The slam of the front door barely roused him. The sight of a six-pack hitting the coffee table was what jolted him awake. Despite his respite, he still felt exhausted. The sleep had been so sudden and deep that it had scarcely affected him. Dazed and forgetting himself, he sat up, only to gasp at the pain that ran through him.

"Told you I'd have to stretch you out."

Steve looked up and saw Billy throwing his jacket on a nearby armchair, a freshly lit cigarette hanging from his lips. He smoked like a damn chimney. Steve watched as the blonde pulled a can from the collection on the table, cracked it open and took a large swig. As Billy swallowed, he surveyed Steve's pained sitting position on the couch.

"Right where I left you." He shook his head slightly. "Didn't even try to clean yourself up."

"What are you doing back here?" It came out quieter than Steve would have liked.

Billy frowned, tapping once on the side of his beer can.

"I told you. You were out of beer."

Steve wished he had it in him to stand up. He didn't enjoy having to look up at Billy.

"I didn't ask you to –"

"Did I say it was for you?" Billy laughed slightly before taking another drink.

The laugh was what did it. So damn cocky, Steve couldn't handle it.

"What the hell are you doing here?" He demanded, his voice stronger than before. "And how the hell did you get in earlier?"

Billy shook his head again, exhaling a large plum of smoke in Steve's direction.

"You need to start locking that door, Harrington. You keep forgetting about it and it's gonna get you into real trouble one of these days."

Steve looked away and leaned carefully backwards into the couch. He felt an ache in his back, residual damage from his crash landing in the bathtub the night before. Being bent over the dyer must have worsened it.

"Honestly," The boy continued, flicking ash onto the wooden table. "I took it as an open invitation. I show up here to see if you need me to go jump-start that engine and then I find the door's unlocked. Made me think, 'He really is asking for it isn't he?'."

Billy took a few steps towards the couch. Reflexes kicking in, Steve's eyes shot up towards him.

"Then, of course, you did." The smirk made its grand return. "Ask for it."

Despite the quick blush of shame he felt spread across his face, Steve resisted the urge to look away again.

He was expecting Billy to mess with him. He expected to be called faggot and queer and, for one horrifying moment, he even thought that he would suddenly see a group of kids from school jump out of hiding, ready to ridicule him or beat him up. Worried as he was, though, Steve refused to look away. He wouldn't give Billy that satisfaction.

However, rather than start hurling abuse at him, Billy just took another mouthful of beer and continued to stare down at Steve. Eventually, the smug smile faded away. After a long drag from his cigarette, the same flash of humanity from earlier reappeared in the boy's eyes.

"You regret it?"

The question caught him off guard. It was the most sincere Steve had ever heard him. For several long seconds he was too afraid to answer. His insides continued their painful throbbing.

"No." He finally heard himself say.

For a moment, the two stared at each other in silence, neither one making any movement. Finally, Billy nodded slightly and placed the can on the table next to them. Slipping his cigarette between his lips, he eased himself down in front of Steve until they were eye to eye. Kneeling in front of him, he pushed himself between the boy's legs. Steve winced.

"I really did a number on you, didn't I?" Billy remarked with a vaguely triumphant smile.

Steve was about to reject the idea when he felt Billy's hands slip around his waist, cradling the base of his spine. Suddenly the need for prideful lying didn't feel as strong.

"Maybe." He offered.

One hand began gliding up and down the lower half of his back. The dull ache began to slip away.

"And I bet you loved every second of it." Billy's eyes fell to Steve's chest and moved down his abdomen.

Steve took a few seconds before answering.

"Maybe." He repeated.

Billy smiled at the response and pulled a hand from Steve's waist, removing the cigarette from between his lips.

"Maybe?" He leaned down and blew a small stream of smoke against Steve's skin before biting down on his hip.

Steve bit back a gasp of pain.

"I bet you loved every second of it." He repeated, holding the cigarette slightly too close to Steve's stomach. "Didn't you?"

Giving Billy the answer he wanted wasn't the hard part. The hard part was admitting it was the truth.

"Yeah. I did." Steve found himself gripping tightly at the arm of the couch.

Another smug smile flashed across Billy's face.

"You know how I knew?" He asked, running his finger along the slowly rising bite mark. "You know how I knew you'd love being fucked like that?"

Steve was starting to shake slightly. The boy's eyes were clouded with the same hungry aggression from the previous night.

"No."

Billy flicked ash onto the floor before pointing the cigarette at him.

"Yes you do." He insisted.

The hand that remained on Steve's back clutched at him, nails pressed lightly into his skin.

"Come on." He continued. "You got it right last night. Different question, same answer."

Steve stared at him. Billy slipped the cigarette back between his lips, awaiting the response.

"Do you know…how I knew…you'd love…being fucked…like that?" He recited it like a prompt.

Steve nodded slightly, working up the courage to speak.

A smile twitched at the corner of Billy's mouth as he returned his hands to the base of Steve's spine.

"Come on." He smiled. "I have to hear you say it."

Steve made sure to speak loudly. He didn't want to say his line with a shake in his voice.

"Because I'm your bitch."

Billy leaned into him, the pressure worsening the pain on his insides.

"You are getting so good at saying that." Billy slid his fingers under the back of Steve's waistband, inches from the source of his pain.

"Don't." Steve flinched and grabbed at Billy's arms. "Don't do that."

The hands eased off and Billy pulled himself back. His face changed in an instant, back to the earnest expression that always seemed to appear right when Steve needed it to.

"Harrington." He said, voice quieter. "You'll be okay."

Despite the fear that Billy had managed to provoke in him, Steve let go of his arms and relaxed slightly.

Billy plucked the cigarette from his lips and reached forward, holding the filter inches from Steve's mouth.

"Let's see if I can't get your mind off it." A sliver of smoke escaped as he spoke.

Earlier on, Steve had rationalized his mental preoccupation with Billy as being a need for relief and escape. The decision to act as he did had been impulsive. He hadn't considered what would happen afterwards, he only knew what he wanted in that moment.

He'd gotten his relief. He'd escaped the bombarding ridicule in his head. So he couldn't quite figure out why he was still so desperate for whatever else Billy had to offer.

Steve placed his hand around the boy's wrist and took the cigarette into his mouth.

He sat there, taking his first drag in almost a year, as the other boy began carefully pulling down his trunks. Soon, the pain was no longer an issue. Once Billy was working on him, all lips and tongue and resilient gag reflex, any sense of discomfort disappeared. His head fell back and he just enjoyed it. He never took a second drag from the cigarette. It remained idle between his fingers for the entire encounter.


When it was over, Billy used what remained in the beer can to wash down Steve's load. He picked the burnt out butt from Steve's hand and flicked it onto the floor before moving to sit in the armchair across from him. Cracking open a second can, he looked around the room.

"Who the hell has a place like this to themselves all weekend and doesn't have a party?"

Steve, swimming in post-blow job endorphins, snorted at the idea. Not so long ago, it would have been a given. In light of his diminishing social standing at Hawkins, however, he couldn't imagine a Harrington party having much pull nowadays.

"Too busy." He said, succinctly.

"Yeah, looked that way last night." Billy put his feet up on the table.

Not interested in going further on the topic, Steve casually gave him the finger and hoped he'd loose interest. Sure enough, Billy seemed to read the lazy reaction as a lack of engagement and went back to surveying the room.

Something on the bookcase caught the boy's interest, pulling him up and across to the shelf. Though Billy was no longer facing him, Steve noted that his gaze seemed to be hovering over Steve's childhood photos.

After a minute of drumming his fingers on the arm of the couch, Steve decided to overcome his fear and address what he felt to be the elephant in the room.

"So." He cleared his throat. "Are we gonna talk about…"

Billy made no attempt to turn around when he spoke.

"About what, Harrington?"

The voice was enough. It said everything it needed to say with those three words. It told Steve exactly where they stood and exactly what would happen if he finished his sentence. As much as he hated himself for backing down, he didn't bother saying anything else.

Billy turned from the bookcase and threw his eyes to the fireplace. When they landed on the clock, he sighed.

"Shit." He put his beer can on the shelf behind him.

Curiosity quickly replaced Steve's sense of rejection.

"What?" He asked.

"I have to pick this chick up in an hour. I gotta shower."

Without another word, Billy began heading for the door, pulling his largely already unbuttoned shirt over his head and flinging it behind him. Steve, caught off guard again, took a moment to catch up.

"Wait, what are you –" Steve gave up when the boy left the room. "God damn it."

As quickly and as carefully as he could, Steve pushed himself from the couch and followed Billy out. The boy was half way up the stairs and already undoing his jeans when Steve yelled after him. He paused and turned around, unperturbed.

"What?"

There was a moment of perplexed silence before Steve managed to say anything.

"What are you doing?" He asked, shaking his head.

Billy began removing his boots.

"I'm going to go take a shower." He ran his eyes over Steve. "You need one too. I'd tell you to come with me and make it interesting but I don't have a lot of time so unless you're offering to blow me while I wash up, this'll have to be a solo one."

Steve couldn't tell if this was a flippant insult or a genuine offer for sex. However, when Billy continued to stare at him expectantly for several seconds, Steve had his answer. Unsure how else to respond, he shook his head slightly.

"No." He said, eventually. "Thanks."

Billy shrugged, abandoned his shoes and jeans on the stairs and continued heading up.

Steve slowly made his way to the kitchen and poured a glass of water. As he drank, he heard the shower start up. The thought that he'd made the wrong choice only stayed in his mind for a moment.


Despite the night sky reducing the back yard to an icebox, he ventured out to the poolside once again. The hairs across his skin stood on end in the cold and he cracked open one of Billy's beers with shaking hands. The chill was bothering him less and less, though. Now, he somewhat embraced the numbing sensation.

He ran through the evening's events in his mind. For as much as the whole endevour had been successful in quelling his paranoia, pessimism and sense of ennui, it had, unfortunately, left Steve with a new obstacle. What remained was the harsh realization that Billy Hargrove's cock had made all his problems go away.

"Shit." He whispered, knocking back the can in an attempt to clear his head.

He'd just needed to get laid. Surely, now, he would be fine. The therapy may have been unconventional but he'd done it and he felt the better for it.

But that wasn't getting laid. That was getting fucked. It had hurt and it had scared him and, Billy was right, he had loved it. And it hadn't been the end of it. While rejecting the offer of a blow job, regardless of who's offering, would be a wasted opportunity, he could've said no. He'd gotten what he'd wanted from Billy by that point. His head was clear. But when it came to it, all he'd wanted was more.

He told himself it wasn't about Billy. It wasn't about who or where, it was about getting off with someone other than himself, an experience he hadn't had in a while. This was drastically different to what he was used to, though. And no matter how scary it got, there was always that moment of reassurance. Right when he needed it, Billy would tell him he'd be okay. And in spite of everything that asshole had done in the past, Steve had believed him.

He shut his eyes tight. God damn it. It was about Billy.

Just as Steve took a final gulp, he heard someone moving behind him. Despite his mounting concerns, he welcomed the sound of boots on concrete and found himself fighting the urge to smile.

He turned around but before he could say anything, Billy slapped the can out of his hand and grabbed him by the back of the neck, dragging him closer to the pool.

"Asshole, what the hell are you – " Steve didn't get a chance to finish, the forceful push he received to his chest propelling all the air from his lungs.

He saw the stars for a brief moment before he hit the pool. As acclimatized as he was becoming to the cold weather, the sudden impact with the freezing water was too much for his body. Shock ran through him and he made the rookie mistake of gasping. Fortunately he was able to reach the surface quickly enough to spray the liquid from his lungs before any damage was done. Gasping in the fresh air, he glared up at Billy, who was squatting next to the pool.

"What the hell was that?!"

A hand shot out and grabbed Steve under the jaw, holding his face in place. Billy forced him to meet his gaze. His eyes were dark.

"You need a jump start, I offer to help you." There was a deathly growl in his voice. "You need a ride home, I oblige. You ask me to fuck you and I rip you up so bad you can barely fucking sit down."

Billy's other hand reached out and gripped Steve's wet hair at the roots. He tried not to wince.

"And you return my generosity by drinking my God damn beer?"

Steve's head was suddenly forced under the water with alarming pressure, only for Billy to pull him to the surface again a moment later. Gasping, Steve reached for the boy's hands. His attempts at pulling them away only reinforced the grip.

"You're an ungrateful little shit." Billy spat. "You know what I do to ungrateful little shits?"

Suddenly, Billy released his grip and Steve's breathe caught in his chest. Then the boy began laughing. Steve's whole body sagged in the water.

"You son of a bitch."

"Christ, Harrington." Billy stood up, laughing manically. "I think the water went yellow."

Steve pulled himself out of the pool and sized himself up to the other boy.

"You're a God damn asshole."

Billy smiled and spread his arms out.

"Lighten up!" He looked Steve up and down. "You really are scared of me, aren't you?"

Steve ignored the impulse to say 'yes' and just gave a cocky half smile.

"No, Billy, I'm not scared of you." He hoped he sounded like he was telling the truth. "Once I watch somebody drink down my spunk, I don't really see them as a threat."

Rather than come at him, Billy simply smiled, biting his lip slightly.

"I don't know, Harrington, you might wanna rethink that logic." He threw a glance down at Steve's crotch. "I might decide to take a bite the next time I'm down there."

He gave Steve a soft slap on the cheek.

"Stay out of trouble while I'm gone."

With a smile, Billy headed back into the house, no doubt headed straight for the front door and off to whatever girl he'd lured into a date. Steve stayed where he was, wet and cold, trying not to smile at the use of the words 'next time'.