u can drive all night

“You good?” Billy’s voice snaps him out of it, he’s giving him this knowing look, smirk tugging.

Steve blinks eyelids suddenly feeling very heavy. His eyes flicking away to stare out the windshield, slouching down in the seat. “Yeah,” Steve muttered. “Just—fried.”

“That’s the whole point, Harrington.”

The car is warm and for a long moment it’s mostly quiet besides the low hum of the radio and the ticking of the engine cooling. Eventually he glances back over and Billy’s looking right him—steady and unreadable.

For a second Steve thinks he might be about to say something that matters. Instead Steve looks away, breaks the silence between them.

“You ever think we hang out too much?”

Billy raises his eyebrows, exhales through his nose, laughing softly. “Why, you getting tired of me?”

“No. Just thinking, I guess.”

Billy reaches over settling his hand on Steve’s knee, deliberately sliding higher, thumb pressing slow circles into the denim, dragging across the seam of his jeans in a slow absent line. “Well how ‘bout you stop thinking. Probably not one of your strong suits.”

Steve can hear the shift in Billy’s breathing, feels it echo in his own chest. He’s closing the space between them and Steve knows— they weren’t just here to smoke.

“You gonna look at me or just keep pretending you don’t want to?” Billy murmurs.

Suddenly Steve is definitely too high. Doesn’t stop him from turning his head, and that’s all it takes. Billy’s cigarette ends up in the ashtray, his hand moving to the back of neck. The air between them shifting—warm, close, humming with static. Just like the last time it’s already almost too much.

Billy doesn’t waste much time before leaning in, so close he can feel every exhale. “Still good?” Steve nods his fingers catching on Billy’s jacket.

He can smell smoke, weed, and something clean under it— maybe shampoo or detergent—Steve doesn’t know but it’s messing with his head.

Billy glances over once, eyes narrow. “You gonna tell me what the hell that was tonight?”

Steve doesn’t answer at first. Eventually he gives Billy a mean side eye, a lazy shrug, all like “What?”

“Don’t play dumb. You think I don’t hear things— that I don’t see what the fuck you’re doing? You’ve been different—fucking drinking, picking fights. It’s like you’re begging for someone to put you down.”

Billy can smell the booze on him, already sees the bruising blooming across his knuckles, under his eye. He’s lucky he wasn’t knocked the fuck out, lucky that Billy stepped in.

He already knows Steve doesn’t agree, he’s too busy making a reckless ass of himself to care.

“Seriously,” Billy presses. “You were out of your goddamn mind back there. You think squaring up with a guy twice your size is smart?”

“Who cares—not like you’ve got any room to talk.” Steve mutters.

Billy laughs once, sharp. “Right. Because that totally looked like a fight you planned on winning.” His voice drips with sarcasm.

“Don’t start,” Steve snaps.

“Too late,” Billy snarks back. “You keep doing this shit and one day you’re not getting back up, you get that?”

Steve’s hands clench in his lap, looking like Billy had just kicked his puppy or something. “Since when do you care?”

Billy looks at him, incredulous. “Since I’m the one driving your sorry ass home every time you decide to self destruct.”

The words sting more than they should. Steve turns to stare back out the window—eyes stinging , chest tight. “You don’t have to, didn’t fucking ask you to.”

“Yeah,” Billy mutters, eyes back on the road, “keep telling yourself that.”

Something in Steve breaks. “Every time something goes wrong, you show up acting like I owe you answers.” He kicks at the dash, like he’s throwing a tantrum and turns to glare at Billy before spitting out, “You think you get to control what I do? You’re not my fucking keeper.”

Billy brakes hard. Tires shriek. The car jerks to a stop in the middle of the empty road.

Steve’s heart lurches, a little stunned as he jerks forward, hands landing on the dashboard to keep his face from slamming into it. “What the fuck—“

Billy’s out before Steve can blink, slamming the door hard enough to shake the car.

“You’re such a dick.” Steve climbs out, voice rising. “You think you can just tell me what to do? Like you’re my fucking—”

Billy steps forward, jaw tight. “Like I’m what?” He raises his eyebrows but continues on before Steve can answer. “The only one who gives a damn?”

Steve whirls on him. “I don’t need your pity—or whatever the fuck this is. You don’t get to tell me what to do.

Billy pushes further into Steve’s space, eyes burning. “Then stop acting like a goddamn child and maybe I wouldn’t have to.”

That’s it. The snap. The line Steve can’t let go.

Billy steps forward hands throwing up in frustration, voice rising. “I mean look at you—someone obviously fucking has to.”

“Yeah well—not you.” The words are barely out of his mouth before he’s shoving Billy. Hard.

Billy stumbles back a step, half-laughing. He’s shaking his head as if Steve’s just here wasting his time. “There he is. The tough guy. You done?”

Billy shoves him back. Hard enough to make Steve stumble a little.

Then Steve moves

He catches Billy around his middle—impulsive and messy, tackling him hard enough to send both of them sprawling into the gravel, The hit knocks the breath out of them—Billy’s elbow cracking against the road, Steve’s shoulder slamming into his ribs.

Billy’s back smacks against the gravel and mud splatters. He’s laughing before he can breathe again—ugly, sharp, adrenaline-bright.

Billy grunts, trying to roll, but Steve’s on top of him, shouting. “You don’t know me, you don’t get to act like you do—“

The tackle knocked them into the beam of the headlights. Every flinch, every swing flashes gold, then shadow.

Billy gets one hand in Steve’s hair, yanks; Steve drives a fist into his stomach in return.

They stagger apart, then crash together again.

Billy swings back, catches him across the face, not enough to cause much damage—just enough to make him stop.

But Steve’s fast—rage carrying him through exhaustion. He hits Billy once, twice, until his arm aches. Billy grabs his wrist mid-swing, yanks him down, uses the momentum between them to flip him.

Now Billy’s the one straddling Steve, keeping him pinned, breathing hard, rain dripping from his hair onto Steve’s face.

“Yeah?” Billy grabs his collar, yanks him close until their faces nearly touch. “Then why do you keep calling me?”

Steve freezes for half a second, breathing ragged. His expression cracks open. Overwhelmed by the sudden shift. “Because you always show up.”

That lands. Billy hesitates, grip slackening. The fight dissolves into silence, both of them still half-ready to swing but not sure what for anymore.

“Yeah and you always make me regret it.” Billy finally lets out a dry laugh, lifting his hand to thumb at the blood smeared across Steve’s chin—no doubt stinging when he brushes his split lip.

Steve hissed, throat working,no words left. Billy pushes to his feet, winces, gestures toward the car.

Steve stares at him, eyes wide, blood in his mouth, everything too quiet.

“Come on, before we freeze out here.”

Then the door swings open before he can decide.

Billy’s standing there in a pair of sweatpants, a grey hoodie, one with fraying at the cuffs, so worn that the college logo on it was cracked and faded— Steve’s hoodie. He’s got the hood halfway up, his hair messy like he just rolled out of bed. The room behind him is dim, lit only by the yellow glow of a desk lamp. He looks surprised—but not really. More like he’d been expecting something, just not quite this.

“Hey,” Billy says, voice rough from disuse or smoke. His eyes flick down to Steve’s hands, then back up again. “You need something or are you just gonna stand there looking like you’re lost.”

Steve stared at him wide eyed, hand dropping back to his side. “I can go if it’s not a good time, or whatever.” He shrugs, it’s tossed out easy but his gaze flicks over Billy’s shoulder, like he really means it.

Billy shakes his head, rolls his eyes like Steve is being ridiculous. But he doesn’t hesitate when he steps aside, wordless, and Steve slips past him. The room smells like cologne and cigarettes, warm and sharp. There’s a mess of books on the desk, a half-empty mug, a pack of smokes lying open. Everything feels too Billy—chaotic but somehow intentional.

“Didn’t think you’d show up here,” Billy says after a beat, closing the door with a quiet click. “Thought you were avoiding me still.”

Steve rolls his eyes, though his pulse jumps. “I wasn’t avoiding you—just was busy.” He mumbles, doesn’t even sound convincing to his own ears.

Billy smirks, leaning back against the door, arms folded. “Yeah, sure you were.”

The silence that follows isn’t awkward—just heavy. Steve can feel it pressing against his chest, the air thick with all the things that never made it out of their mouths. He wants to say something easy, something to deflect—but the truth’s been sitting in his throat too long.

“People’ve been talking,” Steve says finally, eyes on the floor. “About you. About us.” The last part comes out carefully—cautious.

Billy doesn’t move for a long moment. Then he says, quietly, “Yeah. Let ‘em talk.”

That makes Steve look up. “Since when do you give a shit what people say?” There’s something almost soft in Billy’s face, a flicker of something he’s not used to seeing there—uncertainty, maybe. Or hope.

“I don’t.” Steve’s quick with it—too quick. He runs a hair through his hair shifting from foot to foot. “I just—look you’ve been acting weird.”

Billy snorts “Weird, how?”

“I don’t know, man. You—“ Steve gestures between them helplessly “You don’t look at people like that, like anyone, you’re treating me like we’re—I mean you don’t do all that for nothing,” He cuts himself off, exhaling through his nose, frustrated. After a beat he finally meets Billy’s eyes “Right?”

Billy doesn’t look away. He just lets the silence sit there until it’s heavy enough to make Steve squirm. Eventually he pushes away from the door taking a step forward, slow and deliberate.

“You’re really wound up about this, huh.” He’s not mocking, says it like an observation. Like it’s obvious, not even a question.

Steve scoffs out a laugh, “Yeah, no kidding. You’re the one fucking with me. Changing up on me—excuse me for not understanding what your deal is.”

Billy blinks, his expression changing—small, almost imperceptible. Almost defensive. “You think this is all just me fucking with you?”

Steve falters at the question. Billy voice isn’t teasing—it’s like he’s asking something he doesn’t wanna know the answer to.

“I don’t know—maybe? You’re the one who said it casual then you go and—“ Steve waves a hand vaguely between them, but he doesn’t finish that thought, clears his throat and starts over. “You tell me it’s no big deal, but then you keep coming around. You text first, you stick around after.” His voice cracks a little, can’t help it. “And I know how you are, you just—don’t do that with other people, Billy. You don’t.”

He’s rambling, he knows it. He’s nervous and frustrated, doesn’t know what to say. So he ends up saying too much. He exhales, voice breaking. “So what am I supposed to think? You made those rules, not me.”

Billy doesn’t look away, looking a lot more awake now than he did just a few minutes ago. “Yeah,” he agrees. “And I’m the one who broke them.”

Steve freezes, taken off guard. “What?”

Billy’s voice doesn’t waver, his tone calm and final. “I’m saying it stopped being casual for me a long time ago. That’s my deal.”

Steve’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out at first. He rubs the back of his neck, avoiding Billy’s eyes. “You’re serious?”

Billy nods once. “Yeah.”

Steve laughs softly, more nervous than amused. “You could’ve said that before I made an idiot of myself.”

“Wouldn’t have believed me,” Billy says.

“Maybe not,” Steve admits, quiet. “Still would’ve liked to hear it.”

Steve’s not sure who moves first, only that one second they’re standing apart, and the next, Billy’s close enough that Steve can feel the warmth of his breath. Billy’s hand finds the back of his neck, not rough, not claiming—just there. Waiting

“You’re hearing it now.”

It’s not at all what Steve was expecting. He thought maybe Billy would be pissed, maybe even throw him out the room. That would’ve made more sense to him then this.

Steve lets out a breath that’s half a laugh. “You make it sound easy.”

Billy smirks, small and tired. “It’s not. But I’m still here, aren’t I?”

Steve studies him, then nods. “Yeah. You are.”

Billy seems to relax a little, like maybe he’d been the one waiting for the bad reaction instead of Steve “Guess that’s enough for right now.”

Here’s my part two that no one asked for lmao, but you’re getting it anyways

Steve’s breath stutters. For a second there he figures he must be fucking dreaming— because the kinda line that Billy just dropped is one that only shows up in his worst late night thoughts, the ones he shoves down before they get dangerous.

“Do something about it?” He repeats, stunned, like saying the words out loud will make this less real.

Billy’s smirk twitches back into place, thin and ugly, but it doesn’t hide the tremor in his jaw. “What, scared now? King Steve can’t handle a real mess?” He leans he’s halfway sat up now, propped up on his elbows, spread wide across Steve’s bed like a dare. “Thought you liked being the guy that cleans up everyone else’s messes.”

Steve’s chest flares hot with anger, but the heat sinks lower, twisting. His fists clench helplessly at his sides. “You’re such a prick,” he mutters, it sounds to much like surrender.

Billy just watches him now, eyes burning, his pants halfway down, shirt rucked up towards his armpits, he’s sweating something serious, his chest still heaving. Billy was definitely right about one part— he was a fucking mess.

The worst part— Steve’s already moving, closing the small distance between them. His knees bumping the edge of the mattress before he’s fully processed the weight of his decision. Even worse, he’s half hard in his own pants.

How fucked up is fucked up? This is some fucked up shit right here.

“This is insane,” Steve says, voice low, cracking. “This isn’t—“ He swallows hard look down at the trainwreck that is currently Billy. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to happen.”

The last part is mumbled, mostly for himself, trying to calm his own nerves. Not even realizing the implication of what he just said.

Billy’s smirk softens to a smile, only for second, sharp and broken all at once. “Yeah,” he says, raspy. “Tell me about it.”

Steve hates how shaky he feels— as if he’s the one burning up instead. Billy’s eyes track him, his hands still trembling where they grip the sheets.

“Say it.” Steve’s voice is tighter than he means, “Say this isn’t just you being an asshole.”

Billy’s breath hitches and there’s a mean little curl of his lip. “You wish I wanted you that bad, Harrington.” Then his grin falters, and the words don’t land the way they were meant to. Even Steve can tell that’s bullshit— especially when Billy actually whines, his jaw working desperate. “C’mon, don’t overthink it— what’s a hand between friends, right?” He breaks off with a groan, arching up off the mattress. “Really, I’m not just fucking with you.”

The words hang thick in the air.

Billy moves just enough so Steve can prop a knee up on the bed, moving to lean over him. Almost in his lap.

Every instinct in him is screaming for him to back off, but his hand betrays him— reaching to grab Billy’s wrist. Billy freezes, staring up at him. His pulse kicks under Steve’s fingers, wild.

“Jesus Christ,” He breathes— how was this his life right now. Even surprising himself with how easy he gives in, it would’ve made more sense to leave Billy to work through this on his own. He finds himself cautiously tugging Billy’s arm away so he can replace his hand with his own.

The reaction from Billy is instant, his hips jerk up and his head tips back swearing to himself. He starts making these small noises, like he’s in pain—like it’s all too much even though Steve’s barely touched him yet.

“Fuck—“ Billy’s voice cracks, raw, wrecked. “Knew you’d cave.” It’s probably meant to sound smug, but it comes out like a prayer.

Steve’s teeth grind, face flushing. “Shut up.” His thumb slides over the tip of his cock starting to actually move his hand, not trying to waste time.

Sure, he’s been naked in the locker room with the guy plenty of times—yeah maybe he’s checked him out a little too long. But this was different, seeing him hard and actually touching him in this way—well, looking was one thing, this was something straight from Steve’s most repressed thoughts.

Billy’s answering sound is ragged, unguarded, it sends something hot spiraling down his spine.

He’s leaking so much, it eases the way no problem. Steve tries not to think about how close they are, especially when Billy slides a hand up the back of his shirt, pulling him forward, the space between them disappearing just like that.

He’s never handled a dick besides his own, but he can’t be much different than jerking himself off. He doesn’t let himself over think it, because like Billy had said before—it’s just a handjob, right?

There was no hiding the fact that Steve was hard too but thankfully Billy doesn’t say anything—maybe finally realizing when to shut up.

Billy’s breath hits Steve’s cheek, hot and uneven.

For a second, they just stare at each other—two stubborn idiots waiting for the other to blink first.

Then Billy leans in, barely a shift of weight, just enough that Steve forgets how to breathe.

It’s not a kiss, not yet. But it’s close enough that every thought in Steve’s head drops out at once. “Still think it’s not your problem?” Billy says, quiet this time.