” Billy said with a grin. “I was a rockstar!”

“Steve fought for every song on that album,” Nancy Wheeler patted her lips primly with a napkin. “He only lost on one.”

“Billy Hargove has songwriting credit and lead vocals on “Hades.” Dustin Henderson wrote.

“Billy was all over that album. He’d make some minor suggestion, maybe this chord instead of that, this word is better. And Steve would flip out, yell at him, yell at Jim, threaten to storm out… and then two days later quietly tell me to change the chord, he’d start singing the new words. Billy was there with us about every single day,” Eddie said.

“Of course, it was our biggest hit,” Chrissy laughed. “Everything but that song, Steve did what he wanted. Oh we had Billy in the studio, making suggestions. But Steve did what he wanted except for ‘Hades.’ Jim said that song is the album, and he wouldn’t cut it.”

“Jim was always right,” Steve closed the piano. “The bastard.”

Hades exploded onto the radio in late 1975. They didn’t have the same distribution as their first record, but the Boys had another hit.

“Billy had this way of singing it. Still does. He broke four mics when we recorded it. Singing so loud I had to keep an eye on the cymbals to stop them from shaking. You can feel him, right in your chest.” Chrissy giggled. “Like he was trying to wake all the dead from Hades. If anyone could, he could.”

“It’s a really, really great song,” Robin said.

This song belongs to Billy Blue, Rolling Stone wrote in 1976. The only question now is, what will The Boys do next?

“I remember that article. Fucking… Harrington said that he basically wrote the whole song. But he said, ‘the label thought bringing Billy in was a good idea,’” Billy gets tense for the first time. “I’m not saying I was like… I just mean. It would have been nice. To treat me like an equal. I’m more than just a singer. I’m not just… a piece of meat.”

“Billy was really pissed about that article. I remember, the day after the article came out, we were getting breakfast at this tiny place off La Cienega. Steve had this car back then, a big maroon BMW, and Eddie had got him a vanity plate when he bought it. Stupid thing it said, ‘BIGBOY.’ Anyway, We’re having breakfast, and we hear this screech outside, like an accident,” Robin Buckley gets uncharacteristically quiet as she goes on through this story. “Billy’s car is parked halfway out of the parking lot, and he comes in like a bull in a charge. Billy… he wasn’t some wimpy guy. He was small, but he was strong as hell… He came right over and grabbed Steve by his collar and lifted him right off the counter. And he said, I’ll never forget it because Steve used to recite it from memory, yell it at me, ‘Tell me I’m not dreaming. Is that Steve fucking Harrington? The lead singer of the Boys. Hey man, I love your song ‘Hades.’ How’d you get your voice to sound halfway decent for once?’”

“I don’t remember that,” Steve Harrington said flatly when I asked.

“And Steve used to be a fucking dick in high school. So he starts getting real bitchy, shoving Billy off him, asking what his problem is, why he’s such a dick all the fucking time, when it’s not even his band. And Billy said something like, ‘No one wants your shit band. Not with you in it,’” Robin paused for a moment. “And they just. Stare at each other. Like… daring each other to do something.”

Billy just shrugs when I ask, “I was pissed. I gave this guy a number one hit, and he still wanted to treat me like some… airhead singer the label brought in as a stunt. I’m not just a singer. I’m not a piece of meat. I’m a person.”

When I ask Steve about that day he’s pretty quiet, deflated at his piano. He only wants to talk about the song. The music. Can’t seem to talk about Billy any other way.

“He sang it like he not only knows Orpheus can’t save him, but that he won’t. It was supposed to be hopeful. A happy ending.” Steve said.

“So you still hate the song?” I asked.

“No, I don’t. It’s brilliant. And that’s the whole problem.”

To be continued...

Next up is Half-Oz-Eddie's piece at 7:00 pm. GET HYPE!

#harringrove relay race #harringrove #billy x steve #billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove fic #steve x billy #harringrovefic #harringrovefanfic #harringrove fanfiction #harringrove fanfic #stranger things #my writing #DJATS au #Daisy jones and the six au #tw drugs

[cuepickle]

I’ve been reading To B, With Love by Triddlegrl on ao3 and now my every waking thought has been CONSUMED by cowboy billy

#he’s a crabby shit but he’s still SO 😳😳 #I literally cannot wait for the next update. I’m hooked #go and read it if you like abo harringrove #Steve is a badass too i LOVE IT #eventually I might draw Steve and Max from this universe cause I love them #idk if triddlegrl has a tumblr but #if they do #hello #billy hargrove #harringrove fic #basically a harringrove fic rec #cowboy billy #my art #doodle of the day #traditional art

[ihni]

For @harringrovemicrofic, March prompt: "Billy's birthday" (wordcount: 403)

~~~

Billy wakes up alone.

The spot on the mattress next to him is cold, so Steve must have left a while ago. Judging by the sounds coming from downstairs, though, he didn’t go far.

There are sounds of someone puttering about in the kitchen; the clinking of plates, the sound of cutlery being placed on the countertop, the refrigerator door opening and closing. All to a backdrop of tinny pop music on low from the radio they keep on the sill in the kitchen window.

Billy, used to early morning after all the years under his father’s roof, is usually up before his boyfriend, who likes to sleep in. So it is not often that Steve wakes up before Billy, these days. But it happens, on special occasions.

Special occasions like today.

When Billy hears footsteps in the little hallway leading to the bedroom, he stretches out in the bed and rolls over onto his stomach, smiling into his pillow.

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you …”

Steve has a good voice for singing, but he’s usually too self-conscious to sing outside of the shower. Which is a shame, because Billy loves listening to him.

“… happy birthday dear Billy …”

The door to the bedroom is nudged open, and Steve appears in the doorway, holding a tray full of various items. His hair is sleep-mussed, and while he has pulled on a pair of sweatpants, he is still wearing his sleep-shirt.

He is the most beautiful thing Billy has ever seen.

“… happy birthday to you!”

Billy rolls onto his side and backs up a bit so Steve can put the tray down on the bed next to him, utterly incapable of keeping his smile off his face as Steve leans over to place a kiss on Billy’s nose.

“Happy birthday, baby.”

His face warming, Billy turns to inspect the plentiful breakfast in front of him. There is coffee and chocolate chip pancakes, fruit salad and an omelet, raspberry crumble pie and a glass of orange juice. There’s even a scoop of butter pecan ice cream in a bowl.

“You spoil me,” Billy half-protests, still smiling.

“You deserve it,” Steve says and steals a grape from the fruit salad. “And you only turn twenty-one once."

“I’m gonna get fat.”

“If you do, I’ll still love you.”

Billy’s smile is so wide that it almost hurts. “Sap.”

“Always for you, baby.”

#harringrovemicroficmarch #harringrove #steve harrington #billy hargrove #billy's birthday #ihni writes #harringrove fic

[harringroveera]

“We got ourselves a new Keg King, Harrington!”

“Yeah, eat it, Harrington.”

Steve pushed his sunglasses over his head, staring at the guy in front of him, with golden curls under the dim light of the room, beers dripping down his bare chest and stomach, making his skin glisten.

Billy Hargrove was his name, and he only knew it because he’d overheard it from Tina and Vickie when they were talking about his ass.

Blue eyes looked back at him, and Steve swallowed, tipping his chin up to exert confidence.

“Is that so?”

“Unless you wanna go against him,” Tommy quipped, egging him on further.

“So this is the King Steve everyone’s been talking so much about,” Hargrove said, taking a step forward. “I expected someone better looking at least.”

He widened his eyes, his lips parting in pure shock as Hargrove smirked at him, like the cocky asshole he was.

“And who is this?” His eyes darted away to Steve’s right side, his eyebrows raising in curiosity. “Why the long face?”

Before Steve could register what was going on—he could barely even react—Hargrove crossed the little space in the room, grabbing Nancy by the face, and he kissed her.

Steve’s stomach dropped at the sight, of Nancy clutching at Hargrove’s jacket, her nails digging into the leather. She didn’t push back, and Hargrove didn’t pull away.

And there Steve was, standing frozen on the spot like a stupid statue, watching some new guy kiss his girlfriend. Like an idiot.

The moment they broke away from each other, Steve finally found his voice to speak up about whatever had just happened.

“That’s my fucking girlfriend,” he murmured. “What the fuck, Hargrove?”

“Oh, shit,” Hargrove said, turning to him with the corner of his lips turning up. “Sorry, man, guess I gotta make it even now.”

He flattened his hand on Steve’s chest, shoving him against the wooden surface, before he kissed him.

To say he was surprised would be an understatement, and to say he didn’t enjoy it would be a complete lie.

Hargrove’s lips were soft against his, and wet, tasting of beer and smoke. Their mouths slotted together, and Steve found himself moving on his own, returning the kiss with the same passion Hargrove put into it.

No wonder Nancy didn’t push him away, because Hargrove kissed like a god, like he wanted to drink down the sound Steve made and consume him whole. It felt almost too forbidden for him to want more of it.

He splayed his hands on Hargrove’s sternum, feeling his damp and warm skin underneath his fingers, gliding them up to the curls of his hair and tugging at them, dragging out a low groan from the other guy.

The music was still blasting in the house, and he could hear the faint sound of surprise from some people around him, but he truly could care less. All he wanted was to kiss Hargrove.

“Don’t you dare,” Steve whispered against his lips when Hargrove pulled away, attempting to break off the kiss.

“Just taking a breath, Harrington. Don’t intend on stopping any time now.”

The smirk was sly, almost predatory, and Steve claimed his lips in another kiss. Deeper this time, with tongue, and he could taste Hargrove more clearly, feel his body flushing against him more warmly.

Hargrove’s hands were sliding down his sides, pulling at the belt of his jeans to haul him closer. The kiss was fervent and hot, stirring something in the pit of his stomach, and Steve did nothing but keep Hargrove close to him.

He didn’t want to let him go, or to end what was going on, which surprised him, to put it mildly.

Well, until something shattered loudly, and Steve finally yanked himself away from Hargrove’s incredibly tempting lips.

It was just some guy, apparently, who broke a precious vase in Tina’s kitchen, now listening to her scolding while he wiped his hands on the white cloth he was wearing, burping out a drunken sound instead of apologizing.

He looked back at Hargrove, at the pair of blue eyes that were fixed on him, at his swollen lips, and he was very aware of how Hargrove’s hands were still on his waist.

Of course, once he reeled back into reality, he remembered what had happened, and who was here.

He turned to look at Nancy, who was staring directly at them with her mouth slack and her eyes widening. The look of betrayal painted her face.

“Nance,” he uttered. “Nancy, wait, I can explain. I didn’t—”

“You know what?” Nancy held her hands up in the air, shutting him up instantly. “Have him, Hargrove.”

“What?”

“Yeah, take him, whatever. I don’t care. You look better together anyway.”

“Okay, let me get this straight,” Hargrove said. “You’re giving me your boyfriend?”

“Why not? Seems like you two get along well, especially with that kiss,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “And I will go get drunk. Have fun.”

When she turned on her heels and walked away, Steve looked back at Hargrove with a scoff.

“Did she just break up with me?”

“You did kiss me, Harrington.”

“You kissed her first! And she liked it!”

“What? Are you saying you didn’t?”

His words faltered in his mind, and he gulped. “I…did not say that.”

“Good, I was hoping for that answer,” Hargrove said, cocking his head to the side. “Wanna go to the bathroom and finish what we were doing?”

“What? Now?”

“Unless you don’t want to.”

Hargrove withdrew his hands from his waist, and Steve frowned. He looked around the room, and no one was paying attention to them at all. Even Nancy was standing in the kitchen, chugging down the alcohol while Byers talked to her.

His heart drummed in his chest, and Hargrove was still waiting for him, patiently, with that damned smirk on his face, like he already knew what Steve was going to do.

He groaned, grabbing Hargrove by the wrist. “Fuck it, let’s go.”

#harringrove #even steven #yes this is what happened #i guess that’s fair tbh #billy hargrove #steve harrington #billy x steve #billy hargrove x steve harrington #billy & nancy friendship supremacy #it’s rare that i even write a ficlet anymore but i tried not to make it long #harringroveera #harringrove fanfiction #harringrove ficlet #harringrove fic #my writing #nancy wheeler #steve x billy #steve harrington x billy hargrove #a lil jancy at the end? #inspired by a scene in 2 broke girls #everyone’s just so stoked they left okay #and yes I completely erased the homophobia in this time for this fic #harringrove ship #harringrove imagine #harringrove au #harringrove headcanon

[writer-in-theory]

nothing can be certain except (death) and taxes

Summary: When the words on a person's skin are the last words their soulmate will say before death separates them, Steve has never hated being loved so much. Pairing: Steve Harrington/Billy Hargrove Rating: Teen Word Count: 2.3k Content Warnings: Temporary Character Death (EMPHASIS ON THE TEMPORARY), Canon-Typical Violence, Descriptions of Injuries Read On AO3: Coming soon (to a theatre near you) A/N: This is my contribution to the Harringrove Relay Race! Thank you so much for letting me participate again, this was so much fun to work on. @harringrove-relay-race

Steve always hated the idea of soulmates. 

The idea of a perfect match out there for him could have been a comfort, if it weren’t for the words carried on his arm his entire life. How cruel was it, for the universe to have perfect matches but only confirm them at the end of their time together? The words could’ve been a comfort, if they weren’t the confirmation of the last words he’d ever hear from his soulmate before they left the world permanently. 

I love you.

How cruel of his soulmate, to leave him with those words. 

Steve didn’t know Billy was his soulmate—there was no way of knowing, really—but he knew. It was obvious in the way that Steve’s entire world changed the moment Billy moved to town, and in the way that even hearing his voice was enough to bring a smile to Steve’s face. 

The other man hadn’t made it easy, especially in the early days when he was more a feral cat who struck out at any signs of affection made toward him. He could be rude, and often picked fights first rather than try to talk things out, but he was also fiercely protective of the people he cared about, and the more people who cared in return the more Billy seemed incapable of going without a gentle touch, even if it meant most of the time he and Steve ended up tangled together in a pretzled mess when they spent time with one another.

And the thing was, Steve was happy. Totally, painfully so. He looked upon Billy and wondered how anyone could ever make him feel so much all at once. Then he’d look down at his own arm and wonder how much it would hurt to go back to how it had been before, without Billy.

The Upside Down had taken so much from too many people, but Steve knew, standing on the second floor of Starcourt Mall, that he would be the one to ensure its downfall, no matter what.

Time moved both too slow and too fast, leaving Steve helpless to watch as Billy stood between El and the Mind Flayer, arms stretched out wide as if to accept his fate without fear.

He heard screaming, likely some of it was his own. He wasn’t sure how he made it to Billy’s side so quickly, just that he blinked and suddenly his knees were stained red from all of the blood spilling from Billy now. 

“Why’d you have to do that, you asshole?” Steve felt like he was choking on every breath, the air stinging against his chest as he watched Billy’s chest stutter and falter painfully. Please, take the air from my lungs. I don’t want it if you’re not here. 

“‘m sorry.” Billy’s eyes were on Max’s then, but the hand Steve was holding squeezed, as if to let him in on the secret too. 

He knew Billy had a complicated relationship with his step-sister, one that he’d admitted could have been better once they got out from under his dad’s roof. If they had more time.

It was like Steve was watching all of the time they were supposed to have melt away around them. It seeped out onto the floor like the blood that was supposed to be keeping Billy’s heart beating. 

“You’re supposed to stay,” Steve said the moment Billy’s attention turned to him. There was a glassiness to the man’s eyes, as though he wasn’t really seeing Steve. He’d take it anyway, because there wasn’t enough time to wait for Billy’s attention to refocus. He wasn’t sure it ever would. “What happened to graduating and getting the hell outta here? Getting in your car and just taking off?”

He’d balked at the idea of driving off without any plan, with minimal bags packed. Now, Steve would do anything if it meant they could have that future. They could slowly make their way to California, stopping at all of the cheesy tourist sites along the way. Steve would wrestle Billy into a dorky hat at the largest ball of yarn in the country and would make a solid attempt at getting arrested for trying to pet a bear at Yellowstone. He’d share sketchy motel rooms with him and complain about how uncomfortable the mattresses were, and even accept the teasing about him being a rich kid through and through.

He’d take all of it, for just a little bit of time.

Billy was coughing now, and the dark blood staining his lips and chin were only another sign of the inevitable. Even through all of that, he managed to say something. 

“I lo—”

“No,” Steve snapped out, hand still holding Billy’s squeezing tightly. No, it wasn’t time. He wasn’t ready to lose him, not when they were just finding out that they’d been right this whole time. “No, don’t say it.”

If he didn’t say it, they could have more time. They could have more, as long as those three words on Steve’s arm were never spoken aloud.

Except the light in Billy’s eyes faded all the same, and the words he’d never actually said felt like a mockery on Steve’s arm.

“Steve, you have to go to the funeral. You’ll be upset with yourself later if you don’t.”

Robin still came by, sometimes. He wasn’t good company, hadn’t been since Starcourt, but she sat with him anyway.

“He’s not dead,” Steve said, arms curling tighter around his pillow like if he just held on it might feel like Billy eventually.

“Steve.” The words were sad, wobbly with tears he knew she was trying to bravely fight off. 

“He’s not. He didn’t say it, so he’s not gone.”

They’ve had this conversation before. Once, three days after Starcourt when she was still required to watch over him in case his head injury from the Russian interrogation turned for the worst. It had been in the late hours of the night, both of them laid in his bed awake and staring at the ceiling. She’d turned to face him, hand coming out to hold onto her friend when he admitted what he knew. 

Billy couldn’t be dead, because if he was then he would’ve said it.

“I know you lo—” The word cracked harshly on her tongue. “I know how important he was to you. But he’s, there’s no way he made it. You know that, right? He’d want you to move on.”

The thought alone had a dull laugh building in Steve’s chest. The longer it sounded the more hysterical it came, until he was laughing and letting out hoarse sobs in between. Robin’s eyes were wide and her lips were parted in both shock and horror at the outburst, clearly not knowing how to handle him now.

“He wouldn’t,” Steve said once the laughter died down, leaving behind only the tears. “The bastard would’ve told me not to move on. He’d expect a mourning widow for at least a decade, maybe two. But I won’t do that because he didn’t say the words so he’s not dead. He can’t be, he’s too stubborn to die in this fucking town.”

“Have you…you didn’t say the words on his arm either.” Max, the little traitor. “You’re allowed to love someone even if they’re not the one, you know? Maybe there’s someone else out there, and that’s not to say you have to stop loving him, just that you can love this person too.”

It was the more reasonable answer, but the mere thought of accepting that Billy was truly gone sent his heart threatening to burst straight out of his chest. There had to be another explanation, because there was no way that the guy who snuck out near every night despite the threat of discovery simply so Steve wouldn’t be lonely in his big, empty home wasn’t his soulmate.

“I can’t mourn someone who’s not dead, Robin. Tell Max and Susan I’m sorry.”

When the Upside Down inevitably came back, Steve didn’t feel his usual amounts of fear.

He was determined—completely focused and ready to take down the thing that had taken too much from him already. 

When Max admitted that the visions being sent to her by the fucking thing were of Billy, Steve thought he’d only ever see in shades of red. 

Because how dare that monster try to twist and mutilate any of Max’s affection for her brother into something like guilt? How dare he try to ruin the shaky truce that they’d come to just before Billy died?

How dare that monster wear Billy’s face, and use his voice?

Even if it took the rest of him, Steve would make sure that nothing from the Upside Down to crawl its way into Hawkins ever again.

“Steve! What the hell happened?” That was Robin’s voice, though it sounded further away than he thought she actually was. 

He was still seeing in tunnel vision, vision slightly blurry and blood pounding in his ears as he surveilled the scene, ensuring no more of those demobats had appeared.

He didn’t even feel the bites taken out of him until the others got near, Nancy’s worried gaze focused on the exposed skin just above his hips. 

“Hey guys, I think I found the gate,” Steve forced out on his next heaving breath.

That was a lot of blood, wasn’t it? It seemed the Upside Down took his promise seriously and would try to take literal pieces of him with it. 

That was fine, so long as this ended with Vecna’s plan stopped short in its tracks.

“Something’s coming,” Eddie called out, eyes watching the treeline ahead of them as Nancy and Robin looked over Steve’s wounds. They wouldn’t be fatal, at least not for awhile yet. He still had enough time to avenge his soulmate’s not-death.

Steve didn’t have his trusty nail bat, or much else in the way of a weapon. But he’d taken down a pack of demobats with nothing but his hands (and teeth), so whatever had the nerve to attack them now would come to regret it, of that he was sure.

It had to be another trick. Maybe this was Vecna trying to take hold of Steve’s guilt now, forcing him to see the one thing that repeated in his head every night in his dreams. Because walking out of the trees now was Billy fucking Hargrove, still in a bloodstained white tank though having also acquired a jacket that looked suspiciously like one Steve used to wear constantly in his earlier high school years. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” the fake Billy called out, “you’re doing what the fucker wants.”

Robin was nudging Steve’s arm, threatening to send him toppling into the dirt with how unsteady his injuries had already made him. She looked more hopeful than he felt, watching him with confusion as if she expected Steve to take off running into fake-Billy’s arms without question.

He knew Billy couldn’t be dead, but why the fuck would he be here?

The fake-Billy was upon them now, stood in front of Steve and looking at him with one eyebrow raised. It was this look that made Steve’s knees crumple in on his own weight, because God that was such a Billy move to challenge him even while announcing his not-death.

“You’re not dead,” Steve gasped out, stumbling back a step in an attempt to stay upright. “I knew you weren’t dead.”

“Then why d’you still look like you’re seeing a ghost, Harrington?”

The smile on Billy’s face was small, a little tug of the corner of his lips like he was still insistent on hiding it around other people. It said enough, though. 

This was Billy, back from the dead. He hadn’t said the words and he hadn’t died, and all of that time Steve thought they’d lost was never really gone after all. 

The kiss was pretty bad, by Steve Harrington standards. He rushed forward too roughly and their teeth clicked together awkwardly as Steve grabbed both sides of Billy’s face and pressed their mouths together. They had a better kiss right after, when Steve pulled back and watched Billy with a wild gaze until the blonde pressed their lips together again, hands holding onto Steve so tightly he was sure there’d be bruises left behind later. He didn’t care, not when it was another sign that Billy hadn’t truly been gone.

There was something desperate and wild in Billy’s eyes too, like he hadn’t quite believed this moment would ever happen either. Steve didn’t know what he had to go through to survive this long in the Upside Down, and while he’s sure he’ll find out eventually he can’t bring himself to care in the moment because all he could think was Billy isn’t dead.

“I lo—”

“I know, me too,” Steve cut him off, never wanting to hear those words in Billy’s voice. He knew, too, that eventually he would just as he’d known that their end did not come in the main walkway of Starcourt Mall. But for now, he could find peace in delaying the inevitable, in letting their hold on each other say everything those words could have and more.

There was still so much to do, too many important parts of their lives to fight for and protect. It felt a little more possible, though, with Billy by his side.

After all, who else could say they cheated the universe? They’d confirmed for themselves what everyone else could only guess at: Steve Harrington and Billy Hargrove were meant for each other, and it was as simple as that.

I am so pleased to hand it off to the amazing and lovely @greyghoulclub ✨

#harringrove relay race #harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #stranger things #harringrove fic #soulmate au

[thissortofsorcery]

Billy’s one loud asshole.

He’s always making one kind of noise or another, always moving, either blaring his music, or singing, or dancing, or just. Talking to the damn TV.

For Steve, who’s used to drifting through his empty house like he’s haunting it, Billy’s noise is a beautiful thing.

Billy’s just— alive. Warm and bright and thrumming with energy, spinning through the room like a shooting star, leaving sparks on Steve’s skin every time they touch.

Steve leaves the light on in every room in the house so he feels less alone, Billy lights every room he occupies like the morning sun streaming through the windows.

And when he laughs, it’s. It’s like fire crackling in the fireplace, warm and intimate and feeling like home. Every time.

Billy doesn’t seem to know that, though.

For all his enthusiasm, sometimes he’ll catch Steve watching and just— stop. His smile dims, and he looks down, and he shuffles in place, just a little, before he puts on a big smile, a little too sharp, and changes tracks.

He saunters close to Steve, puts his hands on Steve’s hips, cages him in against the counter.

“You like what you see, pretty boy?” His voice is like rolling thunder, coming from deep in his chest to reach into Steve’s and wrap his heart in a fist.

“You know I do,” Steve matches his tone, leans in closer to wrap his arms around Billy’s waist.

Billy nudges his nose against Steve’s, teasing him with an almost kiss, a brush of lips. It’s why he doesn’t see it coming when Steve dips him, arms secure around him, and plants a big, exaggerated kiss on his mouth.

“Mwah!”

“What- Steve, what the hell?” Billy’s laughing again, a musical, bright sound, and that’s all Steve wanted to see.

“You tell me, sunshine, what’s it look like?”

Steve turns the volume of the radio back up, gets the music bouncing off the kitchen tiles. With one hand still grasped in Billy’s, he puts a hand on his waist and pulls him into a slow dance.

“Steve, we can’t slow dance to Ratt,” Billy complains, but the smile on his face is big and beautiful, teeth glinting, tongue peeking out. They shuffle side to side slowly, completely off-sync with the song.

“I don’t know man, looks like we’re doing it,” Steve says, and it gets Billy laughing again. Steve watches his head tilt back, his lips stretch, plump and wide, his throat bob with joy. “But we can dance faster if you want!”

Without warning, he spins Billy away, making him slide on his socks, and on the spin back he catches himself on Steve’s chest, still snickering.

“What’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” Steve says, placing his hands back on Billy’s waist. “I just really like you.”

And as much as Billy’s answering grin is sharp and sexy, the pink on his cheeks is telling.

“How much do you like me?”

“Hm… I like you more than I like basketball.”

“Basketball?” Billy raises his eyebrows. “I’m not feeling the love there…”

“I do! I like you more than the Beamer,” Steve says, and Billy looks interested. “I like you more than hairspray!”

Billy gasps, “Not hairspray!”

“I do!” Steve half-yells, both of them caught in fits of giggles. “I do. I really like you,” He adds more softly, just to watch Billy turn pink again. He cups his cheek in his hand just to feel how warm it is.

“You’re a sap, Harrington,” Billy says, but his voice is low and intimate, crackling fire in the hearth.

Steve shrugs. Doesn’t deny it.

He kisses Billy instead, takes a sip of all that warmth, takes it between his lips, lets it burn him to his core.

It’s like Steve’s been sleeping this whole time, and Billy’s the dawn that woke him up. Beautiful, blinding, burning. The least Steve can do is stoke his fire.

-

every time anti bullshit shows up on my dash, I write Steve loving on Billy | VI

#please reblog #I come back with the SAPPIEST OF SAP #harringrove #billy x steve #billy hargrove #steve harrington #Harringrove fic #harringrove ficlet #sorcery writes #mine #spreading billy love

[medusapelagia]

Love is a battlefield - Harringrove Love Fest 8th Feb

written for @harringrovelovefest

Rating: Mature Relationship: Steve Harrington/Billy Hargrove Prompt: Love is a Battlefield Tag: angst with happy ending, friends with benefits, feeling realization

“Fuck!” Billy yells, slamming the car door so hard that the entire car trembles for a moment.

Fuck him! And fuck Harrington!

Why the fuck do they keep doing this? Every time is the same old story! They hang out, they have a great time, they kiss, sometimes they fuck if Steve is home alone, and then it happens: Steve has to say something stupid and Billy has to tell him how stupid that is, and then they fight, and Billy leaves Steve’s house with a heavy heart and a repressed energy that he will unleash punching in the face the first stupid moron that he will see on his way home.

And it will not be Billy’s fault, ok? It will be Steve’s!

How dare him!

Tonight, after they fucked, Steve told him “I love you.” As he meant it.

Fucking moron.

Billy hits the steering wheel so hard that his hand hurts.

“Fuck!” He yells again in the night, and if his face feels wet is due to the humidity and the sweat, no fucking tears, because boys don’t cry.

How could he have done this to him? He trusted Steve! They had a fucking agreement: friends with benefits, no stupid string to keep them together, just some fun in a small and boring city like Hawkins and nothing more. Why did he have to ruin everything? Now Billy could not go back and his heart aches so badly that he thinks is going to be sick.

Fuck Harrington, who told him those stupid words! If he had told them during sex, Billy could have pretended that it was just the lust talking, but no! That stupid rich boy waited for Billy to be vulnerable and raw, entangled in the blankets and ready to fall asleep and he fucking whispered these words in his ear like it was their secret.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

Billy tries to take some deep breaths to calm himself, but he is still sitting in his car just in front of Steve’s driveway: he has to turn the car on, leave, and never come back. He nods to himself, knowing that is the right thing to do.

A knock on his window makes him startle and hit the roof of the car; on the other side of the window, there is Steve, still wearing his awful striped pajamas, his eyes red and puffy like he had been crying, which is not possible, is it?

“Bab… Billy.” He whispers, almost revealing their secrets to the woods and the stars that are looking down at them.

Billy freezes like a dare in front of a car headlights, unable to move, and Steve’s hand gets to the door handle; it clicks open and the gentle sound in the middle of the night is almost like a gunshot to Billy’s heart, but Steve doesn’t know it and keeps opening the door until it’s wide open.

“Billy. Come inside. Please. Just for a moment.” Steve’s voice is trembling but the words are clear and reasonable “Come. I’ll offer you a glass of water, nothing more, I promise, but please, get inside.”

“I never made you any promise.” Billy states, staring at the empty road in front of him and stubbornly avoiding Steve’s eyes.

“I know,” Steve whispers, opening and closing his mouth a few times like he wanted to add something else but wasn’t able to.

“I should go.” 

“You should stay.”

It’s a dance they have done so many times before, a boring back and forth that doesn’t take them anywhere.

“I… I promise I’ll let you go. I won’t call. I won’t even say hello at school, but please come inside for a moment.”

Billy finally turns toward Steve, his big doe eyes are so sad and worried and Billy would like to hold him tight and peppers his face with kisses until he starts to giggle like a happy toddler.

God, Steve is so beautiful, even so, broken and sad, he is still the best thing Billy has ever had and the instinct to kiss him is so strong that his knuckles whiten from how hard he is holding the steering wheel.

“Please.” Steve begs and how could Billy resist? He slowly releases the grip from the steering wheel and gets out of the car slowly, as if on the other side of his car there was a ferocious creature and not the boy he fucks.

Steve gets back inside and Billy follows him quietly, keeping the distance.

“Water?” Steve offers, taking a glass and offering it to Billy who begrudgingly takes it while Steve takes a deep breath “Look, I’m sorry, ok? I don’t know why I said that. Oh well, I know why I said it but I thought you were asleep… and I know that you don’t feel the same but it doesn’t have to end just because I caught… feelings.” Steve says, like he was talking about a cold.

“Harrington.”

“If you are going to dump me can you call me Steve? For once?”

No, he can’t! Because if he will… “Steve…” Billy murmurs and all his defenses suddenly shatter to the ground and he is naked in front of the boy which is both the best thing he has ever had and the most dangerous “I don’t do feelings.” Billy replies, harshly.

“I know. And I’m sorry…”

“I don’t do feelings.” Billy repeats, finally lifting his ice blue eyes to look at Steve in the eyes “So tell me, why my heart aches so badly? Why do I feel that I can’t breathe? Why do I feel that I’m chained to your side?”

“Billy… are you saying… Are you saying what I think you are saying?”

No. He is not. Because it’s just sex.

They fuck. They have fun. They don’t have feelings for each other. Billy doesn’t have…

So why is he running toward Steve, crushing him in a tight embrace? Why is he holding Steve's face, tilting it enough to grant him access, and why is he kissing him with passion?

Why does Billy’s heart beat faster? Why the discomfort he felt is disappearing now that he has a familiar weight in his arms?

“I… I….” Billy tries to articulate, but Steve stops him with a finger on his lips.

“It’s ok. You don’t have to say it back.”

“But!”

“When it’s time, you will. Now come.” Steve murmurs, dragging the blond-haired boy back to his room, and into his bed where he holds him tight. 

This time there is no confession whispered but a little voice in Billy’s heart tells him that this time is different.

This time Steve is not just a boy that he fucks, is the boy that he loves, and as soon as he will win the fight between his head and his heart he will tell Steve that he loves him too. For the moment he rests, safe between Steve’s arms.

#harringrovelovefest2024 #harringrove love fest #harringrove #billy x steve #steve harrington #billy hargrove #stranger things fanfiction #medusapelagia #medusapelagia fanfic #my fanfic #Billy Hargrove #Steve Harrington #Harringrove #Billy x Steve #Stranger Things Fanfiction #Harringrove fic

[chrisbitchtree]

Dear Younger Me

My piece for the @harringrove-relay-race!!!

I'm now passing the baton on to @oopsiedaisiesbaby! I can’t wait to see what you’ve written!

4k - M

***

When Billy’s therapist had first assigned him the project, to write letters to his younger self detailing the twists and turns his life would take, and how he’d somehow managed to navigate them and get to a place where he could truly call himself happy, he’d laughed, because frankly, it sounded like a waste of time.

He knew he was happy and successful, so what good would it do to tell the long gone, scared, angry seventeen year old version of himself about it? But the more he wrote, filling page after page with his messy scrawl, the more he felt that he could let go of all the hurt and pain of his youth. It felt good. So good, in fact, that he’d allowed himself to be talked into giving Steve the letters to read.

Now though, as he stands on Steve’s front porch, he feels a really strong urge to run. It’s too late though, he’s already rung the doorbell, and he can hear Steve’s approaching footsteps. There’s no way he’d get back into his car and out of sight before Steve opens the door. He takes a deep breath, holding the stack of letters in front of himself.

“Hey Billy,” Steve greeted him, a grin spreading over his face, looking unfairly sexy, shirtless on this hot summer night. “To what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from you at 10pm on a Tuesday?”

“Uhhhh,” Billy replies, almost chickening out and saying he was in the neighbourhood and in the mood for some company and a beer, knowing Steve won’t ask questions, good guy that he is, but he knows that its important for Steve to read the letters, for Billy to let him in, if he ever wants to be more than friends with the man. Steve’s made it clear that he wants Billy, so the ball is firmly in Billy’s court. So, he takes another deep breath and hands the envelopes to Steve. “I want you to read these. Or my therapist does. But I do too. Just read them, okay, pretty boy?” With that, he walks away before Steve can answer.

***

At first, Steve’s confused when his doorbell rings at 10pm, and then he’s excited when he finds Billy on his front porch. They usually hang out pretty steadily, grabbing beers after work, having BBQs with Max and Lucas, watching endless movies, and hiking in the woods on the edge of town, but lately, every time Steve asks Billy to do anything, he claims that he’s busy working on a project, but won’t tell Steve any details about it. He’s starting to worry that Billy’s trying to freeze him out.

His excitement turns back to confusion when Billy hands him a stack of envelopes, telling him to read what’s inside of them, but he does as he’s told, grabbing the beer that he’d cracked open just before the doorbell had rung and taking it out to the backyard, turning on the patio lights so he can read.

He pulls a small stack of papers from the first envelope, unfolding them to find a letter.

“Dear younger me,

I know you’re upset right now. It’s not easy leaving your friends, your school, the ocean, the only home you’ve ever known behind to move to the middle of butt fuck nowhere. I won’t lie, it’s going to suck at first. Neil’s been with Susan long enough that he isn’t putting a show on in front of her anymore. He’s going to yell and threaten you and get in your face.

Starting at a new school is going to be terrifying, and it’s good to put on a brave face, to not show fear, but try to remember that it’s ok to admit that everything isn’t ok sometimes. Even if it’s just to yourself, curled up in your bed late at night. Let the tears fall, I promise you’ll feel better afterwards.

It won’t be long until you meet Steve Harrington, the king of Hawkins High. You’re going to be such a dick to him, and he’s going to spend a long time hating you for it. You’re going to spend a long time hating yourself for it. You’ll eventually work your way to friendship, but you’ll save a lot of time if you don’t spend your entire senior year of high school treating him like he’s dirt on the bottom of your shoes.

Because you can’t manage to get your head out of your ass, Steve’s going to push, rightfully so, and you’re going to pull, until the tension’s going to come to a head at Harrington’s graduation party. The night’s going to start with the two of you throwing barbs back and forth and end with you on your knees in the Harrington’s pool house, Steve’s cock between your lips. You’re barely even going to stay long enough for him to finish cumming, to scared to see what’ll happen in the aftermath, but you really should. Tell him how you feel about him, tell him that the way you treated him all year was an act, a way to protect your heart, and his response just might surprise you. You never know.”

Steve has to stop reading for a minute, his face flushing as he thinks back to his graduation night, how good Billy had looked on his knees, looking up at Steve as his tongue swirled around the head of his cock. He remembers how strong the urge to run his hands through Billy’s hair had been, but it had seemed too intimate an action, so he’d resisted, as hard as it had been. He’d wanted to reciprocate, but Billy had fled the scene before Steve could even catch his breath, not to be seen again for three years, until Neil and Susan Hargrove had died. He picks the letter back up, curious to see how it will end, and what will be in the next one.

“You’re going to blame yourself for a lot of what comes after. You’re going to tell yourself that if you’d stayed, if you hadn’t hightailed it back to California while the ink on your diploma was still drying, if you’d stayed, even just for Max, and nothing else, or if you’d finally stood up to Neil for once, things would have turned out differently. Please try as hard as you can to be kind to yourself. I promise you didn’t cause this, that nothing you could have done would have stopped Neil from being an asshole.

Love,

Billy”

“Dear younger me,

You just found out that Dad and Susan died, and you’re going to have a lot of mixed emotions about that. Relief that Neil can’t hurt you, can’t hurt anyone anymore, grief, as you mourn the dad you never got to have, regret, that you weren’t there to take the keys out of Neil’s hands that night when he drank too much and decided that Susan was cheating on him instead of going out to a girl’s night at the bar, sadness, for Max, who, at only seventeen, has no parents left, only has you to take care of her, when you can barely take care of yourself on the best of days.

It's going to be tough, I’m not going to lie. You and Max are going to fight about anything and everything. She’s going to blame you for this, and it’s going to take a long time for her to apologize, and it’s going to hurt, even though you blame yourself too.

You have to stay strong, though. Strong for yourself, and for Max. You need to put down the bottle and find a good job so you can take care of Max and yourself. It’ll be hard to even make yourself get out of bed most days, but you have to grin and bear it. I promise it’ll eventually get easier, even if it doesn’t seem like it right now. It’ll all be worth it when you see her walk across the stage with her diploma.

Love,

Billy”

As soon as he’s one reading the second letter, Steve folds it up and slips it back into its envelope and takes out the third letter, eager to see where this is going, to find out why he’s being asked to read them. He takes a sip of his beer and settles in for the long haul.

“When Max is twenty one, she’s going to call you and tell you that she’s dropping out of college to work at the garage with you and help you work towards your goal of buying it from Mr. Dennis when he retires, and you’re going to feel like a failure, like all your hard work, all the hours you put in at the shop to help pay for her education are going to waste. You’re going to fight long and hard about whether she’s fucking up her life, and you’re going to say a lot of things that you regret, but you need to remember that she’s an adult now, and she’s smart, and she knows what’s right for herself.

You won’t want to admit it, even to yourself, but you know you’re going to be happy to have her back where you can keep an eye on her, instead of way out in Boston. There’ll be growing pains at first, as you both get used to living together again, but it’ll be nice to have someone else around the house again.

And be nice to Lucas when Max has him over. He’s a good guy when he’s not being a smartass, and trust me, you’re going to need him later. Show him a little respect, and you’ll save yourself a lot of embarrassment later.

Love,

Billy”

“Dear younger me,

Two years after you finally take over ownership of the shop, just as you’re really starting to feel like the place is yours, Max is going to beg you to let her renovate the attached luncheonette and run a small diner and bakeshop out of it.

You’re going to resist for so long, finding a million reasons why she shouldn’t do it. The kitchen requires too much work, there won’t be enough customers for it to be profitable, she should be doing something better with her life than planting her roots so firmly in Hawkins. You worked hard so she can get out, and you don’t want to enable her sticking around.

Trust me, it’s going to be easier if you just give in. She may be stubborn, but she’s right, the place is going to be a huge success, and you’re going to wonder why you didn’t let her have at it sooner. That is, until two weeks after the diner opens, on the night of the launch party, Max is going to get drunk and take your motorcycle out and crash it.

She’s going to survive, but just barely. It’s going to be a very long road to recovery, and that’s where the thing I mentioned earlier about being nice to Lucas will come in. He’s the only one that’s going to be there for you in the early days, when you’re trying to keep two business afloat and be at the hospital with Max. He’s going to take a year off from school to work in the diner and the garage when you need to be with Max and be with Max when you need to be at the diner and garage. You’re going to be each other’s rocks when it gets to be too much, and you’re going to be embarrassed about how you treated him before if you don’t stop treating him like shit right now. I know I’ve already said this a lot, but trust me.

Love,

Billy”

“Dear younger me,

I know that more than anything, you’ll want to make sure that Max’s diner stays open, that it’s there for her when she gets better, but you’re too stubborn to ask for help, and too busy to have it open enough hours in a day to turn a profit, so you’ll think about throwing in the towel and just focusing on the garage.

Tired and frustrated, you’ll head to Chicago one evening to blow off some steam at a bar. You’ll think to yourself that you’ll just go for a few drinks, and maybe if you’re lucky, you’ll find someone to take to whatever shitty hotel you can find a room in for the night, but instead, what you find in there, or rather who you find in there, is going to change everything for you.

Standing near the bar nursing a bottle of beer is Steve Harrington, looking every bit as pretty as he did back in high school. You’re going to try to turn around and run like the coward that you are, but Steve’s going to spot you before you can head out. Caught, you’re going to let him buy you a beer and sit and catch up.

He’s going to tell you how he feels lost after dropping out of law school, a failure in his father’s eyes, how scary it is to not feel that much more mature at twenty five than he did at eighteen. You’re going to tell him about your dad and Susan, and Max’s accident, how it feels like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders, with no one there except Lucas to occasionally lighten the load.

He tells you that drinks are on him for the night, and he orders another round, and another and another, until you’re both shitfaced and stumbling towards his nearby apartment. On the way, you tell him that unless you get some money fast, you’re going to have to sell the diner, and then you forget you said anything as he asks if he can kiss you in the elevator.

You’re going to have a moment of panic, as Steve presses you up against the door of his apartment and runs his lips all over your throat, about whether this is the right thing to do or not. You think that it might be best to turn around and forget this ever happened.

Don’t. Stay, have fun with the hottest guy you could ever hope to be with, and create enough jerk off material to last you the rest of your life. Ever the gentleman, he’ll ask if he can take you to bed. You’ll both lose your breath laughing as he tries to carry you there and fails miserably, and you’ll smile to yourself every time you think about that moment.

Once you get to his room, you’re going to have to fight the urge to do all the work. You keep telling yourself that Steve deserves to be worshiped, but he’s going to insist that you sit back and enjoy it, and you should listen to someone else for once.

He’s going to do things you didn’t even know someone could do with their mouth, leaving your moaning, hands twisting in the bedsheets, and your eyes will roll back in your head as he fucks you six ways to Sunday. Afterwards, he’ll clean you both up and hold you in his arms while he snores softly in your ear, and you’ll think about how nice it is to be taken care of, that you could get used to it.

By morning, you’ll have talked yourself out of it. You don’t deserve this, you don’t have time for this, it’s too much, you’re not enough, and you’ll sneak out before Steve wakes, feeling like an idiot as you walk back to your car with your hair all stuck up in the back, knowing that everyone giving you side eye as they walk down the sidewalk with a coffee and a briefcase knows what you were up to last night.

You’ll be embarrassed, but relieved that you got out of Steve’s place without having to have an awkward morning after conversation. You’ll open up the shop for the day and put all your energy into working on the cars and running into the diner to check on Lucas and the lone waitress in between appointments, but no matter how hard you try, you’re not going to be able to take your mind off Steve, how he looked the night before, looking down at you with his big brown doe eyes as he asked you if it felt good. Part of you is going to wish you hadn’t left his place, but you know it’s for the best.

The days will keep marching on, until a couple weeks after you have your run-in with Steve, when you’ll get a call from the bank. You prepare yourself for the worst, sure that they’re calling you to tell you that it’s time to give up the diner, but no, they have a potential investor, and they want to meet with the two of you.

You show up at the bank feeling ridiculous in your one pair of khakis and your best button up, and of course, the first person you see when you enter the bank is Steve Fucking Harrington, grinning wide at you as he chats up a teller. You want to turn around, but you can’t, because this idiot is your only way to keep the diner alive.

When you ask him why, why he would do this for you, when you’ve just been an asshole to him. He says it’s not for you, it’s for Max, and for Steve himself, because his dad apparently has no problem writing a huge cheque to invest in the diner if it means that Steve won’t be sitting idle any longer.

You’re not going to be sure how involved Steve plans on actually being involved in the day to day running of the diner, but you definitely don’t expect him to show up two days later, apron and baseball cap on, ready to work his first shift. He’s going to suck, dropping plates, burning food, forgetting to dress burgers before they go out to hungry customers.”

Steve has to laugh at how right Billy is. He was just about the worst waiter and cook to have ever worked in a restaurant. He had no clue what he was doing, and there were many days where he was surprised that Billy didn’t kick him out, no matter how badly he needed the help, and there were a lot of other days where Steve was ready to throw in the towel, but he’d kept with it, determined not to give up on this like he had on law school, and he liked knowing he was lightening Billy’s load, even if it only got him groans of frustration and sighs of despair in return. Over time, he thankfully got better at both tasks, finding that he was actually a pretty good cook. He picks the letter back up, eager to get through the rest of the shortening stack.

“I promise the shitty times will end though. Soon, you won’t be able to imagine the place without Harrington there, telling bad jokes and bringing you coffee when your eyes start to droop in the evening, after you’ve had a long day at the shop and the diner, and then still need to go check in on Max.

Eventually, Max will be released from the hospital, and you’ll be happier than ever to have Steve around, to help Lucas moderate arguments between you and Max, while you get comfortable giving Max small freedoms, and she comes to understand why you’re so scared to let her out of your sight.

When Lucas finally has to go back to school, Mrs. Sinclair will try to step in and pick up shifts at the diner, and at first, you’re going to push back. You don’t want to take any more time and energy from that poor family, and you’re sure she has better things to do than do Max’s bidding as Max sits on a chair behind the counter telling her what to do.

Steve talks you into letting her stay, though. You need the help, and she’s willing to give it, and it’s another lesson in accepting that people care about you and Max and letting them help you. Between Mrs. Sinclair, Steve, you, and Max, as she starts to get stronger, along with Erica Sinclair waiting tables after school and on weekends, replacing your waitress who decided to go back to school, the diner actually starts to turn a profit, based on great food and fast, friendly service. When Lucas comes home for Christmas, he jokes that he can’t recognize the diner with more than a couple customers in it. For the first time, you’re going to feel like everything will be ok.

I promise you, things only keep getting better from here.

Love,

Billy”

“Dear younger me,

Now that you have your professional life somewhat under control, of course, you’re going to turn your attention to your personal life for the first time in a long time. I can tell you it won’t be easy to take that first step and finally accept that you need therapy. Nobody wants to admit that they need help, so it’s going to be a long battle of talking yourself in and out of it, but I can also tell you that once you commit to going regularly, and putting in the work to help yourself, things are going to be so much better.

You’re going to rush into things with Steve, but it’s important that you take time for yourself, to figure your shit out first. If Steve want this as bad as he’s been saying he does, then he’ll respect that you’re not ready yet, and wait until you are.”

Steve takes another sip of his drink, shaking his head at his own behaviour. To say he badly wants a relationship with Billy is the understatement of the century, and he’s far from quiet about it, confessing almost daily to Billy that he’s crazy about him, wants to date the heck out of him, hold his hand when they watch movies, make him dinner, tell anyone that’ll listen that Billy is his.

But for all of his enthusiastic rambling, he’s more than willing to wait until Billy’s ready. He doesn’t want to rush things, because he wants Billy to want it as much as he does, wants his heart to truly be in it. He doesn’t want Billy to date him just because it’s what Steve wants.

Over the past year, Steve’s come to learn that Billy’s not only literally the hottest guy Steve’s ever seen, he’s also selfless, caring, hilarious, hardworking, and secretly sweet, and Steve needs him like he needs air, so yeah, he’ll wait. He continues to read.

“My best advice for when thinking about Steve gets to be too much. Take a deep calming breath, a cold shower, or if that doesn’t work, think about seeing the ancient librarian at the public library naked. That should be more than enough to cool you down.

Love,

Billy”

Steve picks up the last letter, and slipping it out of its envelope, he unfolds it, noticing that it’s a lot shorter than the rest.

“Dear future me,

I know you’re panicking right now, sitting on your couch, biting your nails and nursing a beer, while you wait for Steve to read through the letters that you handed him tonight. You want him to know that you’re ready now, as ready as you’ll ever be to let him in, let yourself be loved and love him in return, and you can only hope that he feels the same way as he did this afternoon when he told you that he can’t wait to wife you up, whatever that means. Try to calm down. It’ll be ok.

So, hey Steve, if you’ve gotten this far, I’m ready. Bring your jammies, and we can have a sleepover. I promise not to run in the morning, and if you wake up early enough to make me cum a second time before breakfast, I’ll make you pancakes before we head into work.

Love,

Billy”

Steve slips on a pair of sandals and grabs his keys, running so fast for his car that he doesn’t realize until he’s halfway down the driveway that he’s not wearing a shirt. It doesn’t matter though. He’s gotta see about a boy.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #billy x steve #harringrove fic #chrisbitchtree writes #harringrove relay race