#hints of

for once, once, billy had the house to himself for the night.

save for the record he had spinning in the corner atop his crates— something gritty but low, enough to pass as background noise more than anything— the house wasn’t filled with its usual slew of overlapping racket.

neil was out with his military buddies, which meant no baseball reruns blaring from the living room, while susan took the weekend to visit her geriatric sister and dragged max along with her.

no one was here to bother billy. no one besides you. and you and him, you two weren’t together but you weren’t not together either. a kinda-sorta-but-not-really that gave room for regular hookups and narrowly avoided the word relationship.

which— billy wasn’t built for those, so it all worked itself out. what you two had was good, solid. an unspoken agreement to kiss and not tell.

billy exhaled, smoke escaping his mouth, and leaned back with a deep groan. the two of you had holed up in his room to get high and keep one another company. this was the real good shit, bought from hawkins’ resident freak. guy was obnoxious in every way, but he was good at what he did.

“what’re you starin’ at?” your brow furrowed, eyes narrowing at billy’s own where they were trained onto your face.

he blinked like hadn’t realized. “nothin’ but y’pretty face,” he crooned, a dopey grin forming on his face, pink lips stretching just so.

“god, you’re such a sleaze.”

“is it working?”

you rolled your eyes because yes, of course it was working. billy’s charm, even when inebriated, hit you in just the right spot every time.

“no, asshat.” you reached for the joint before he could hog it any longer and took a drag, letting the smoke curl in your lungs, build up a little burn, before letting it go. “try harder.”

billy took your words as a challenge and crawled over, bed creaking as he went, and crawled right up to face you directly. a few more inches and the two of you would be sharing the same air.

“want me to ‘try harder’, huh?” he leaned in, breath ghosting against your lips, what a tease— “this doin’ it for ya, baby?”

you shifted, feeling the beginning of that burn begin in your lower stomach, the one that made you have to squeeze your knees together. just a little.

his mouth continued its course, nearing all its usual stops but never quite making contact; a whisper of lips here, the feeling of a laugh against your earlobe there.

the record slowly crept to the end of the song but the change didn’t stop billy, only seemed to further encourage him— like he wanted your sounds to replace the music’s.

“billy, stop—“ the words left you as his lips finally pressed against your skin, the sensitive spot behind your ear that was a sure fire way in making you squirm. it was only a few close-mouthed pecks, but it was enough to have you letting out a little whine.

“s’not sounding like you want me to stop, babydoll.” he grinned against your skin. he was getting cocky, too cocky, and you knew that he was trying to push the boundaries.

because within your little arrangement, the roles, while never said, were clear. had been ever since the first time you referred to yourself as momma and billy came in record time.

he avoided you for a while after that, playing up the bad-boy-asshole persona he shucked on for school and pretending like what happened didn’t happen. like his mind hadn't been fucked for the next week, ruminating on what had happened.

but that was then. this is now— after he'd been coaxed out of his defensive shell and showered with enough praise to wash away the feelings gnawing at him. they were still present and making him feel wrong for getting off to what he did, but in the moment, your voice in his ear and your hands roaming, his own inner conflict quieted.

"bills, c'mon now," you tutted, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and gently prying him away from where he'd nestled against your side. there was a hitch of breath like he was about to let out a whine but it was bitten down, replaced by a pout.

you smiled. “think you're in over your head there, champ. what did we talk about?”

he reddened; one of the best parts would always be how embarrassed he was whenever the truth was put into the spotlight. “about… bein’ good.”

“and are you being good right now?”

billy huffed, eyes going down. “was.”

that was debatable.

you hummed as if you were in thought, all whilst keeping your arm wrapped around him. it left billy unable to move away, not unless he really tried.

“i think,” you started, free hand beginning to trail down the ratty metallica shirt he wore, the smell of weed still faintly clinging to the cotton, “that you need a reminder of where you stand, yeah?”

billy’s hips arched up off the bed at your fingers coming to a stop on the waistband of his gym shorts. he nodded quickly, already going a little dumb. “mhm— yeah- yeah. need’a reminder.”

you patted his shoulder until he got the hint and rolled onto his back, legs spread just wide enough for you to squeeze in between them. your hands roamed along his exposed skin, up around his meaty thighs and down to his calves, earning you a shiver from him as he grew in anticipation.

as your fingers began easing down his shorts there was a moment— fleeting, sharp— where he felt stupid for wanting this. the man he figured he oughta be didn’t go belly-up for fingers in his ass yet here he was, panting, a little sticky beneath the mesh of the shorts.

you noticed the pinch of his brow and registered the inner conflict wrestling inside his mind, and paused your ministrations. he opened his mouth, likely to protest, but you shook your head.

“tell me what’s goin’ up there first,” you urged.

“s’nothing. i’m good, baby.” he tried to smile, even held up a thumb. you rolled your eyes at his antics.

“be serious.” you tweaked his nipple through his shirt just enough to make him groan a little and get his eyes back on yours. “we’re not doing anything if you’re feeling bad.”

billy sighed; there was no getting out of this. all of the feelings swirling around seemed to increase at the thought of admitting them and before he could come up with a lie he blurted: “i feel fucked-up for liking it.”

there. he said it. the words were out in the open for you to gawk at and look at him with pity he didn’t want. he could handle himself just fine.

you frowned some, hand resuming its journey down past his shorts and to his cock— boxer-free, what else is new— lightly grazing the skin. he seized up at the unexpected touch.

“there’s no need to feel ‘fucked-up’, bills. what you like is what you like, nothing’s wrong with that.” you brought your finger up to circle his tip in a teasing manner. a grin took over the look of pity you wore.

“especially not when you look so sweet whenever you come apart.”

billy whined some, the sound leaving before he could keep it down inside, and tried getting closer to the source of pleasure. his mind was replaying a litany of pleasepleaseplease at the barest of touch.

“tell momma how sweet you look, billy.”

he swallowed. hard. “i- i look sweet, momma.”

“that’s right,” you smiled, finally wrapping a hand around him and stroking him dryly, “the sweetest.”

“want—“ he moaned, twisted against the sheets. it felt good, so, so good, but he wanted— needed— more.

“what d’you want sweet boy? use your words for momma.”

billy tries to think why he thought he could be the one in charge whenever this was an option. center of attention, being taken care of simply because you wanted to take control.

“wanna have your fingers, momma. inside, please.” you smiled at his use of manners.

“such a good boy,” you cooed, mindlessly rambling while you let his hand fall from his cock down to his taint. for a while, you massaged the sensitive spot, drawing out sounds from billy he’d valiantly deny any other time.

continuing downwards, you made it to his furrowed hole and pressed the pad of your thumb in dry, just enough for that bite of pain that made billy go fuzzy between the ears. nothing but static in that pretty head of his.

you drew your hands out from his shorts just long enough to bring them up to his mouth. "open wide for me, be good for momma."

he obliged, mouth parting and tongue lolling out. when two fingers were pushed past his lips he closed his mouth around them and suckled messily along the digits, wetting them plenty, leaving them spit-soaked whenever they were pulled away.

"there's a good boy," you praised, the words making him light up inside.

settled back at his hole you opened him up slowly, one finger at first— down to the first knuckle— and let him adjust to the feeling before beginning to pump it in and out. billy kicked at the sheets, growing restless, and was making noise unabashedly now.

it felt too good to pretend he was above whining.

once he'd been stretched enough with just one you added another, the burn fading into a heady sense of pleasure and yesyesmoremorethankyousomuchmomma—

"chatty, are we?" you smirked, pace continuing.

billy;s cheeks flushed; he hadn't realized he was babbling, too caught up in it all to register the words flowing through his mind were traveling past his lips and out to your ears. instead of answering, he kept talking, incoherent sounds that all amounted to how good it felt.

it took a bit of searching but eventually your two fingers found his prostate and began steadily rubbing it with no warning. billy mewled, arching up off the bed as he simultaneously tried getting away and bearing down against the feeling.

the two of you seemed to come to the same realization at the same time because your fingers sped up while he began pleading for release. he was gonna— gonna—

"cum for momma, bills."

well. that was that.

billy came with a cry, painting the inside of his shorts you'd both neglected to pull off with his milky spend. your fingers didn't let up for a while, dragging his orgasm out till pleasure fell into overstimulation.

as you pulled your fingers free billy looked up at you, blue eyes a little shiny, and gave you a worn-out smile.

"thank you, momma."

you leaned down to kiss him at the corner of his mouth then again on his lips, bringing him back down from the clouds and back onto cherry lane.

"Tonight was really good, Eddie," Will says from beside him, hugging his things to his chest. "That encounter with, uh, the mimic as the throne, that was really cool," he adds, filling Eddie with a joy only obtained by having a good session.

"Thanks, little Byers," he says, knowing he's basically preening with it. "Next week will be good. It's on Wednesday, remember. Lewis has an appointment Friday," he reminds Will, completely unnecessarily. He made sure to announce it at the beginning of the night. No one was complaining about having it sooner, but the older members were visibly surprised. Eddie of old would have told Lewis he was shit outta luck, but he figures if he's gonna be moving it around for Lucas if (when) he joins laundry ball, he can have the same courtesy for his friends of years.

"Can I get a hint for next week?" Will asks him, his eyes big and imploring. Eddie laughs, he knows the kid isn't serious, evident by the grin on his face.

"You'll find out next week, Byers," he repeats with a fond grin, "right along with everyone else." He ruffles Will's hair, pushing him on.

"See you Monday, Eddie," Will calls as he walks out of the room.

Mike is glaring at him from where he's slowly putting his dice and notes away. Eddie raises his eyebrow at the surly teen, whose cheeks flood with pink as he looks down at his bag.

"What's up, Wheeler? Problem with the campaign?" Eddie asks, trying to think if he was especially cruel to him. Mike shakes his head.

"Nothing, it's nothing," he mutters, picking his backpack up. "Wednesday, right?" Mike asks, refusing to look at him. Eddie shakes his head, exasperated and reluctantly fond.

"If you have a problem, you can talk to me," Eddie tries again. Everyone else has left the drama room, so it's just the two of them. They have roughly thirty minutes before the janitor comes by and kicks them out. Plenty of time to hash out whatever pissed in Mike's cereal.

"A problem? I don't have a problem," Mike bites out, obviously having a problem.

"Clearly something is bothering you, Wheeler," Eddie sighs, shoving the last of his DM kit into his bag. Mike scowls at him, reminding him a little bit of a angry kitten. Eddie looks at him flatly, more than happy to wait him out.

Instead, Mike storms out and Eddie sighs again.

The rest of the younger members lean on him more than he thinks any of the other members have, maybe ever. Max still comes over to his trailer, even though she didn't join the club, even when Elle sat in on a few of the sessions, she was notably absent.

It seems Will has been taking his advice seriously, or at least from what Eddie can tell. He remembers seeing the kid basically glued to Mike's side every time he saw them at the arcade or the Hawk or pretty much anywhere around Hawkins. Now, he spends his time evenly between his friends, sometimes next to Dustin or Lucas rather than Mike. He's even seen Elle and Max take him into their little circle, which he supposes makes sense.

Dustin often looks at him like he's hung the moon and the stars, even admitting he's starting to grow his hair out. Lucas doesn't often seek him out, but he knows the kid is planning to join the basketball team in the spring. Even Elle likes to hang out around Eddie, though she more seems to be following Max around than anything

Mike will come to him when he's ready, Eddie hopes. He worries that Mike is starting to distance himself from the rest of the freshmen, but Eddie also thinks part of that is Mike avoiding him in particular.

Either way, Eddie can't wait for when Mike finally gets over whatever problem he seems to have. He would hate for the party to have issues because of him. He slings his bag over his shoulder and prepares to leave, taking one last look around the room before he starts to the door.

Just as he's about to push the door, it flies open and Mike storms back in. He stops just short of running into Eddie, "You. You're my problem," Mike hisses, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

Eddie's eyes go wide, he brings his hands up in a placating manner. "Whoa, okay," he says, putting space between them. He doesn't think Mike—or any of the freshmen, really—would hit him, but he looks angry enough that Eddie isn't going to risk it.

"Ever since Will went and talked to you, he's been acting different," Mike begins to rant, pacing in front of the door. "He doesn't want to hang out, he's always with Max and El, or he's sitting next to Lucas and Dustin. He hates me! And the only thing that changed was that he went to your trailer," he pauses in his pacing to sneer at Eddie. He rakes his hand through his hair, tugging at the ends in a way that reminds Eddie of Steve. He wonders how Wheeler would take that.

It sort of hits Eddie that maybe he miscalculated Mike's feelings for Will then. He watches as Mike paces the room and tries not to smile.

"Will and I had a personal conversation," Eddie cuts in just when it looks like Mike is about to go again. The freshman stops and glowers at Eddie.

"A personal conversation?" he bites out, arms crossed over his chest, reminding Eddie once again of Steve. He's seen the man take the exact pose when he's wrangling the party.

Eddie nods, "We have something in common that he needed to talk to someone about." He's much less worried about getting punched, watching as Mike hunches in on himself.

"Why doesn't he want to hang out, then?" Mike spits the question out.

"I doubt he doesn't want to hang out," Eddie says carefully, "you spend pretty much every day together, anyway."

Mike huffs, looking away from him. He sniffles and tries to subtly wipe his eyes, Eddie kindly doesn't bring attention to it. "He doesn't come over anymore," he says, voice rough. "He's too busy with Max and El to care about me."

Eddie's heart kind of cracks open at that, and he heaves a sigh. He looks at the ceiling, wondering how he ended up here. "Let's take a seat, bud," he says softly, walking to the beat up sofa that he remembers helping Ronnie drag up here years ago.

Mike follows, though he looks like he'd rather be anywhere else. He's got his arms crossed in front of him, scowling as he sits on the other cushion.

"Spending more time with his other friends doesn't mean that you're any less important to him," Eddie tells him, pushing on before Mike can interrupt. "He's allowed to be friends with other people."

Mike goes red, "I'm not— that's— of course he's allowed," he grumbles, shrinking in on himself. "But we used to— it used to be us. Against the world. Now he's too busy with Lucas or with Dustin or—or— anyone but me!"

Eddie feels guilty as he watches Mike seem to crumble. He maybe miscalculated how much Mike would be affected by Will trying to look out for his own heart. It technically is Eddie's fault that Will has been avoiding Mike.

"I can't tell you what we talked about," Eddie starts, not entirely sure where he's going as the words tumble out of his mouth, "it was a private conversation. What I can tell you, is that you're important to him. More than you know."

Eddie fidgets with the rings, and behind Mike he sees Steve poke his head through the door. Eddie tries not to react, not wanting to spook Wheeler more than he already seems to be, but tries to communicate with his eyes that he has it under control.

Steve smiles, looking between them with a fond look, and nods. He backs out as quietly as he entered, leaving them to their conversation.

Eddie refocuses on Mike, whose face is pinched in annoyance, in doubt.

"I just don't know what I did," Mike eventually says, voice cracking.

"You didn't do anything," Eddie tells him softly. "You're still his best friend, he told me all about how you've always believed in him, even when no one else did." he figures he can say that much without giving anything away, but he's starting to suspect that Mike might even return Will's feelings.

Mike sniffs, leaning his head back against the couch, staring at the water-stained ceiling. "I thought that when El broke up with me that I would at least have Will back, but now he's always with her. I mean, they live together, so I guess…" he sighs, big and weary.

Eddie hums softly, "Have you talked to him?" he asks, knowing the answer. Mike shakes his head, looking down at his hands. "I think it would be a good idea. He can't know how you feel without you saying it. Even if he's pretty sure."

Mike's face scrunches up in distaste, shoulders hunching up to his ears. "How I feel?" he asks sarcastically.

Eddie sighs, makes it loud and obvious, "Yes, Michael. Your feelings. How do you feel?" he questions, raising his eyebrows. "You seem more upset about Will than Elle, your ex girlfriend," he points out, watching as a series of emotions flit over Mike's face.

Mike buries his face into his hands, pushing his palms into his eyes. He lets out a groan, long and low. "I don't know," he bites out eventually.

Eddie nods, rubbing his back softly. "Figure that out. If you don't, you could end up hurting your friend."

"How could I hurt Will?" Mike asks, looking at him from between his fingers.

Eddie hesitates, not wanting to say more than what he already has. Feels like he's betraying Will's trust if he goes further. Mike frowns at his silence.

"Knowing how you feel will make sure you don't," Eddie ends up saying, hoping that his avoidance wasn't obvious. Given the face Mike makes in response, he thinks it might have been.

"He's my best friend," Mike says simply, though he looks uncertain.

Eddie nods, "I know."

"He.." the freshman trails off, staring blankly ahead. Eddie lets him work through it, whatever it may be. "He's everything." Mike murmurs, gaze distant.

"I had a friend like that, once," Eddie tells him softly, "Although, he was a bit…more than that, to me," he tries his best to not let his heart come up his throat. How many times are these kids gonna make him come out to them?

"More…" Mike repeats, "Oh. Oh." he sits back and whispers to himself quietly, "I love him."

Eddie tries not to choke on his spit, ending up in a coughing fit. He clears his throat, watching carefully as Mike appears to go through a series of emotions before a sense of resolve comes over his features.

"I gotta go, thanks, Eddie!" Mike jumps up, dashing out the door before Eddie can even process what's happening.

Eddie sits there for a bit, processing the last few moments. He almost forgets that he's supposed to give Mike a ride, but once he does, he's up and out of the drama room, barely snagging his bag as he sets chase.

"Wheeler!" he calls, exasperated. Mike slams the outer doors open, but almost immediately comes to a stop outside. Eddie figures he's discovered that Steve has left him in his care. He slows to a jog, and then finally a walk as he reaches the door.

"My van's this way," Eddie says, bravely hiding his shortness of breath. Mike looks angry for a moment, but then seems to process Eddie's words and scoffs as he takes his lead.

"He fucking left without me!" Mike complains, and while Eddie of old would jump on the chance to crow about how King Steve hasn't changed, he knows it's not true.

"Nah, he knows I got you," Eddie argues, surprised to feel the truth in the words.