Steve sometimes acts like he’s asleep so Billy has to carry him to the bed. He does it on the couch and in the car when they return to his house late at night and every time Billy softly takes him into his strong arms and carries him with a bridal style to the bed.
But without his knowledge, Billy catches on to it after a while.
One time when Steve had actually fallen asleep on the couch, Billy left him there instead of carrying him upstairs and waited for the other to come up with a grin on his face.
But Steve never did and Billy got an attitude from him the next day because Steve had to wake up alone and cold on the couch. He wouldn’t stop pouting at the other and Billy couldn’t help the laughs he let out everytime when Steve stomped away from him.
Billy did apologize later that night when they were in bed for leaving him there alone and Steve did too, about acting like he was asleep.
”You know you can just ask me to carry you, right?” Billy said when they were half asleep.
Steve had smiled shyly as he laid his head on Billy’s chest. He felt embarrassed.
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I’m going combine this with an anon request I got that’s similar.
anonymous asked:
Mafia Boss Billy fucking his worst rivals aka Mr Harringtons son, Steve, them both knowing who they are, but not giving a shit about it. Steve just really loves to get fucked by that thick cock of Billy’s and he doesn’t care that his own father hates the guy 👀
So there’s some fucking, some general violence, bad things happen and are bad, murder boyfriend energy.
Read on ao3
Billy Hargrove was infamous around Chicago.
The Hargrove Family was well established, ran the fucking streets for decades the title of Boss being handed father to son.
Neil Hargrove had groomed his son from a young age, kept him in the room to observe as he spoke to his dogs. Explained the precise techniques he used for torture. The first time he made Bill kill a man, hold a gun to his head and pull the trigger, Billy was twelve.
Billy was Neil’s favorite attack dog.
He could just say his name and strike absolute fear in the hearts of anyone who heard it, anyone who was threatened with it.
Billy was known for having cold eyes, a heart of steel. Rumor is, he killed his own father to take over the company, had an expensive funeral for him.
He took over the large office, headed up the businesses they used as a front.
Pictures would surface of him in expensive clubs, doing lines of coke off strippers, letting twinks sit in his lap, suck him off while he lazily sipped expensive whiskey.
Steve Harrington was a brat.
The Harrington family ran Indianapolis, Cincinnati, and were building themselves in St. Louis.
They were the Hargroves’ biggest rivals, had been encroaching on their stake in Chicago, had plans to take over as much of the midwest as possible.
Mr. Harrington had never been afraid to use his son as a bargaining chip.
Steve was pretty, but he was a simpering idiot according to his father. Only good to be thrown to the enemy, with a promise he’d do anything.
He’d been fucked over plenty of desks, had been tied up in grand penthouses, choked on the cocks of the bosses his dad wanted ally-ships with. The Harrington Family owed the establishment of their branch in Cleveland to Steve’s asshole and his willingness to be choked.
When Steve first met Billy, they were unaware of the other.
Steve had been on a bender, blowing through his father’s money after the settlement of a partnership in Detroit. He was in Chicago, being watched by two of his father’s men, the two had been assigned to Steve when he was young, keeping a close watch on him.
Billy had watched the pretty boy stumble into the club, the lights dim, the music low, base-heavy.
Steve was out of his mind when he slammed into the broad chest, had gazed up into sharp blue eyes, tugged a blond curl that had escaped the bun at the crown of his head.
Billy took him home that night, had fucked the rich brat in his silk sheets, on his dresser, on his bearskin rug, over his desk, against the shower wall.
They exchanged phone numbers the next morning when Steve hunted down his clothes, called his car around.
They started meeting up every time Steve made his way to Chicago, happening more and more often as he started to want Billy more and more.
But after a few months, Steve noticed some mail, envelopes addressed to William Hargrove.
“You’re, you’re a Hargrove.”
“You know the name?”
“You know the Harrington name?”
“Course I do, those assholes keep creeping on my turf.”
“Yeah well, I’m one of them.” He held out his hand. “Steve Harrington. Nice to meet you.” Billy just laughed, pulling Steve into him by his outstretched hand.
“Unfortunately, I don’t care. Wouldn’t give up that tight little hole for nothing.”
They kept fucking, keeping it behind closed doors, in secret. Steve didn’t want his father to know, thought he’d try to use him as leverage to get Chicago. Steve was happy, letting himself be in something close to a relationship for the first time in his entire life.
But then his father had a request, was ready to send him to Columbus to reason with a client.
He had opened his mouth, complained to Billy and the man he was supposed to meet with was found dead in Lake Erie two weeks later, the mangled body had to be identified by dental records.
Mr. Harrington is livid.
He knew Hargrove had something to do with this, thought maybe he had sabotaged the deal, not that he had killed to protect whatever was left of Steve’s honor.
Steve was in Chicago the next day, booked a flight the minute he heard the news of the body in the lake. Had shown up at Billy’s apartment in a long coat, nothing underneath. Billy slammed him against the closed door, kissed him fiercely while peeling the coat off him.
“Can’t believe, can’t believe you killed a man for me.”
“That freak you out?” He lifted Steve up, his legs wrapping around Billy’s waist as Steve fumbled with the buttons on his shirt.
“No. It’s, God that’s so hot, Bill.”
“He begged for his life. I really took my time, made sure he knew he was gonna die just for thinkin’ about touchin’ you.” Billy set him on the leather couch, settled himself between Steve’s legs. “I’m the only one that gets to touch you. Gets to fuck you.” He ground his hips down, biting at Steve’s ear, growling in it. “You’re mine, Princess.” Steve moaned as they moved together, their cocks sliding together, hard and hot.
“Bill, want you to fuck me. Claim me.” Billy stood off the couch, forced Steve down onto the floor, face pressing into the soft rug, ass in the air, silver plug visible.
Billy pulled it out, loved watching the way Steve stretched around the thickness of it, the way his hole fluttered when it was gone, leaving him empty, wet with lube.
Billy spat on it.
“This little hole is mine. Mine to open up, mine to fuck.” He pressed his cock in, sighing at the velvet heat around him. He went hard and fast, hands rough on Steve’s hips to keep him steady, slammed into this hard enough to bruise, the sound of their skin slapping together, Steve’s loud moans, his own grunts all he could hear. “Would kill for this hole, have killed for this hole. For, for you, Princess.”
Steve came on the rug below him, hand flying over his dick, crying out as he tightened around Billy, muscles going stiff before collapsing, breathing heavily into the rug. Billy never slowed his pace, kept slamming into Steve, chasing his orgasm.
“Come inside. Only, only person I’ve, ever let fill me up.” That threw Billy right over the edge. He shoved his way in a few more times, cumming deep in that fluttering little hole. He flopped next to Steve, chest heaving as Steve rolled on top of him.
His fingers drifted down, two pressing back into Steve, keeping him full.
“You really never let anyone cum inside you?”
“No. Didn’t trust anyone enough not to use a condom. “
Billy’s mind short-circuited at the idea that Steve trusts him.
“Jesus Christ.” Steve looked at him, his eyebrows furrowed.
“What, what’s wrong?”
“I think I fucking, love you.” Steve’s face was blank.
“No shit, Idiot. You tortured and killed a guy that was hypothetically going to fuck me.”
Billy laughed, Steve shifting around on top of him as his chest moved with it.
“God, Stevie. I really went ham on the guy too. Like, really went to town.”
“And the whole time you were doing that, you didn’t once think maybe this about more than fucking?”
“I really didn’t.” He was giggling. “How long did you know?”
“When I heard they pulled that body out of Lake Erie. Your family has no ties to the Camorra family. There was no reason for you to off him, except me.”
“Was it too big a gesture?”
“Nah. Don’t mind a little death. it’s all part of the gig.” He put his head back down. “For the record, I love you too. In case you didn’t already know.” Billy kissed the top of his head.
“I almost went after your father, too.” Steve was quiet for a moment. Billy was worried he’d gone too far, said too much.
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Screams and laughter filled the air. Steve caught a stray beach ball floating past him and proceeded to attempt to climb on top of it. The inflated ball kept popping out from beneath him and sending him giggling back into the pool.
"Stop messing around, Steve. That new lifeguard keeps looking over here like he's about to kick your ass," Tommy said, shooting Steve a warning look.
Steve laughed, shaking the water out of his hair. "Like some scrawny little lifeguard is gonna-" But then he saw the lifeguard Tommy had meant. "Oh. Holy shit."
He was ungodly gorgeous, tall and tan, with golden curls falling to his shoulders and muscles Steve could only dream of. And Steve had a feeling he would be dreaming of those muscles. And on top of that, he was almost wishing this guy would come over and kick his ass. Or just touch his ass any way he wanted, really.
"HAR-RING-TON!" Tommy yelled. "Stop staring. You're antagonizing him. I really don't want to get banned because you're a dumbass."
The lifeguard was taking off his sunglasses, ocean eyes crashing down on Steve, drowning him in their intensity. He raised his whistle to his open mouth, tongue pressing against his teeth, waiting for Steve to push his luck. But the way he was staring at Steve.
Thoughts raced through Steve's head. What would it cost him? Would it be worth it? What would he get, in the end? Without taking his eyes off the lifeguard, he crawled back on top of the beach ball, hanging on for a moment before it slipped out, flying across the pool, and Steve disappeared under the water.
When he surfaced, there was a low groan from Tommy. Then a shrill blast from the whistle between the lifeguard's lips. Steve smiled. Here we go.
Based on this absolute gem by @pretty-bratty. Please give their post some lovin. It's amazing. This fic is nowhere near as good as the original post, but here it is anyway.
---
Steve leaned on the Camaro's hood and lit up a smoke, chitchatting with Nancy and Jonathan while waiting for Billy to join them. The sun danced down upon them and Steve soaked it in. His spirits were high, riding on the trail of a great day. Though, it was mostly from English class that day. Billy had written him something lovely.
Billy came stomping up to them, huffing and grumbling to himself. Something must have happened to put him in such a mood. He pushed himself off the hood and stuck out his arms to embrace Billy.
"Can I speak to you, Harrington? In private?" Billy grunted.
Still giddy from the last few hours, Steve looked over at Nancy and Jonathan. "Ooo, someone's in trouble!" he said in a sing-song voice.
They looked back at him with grave expressions. Steve glanced at Billy, who was damn near fuming. Oh God, what did he do this time?
"Yeah, it's me," Steve said, defeated. "I don't know why I did that."
He and Billy climbed into the Camaro for some privacy. As soon as the doors were closed, Billy turned to him, eyes wide.
"What the fuck did you say to Tommy?"
Steve wracked his brain to try and remember when he'd spoken to Tommy. "You mean during English class?" Billy glared at him until Steve continued. "He was complaining about not understanding im- abnic - ambic penta-"
"Iambic pentameter," Billy cut in.
"Yeah, that. So I told him to ask you, cause you're like... A professional at this poetry shit. Like, you're really fucking good, man."
Billy pulled the cigarette from Steve's mouth and took a drag. "You ever think that, I don't know, I don't want people to know I write poetry?"
Steve shrugged. "But it's really beautiful. I was complimenting you."
"So you told Tommy, of all people."
Steve sighed. "So what?"
"Poetry's lame."
"It's not lame. Stop being a brat!"
Billy whipped his head toward Steve. "Me? I'm being a brat?"
"Yeah," Steve said and shoved Billy's shoulder. "You are."
Billy shoved him back. Steve did it again. Again, Billy returned the gesture, until they were having a cat fight in the front of Billy's car, shoving and slapping at each other, but not actually accomplishing anything.
Outside, Nancy gave Jonathan a look. "Should we just... Go?"
Billy caught Steve just outside the pool fence. His upper lip twitched, as if straining against a sneer.
"You think this shit is funny?" he barked.
Steve shrugged one shoulder. "Kinda. Yeah."
He could tell Billy wanted to bite his head off. He could taste it in the air, feel it radiating off of him in dense waves. But Billy just gritted his teeth and stared at Steve.
"Get your scrawny little girlfriend and get out. You're banned for the rest of the week."
Nancy was pissed. "What the Hell, asshole!? You drench me and get us banned!? For a week!? This is bullshit."
Banned? Like Hell. Steve gave it a day. He wanted Billy to think he had obeyed him, that he was going to honor his ban. But the day after, Steve slipped into the pool between Heather's shift and Billy's, as they were trading off. He hustled to the lifeguard tower and climbed up it, settling down in the chair just as Billy looked up at him.
The blonde stopped, rolling his shoulders back and cocking his head to the side. The sun was hot on Steve's skin where the umbrella didn't cast its shade, but there was a different heat creeping across him. Thick and lazy and churning. It set his fingers and feet tapping. Restless.
Billy made his way to the tower, never taking his eyes off Steve. "You've got some fucking nerve, you little shit. I thought I banned you."
Steve chuckled. "Oops. Guess I forgot."
Billy hooked his thumb in the waistband of his trunks, tugging the fabric down slightly. Steve couldn't pull his gaze from that patch of skin dipping down beneath his shorts. Billy's jaw was set in such a way that Steve was just waiting for him to snap.
But he didn't. "Get your ass down here or I swear to God I'll drown you myself," Billy growled.
"That would make you a pretty shit lifeguard." Steve climbed down and squared up to Billy.
There it was, that raging wildfire in Billy's blue eyes. It was spreading, the flames licking at the edges of Billy's patience. He was so close to losing it.
Steve pressed his hand on Billy's chest and pushed. He was right at the edge of the pool. Enough pressure and he'd tip right in. But the lifeguard didn't budge. He grabbed Steve's wrist with one hand, Steve's throat with the other, and threw the brat bodily into the water.
