oh man that one with billy convincing steve to skip work has got me thinking trophy husband billy
Oh, anon! đđđđadkahdshdhdkhkhdYESSS. I LOVE this idea!
And Iâm SURE he would be the happiest trophy husband. And also the kind that's showy. Has so much fun going over the top with it, being gossip material. All clichĂŠ-y, and Diva-like. Basically confirming what everyone thinks about him (about them) precisely because itâs the diametrically opposed to what it really is.
Mowing the lawn in mini-mini-shorts. Working on his tan on their lovely backyard on the sunny Sunday Summer mornings (in that exact spot where âcoincidentallyâ Mr. Walker, their blatantly homophobic next door neighbor, would have to get out of his own backyard with his eyes closed not to see). Being reaaaally polite with everyone around (Mr. Walker included), smiling and waving his hand like âHiiii, Janice! How did that new face treatment go?â because they live in a Nice Place now, six years after Robert Harrington made Steve climb his way up the company ladder right from the bottom âExactly like everyone elseâ, both as a punishment and a trial; after working their asses out of their shitty one-bedroom apartment, having to prove themselves in every single step (as Steve and Billy, but also as SteveandBilly), but,
And now Steve has a very good job, one heâs genuinely good at, one that pays for much more than hardly the bills and maybe having dinner out from time to time. And theyâre happy and they are together and they fucking made it, despite barely anyone around them given two shits. Now, Steve slicks his wild hair back from Monday to Friday, wears the nicest suits, so fitting and sexy and oh so preppy Billy sometimes gets a hard-on just from seeing them all together in the dressing room, hanging in a perfectly tidy line, made of the same material of sins.
He just doesnât see the point in not treating himself every once in a while. Make Steve run late for work or not getting there at all. In no letting himself enjoy the way those tailored beauties emphasize the shape of Steveâs glorious ass. Enjoy the certainty that in a big, stylish, impeccably neat office downtown, Steveâs dad is rolling his eyes all the way back into their sockets.
In not letting himself revel in the exhilarating feeling of sliding full into this âhot-mess trophy hubbyâ persona almost everyone around them assumes he is. Steveâs Harrington boy-toy. âThat California scum. Must be real good at sucking dick to get a deal like that.â Make the rumors roll down the small streets of Hawkins and under the door of his own fatherâs house. Thrive in the knowledge that every time Neil Hargrove hears any or those rumors or gets even the tiiiniest glimpse of them two together, going out and about holding hands, feels like heâs about to puke his guts out thinking about what his son has âbecomeâ.
And aside from that, he kind ofââenjoys, this trophy husband thing, to be honest. Itâs been ten years since they got together now. Billy likes to keep things spiced-up. So when Steve is promoted and they move to be close to the new office, along with the house Billy buys a pair of powder pink slippers, fluffy ball of floating fur on top, and a see-through, fur-riveted robe to match. Some days he goes to his morning cockteling&tanning session in the backyard wearing only that (âHeeeey! How ya doinâ Mr. Walker?â). Kisses Steve goodbye long and filthy at the door, where everyone can see, opening the robe wide to wrap it around them both together, pressing their bodies flush, biting at his ear and whispering âBring me a diamond when you come back, honey bunnyâ making Steve snort but say "You deserve a million of them, babe" making Billy melt, feel a bit like he's dripping love out of all the pores of his body, making a puddle that will permanently stain the glamorous white marble of the entryway as he waves Steve goodbye, scratches with feign indifference at the trail of fair hairs coming out his flashy-green pants to counteract the way Steve's killer smile makes him blush as hard as the first time, a whole decade away, that cold November night when he grabbed Billy by the collar of his T-shirt and said "I'm gonna kiss you. And then you're gonna punch me. And I don't care.â
Itâs like a fucking fairytale. The way things were going? The most Billy expected out of life was live if fast, die young, leave a beautiful corpse behind. But now, heâs got the guy of his dreams. Heâs got a life he could have never dreamed of. Heâs got Steve, now. Steve, whoâs good, is caring. Always fights him back. Doesnât buy any of the shit he tries to pull off. Steve, who's got lips like that moment the earth forgets about gravity when youâre riding down the hill of a rollercoaster. Got eyes that can rip out of you promises you never thought you'd make (like: I do and forever and not even death). That always see Billy when they look at him.
And now, he gets to wake up every morning before he does, put the Moka pot on the stove. Gets to see Steveâs sleepy face right after rolling out of bed, hair still untamed, pouty lips, bare feet dragging over the floor. See the way he beams, smile wide and devastatingly sweet when Billy tells him âI made you coffee, babeâ. Gets Steve kissing him like a daydream, laying him over the kitchen table, fucking him before even touching breakfast with his fancy pink robe on.
And Billy thought he would have to change. Give something, to have something. Didnât really mind. Too lucky to complain. Thought he would have to stop being mean once they got married. Play the tamed part. Thought he was going to have to behave to fit into the rich and respectable life they had landed at. But. No-No. Rich people? Theyâre way meaner than regular people, turns out. Billyâs just been upgraded to play for the Assholeâs World Championship Cup.
And heâs always been good at sports.
So he goes to the hair salon the afternoon before any important event. Gets a facial. Does his nails. Buys new clothes. Gets all Pretty Woman on himself just so Steve can show him off. And oh. OH. OHHH. Steve does show him off. To his dad. His mom. The whole party. Doesnât give a fuck about whatever people keeps on whispering behind their backs. Offers his arm to Billy and Billy clings to him, keeps his chin up. Heâs never been as afraid of anything as much as Steve not loving him back. Heâs fearless now. Because here they are. So he lets Steve walk him through the crowd as the King he was born like. Brilliant. Proud. Letting Billy to deal with the vultures if he fancies to do that.
âAwwww. But look at you!! Anyone can tell you two are soooo in love!â
Fake boobs. Fake Louboutins. Fake Smile. Billy is Queen Bee now. Heâs got this.
âOh, no Miss Treadaway. I dearly appreciate you noticing how good my acting skills are. But itâs exactly as you said to Miss Walton the other day. I only married Stevie here because heâs got a big dick and itâs loaded. And he only married me because of how good I look on all fours. Youâre too perceptive to hide it!â
But with Steveâs parents? With Steveâs parents Billy is relentlessly n i c e. When Robert Harrington wonât even look at him. When Crystal Harrington blows saccharine all over him like in a bad magic trick, deceivingly sweet when she says, âWell William. Maybe it's time you get a real job too now our Steven is running his own branch" cold war buzzing between them when Billy spreads his most honest, open smile, not a millimeter of animadversion showing âBut I already have a real job, Crystal. I take care of your son. And thereâs also, you know, that side thing I do of running Garageâ making her fingers clutch hard around her cup of fine champagne, making Steveâs lips fight to repress a grin, eyes fond, and soft and in love. And Billy will do whatever it takes, endure whatever he has to, if what he gets in return is this: the way the narrow space keeping them apart feels like inevitability when they're about to kiss.
And everyone thought he was going after the money, when they married. Most still do. But Billy never actually asked for diamonds. Well, not for real. But he gets one anyway. Tenth anniversary and counting. It shines unreal on his finger, as much as this life he has now, as the liquid shine of Steveâs eyes when he says âThey come from fire, just like you. I always thought they would fit so well. And looks like I was rightâ and just a few years before, Billy would have said âThis is too much, I canât take itâ too afraid Steve would get the wrong impression too, too afraid to not be up to him. But now, he understands, that this is just another way Steve is trying to take care of him, to show him love. So now, Billy lets Steve spoil him as much as he wants. Take him out for dinner without reason. Hand him a sealed envelope saying, âWhat about showing me that ocean you love so much?â Kissing him in front of everyone, all the time, ringed fingers intertwined.
Lets him buy them a California King just to make a stupid joke, get Billy Hargrove to blush.
âWe can ditch all of this, if youâre not happy. You know that, right? I donât care about anything else as long as itâs you and Iâ
Billy shakes his head. âI am happy, pretty boy. Happier than I ever thought I could beâ Tickles Steveâs nose with the fluffy, pink fuzz all around his robe until he sneezes and chuckles. âBut I wanna know,â he says, tone pouty and tragic âIt is true, what everybody says? Am I really a trophy husband?â
Steve shuffles closer, rumbles low in his throat. Itâs an early Sunday morning. Theyâre gonna spend all time left until breakfast fucking in bed. Then cockteling&tanning together âtill lunch. And then, after, heâs sure he can convince Steve to put on one of those gorgeous suits, let Billy grind against the soft fabric, make a mess out of him. Make him beg and squirm. Pull down his fly real slow, down on his knees. Suck him off. Eat him out. Make him moan I love yous brighter than diamonds when Billy gets inside him. But right now, Steve just kisses him silly, lowers down the covers to take a look down, at his leopard print, see-through, hideous new briefs. The cheapest ones he could find.
Because Billyâs trash. Will always be trash.
âOh yeah, babe. You are. A fucking trophy. The best anyone could haveâ
But heâs posh trash now.
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