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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years

Text

Omertà👄13

Warnings: noncon sexual acts (intercourse); tags to be added throughout series

This is dark!Bucky and dark! Loki and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your father was a bookie and taught you everything you know about numbers. After his death, you were taken on as a bookkeeper for Loki Laufeyson, resident crime boss in Manhattan. But can you keep your place in the background when a man from Brooklyn threatens to drag you to the forefront?

Note: Alright, I cranked it out. Here ya go!

Hope you enjoy it. Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Steve got you back to the casino in one piece but you weren’t foolish enough to think it was because of your pathetic play with the pen. You suspected his behaviour hadn’t entirely been spontaneous. His boss surely had something to do with it though how, you couldn’t guess.

You waited in the office on the second floor for the delivery of the carelessly selected furniture. After the scene against the desk, you were less than interested in your actual purpose in the store. Your selection had been impulsive and rushed.

You helped the men as they set up the large wooden desk and the purple suede chair you tacked onto the purchase. There was also a set of simple arm chairs that you placed opposite each other around the low table preserved from the casino’s skeleton and the jade paperweight better used as a bludgeon.

You like the carved curlicues along the sides of the table and really didn’t mind the overall effect. It was much better than your former school-girlish set up in the antique shop. In fact, a third room had been cleared out to provide your own space though you noted that Bucky’s own separated you from Loki. A deliberate and heavy-handed move.

You locked your ledger in the second drawer as your irritated boss appeared and sneered at the mismatched set-up. You were thankful that he arrived alone. Though you suspected he did not feel the same. He crossed his arms as he refused to cross the threshold.

“It’s late,” He hissed.

You looked at him. He didn’t need to say anything else. His faced was drawn in a sharp scowl and his green eyes burned as they skittered around impatiently. You grabbed your bag and rounded the desk to meet him at the door.

“Thor?” You asked.

“Late. Still.” He turned and strode down the hallway, barely concerned about your presence as he did. “As always. I’m hardly surprised and yet I am entirely annoyed.”

You grumbled and followed him down the wide staircase to the foyer. The men continued their work, the hammering and drilling, as you passed. Outside, the air was cool and you could smell the water as its mist wafted over the boardwalk not far from the casino.

Silent, you dropped into the passenger seat of Loki’s car and he cleared his throat as he swung his long legs under the steering wheel. He shifted in the seat and shoved the keys in the ignition. His fingers tapped on the leather wheel before he turned the engine and roared away from the curb.

“Your little shopping spree,” He snarled. “How did that go?”

“It… went,” You sighed and leaned against the door. “I don’t dare ask about your own day.”

His knuckles whitened as he gripped the wheel even tighter and ignored a red light. He hissed as he kept his fiery gaze on the road ahead.

“That… imbecile…” He muttered. “And his damn one percent!”

You were quiet as you stared at the dashboard. You adjusted your bag in your lap and tangled your arm in the strap. You could smirk and say I told you so but that would do you no favour.

“I say one thing, he wants the other,” Loki continued. “As if I’m stupid enough not to realise it is all a joke to him. If I were to say the sky is blue, he’d declare it yellow. And--” Loki huffed and pulled a hand away from the wheel to smooth his hair. “You!”

Your eyes rounded in confusion as you peered over at him.

“I know he won’t leave you alone,” He growled. “He can’t leave my things alone. Like a child.”

You blinked and frowned. While his ire was mostly aimed at Bucky, you knew it would not be thrust upon him. You shook your head and turned back to the gaze out the windshield.

“And this business with the hotel rooms,” He carried on. “As if to keep us apart. To keep me from my toy.”

You hugged your bag tightly, growing irritated by his ranting. But his blatant disregard for you. The scabbed cut on your pelvis itched beneath your dress.

“Well, darling, he has only fed my appetite,” He smirked. “And I don’t care if the entire city should hear me sate it.”

“Christ,” You uttered as he pulled up to the front of the hotel.

As he did, a man in a dark blue jacket approached and stood in wait at the curb. Loki shot you a warning look as you opened your door. He neared the valet and handed him his keys with a curt order not to manhandle it and his room number.

You gave an apologetic smile to the employee and dug around in your bag. You fished out a fifty and offered it to him with a sorry before he could round the car.

You turned and found Loki with his arms crossed waiting by the hotel’s facade, the door held open by another man in a similar jacket. You hurried over, your heels loudly clicking across the walkway. He turned and preceded you as you struggled to keep up.

“I can pay my own way, darling,” He grumbled under his breath. “Speaking of.”

He held out his hand and you fished around for the black card. You slipped it into his palm as he swept over to the elevators and he quickly tucked it away. He hit the button and waited with his hand on his hip. He checked his phone and tutted under his breath.

“Fucking Thor,” He waved you forward as the doors slid open. “I swear.”

He got into the elevator with you and you watched his reflection in the doors as they closed. His eyes went to the ceiling as he roiled with anger and impatience. You didn’t see this turning out well. Your fears were confirmed as his gaze found your owned mirrored image and flared. His tongue poked out and the corner of his mouth curved.

He grabbed your elbow as the elevator dinged and he dragged you out with him. Your bag slipped down your other arm and you barely caught it before it hit the floor. You stumbled over your feet as he pulled out his room key and checked the number in the shiny folder.

He slipped the card out with two fingers and stopped before the suite at the end of the hallway. He flicked it along the slot and the light flashed a pale purple as the lock sounded. He pushed inward and as good as flung you inside. You caught yourself on the small table beneath the regal mirror, a doorway just beside it which led to a darkened bathroom.

The door closed with a decisive click and Loki brushed past you. You set your bag down and watched him pace the large suite as he removed his jacket. A kitchenette, a luscious living space, a polished dining set, and an immense sliding glass door led to the high balcony. Another doorway at the other end of the suite led to what you assumed was the bedroom.

Loki tugged at his tie as he neared the sofa and pulled out his phone once more. One hand worked at untangling his tie as the other typed out something on the screen. He dumped both on the table behind him and turned back to the cushions.

“Come on,” He pointed to the couch. “I’m not in the mood to argue.”

You hesitated before you walked across the marble floor and onto the rich rug. You stopped at the end of the sofa and shook your head.

“Why--”

“No. No.” He grabbed your upper arm and pulled you towards him. “This entire day has been one big argument, I’ll not have another. Especially with you, darling.”

He spun you to face the couch and shoved you harshly. Your knees hit the edge and you fell awkwardly onto the cushion. He pushed you down so that your chest was against the back of the sofa as his other hand hiked up your dress. You wriggled and reached back to slap him away. He caught your wrist and twisted cruelly.

“Must we continue like this?” He snarled. “My patience with you runs thinner and thinner, darling, and I become more inclined to…” He squeezed your wrist and bent your arm further up your back until you whined. “Really make you suffer.”

You whimpered and he kept a hold of your wrist.

“Now do you prefer I break your arm then fuck you, or just the latter?” He added more pressure and you cried out.

“Ah, stop, stop!” You pleaded. “Fuck, Loki! Stop! Okay, okay!”

He released you harshly and your arm shook as you drew it away. You shakily touched your skirt and drew it over your thigh. He ripped it up entirely to your waist and pushed you against the couch so that your arms were bent between you and the upholstery. Your arm still throbbed as the blood rushed back to your hand.

“Good girl,” He smacked your ass sharply and his long fingers crept beneath the elastic of your panties and tugged them down just as roughly.

He fumbled behind you and you heard the familiar metallic clink. You closed your eyes and hung your head. Maybe he would be quick. Ha, did it matter?

He stepped closer and you felt his smooth, swollen tip against your ass. He gripped your shoulder and bent you further. He guided himself down to your folds and rubbed along them. He growled and pushed into you without warning. You weren’t quite wet enough and it hurt. You bit into the heel of your hand as your other grasped the couch.

He rutted into you without pause. You grunted and gritted your teeth as you clung to the back of the sofa. He jerked your body with each thrust as his breaths grew heady. One hand kept hold of your shoulder as the other closed over your hip. His pelvis hit your ass with loud slaps and his groans sounded like bestial growls.

“Fuck,” He uttered as he sped up and dug his nails into your hip. “Come on, give me something.”

He slammed you back into him and you shuddered. You did your best to move your body in tandem with his. Your spine ached as he pounded into you harder and harder. You panted into the thick fabric of the sofa and clamped your lips shut as you held in the unbidden moans.

“Ah, shit. Darl--”

His voice died and he stopped suddenly, completely sheathed in you, as a knock came at the door. You lifted your head and he reluctantly slipped his hand from your shoulder. He pinched your ass as he pulled out of you. He took a breath and exhaled slowly.

“Fuck, must be our bags,” He stepped back and you carefully stood as he tucked his cock away and buckled his pants.

He found his jacket slung over a chair and pulled it on in an attempt to hide his unspent arousal. You pulled your panties up and straightened your skirt as you turned to sit on the sofa. You clasped your hands over your lap as you watched him near the door. He cursed again as he peered through the peephole.

He grabbed the handle and shook his head as he slowly opened it. You were just as uneasy as him to find Thor on the other side. The older brother wasted no time as he grinned and entered with a casual ‘hey’. He pushed past Loki as he looked around, his eyes falling on you as you tried to keep your cool.

“This is quite the room,” Thor mused as he came close. He turned back as he reached the couch and looked to his brother. “Everything you need, eh?”

He flopped onto the couch next to you and stretched his arm behind you.

“All the amenities,” He winked and his arm fell down onto your shoulders.

Loki squinted and sighed. He took the chair where his jacket had formerly resided and shifted awkwardly on the seat.

“You’re late.” Loki declared.

“Well, shit, I had a lot to do before I could just leave behind your business,” Thor retorted as he played with the sleeve of your dress. “You know, Heimdall flew all the way from London, all night, so you know, unlike you, I do allow my workers some degree of humanity. He took a nap before we could get all sorted.”

“A nap?” Loki rolled his eyes.

“You ever let your sweet bookkeeper sleep?” Thor asked as his arm hugged you. “I can’t say I would but…” He glanced over at you. “She looks tired, doesn’t she?”

You wriggled and tried to draw away. He was strong and you suspected his brother would do little to aid your escape. You glared at Loki and his lips thinned.

“Oh… oh, did I interrupt something?” Thor chuckled. “Well, don’t mind me, it’ll be like I’m not even here.”

“You’re repulsive,” Loki snorted. “I am certain you might acquire your own board for the night.”

“Front desk says they’re all booked up for the night.” Thor clung to you as his other large hand rested on his thigh and he rubbed his trousers with his finger tips. “So looks like we’ll be rooming together, brother, hmm? Just like when we were boys.”

“Hopefully not,” Loki sneered. “You will take her room, then.”

“Ah, no, I could not inconvenience the girl. I see you’ve already done so.” Thor insisted. “Beside, we do have much to discuss, wouldn’t you agree?”

Loki leaned forward, his elbows on his knees as he steepled his fingers together and pressed his lips to them. His eyes bore into Thor and then flitted to you. He sat back and nodded.

“You’re right,” He said. “Darling, why don’t you go get settled in your rooms? I’ll send the porter with your bag when he arrives.”

You peeked over at Thor and slowly slid forward. You stood and his arm fell, his hand grazing your ass. You smoothed the front of your dress and cleared your throat.

“Alright.” Your legs felt unsteady as you swept to the entryway and scooped up your bag.

“It is business, brother,” Thor intoned. “Shouldn’t she stay?”

“We can go over numbers tomorrow,” Loki said. “And I would agree with you, she does look tired.” He looked over his shoulder and nodded. “Go on, darling. Enjoy your night. Alone.”

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platypanthewriter · 3 years

Text

Yuletide fic 2/5!

Part One/Two/Three/Four/Five Read them as I post here, or all at once in Ao3 under peterqpan

Dustin and his mom showed up ten minutes later, and Joyce threw her arms around Mrs. Henderson before dragging her into the kitchen and setting off another round of shocked gasps. Dustin walked in and burst out laughing at them all silently lighting up the twelve foot tree and enduring the Muppets.

“Fuck you,” Billy muttered, passing a string of lights to Will.

“Jonathan, my man, we definitely need pictures of all this,” Dustin cackled, and Will brightened.

Billy was turning his glare on Dustin when the main Christmas offender put an arm around him, hauling him close to whisper “I’m gonna take a look at Joyce’s car, cover for me.”

“What,” Billy said, staring at the tree.

“What?” asked Will, and Steve bent, pulling Billy with him.

“I’m gonna take a look at why your mom’s car won’t start.”

“Is that something you...know how to do?” Jonathan asked warily, and Steve raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah, yeah, he’s good at shit,” Billy interrupted, sighing. “Fucking straight A’s in shop.”

“El and Hopper are coming over,” Dustin said, grinning, and Steve squeezed Billy’s shoulders.

“Perfect, they can help,” he said happily, and Billy wondered what had happened. Where he’d gone wrong, and ended up in Christmasy hell.

Steve slunk off to the garage—Will helped by stealing Joyce’s keys out of her purse while she sorted piles of food, and they drove her car in next to Steve’s—and Billy and Jonathan strung lights around the trunk in awkward silence until another knock came on the door, and Billy dropped the lights to run and get it, opening the door in hopes of directing Hopper at the damn tree, and finding...Max and Lucas, on their bikes.

They stared back at him with set jaws, and Billy tried to figure out what was going on. “Did something happen?” he hissed at Max, closing the door behind him, and rubbing his arms in the chill air.

“Yeah,” she raised her eyebrows. “You’re throwing a huge fuckoff Christmas party. Let us in.”

“No,” Billy stared at her. “No, it’s not—”

“You’re not letting us in? She’s your sister,” Lucas hissed, and Billy groaned and yanked the doorknob, letting the door fall open behind him.

“It’s not a party,” he hissed as they elbowed past him. “People keep coming, I don’t—”

“We’re here!” Max yelled, and Dustin cheered, and then Will and the moms cheered, and Lucas clambered up the ladder to grab the lights from Will. Max started digging through the boxes again, Jonathan got his camera, and Billy backed back into the kitchen, where Joyce and Mrs. Henderson were staring into the fridge.

“He’s lost it,” Billy told them, leaning over the door. “I think he bought the whole store. Did he even get anything you can put together? I think he had some magazine with recipes—”

“...I can make hors d'oeuvres,” said Mrs. Henderson, rolling up her sleeves. “And pie. The turkey will be cold if we cook it tonight—”

“I think there’s stuff for sweet potato casserole,” Joyce muttered, hands on her hips.

“I can make that,” Billy offered with a sigh, imagining Steve’s eyes lighting up at a whole Christmas spread.

Their eyes narrowed as they surveyed him.

Billy shrugged. “Or some pie?”

The doorbell rang just then, though, and Billy wandered in a daze to let Hopper and El in. He leaned out to frown up and down the road, just in case the Wheelers all showed up, or maybe a busload of scientists, from the lab. Or Santa, he thought, ready for anything.

“The hell is all this?” he heard Hopper ask, and Joyce started laughing.

As Billy wandered back in, he saw El pelt over to Max, Lucas, and Will, who were doing a respectable job of lighting the tree, and Hopper lean in between the two moms to start discussing the menu. “Sounds like Billy can cook too,” Joyce said, her eyes narrowed.

“I’m sorry I left him alone in the grocery store,” Billy said again, and Mrs. Henderson smiled.

“Sounds like if you hadn’t, Joyce would still be stranded on the side of the road!”

“Wait, what,” Hopper asked, and Joyce distracted him by handing him all the cans for pumpkin pie. Hopper huffed, glowering down at her, but turned to dig around in the fridge for butter, and Billy got him the flour, and got back a grumbled lecture on proper pie crust.

“My mom used vodka,” he offered, and Hopper frowned deeply at him.

“...’cause it evaporates out,” Hopper said. “Leaves just the good stuff. Smart lady.”

“Waste of vodka, though,” Billy muttered, rattling around for the can opener when he was blinded by a camera flash.

Joyce yelped like she had her mouth full, and Billy frowned over to see she had an olive on every finger, and she was trying not to choke laughing. Hopper threatened her with the wooden spoon, there were more flashes, and Mrs. Henderson patted Billy’s shoulder.

“Could you help me move some things around?” she asked, and he nodded, feeling weirdly lightheaded as Hopper squeezed his shoulder to thank him, and Joyce patted his hair, and Mrs. Henderson thanked him again.

“You’re a lifesaver,” Joyce told him, as he helped her chop green beans. Billy nodded, frowning at her. Hopper said “Atta kid,” as Billy got a pan under the pie just as it threatened to tip, and when Mrs. Henderson accepted his bowl of chopped vegetables and said “Bless you,” he fled to the garage, his hands shaking.

Steve’s legs were sticking out from under the car, and Billy dropped to lie on the floor, staring underneath. “Harrington,” he hissed.

“Whumf?” Steve asked, looking over. He had a plastic cap in his mouth. Billy stared back at him, took a deep breath, and nodded, scrambling back to his feet. “What? Billy!” Steve yelled, and Billy scrubbed at his face with his hands, and straightened his shirt. “Wait, Billy,” Steve’s voice said, closer, and Billy let himself be tugged backwards into a tight hug. “You okay?” Steve asked, and Billy laughed, nodding.

“Need me to come help?” Steve asked, and Billy shook his head, smiling as Steve turned him by the shoulders to see his face, frowning. “You’re quiet. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Billy huffed a laugh, his face still warm from being treated like one of their kids.

Steve narrowed his eyes, and then cupped Billy’s face with his stinky motor-oil hands, and kissed him softly. Billy lost time when Steve pulled shit like that, he was pretty sure, the same way he didn’t know where he’d been sometimes, between his dad getting home and going to bed—but it was only a few seconds, with Steve, and he liked it, chasing the feeling and Steve’s mouth as Steve stepped back, laughing, and Billy hugged him close again around the neck. He always came to himself safe, with Steve.

Billy stumbled back into the kitchen with his cheeks aching from his wide smile, and Joyce...stared at him, for a long moment, before snaking a hand out like a striking cobra and dipping it in Hopper’s pumpkin pie mix (he swore, and smacked her wrist with the spoon)and poking it all down Billy’s nose.

She grinned at him. “Go wash your face.”

“What the fuck,” Billy hissed, as she shoved him back out of the kitchen, but when he got into the bathroom and glared into the mirror, his stomach roiled, because Steve had left black fingerprints where he’d cupped Billy’s face, and there was a smear of oil where he’d run his thumb across Billy’s lower lip. Billy’s fingers shook as he washed it all off.

He forced himself to leave the bathroom, finally, when he heard Mrs. Henderson ask where he was, and walked back in the kitchen feeling like he was wading through cement.

Joyce— Mrs. Byers, he corrected himself, reminding himself to be respectful, at least—pulled him over and ruffled his hair, and when Hopper grabbed Billy’s arm, he only moved past the knife in Billy’s hand, and let go. Billy watched him walk by, the knife loose in his fingers, and Hopper patted his back.

Max gave him a weird look when she walked by with Will and Lucas, hunting up more lights, and found him cranking the apple corer Hopper had found and brought over for apple pie. “The hell are you doing,” she whispered.

“Making a fucking pie,” he hissed back, and her eyes narrowed. “I’m giving you the slice with the apples I got off a wicked witch,” he told her, turning the handle, and watching the apple skin spiral away hypnotically. “She said it tastes like sleeping death. Yum.”

“...fuck you,” she said, after some consideration. “Lemme try that.”

“Hopper told me to make pie,” Billy told her, biting back a grin, and she growled.

“Share your toys,” said Mrs. Henderson, and Joyce and Hopper snickered, glancing at each other, and back at Billy, and he had to look away fast because it looked like they might kiss, which he did not need to watch.

“Fine,” Billy said, getting up to let Max try the apple corer/slicer/thing. “If you’re a shit,” he told her under his breath, “—I can figure out how to use this on you.”

“Don’t hurt your brain trying,” she shot back, eyes sparkling as she shoved an apple over the spikes to hold it in place, and began cranking like a demon so apple juice sprayed across the table.

Billy wandered out into the front room to avoid the apple carnage, and the tree looked good. He couldn’t see the bucket—somebody’d wadded something red up under there to hide it—there were enough lights that it lit the room by itself, and Lucas was up the ladder directing like a drill sergeant while Dustin made commentary on the ornaments. Will passed them up, mumbling things like “Sir, yes, sir,” as he swayed slowly to the Muppets. Jonathan wandered by Billy and took some pictures in the kitchen, and Joyce and Hopper started swearing, so probably that was a success too.

“Huh,” said Dustin, frowning down at the ornaments in his hands, and Billy sidled over to look.

“What.”

“Oh, no, just…” the kid glanced up, saw Billy, and glowered. “Nothing. Why the hell are you here?”

“I’m the one who told Steve to invite you, so suck it,” Billy told him, crouching to look at the ornaments. “What’s wrong, they broken?”

“Noooo,” Dustin drew the word out, screwing his whole face up at Billy suspiciously. “They’re just, y’know. Like, Hallmark, they put dates on the ornaments, right?”

“Yeah, I can read numbers, shithead,” Billy said, reaching in for a little Rudolph from 1976.

“Well there’s none from after 1976, fucknuts,” Dustin whispered back, and Billy frowned into the box. “Bunch from before that. Then it just kinda stops. Also, we’re almost out.”

“Shit, I coulda gotten some more,” Billy muttered, glancing around at the layers of dust on the boxes, the yellowed newspaper wrapping, and pushing down the idea of Steve’s Christmases stopping when he was ten . He frowned from the box to the tree, and Dustin snorted a laugh.

“F’I’d’ve known you had a tree, I coulda brought some,” Dustin whispered.

“We didn’t have a tree,” Billy hissed back. “I found Joyce Byers freezing to death and he went nuts. I’d have grabbed something—”

“We could make cookies,” Dustin bit his lips, thinking. “Popcorn balls. My mom made caramel popcorn balls last Halloween.”

Billy nodded, thinking. “We could make paper chains.”

“I can make snowflakes,” said El, dropping to sit between them, and pushing the mostly-empty box towards Will. “We made them in school.”

“I can find some paper,” Billy said, getting to his feet, and running upstairs to the electric typewriter in Steve’s parent’s room. He hauled a stack downstairs just in time to see Dustin climb up to sit on the kitchen counter next to his mom, and lean to whisper in her ear as she hissed at him and pointed to the ground like he was a misbehaving cat.

“Will has some, too,” said Eleven, yanking the stack out of his hands, and trotting over to Will, who had dropped next to the tree with his backpack, a stack of construction paper, and scissors.

“Pies are in the oven,” Hopper announced, wiping his hands dry on his pants. “Who’s hungry?” There was a chorus of “Me!”s, and he nodded. “Sandwiches,” he said. “Who wants a PB & J?” There was another chorus of “Meee!”s, and he nodded, grabbing the bread, as Dustin and his mom flanked Billy, asking about popcorn, and Joyce started digging through the fridge chanting “Jelly! Jelly! Jel—ew, what? Jelly…”

“We have some microwave popcorn,” Billy told them, warily, and Mrs. Henderson cocked her head, pursing her lips. “It’ll do,” she said. “Dustin, find the waxed paper.”

“On it,” he saluted, and dove between Hopper’s feet to dig through drawers. There was a lot of crashing and swearing from that direction for a bit, and Billy ducked back to the door to the garage to see Steve.

“It’s insane out there,” he said, stepping into the silence of the garage, broken only by Steve’s muffled humming. “...Harrington?” Billy asked, and Steve’s head popped up near Joyce’s hood. “You need any help?”

“Fuck you and your shitty Camaro,” Steve muttered, narrowing his eyes. “You just wanna bend over the engine so your ass sticks out and I drop something on my foot.”

“...yeah, probably,” Billy said, grinning.

“Just tweaking her battery terminals,” he said, and Billy nodded leaning to kiss his boyfriend’s head. “Hey,” Steve said, grinning up. “Thought I’d, y’know, change the oil, all that.”

“You want a sandwich?” Billy asked, squatting next to him, and reaching out to roll up the sleeve that had slid down Steve Harrington’s engine-oil streaked arm. Steve leaned over to kiss him, warm and soft in the cold air of the garage, and Billy scooted closer, sliding his tongue over the edges of Steve’s teeth, and tasting probably...more engine grease. “Hopper’s making PB&Js,” he whispered against Steve’s lips, and Steve grinned.

“Sure,” he whispered back. “Why’s Hopper here? Now? Aren’t they coming tomorr—”

“Everyone is here,” Billy groaned, letting his head drop on Steve’s shoulder. “Everyone. The pope might be coming—President Nixon—”

“Holy shit,” Steve snickered. “Yeah, bring me a sandwich, little woman.”

“Y’know most murderers are the spouse,” Billy told him, rolling his eyes, and Steve giggled, grinning.

“...you really like Christmas, huh,” Billy sighed.

“Nah,” Steve said, lying. “I’m just—this is kind of fun, y’know?”

“Fixing her car for Christmas,” Billy said flatly. “You should tell Shortness and Camera Perv to vacuum it out.”

“Ohhh,” Steve’s eyes widened. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s good, yeah.” He leaned in close again, warm against Billy’s side, his breath hot against Billy’s cheek, and kissed his jaw. “You like Christmas too, huh?”

I really don’t, Billy thought, eyeing his boyfriend’s bright smile. “Yeah,” he lied in return. “Yeah, I, uh, I have...memories. Of Christmas.” Steve looked away, laughing uncertainly, and Billy yanked him close, squeezing his ribs. “There’s pies in the oven,” Billy told him. “Will’s dancing around to the Muppets. I think Hopper and Joyce almost kissed over the sandwiches—” Steve snorted, letting his head fall against Billy’s neck, and nuzzling in with a sigh. Billy stroked the back of his neck, and kissed his ear. “Max is murdering some more apples, I think,” he whispered, feeling Steve’s laugh hot against his skin. “—no idea why. She’s gonna be in slasher movies one day.”

Steve hugged him tighter. “You think it’s gonna screw everything up, having us here?” he asked softly, and Billy cocked his head, frowning at the wall.

“...it’s your house, dumbass,” he said into the cool strands of Steve’s hair, wondering what the hell.

“Yeah,” Steve sighed. “Yeah, I know.”

“What the shit, then,” Billy asked. “Respectfully.”

Steve burst into snickers again, scooting closer until he was practically in Billy’s lap, and Billy sat on the ground to steady them. “Feel like I stole Christmas,” he mumbled, and Billy squinted at the wall again, opening his mouth to ask for clarification. “Stole their Christmas,” Steve sighed. “We coulda put plastic over the broken windows. They could have had the Christmas they wanted—”

“Jesus Christ Whittaker,” Billy said, ignoring Steve laughing harder. “They’re all having a great time out there, you—defective. Fucking. Dimwit. Doofus. Is that why you’re hiding in the garage?”

“It’s a family thing!” Steve hissed. “Maybe they didn’t—”

“Look, we’re gonna make some goddamn Christmas cookies,” Billy told him, “—and you’re gonna come out of the fucking garage and watch something irritating on TV, and put on more torture music—”

“You hate Christmas,” Steve wheezed, like he’d taken a blow, and Billy gritted his teeth.

“Don’t make me spank your ass,” he told Steve, who was laughing too hard to talk. Billy pushed him away enough to stare into his wide brown eyes. “I love you a hell of a lot more than I care about Christmas. You want a turkey? I will cook you a goddamn turkey. You need to know they want you here? I will sit on your ass while they sing—” Billy tried to think of the worst of all Christmas songs, and had too many options. “—Jingle Bells,” he said. “You want a fucking reindeer I will go bludgeon one with those ski poles, okay?! Fuck.”

“Love you too,” Steve said, going all misty-eyed and goopy at the most annoying time ever.

Billy leaned in and kissed him, batting his dirty fingers away with one hand as he lifted Steve’s chin with the other. “Yeah, yeah,” he whispered, rolling his eyes. “You’re full of Christmas spirit. I’m gonna get you a sandwich.”

“I still love you when it’s not Christmas,” Steve muttered, rubbing his eyes on his rolled-up sleeve. “Don’t murder a reindeer.”

“What about that Rudolph one,” Billy asked, narrowing his eyes, and running his knuckles over where Steve’s cheeks were pink from the cold air in the garage. “Lot to answer for. Talk about annoying.”

“Don’t kill Rudolph,” Steve whispered, leaning into Billy’s hand for another kiss.

“What if I drop his body on Frosty,” Billy countered, and Steve raised his eyebrows, considering.

The faint sounds of Muppets and shouting suddenly blasted as the garage door clicked open, and Billy’s heart pounded in his chest, grateful they were tucked back behind Joyce Byers’ car.

“Billy?” came her voice. “Steve? Don’t just hide in here—”

“We’re not,” Steve said, standing, and hurriedly straightening his clothes like a character in one of Susan’s Edwardian romances, who’d been interrupted in the lap of a duke. Billy stared at him, then at Joyce, who was frowning at them.

“Uh,” she said, clearing her throat. “Dustin’s mom was going to come in, so—” she said, grimacing, and Billy realized she wasn’t going to say anything, and felt so lightheaded with relief he had to reach out and steady himself on her car.

“We’ll be right out,” he told her. We weren’t doing anything, I swear, he thought, glancing from her doubtful expression to Steve, who was still tucking the shirt in his pants, and yanking at his sweater like Billy’d just been halfway to third base. He was pink right down his neck, and Billy longed to slide his hands up under his boyfriend’s clothes, and see how warm he was with the embarrassment of nearly getting caught by Joyce Byers.

“Uh, yeah,” Steve mumbled unhelpfully, touching his cheek where Billy’s hand had been, and Billy groaned.

“Go clean up,” he hissed. “Put a different sweater on.”

“Oh,” Steve looked down. “Yeah, I should—probably should do that.”

Joyce turned and left before Steve, and Billy watched them go, wondering whether she was still deciding what to do, or whether she was giving them a break, for Christmas, and then she’d kind of—be a little distant, and Billy’d know it was because she’d caught him with marks where Steve’s fingers had held him close for a kiss.

She wouldn’t tell my dad, he told himself, because he’d seen Will flinch when Hopper reached over him to hang an ornament, and Jonathan curl in on himself, a little, when Hopper yelled sandwiches. Billy drew a long breath. It’s safe, it’s safe, he chanted, silently moving his lips. It’s safe, we’re safe from that, she wouldn’t, we’re safe from him.

He’d get her alone, he decided. Until then, there was no need to tell Steve they’d fucked up.

Billy walked out of the garage and got snagged by Mrs. Henderson, who wanted to know where the sugar was, and thought Billy was gonna know, like he lived there. He handed it over, and found her a pan, and a mixing bowl, and then Max kicked him right in the ass and ran, and he chased her out to the front room.

She slid to a stop in her stockings, waving at the sparsely decorated tree. There were two short, fluffy gold garlands, and for some reason a lot of wide, glittery ribbon, but even then, it looked like the decorators for a 5th Avenue department store had been kidnapped before they’d gotten rolling.

“It doesn’t look...too bad,” Billy said guiltily, eyeing the department-store sized tree with one measly box of ornaments.

“It looks dumb as hell,” Lucas said, frowning up. “I’m thinking...paper chains.”

“I’ve got colors,” Will said, cutting carefully around a snowflake, and Max held a hand out to Billy.

“Scissors,” she said, and he glared at her, but stomped over to the phone and grabbed the pair out of the pen jar and smacked the handles into her outstretched hand, along with a roll of scotch tape.

El was putting Will’s snowflakes on the tree, and it...didn’t look bad, actually, even if there weren’t nearly enough.

“We wrapped the ribbon around it, too,” Max shrugged. “From in with the wrapping paper.”

“Dustin’s on popcorn balls,” Billy told her, and she nodded, cutting thick strips out of Will’s red paper, and passing them to Lucas, who chained each loop off the next.

Hopper came out with paper plates and handed around a sandwich each, and Billy started wondering where Steve was—whether he’d hidden in his bedroom, or taken a shower, or fallen asleep—when Joyce came up and grabbed his arm, and Billy jumped and nearly smacked her in the face with his sandwich.

“D’you know if Steve has any more sleeping bags?” she asked, and Billy opened his mouth to ask why the hell she thought he’d have any fucking idea, then remembered them, next to the skiwear in the garage.

“Uh, yeah,” he said, leading the way, and realizing too late it left the two of them alone as the garage door closed behind them.

“Oh, good,” Joyce said, trotting over to where he’d been crouched holding Steve. “That’s one for El, and Dustin—and I can sleep on the couch—”

“Please don’t tell anyone,” Billy said hoarsely. “Ma’am,” he added, belatedly. “About—about us. It—he’s all happy about Christmas, just—just let him—”

“Oh jesus, no,” she breathed, dropping the sleeping bag she’d stuck under either arm and walking up to squeeze his hands as the bags bounced behind her on the floor. One of them rolled around to bump Billy’s legs as she frowned up at him. “You two—”

Billy swallowed hard, having still, somehow, hoped she’d be surprised and confused.

“You two...” she repeated, squeezing his hands and patting them between her own as she frowned up at him. “It’s—it’s okay to be different,” she said, setting her jaw. “Everybody’s different, you—you can be a little—a little more different—”

“...you’re not pissed at us,” Billy breathed, closing his eyes. He felt tired, suddenly, and he leaned against the hood of Steve’s car, sighing.

“No—no, I’m not—how could— Will’s different,” she gritted out. “Will’s different, and—and he’s such a good kid, I—I love him so much,” she said, and Billy laughed, opening his eyes to see her stare boring into him. “I love him so much,” she repeated. “There’s nothing wrong with him. There’s nothing wrong with being different.”

“...okay,” Billy said, feeling like she needed him to respond, and she shook his hands like she was trying to get his attention.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” she said, and he laughed, unable to meet her eyes. “Billy,” she said, and he nodded automatically at the stern voice. “Thank you for inviting us for Christmas. Thank you.” He nodded again, his eyes stinging, and she blew air through her cheeks, squeezing his hands again. “...who else knows?” she asked, and he took a weird shuddering breath, shaking his head when his voice wouldn’t come out.

“Just Steve?” she whispered, and he nodded, flinching as she reached up absently and messed up his hair again. “They won’t get it out of me,” she said, linking her pinky with his, so he snorted a wet laugh. “You two might want to be more careful, though, okay?”

“Yeah,” he whispered, and she stepped up next to him where he was leaning against the car, and pulled his head into her shoulder, stroking his hair. She smelled like cigarettes, the sandwich she’d been eating, her shitty car, and baking, and he let himself close his eyes again, inhaling.

“I wondered why you two were making a turkey,” she said, idly, and he laughed, relaxing as her arm tightened around his head, and he had to turn his head a little to breathe against her shoulder. “Sounds like he really wanted a nice Christmas with you.”

“He’s loving this,” Billy whispered, sighing. “He’s gonna wanna watch Christmas specials. He’s probably hanging his actual sweat socks on the tree. He’s lost it.”

“Hrrrrm,” she said, swaying a little back and forth, and Billy never wanted to move again, even as he started to shiver in the cold garage. “Y’know, kiddo,” she said, “—Hopper’s made fancy Christmas cookies before, with his—” she cleared her throat. “—uh, his—he’s—he knows how. What say we go make some gingerbread and blow your, um,” she paused, and Billy waited. “Your boyfriend away,” she decided, and he groaned, his face heating like he had a heatlamp inside.

“Jesus,” he mumbled, and she gave his head a last squeeze, ruffled his hair, and let go. “Come on,” she said, “Let’s get going.”

The shower turned off upstairs as they hauled the sleeping bags out of the garage, and El was shaping the first popcorn balls, pressing M&Ms into them in zigzag patterns like glass ornaments. Dustin wedged a candy cane in each, forming the popcorn around it as a hook, and Billy tried to remember how much candy he’d unpacked.

The popcorn was hot and gooey, and Mrs. Henderson grabbed Billy by the shoulders and pushed him at the sink as Hopper shoved the kids at the sink and watched them wash, and then coated everyone’s hands with butter. Popcorn balls started covering every surface in the kitchen, as Jonathan’s flash worked overtime.

“Whoa, wow, what’s happening,” Steve said, at Billy’s elbow, and Billy wanted to spin around and scream into his sweater, but instead he just pulled him closer and washed all four of their hands at once, while Steve smiled, watching his face.

“We’re making ornaments for your giant tree,” said Dustin, and Steve blinked, but the next moment Billy had a handful of butter, and he was rubbing it into Steve’s fingers, and watching him turn slowly red over his entire body.

“O-o-okay,” Steve yelped, staring at Billy as Dustin smacked a malformed popcorn ball into his hands.

“Hurry up, they’ll harden!” he barked, and Steve nodded, glancing around wide-eyed to see what everyone else was doing, but avoiding looking at Billy.

“Lemme know if I need to grease you up again,” Billy drawled, and Steve glared at him, his cheeks nearly magenta, before Joyce smacked them both, lightly, on the backs of their heads.

“Boys,” she said, and they both shut up, occasionally exchanging glances. Steve leaned to bump shoulders, and Billy grinned at his popcorn ball, pressing brown M&Ms in as a mouth, and orange for a nose.

“It’s a snowman,” he announced, and El gasped.

“I’ll make a Rudolph,” Steve whispered. “Candy canes for antlers?”

“Tomorrow we can crash them into each other,” Billy muttered. “Like a monster truck rally.” Steve snorted, reaching over and popping an M&M in Billy’s mouth with a warm, sugary, greasy finger, and Billy stared at his popcorn ball for several long seconds, willing his erection to subside.

On to Part Three

#harringrove #found family #boyfriend cookies #boyfriend kisses

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