Song recommendations for this fic:

Dancing In The Street- Van Halen

No Good- Kaleo

Hungry Like The Wolf- Duran Duran

I Wanna Be Yours- Arctic Monkeys

Billy's fucking sick of this shithole town. He wakes up in a stranger's bed, the tang of blood and cheap whiskey in his mouth and wishes he could go further. Because as wack ass crazy as everyone thinks he is, this is nothing on California. In these twisted little streets, in this hello-neighbor town, he can never get lost, no matter how hard he tries. Eventually, he'll end back up home. And if he's being honest, that's what scares him most. The inescapability of it. Of going 'home' once too often and turning into his old man. He can see it already. The set of his jaw. The reach for the bottle. The way he yells at that stupid kid, desperate for someone else to control when he can't control himself.

But.

He has keg stands and shitty joints and quarry parties and girls who are all too eager, far too willing to give the new 'King' a lil something special under the bleachers. He has headaches and busted knuckles and an inexplicable aching in his chest.

And he has King Steve.

For some reason, he's never been able to keep his eyes off the guy. At first, he figured it was natural, healthy. Gotta size up the competition. It'd been incredibly easy to steal his crown. As if he hadn't tried to keep it. As if he didn't care about this high school bullshit. It was intriguing in of itself.

Then Billy's at another shitty party and he sees him. Sees him with a girl, some local whore, and he knows. He knows by the heat rising in his chest, the flare of anger. He wants Steve- viscerally. He wants to tear into the soft flesh of his neck, carve him open, get to know every intricacy of his workings.

If he was smarter, or kinder, or just plain better he would resist. But he's not a good man, by any stretch of the imagination. If he wants something, he sure as hell is gonna get it. And god, does he want Steve Harrington.

"Hey there," He says, friendly as hell, bright grin on his face. "Why don't you go fuck off and let me have a little chat with King Steve here, huh?"

The girl lets out a huff, but she does what he says. He's the king, after all. Steve fixes him with a look of annoyance.

"Come on." Billy gestures upstairs.

"Why the hell should I go with you?"

"Don't you wanna know what I have to say?" Billy shrugs, sliding a cigarette between his teeth and wiggling an eyebrow. Steve sighs and puts his hands on his hips, but he follows him anyway.

Billy finds an empty room, holds the door open as Steve walks past. The door shuts with a click and then Billy doesn't move, facing the door for a minute as he lights his cigarette. In here, it's quite. He can hear Steve breathing over the thrum of the party, the whir of the fan.

"What do you want?"

Billy just looks at him. Grins. Steve fidgets. Billy walks toward him and blows out a hot stream of smoke.

Steve looks at him, lips parted. Ripe for the taking.

"I've got a question for you." He growls, breath teasing the shell of Steve's ear.

"What?"

"Well… I heard some rumours, ya know. About how the King likes to get his dick wet. That maybe he doesn't care"

"Are you asking if I… If I like guys?" Steve says incredulously and for a second Billy thinks he's made a huge fucking mistake. Then he sees Steve's adam's apple bob and he's reassured.

"I guess I am."

"Why, so you can bust my face in? Give me a drag." Steve says.

"You sure you can handle it?" Billy asks, dragging the cig out from between his lips and stepping closer. He's almost against Steve now. He can feel the heat radiating off him in waves.

"Don't." Steve chokes. "Don't play with me like this. It's fucking sick. Just… I dunno, graffiti my car or bust up my face again or something. This is low, even for you, you know." His eyes flicker down to Billy's mouth. "Playing at this."

"Who says I'm playing?" He can see something flash in Steve's eyes. Something dark and dangerous. Something delicious.

"You can't be serious."

"Sugar, I'm drop dead."

"Prove it." Steve whispers. Billy likes a challenge. His lips crash against Steve's with a ferocity that almost surprises him, kissing him like it's what's keeping him alive. Steve gasps against him and Billy can't help a grin as he pulls away.

Steve is flushed, lips parted. He stares at Billy for a moment and then grabs him by the hair and pulls him back in. Billy just barely remembers to stomp out his cigarette before he's lost in Steve. In his warmth, in his hands, everywhere, him flush against him. He's burning up.

"Glad I locked the door now?" Billy murmurs.

"Shut the fuck up." Steve growls.

"Fiesty." Billy chuckles. "I like it."

In answer, Steve digs his hands into Billy's curls and tugs, ever so slightly. Billy can't help a breathy little moan. Normally, he'd be embarrassed at such a girly sound, but he doesn't have room for anything but Steve right now.

He presses against Steve, one hand stroking his cheek almost tenderly, the other wrapped firmly around his neck. Steve pants into his mouth, tasting like cheap beer and strawberry chapstick and heat. It's so goddamn good, Billy doesn't even know what to do with himself. Too much more of this and he'll be a fucking Disney princess, popping his leg and shit.

So he pulls away. He runs a hand through his hair and gives Steve a smack on his back.

"Good talk."

And then he leaves. Like a fucking idiot. But really, what else has he ever been?