#chrisbitchtree

They moved in together for college, during their freshmen year. They had both moved across the country to go to Temple University, which Steve hadn’t expected but once he realized living with Billy wasn’t too bad- he hadn’t minded.

Billy was typically clean, or at least good at keeping his mess on his side of the room. He liked to wear just his boxers and a tank top around the dorm room, but Steve never minded. They worked well together, living in the same dorm room.

So they just stuck with it. Through their first cramped dorm room to a weird suite with two weird roomates, to their first off-campus place that they hosted parties in every weekend.

And when the holidays came around, Billy would drive home with him. One night to visit Max, middle ground at her mother’s, away from his father. And then he would charm Steve’s parents. Mostly his mother, but it was good.

It’s still good. It’s a nicer apartment than their first off-campus one, it’s for real adults with full-time jobs which they both have. Two shiny degrees tacked to the wall in the living room, opposite the television.

Steve doesn’t want to leave this apartment. Or, well, it’s not the apartment, really. It’s Billy. Billy will leave, go back to California and become one with the surf and sand again.

If Steve was a good roommate and not in love with Billy, he would offer to go with him. Spend a week looking at apartments, asking Billy to show him around. Giving him freedom and space and help.

But he’s selfish, he always has been. He wants Billy to stay as long as possible, have to ask the post office to order him some special newspapers from California so he can look at listings.

He wants to savor their nightly dinners, shared at the shitty dining room table Billy cobbled together in an elective. He wants to grab Billy a beer from the bridge and press it to the back of his neck until he smacks him every night. He wants to see if they both can fit into the easy chair Steve’s dad bought Billy to prove that he could.

“Dinner!” Steve shouts, scooping pasta into bowls. He has the salad bowl set on the table already with ranch dressing for him and Italian for Billy. There’s water there too, it looks domestic, friendly, like maybe they’re a family.

Billy waltzes out in his cut off shorts with his hair in a bandanna. It’s out of control these days, long and untamed. He used to bitch about finding a hairdresser, so Steve trims the ends for him.

“Hmmm you made pesto?” Billy asks, stretching so he can scratch his stomach. He crosses behind Steve while Steve carries bowls to the table and heads for the kitchen sink. Domestic.

Steve nods and wipes his hands off with his dishtowel, looking at the spread on the table. “Yeah, I used pine nuts this time because you said you like them,” he replies. He nods once and goes to wash his hands too.

Billy takes his usual seat, chair against the wall so he can see the door. It’s just something Steve’s gotten used to, living with him. He likes to see doors, any place someone can enter from. Steve knows it’s from his dad, but he doesn’t begrudge him for it. Billy’s allowed to have fears from that man.

“Thanks, are there any nuts left over?”

“Half a bag,” Steve hums. He picks up his fork and twirls pasta around it. “Stuck them in your cabinet by the fridge.”

Billy grins. “You’re the best.”

Steve flips him off as his heart warms in his chest. They dig in to eat and for awhile, it’s just the sound of their forks scraping the bowls, chewing and slurping.

“Harrington,” Billy says, eventually, looking intently at him.

“Hm?” Steve pokes his head up, looks at Billy with wide eyes. Billy doesn’t say a word, he just leans over and drags his napkin down Steve’s cheek. Steve blushes to the roots of his hair and looks down hurriedly when Billy pulls his hand away.

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

“Anytime, but you gotta get better at not getting shit all over your face, since I won’t be here forever,” Billy teases him.

It’s enough reminder to make Steve’s heart sink. Billy hasn’t really made any moves yet, he hems and haws about how hard it is to find a place without being there. But he hasn’t tried to find flights or listings, as far as Steve can tell.

“Yeah, would you get on that?” Steve chuckles, light, teasing. He doesn’t want Billy to leave. He can’t imagine asking him to stay.

Billy rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t say anything. The silence leaves Steve enough space to wonder if maybe Billy doesn’t want to go either. Or…or if he wants Steve to go with.

~~

Later, weeks or months or seasons, it’s hard to tell sometimes, Billy bothers Steve in his room. He hovers in the doorway and watches Steve, waits until Steve grabs a pillow to throw at him because he’s being silent and creepy.

“Asshole,” Billy mutters, catching the pillow. He throws it right back and Steve catches it with his face.

Steve sets the pillow down and fixes his glasses. He runs his fingers through his hair and raises his brows. He has a magazine open in his lap, reading an article about a movie he wants to go see.

“What?” Steve asks, pushing the magazine to the side.

Billy shrugs, licks his lips. “About California…”

Steve waits for him to continue, but it’s clear Billy doesn’t have any other thoughts. Or he doesn’t know what else to say. “What about it?”

“I’m really gonna go, you know?”

Steve nods slowly, shifts over on his bed because Billy insists on taking the right side. “I know, you said you would.”

Billy takes a deep breath, blows it out slowly. “You ever think about moving?”

Steve shrugs, wraps his arms around his pillow and hugs it to his chest. It’s late, the hour of honesty and loneliness.

“I moved from Hawkins, didn’t I?”

Billy lays back on his bed, looks up at the ceiling. His hair is damp, curled wildly around his face on the pillow. “Yeah. Guess we did.”

Steve could kiss him, wants to kiss him. He wants to lean over him and kiss him senseless until Billy is breathless and begging. Until Steve can leave his mark all over him so that no matter where Billy goes, he will never forget Steve Harrington.

“Why do you want to go back to California?” he asks instead.

Billy shrugs. “Always said I was going to.”

“Do you not like it here?”

“Summers suck, man, they’re so fucking humid.”

Steve hums, rolls onto his side to watch Billy. “But we get snow. And cheesesteaks.”

“Ohhh cheesesteaks,” Billy grumbles, humming. “With provolone, no whiz.”

“No whiz, never,” Steve whispers.

Steve licks his lips, there’s something here, in the space between them. Sitting on the sheets and waiting to be picked up and examined.

“And I’m here,” Steve adds. His voice is low, maybe he could say he coughed if Billy calls him on it.

“You’re here,” Billy agrees softly. He closes his eyes, his eyelashes touch his cheeks, the freckles dusted there. Steve wants to commit them to memory on the tips of his fingers.

“Don’t leave,” Steve mumbles. He swallows hard and reaches out, curling his fingers into Billy’s soft band t-shirt. “Don’t go back to California, not without me.”

Billy’s lower lip trembles and his eyes screw shut tighter. He looks like he wants to burst into tears. Steve knows the feeling.

“Don’t-”

“Don’t what? Don’t tell you the truth? I want you here with me. Don’t go somewhere and not let me follow.”

Billy grabs his wrist, squeezes it and turns to look at him with shiny eyes. “I have to leave or I won’t stop loving you.”

“Fucking-!” Steve throws his pillow to the ground and surges up to kiss Billy. Idiots, both of them.

He untangles his hand from his shirt and cradles his cheek in one hand. It’s so warm to the touch because Billy contains the sun and he probably needs to go back to California to get it recharged, but they can go together. Later.

Billy makes a soft sound and one of his hands fits against Steve’s lower back. He forces Steve to straddle his waist, kissing back like they need to share air.

Steve leans himself into Billy’s embrace, spending just a moment marveling at how well they fit together. Of course they do, they’ve always fit together, it’s part of why living together has worked out so well.

He groans quietly when Billy tugs on his lower lip and slides his hand up to tangle in his hair. Steve tugs on the ends of it, huffing a bit as he rocks his hips down.

“Stay,” he whispers. “If we do this, you have to stay. You have to wait until we can find a place together.”

Billy nods, pulls back to look at Steve with bright eyes. “I’m gonna stay. Haven’t found a place anyway.”

Steve knows it’s the truth because Billy’s been dragging this out as much as Steve has been carefully not touching it to keep him here. He dives back in and slides his left hand down Billy’s body.

Billy groans next and starts to wiggle so he can get his shirt off. Steve has to put his mouth in the center of Billy’s chest and looks up at him through his lashes. He tugs his own shirt over his head too, dropping both of them onto the floor.

He’s suddenly glad that Billy likes the right side because then he won’t have to sleep in the wet spot. Or they can go sleep in Billy’s bed which has no wet spots. Choices, choices, Steve stops thinking about their choices.

They get undressed, still familiar, but breathing hard. It’s not from playing basketball in the summer or doing laps at the Y in the winter. It’s because they’re kissing and touching, hands sliding over skin, grabbing fistfuls.

Steve leans over Billy enough to smack around his bedside table. Condom, lube, he always has them, easy, accessible, sitting right out in the open because he’s twenty-fucking-three.

“Shit, you ever done this before?” Billy laughs.

“Fuck no,” Steve giggles in return. “Hands?”

“Hands, but I’m gonna learn how to do it for you,” Billy decides. He tosses the condom away but keeps the lube close.

Steve kisses his stomach and picks up the lube to wrap his hand around it. Maybe he can warm it, he wants to warm it for Billy like he’s never wanted to warm lube for anyone before.

Billy pulls him up for another kiss, one hand on his cheek, the other fitting around both their dicks. It’s dry, his hand is calloused from weights, but Steve moans anyway.

There’s nothing like being touched by someone he loves, he can’t help it. He huffs a couple of times and bites down on Billy’s lip.

Steve pulls back to get lube between them, too much, at least for now, but it’s fine. They’re gross, they’re boys, he loves Billy so much it’s not funny. He rolls his hips up and Billy moans next, friction.

“Shit do that again,” Billy begs. He has his hand curled around them both, so Steve can do the hip work.

He starts a slow roll, finding a rhythm that works for both of them. And he kisses Billy, his lips are going to be sore tomorrow from Billy’s facial hair, but he doesn’t care. He’s so focused on how their skin drags together, the rasp of his chest hair against Billy’s chest.

Steve’s toes curl and he really pushes himself into Billy’s hand, listens to make sure it’s good for Billy too. He wants this moment to last forever. He’s imprinting himself into Billy’s heartbeats if he wasn’t there already.

“Fuck,” Billy breathes. His hips rock up too, uncontrollable while he chases that release. Steve watches him, mouth hanging open. They can do this again later or tomorrow or any day from now until forever.

“Come on, show me how good you look when you come,” Steve coaxes. He wraps his hand around them too, has to take a deep breath to keep from shooting off, he wants to see Billy come first.

Billy grunts and focuses, looking down between them. Steve keeps rocking his hips, so focused on that pretty face, the furrow of his brows, the way his lips are sucked between his teeth.

When Billy comes, his face opens up, he drops his head back and almost laughs into his moan. Steve is totally transfixed, paused halfway in a thrust. He has to kiss Billy’s jaw and feels the wet splash of spunk between them.

Steve moans and slides through Billy’s come breathlessly. He comes a moment later, squeezing down hard on himself as he thinks of Billy’s blue eyes, searching for the heavens he’s found within himself.

Steve flops beside him. His chest is heaving, his hand and stomach are sticky, but his heart is soaring. He’s smiling, he looks at Billy and smiles even wider.

“I love you,” he whispers.

Billy turns to smile at him too, leans in for a soft, sweet kiss. He’s tender to the touch, when Steve splays his sticky hand on his chest.

“I love you too,” Billy mumbles when they pull apart. “Come with me to California.”

Heather looked at her over the rims of her sunglasses. “Where are you going with this?”

Robin looked back at the boringly empty Scoops Ahoy parlor. Slow days were a blessing and a curse. “You’re just in it for the show. I was too, back when I thought Steve was a total lady killer.”

Heather snorted. “I knew Steve was a sweetie way before you did. Don’t worry. Once the ruffled alpha feathers finally relax, they’ll see each other for what they are.”

“Disgustingly horny for each other?”

“Two alphas wanting to bone each other’s brains out isn’t disgusting…so long as they keep it out of my work hours. I don’t care where they get nasty, just stay the hell away from the pool. Draining and cleaning is a nightmare.”

Robin smirked and offered, “If it takes less than a month, I’ll trade jobs with you for a day.”

Heather looked at her, silently processing the offer. “You really think it’ll take them that long to be in each other’s pants?”

“Steve’s sweet but Hargrove only has so many strikes until he’s out of Harrington’s good graces.”

“Yeah but…hormones? The nose knows?”

Robin snorted. “I’ve seen first hand that Steve is predictably clueless and weirdly smart when I least expect it.”

Heather sighed an agreeing sound. “Billy surprises me too. He turns up his jean hems and irons them down.”

“You’re surprised he’s a diva? With that car?” Robin teased. “Have you seen his hair?”

Heather countered, “For a guy who’s trying to have all the peacock feathers of a war-prized veteran, he’s…soft.”

“I’m gonna need you to elaborate on that.”

So Heather did: “Usually it’s the girls who are supposed to teach the kids’ swimming lessons. Don’t get me started on that—”

“Regardless of second gender?”

“It’s old world bullshit,” Heather fumed and continued, “but it’s Billy. Billy’s the best one with the kids.”

Robin adjusted her position in the seat. It was going to be a real bummer whenever someone came in wanting ice cream, but for now, she enjoyed her extended break. “Steve’s the same. I never would have assumed he even liked kids, but the only people who ever visit him are next semester’s freshmen.”

Heather perked up. “The ones Billy’s sister is friends with?”

“Max,” Robin informed. “They’re all fine, I guess. In an…obnoxious freshman way. Max is the most tolerable of the bunch.”

“And she spends more time here than at the pool…” Heather contemplated aloud.

Robin felt inclined to correct, “She spends more time in the theater. Steve lets them into the R-rated films through the staff hallways.”

Heather dropped the stick of her lollipop into an ice cream cup and concluded, “A late night mall date sounds like just the thing.”

Robin stood up and disposed of the cup in the trash bin as she refuted, “I’m not friends with Billy’s sister, and the idea of recruiting a kid so her brother can screw my coworker gives me a bad taste.”

“Okay, prudish,” Heather scoffed. “What to you suggest?”

Robin smirked as she rotated to lean back against the glass, refrigerated case. “I’m so glad you asked.”

• • •

Steve sighed heavily, blunt fingertips scratching his neck as he mentally willed customers to keep walking past Scoops Ahoy. For some reason, all of Hawkins had him on their radar, and where was Robin to witness his ability to draw people into the store?

Steve needed to get laid. Between the internal itch of his body and him fidgeting near his glands, his throat was slowly becoming a red beacon. A dark blue, stupid sailor costume was not doing him favors in concealing it. And it was just his luck that he had to work solo on such a busy day—

“Wow. Do you want a cream for that rash?”

He frowned at none other, than Robin approaching the counter. Dressed in casual clothes, she pointed her stoic glare at him, but he’d developed a skill at reading her.

“You hate this place way too much to be here on your day off. What gives?”

She leaned on the counter with all the familiarity of someone used to being on the other side of it. “Word on the street is that Billy Hargrove is in the parking lot.”

Steve stared at her, visibly processing that until countered, “Robin. That’s not a rumor. You just saw him on the street on your way in here.”

“Whatever. Are you gonna make a move, or what?”

“Oh? A move?” His brows flew up towards the white sailor’s cap on his head. “Like the other move you suggested where I use the community pool’s gymnasium?”

“I didn’t know you could get ring worm from the gym,” Robin defended.

“No, I wouldn’t expect a band geek to know that.”

“You don’t need to go for my throat. At least it got you and Billy talking.”

“Yeah, because it was so thrilling for our first somewhat polite conversation to be him teasing me about the rancid gym. And he was right.”

Robin pursed her lips to the side and recalled one of Heather’s tactics. “Well he gave you nail polish for that, didn’t he?”

Steve’s eyes narrowed on her. “Buckley. I always knew band geeks can’t keep secrets—”

“The hell does that mean?” she recoiled.

“It means someone told him I needed to suffocate some ringworm on my skin!” Steve paused as his eyes darted over her. Steve might’ve been oblivious to her preferences until she spilled about Tammy Thompson, but damn it, that had been the key to a lock that was Steve figuring her out forevermore.

“Heather. You and Heather—!”

“They work together!” she shushed. “I had the best resource to help you with your dead end crush—”

“I am never a dead end,” he huffed. “Tammy Muppet Thompson is a dead end.”

“Okay,” she drawled in a hiss.

“Nothing stays at band camp! You squealed to Heather!”

“Why would I have supported your crush on Hargrove if I didn’t know you had a chance?”

That brought Steve up short. “You know he likes me?”

Robin’s dark blue eyes went wide. “Where did that get lost? Was it how he salivates around you so much that his tongue wags? That he brings you ice pops from the pool despite you working in an ice cream parlor? He behaves like it’s Florida or California, walking in here wearing only his swim shorts!”

“It’s hotter than hell outside, half the town is shirtless. Maybe if you’d told Heather to tell Billy that my favorite flavor isn’t cherry, I would’ve been impressed.”

“We’re always out of maraschinos because you eat them,” Robin countered. “What’s your favorite flavor?”

A deeper voice answered, “Caramel apple.”

Steve’s red neck blossomed up through his cheeks as Robin froze. Steve recovered faster, “You did say he was outside.”

“I thought we had time,” she bit out. “He takes so long to go anywhere, letting people look at him.”

“Are you two a package deal? Because I’ll need to read the fine print,” Billy remarked as he approached and placed two wrapped ice lollies on the counter.

Robin glanced at the green apple flavor boasting caramel sauce inside before she asked, “How long have you been here?”

“Long enough for all your customers and half the GAP to hear about you meddling in my sex life, thanks. Heather’s shifts for the rest of the month depend on how fast you can run.”

Instead of leaving, Robin smirked at him. “How about I take the rest of this shift, and you take the dingus to the pharmacy.”

Billy’s features flattened as he looked Steve over, not having considered him to be ill. He found the source quickly enough, sharp blue eyes riveted to his throat while Steve otherwise handed Robin his Ahoy sailor’s cap. However, she grasped it and frisbee-tossed it through the back room window.

“Screw company policy.”

“Oh-ho, look at you,” Steve sassed, shimmying his way around the counter.

They had to pass each other as she took over his shift, and her features pinched into a grimace. “You smell like a BLT. With pickles on the side.”

“My favorite,” Billy crooned, almost too quiet to hear.

A wave of heat swept over Steve, causing Robin’s eyes to roll while Billy’s nostrils widened. “God, get out of here before someone thinks we have salted caramel as a topping. You’re disgusting.”

“Maybe if you spent your time with Heather gossiping less and getting laid more, you’d sing a sweeter tone,” Steve finished, ice lollies in hand as he waved Billy through the staff door to the back room.

Billy’s composure lasted about as long as it took them to walk through another door to the hallways networking the back of the mall, and for the two of them to glance at each other. Billy’s hand slid over Steve’s lumbar, feeling his fellow alpha jump a little as the heat of his hand seeped through the sailor uniform. “Outside, pretty boy. You might lose your job if your scent lingers like that.”

“Why do you talk like that?” Steve blurted, shoving open the door to the outside. Hawkins was hotter than ever, and the lollies dripped condensation through his grip.

“Like what?” Billy countered, in the same husky tone as he let Steve back him up against the conveniently parked, maroon BMW. A good thing, indeed, that he’d worn a shirt today; the hot metal made him reach for one of the ice pops in Steve’s hand.

“Like you’re growling but shy.”

Billy pulled the wrapping apart to expose the green pop with murky innards promising caramel sauce. Instead of answering directly, he knocked his leg against Steve’s. The natural humidity on their skin made them stick, just for an instant, deliciously together. Billy liked the friction of their leg hair together. “And why’s it taken you this long to stand up to me?”

“I’ve always stood up to you. I just didn’t realize you liked being courted like this—that’s insane.”

Billy had bitten right through the corner of the green lolly that was threatening to melt into slush any second. His head tipped backward, a fast gesture to spare his teeth from the cold chunk in his mouth. “It’s ninety-eight degrees, Harrington, and we haven’t even reached today’s high yet.”

“You’re telling me,” Steve said as he raised the other lolly to the back of his neck. Billy’s tongue moved around his mouth, eyes resting way too long on Steve’s crimson neck. The poor guy was clearly in the cusp of a rut in the thick of July. It was a damn shame, for Billy’s cool fingertips found the edge of an inflamed gland and Steve vocally sighed at the tickling relief.

“You might actually need an ointment for this.”

Steve huffed and shoved the lolly—now ice pack—underneath the hair on his neck. “I get sweat rashes in the summer. This hair comes with a price that my glands pay.”

“Uh huh,” Billy purred, watching Steve’s mouth connect with the top of his ice cream and how his cheeks hollowed while he sucked the caramel out. A thread of sauce followed Steve up before he licked his lips—

Billy chased after it, licking sugar off of Steve’s lips between their kiss before Steve pushed his sweet tongue into Billy’s mouth. Billy’s fingertips found Steve’s chin and cheekbone, holding him in place while he switched sides. Their noses bumped together and Billy smiled against Steve’s overeager pursuit of his mouth. Getting teeth instead of lips made Steve complain, “Do I really smell like a BLT?”

Those doe eyes looked huge across the distance of their breath. Billy shamelessly gripped the red knot of the Scoops Ahoy ascot and pulled Steve’s uniform off his skin so Billy could press his nose against a collarbone. In his other hand, green apple juice dripped over his hand.

“Not yet, at least. You busy this weekend?”

The artificial highlights in Steve’s hair beamed in the summer sun as a dopey smile lifted his tired face. “I sure hope so. You mean with you, right?”

Billy nodded his head toward the car behind him. “We’ll take my car, before the heat takes you out.”

“What’s wrong my car?”

“I can’t drive home smelling you.”