#last billy art till I finish more digital art of him

[cockasinthebird]

"My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep; the more I give to thee the more I have, for both are infinite.” -William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet, Act 2 Scene 2

He had brought Laurie, Amy, Becky here. Never Nancy. Robin several times, at first with certain intentions, but it quickly became their place to watch the sweaty, athletic bodies of cheerleaders and football players, all the while sharing what shitty weed they could come across in such a puny town.

“Man, you can really see everything from here, huh?”

And now he has brought Billy here. It's only been three days since he caught him red-handed, slipping a loving note into his locker.

-

“I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest.”

Billy had stood frozen in place, utterly paralyzed by the perfected fear of facing something you had not prepared for. Never intended to prepare for, as he explained to Steve that he was content with just wishing from afar, green with envy and yellow with melancholy.

But Steve had refused him that, to let this die before it has even had a chance to bloom under the sun or moon, as he just wants to feel the truth behind the letters, and encouraged him to continue.

-

Although restless through the night till Friday, he felt relief most unimaginable, as he opened his locker and found more of the same handwriting.

“For where thou art, there is the world itself, and where thou art not, desolation.”

And Robin had explained, “It simply means that life only exists around you. That with love everything is beautiful, and without it everything is dead.” She then looked to Steve with an inquisitive gaze. “Do you know who it is?”

He didn't speak, but nodded still.

-

In a few short hours, the sun will set to color the sky in beautiful hues of red, and Steve is happy, but sickeningly nervous.

On Friday before Billy got to drive home, Steve had found him and asked to meet under the bleachers on Saturday- today.

“Yeah,” he finally says and scratches the hairs on the back of his head, but carefully so as to not disturb the well kempt style. “I come here with... a friend, to smoke and watch the football team practice.”

Billy turns to look at him and grins, knowingly yet with reservation. “Oh? You wanna join the football team?” His gaze travels up and down with a teasing glint in his perfect blues. “I don't think you have the physique for it.”

And Steve laughs at that, arms crossed high up his chest in a hesitant stance. “No, I...” he braces himself before attempting to be bold, “I'm just enjoying the view.”

Yet Billy proves bolder, his grin twisting into something more suggestive, and takes a few all too confident steps closer. “See anything you like, then?”

Bright pink paints across Steve's pale skin, and his lips twitch as he parts them to whisper, faintly, “Yes.”

Gently so, Billy reaches out to touch Steve's arms and pulls them apart, to tangle their fingers together in a frighteningly perfect fit, calloused on soft. A first touch of skin that is not mean or cruel. And hopefully not the last.

Both in agreeance of such dear notions, they move closer till the toes of their shoes meet, a foot or so apart, never having been this close without bloody intentions. It is a bewildering thrill, that forces both hearts to beat with reverence.

Steve watches lips closely, as Billy speaks with a lull, “Love goes toward love, as school-boys from their books, but love from love, toward school with heavy looks.”

And they both laugh at the comparison that seems all too apt. For once a quote that even Steve, a fool, can understand without Robin to act as his royal translator.

“But how do you know it's love?” Steve then asks and he meets heaven in Billy's eyes.

“Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?” his voice that of an angel, at home behind those well-cushioned lips and beneath that canopy of a mustache.

“In English?” Steve chuckles out with the warmth of his aching heart, and squeezes Billy's hands tighter in a frail attempt to show his appreciation for such fanciful words.

“It means that love at first sight is true, that from the moment our eyes met, my heart was yours.”

Words that brings forth something so deep in Steve, a feeling that has suffered the painful silence of lying dormant, that now upon awakening, he cannot resist its vivid urging for him to lean in through the air heavy with emotion between them, lips parted.

But even then, with all too daring a gesture from the brunette, Billy doesn't do his part justice, till he asks, “Can I kiss you?”

And Steve's mouth spreads soft like butter on warm bread, as he gives a light and affable laugh, “God yes.”

The joyous sounds they both harmonize in becomes muffled when they embrace one another so fondly, that all the agony and misfortune they've caused each other in the past simply melts away by the heat of their yearning.

Billy raises up his hand to gingerly hold Steve's chin between his fingers, to keep him still so that Billy alone can angle his head to the side and find himself an explorer on Steve's skin, along the shoreline that is his jaw, across the moles on his skin like precious landmarks, to fall along the slope of his exposed neck from wherein hums echo, till his journey is obstructed by the border of his brightly colored tee.

“How do you know Shakespeare?” Steve asks, and pleads with loving hands for the return of those clear eyes.

The amiable smile that Billy carries so well goes crooked, and Steve is quick to dread the witty response that comes out as, “By reading.”

“Intelligent, handsome, and funny,” Steve laughs near mockingly, but with only playful intentions that becomes clear once his expression grows fond once more. And by the peeking of Billy's tongue, he understands that the tone of it all was apparent. “I mean why do you know so much Shakespeare?”

Billy lets out a complacent sigh, brushes Steve's hair behind his ears, as he thinks of a proper way to convey his internal monologue, ever the lustrous garden that it is. At the very least he can start with the undeniable truth,

“My mom was into plays, as in a lot. She often talked about going on Broadway some day.” His gaze travels aside to somewhere farther off than possible, as if in a dreaming state to lovingly relive the memory of her. “She would read me his stories and sonnets, and when she...” Then blue eyes falls to the green beneath, a shade darker with a dreary shadow over his mind. “When she left us, my dad and me, all I had of hers is this necklace and a dear love for Shakespeare.”

Steve's fingers a feather across the golden pendant nestled between clean pecs, the dolefulness palpable in his faint expression. When warm fingers wraps around his own, just to then be lifted up to meet Billy's lips, plush against each digit.

“I've been... very angry for a very long time, Steve,” the honesty to his tone jarring.

And Steve's name sounds more precious than buried gold when carried along by that dulcet voice. His heart throbs at it, ready and willing to stop dancing forever, if that would mean this to be his last memory of too short a life.

“I've been a real shithead to you.”

A confession that makes Steve burst out with unexpected laughter. “Oh have you now? Even with both of my hands and yours I can't count all the times you've hit me in the last year or so.”

“I know!” Billy doesn't mean to smile the way he does, but Steve's own stretch of perfect lips infects him. “But I hope you can forgive me for it, although I don't deserve it. I just want you to know how sorry I am that I took out all of my frustrations on you. It has taken me all my life to find out what's wrong with me, and then found that it comes down to two things only. My fucked up dad, and...”

He hesitates now more than ever, does not meet the eyes of kindness that bestows their grace upon him, and instead he plays around with Steve's fingers between his, watching as winter skin meets sun-kissed.

Steve remains a quiet statue of patience, knows exactly what endeavor Billy is about to step through. One that he has not been brave enough to face himself, but understands all too well the danger of it, viewed from a window of presumed privilege till he only short ago discovered a crack in the glass.

But perchance the road wont be as treacherous with another near his.

Silence drags on, however, and Steve observes how the bravery of spilling guts in such candor falls sourly into the pits of despair, and in a show of solace for such pain, Steve is now the one to bring their hands up to kiss them with such tenderness that would make anyone believe love to be the truest of human emotion.

“You don't have to finish that sentence,” Steve whispers benevolently, then guides warm palms to cup his grateful expression, hoping that this gesture will prove to Billy everything he knows.

“Yeah?” he requests for reassurance never the less, but who among any one person can resist such clear form of validation and not to be tempted by the belief of such words to be lies.

“Yeah,” Steve coos out and leans into that touch as was it the one of a lover's already.

And this time Billy does not find cause to ask for acquiescence, as he too leans towards the touch of infatuation, to taste the mirth of youthfulness on Steve's soft existence.

#My Writing #Harringrove #Steve Harrington #Billy Hargrove #Poet Billy? Poet Billy. #Shakespeare #fluffy fluff fluff #People seemingly wanted more so here #this is too much fun #to just throw out flowery words