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easy operator come a-knockin' at my door

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Steve is sure Billy won’t be back for more after the first time. Why would he? Steve’s pretty aware, at this point, that beyond his epic babysitting game and his hair, he has fairly little to offer in life. Billy’s gorgeous, and he’s smart, and he’s got better things to do than nail Nancy Wheeler’s dumbass ex-boyfriend.

So, he tries very, very hard to commit every moment to memory. How Billy grins at him, lip curled up just enough to make Steve wonder if he’s being mocked, outside Tommy H.’s New Year’s party, cigarette dangling out his mouth. How he saunters up to Steve, gets in close enough that Steve can see the goosebumps raised all over his skin because Billy may be an honor’s student but he’s still dumb enough to wear a sleeveless shirt in December. How Billy tastes like gross, stale cigarette smoke when they make out behind the shed Steve and Tommy used to pretend they were interested in woodworking in to feel more manly when they were two or three years younger. How Steve doesn’t give a shit what he tastes like because he presses in so close and tight and needy and Steve has a real thing for being needed.

He drives Billy to his house, Billy blowing smoke out the window and looking all cool, like he hadn’t beat the shit out of Steve two months ago and then apologized, shamefaced and miserable, a week later. Like he hadn’t been ignoring Steve ever since then, just like everyone else except Steve’s ex-girlfriend’s little brother’s friends.

Billy looks all ready to make some dumb as shit comments as soon as he sees Steve’s house, and Steve is not in the fucking mood, so he crowds Billy up against the door, gets a hand in that dumb mullet and tugs, and Billy melts into him. Billy lets himself be dragged up the stairs, lets Steve strip him naked and press kisses into his muscles, lets Steve push him into the blankets of his stupidly big bed that no one has been in since three months before Nancy dumped him.

When Steve grabs the lube from his bedside table, Billy spreads his legs like he’s the centerfold in a Playboy, and Steve’s mouth runs away with him.

“You’re so good, such a good boy for me,” he croons, slicking up his fingers.

Billy shudders all over, his pretty pink dick jerking against his abs.

“Yeah,” Steve says, “that’s it, take it for me, c’mon.” He’s got his index finger in Billy’s ass, snug and tight and warm, and Jesus that would feel nice around his dick. Steve had kind of assumed, after Billy started digging his teeth into Steve’s neck about three feet away from Tommy H.’s living room, that he would be the one getting fucked in this scenario, but if Billy’s gonna give him an inch here, Steve is gonna run with it.

He gets a second finger in, snug and tight to the first. “Christ, baby, it’s like you were made for this,” Steve murmurs against Billy’s knee, and Billy chokes out a helpless noise. Steve nearly shoots all over Billy’s balls.

Eventually, Steve gets himself out of the stupor of how fucking hot Billy Hargrove is, and remembers that when Nancy did this to him, she lectured him about his prostate and paying attention to his biology textbook and he just nodded and told her she was right and that he loved her to get her to keep going. Good thing, too, Steve’s always been a practical learner, and getting his fingers crooked up just right in Billy’s ass is so damn worth it.

Billy jackknifes on the bed when Steve hits his prostate for the first time, he sobs when Steve does it the second.

“Please,” he says, the first time he’s talked since the party. “Please, fuck, Steve.”

“I got you, honey,” Steve says, “I’ll take care of you.”

Billy comes all over himself without a hand on his dick, striping himself up to his collarbone, pretty pink mouth open and gasping for Steve.

Steve gets his free hand around his dick, jerks it once, and sprays all over Billy’s stomach.

He passes out a short while later, three Bud lights from Tommy H.’s party and Carol’s eggnog and the unbelievable pleasure of almost fucking Billy Hargrove catching up with him. He’s curled on his side next to Billy, Billy still lying on his back, legs splayed, come splattered all over him. He’s got this dopey smile spread across his lips, no hint of a sneer, and he looks soft, somehow. He snakes an arm around Steve when Steve collapses next to him, runs his fingers softly over Steve’s back. Steve falls asleep with the scent of Billy’s fruity shampoo in his nose, feeling like he’s done well for once.

He wakes up alone.

So, naturally, Steve’s pretty sure that’s the end of it. Billy ignores him harder than ever at school, doesn’t even pass him the damn ball in basketball practice, and Steve just lets the disappointment of it settle harmlessly into the pit of his stomach with the rest of his self-loathing.

He lets Dustin teach him how to play the pinball machine because it’s the least nerdy thing in the arcade, and he helps Dustin practice talking to girls in ways they both know are never going to work for Dustin, and he hangs out with Will some in the arcade parking lot, because Will is the least awful of the nerds and he, like Steve, can get a little overwhelmed with the noise and the yelling of the rest of them. Mostly, Steve hangs out on the parking lot alone while the gang fucks around at the arcade. After November, he’s at least aware that he doesn’t want people thinking he’s messing with Max or El. To be honest, he mostly doesn’t want Max or El thinking that because they would literally murder him and no one would ever find the body.

It’s a bit of a surprise, when Billy comes up to him and sits down next to him on the hood of the Camaro, cigarette dangling from his lips.

“Hey,” Billy says.

“Hey,” Steve says.

I’ve jerked off to the way you said my name just before you came all over yourself for the last three weeks, Steve doesn’t say.

“What’s up?”

Steve shrugs. “Waiting on the losers. Same old.”

“Do you wanna,” Billy says, not meeting Steve’s eye, “uh, get outta here?”


Billy does his silent act again on the drive, so Steve goes to his house again because he might as well. He thinks it’s going to be weird, doing this sober, but as soon as they reach Steve’s room, Billy’s all over him.

“Been thinking about you so much,” he mumbles against Steve’s neck. “You got me so good, last time, you were so good, baby, please.”

Steve grins, pleased. “Yeah? You want more, honey? Want me to open you up again?”

Please, Billy moans. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

So Steve does it, of course. Gets his fingers up hot and tight inside Billy, gets him writhing and moaning on the bed, except this time, it’s light enough out for Steve to see him fully. He’s flushed all down his neck onto his chest, and when Steve says, “You look so good, baby,” the flush creeps up his cheeks as well.

“Just for you,” Billy mutters, like he’s embarrassed about being the hottest thing since the sun.

“Yeah?” Steve asks. “You gonna be good for me? Let me take care of you?”

Billy stretches out, his arms up over his head, his biceps bulging. “I’ll be good,” he says.

Steve hits his prostate and he groans out, hips hitching.

On a whim, Steve leans down, contorting his spine in the least comfortable way, to get the tip of Billy’s dick in his mouth. Billy twists and writhes, but his hips stay on the bed and Steve gets himself used to the flavor, the thickness in his mouth. He curls his fingers and enjoys the way Billy groans for him.

“Wait, wait, stop,” Billy says, “I want you to fuck me.”

Steve basically moans around Billy’s dick at the thought.

“You sure?” He asks.

“Please,” Billy says.

Steve’s not exactly small, so he gets another finger up tight in Billy, stabs up against his prostate, makes Billy’s eyes roll back in his head. It feels like it takes forever, getting Billy stretched out for him. His fingers slip on the condom, wet and gross with lube, and Billy’s looking at him with this heat in his eyes that Steve feels like he needs to earn.

When he fucks the head of his dick into Billy for the first time he thinks he’s going to just give up and come right then and there.

Billy’s eyes go wide, then clench tight as he hisses through his teeth.

“You okay?” Steve grits out. “Need me to stop?”

“Just, just wait a sec,” Billy says, and Steve waits, thinks about his English teacher’s uncomfortable hard-on for Ernest Hemingway, thinks about complex integers, whatever the fuck those are, thinks about demodog entrails lining the nails pounded into his baseball bat.

“Mm,” Billy says, “Okay, I think…”

Steve shifts in further, sliding deeper, lube squelching out of Billy’s ass and damn he’s going to have to change the sheets again but who even cares when Billy’s letting out this long, thin, needy sound and he feels like heaven.

When he’s sunk in as deep as he dares, he asks again, “Can I?”

Billy just nods, and Steve’s not sure if Billy’s just playing at being tougher than he is, because that seems like a thing Billy would do. So he goes gentle. He aims for long, slow thrusts, like Billy’s a virgin. Which, does it count as being a virgin if you’ve never gotten anal before? Steve’s not sure. He feels like maybe, because it’s kind of the same thing as when a girl gets fucked for the first time. And Steve remembers what Billy looked like the first time his prostate got touched, it certainly didn’t look like he had loads of experience.

Billy relaxes bit by bit, his fingernails unclenching from Steve’s shoulders, his legs hitching up higher and crushing Steve’s lungs less. Steve thinks about how his fingers had to move to get Billy just right, presses Billy’s legs into his own chest and tries to get it just right and Billy—

His eyes go wide and shocked and an animal noise rips its way out of his throat. “More,” he demands. His hair is splayed out all over Steve’s pillow and maybe this is what Steve always imagined when he used to make snow angels with his mom outside, those soft pink lips and gold curls spread out on the ground.

Steve gives him more. He may not have Billy’s abs, but he does do a lot of running and his legs aren’t even starting to get sore. He presses in harder, sharper, punches breathy moans out of Billy with his dick and feels like he’s winning something.

“You like it?” He asks, hopelessly desperate for Billy’s approval despite everything.

“I like it,” Billy breathes out, “I like it, fuck, you got me so good, c’mon, give it to me.”

“You take it so good,” Steve says, “you’re so fucking gorgeous, baby, fuck, even prettier than I imagined.”

“You thought about this?” Billy asks, and Steve feels like he’s been caught in a lie.

But then, there’s no point in lying, now, not when he’s got Billy like this, pressed into his sheets, moaning for him. “Yeah I did,” Steve says. “Couldn’t think about anything else, wanted you so bad. You’re so good for me, you feel so good.”

He punctuates that with a harder thrust, hoping Billy will feel the honesty in it, and Billy yells. “Just like that,” he says hoarsely, “Please, just like that.”

So Steve gives it to him just like that, hard and steady. His thighs are starting to burn with the effort, sweat dripping from his hair, his balls tight and his dick sending electric urgent signals to his brain with every thrust, but he needs Billy to come first with an intensity that surprises him.

“C’mon, baby, touch yourself,” he gasps out, desperate.

“Don’t need it,” Billy says, “wanna come on your dick.”

Steve groans, doubles down and fucks him harder.

He’s holding on by the skin of his teeth when it happens, when Billy’s eyes widen just that fraction more, when his nails dig deep into Steve’s shoulders again and his hole clenches tight around Steve’s dick.

“Fuck,” Billy yells out, “fuck, fuck, yes.” Steve can feel Billy's dick jerking between their stomachs, can feel the heat of Billy's come. His eyes roll back in his head and he shoots into the condom. It’s an orgasm like he’s never had before, leaves him shuddering and gasping into Billy’s neck as his dick twitches and spouts for what feels like ages but must be less than a minute.

He vaguely hears Billy muttering something, gets himself aware enough to notice that Billy’s saying “Please,” over and over, eyes clenched shut tight, fists gripped in the sheets, and at first Steve thinks Billy’s begging him to get out, that he’s fucked it up and this was all a lie and he’s hurting Billy, but when he gets himself propped up on his aching wrists again, he can see that Billy’s hips are grinding back against Steve’s pelvis helplessly, that he’s begging for more of Steve’s softening dick, that Billy’s own cock is still hard and red against his stomach despite the layers of clear come smeared between them.

Steve’s motor control is shot to hell, but he leans back onto his haunches shakily, gets a hand around Billy, jerks him off badly at the wrong angle, presses his hips forward and doesn’t wince at his own oversensitivity. Billy comes again, immediately. He shoots thick white globs of it, spattering up into the hair trailing down Steve’s stomach, nasty and hot and if Steve could go for a second round, he would, but he’s pretty sure his balls have turned inside out.

Billy comes down slowly, shaking all over. When his pretty blue eyes open up, he’s looking at Steve with something uncomfortably like adoration in them.

“Christ,” he says. “Christ, Harrington.”

Steve squashes the disappointment that he’s not Steve or baby anymore ruthlessly. He pulls out as gently as he can, ties off the condom (and if this weren’t so weird and awkward, he’d be crowing to Billy about how full it is, how much Billy made him come). He takes a few deep breaths.

“Wanna shower?”

“Gimme a sec,” Billy says. “Not sure I can stand.”

He ends up leaning pretty heavily on Steve in the shower, partly because there’s not enough room and partly because he’s pretty loopy and walking funny.

It’s only in the brighter light of the bathroom that Steve notices the yellow-green, fading bruises along Billy’s ribs, and that’s when he’s got Billy loose and easy tucked into his side, letting Steve scrub the come and sweat off him gently with a loofah. He’s seen Billy go apeshit over even the hint of a personal question from Tommy H., but he can’t quite help himself thumbing gently over the bruises, treating the hurt skin with a reverence he’s half afraid will get him socked in the jaw.

The thing is, Steve’s a little obsessive when he’s into someone. He basically spent weeks watching Nancy before he spent weeks talking her into going out with him, and he’s been watching Billy ever since New Year’s. He’s pretty sure he’d know if Billy had gotten into any fights, and he definitely hadn’t at school. Maybe he’d gone out looking for someone to beat up after hours again, and that someone had been stronger and better than Steve was when Billy came after him.

Maybe not.

The way Billy hides his face in Steve’s neck as Steve takes care of him makes him think that it’s something else.

“You could,” Steve says, clearing his throat. “You could come here whenever you want, you know.”

“’M not that easy,” Billy mumbles against Steve’s neck. Words have always been hard for Steve, but he’s got a suspicion that easy doesn’t mean to get into bed.

“I think you could be,” Steve says. “For me.”