FicWad

Hawkins High is poor. Steve can name off the top of his head how many leaks are in the roof, how many toilets are out of order, the length of every crack in the floor and how old the textbooks are. The drama department has been in desperate need of funding for new props since 1970, the swim team has to practice at another high school because Hawkins’s pool is filled with asbestos from the decaying ceiling, and the uniforms for the boys’ varsity basketball team are faded and unflattering. If the school had money, Steve would really love to know where the fuck they would even begin to start improving the place.

And it is precisely because Hawkins High is poor that he has to share a hotel room with three other boys. Yes, the team made it to the semifinals, but at what cost? Steve’s pride? His dignity, his happiness?

It’s all Hargrove’s fault. Before he joined the team, Hawkins hadn’t made it to the semifinals since before Steve was born and he was totally ready to keep it that way, to avoid travelling all the way to Indianapolis for a whole weekend of basketball. But Billy fuckin’ Hargrove just had to completely demolish their opponents, carrying the team to victory every. Friday. Night. And now Steve is stuck in a rundown hotel room with Tommy H., Eddy Hannigan, and the bane of his very existence, Billy Hargrove.

There’s only two fucking beds.

“Tomorrow night’s the big one,” Tommy’s voice breaks Steve’s bitter thoughts apart as he sits on the edge of one of the beds, waiting for his turn in the shower. His sweat has dried to his skin, making him feel cold and grimy. “The championship. Better not fuck up again, Harrington.”

Steve wants to tell Tommy to shut the hell up because his voice is making his head throb, but he says nothing instead. He knows he played like shit tonight. And it’s all because of his stupid -

“Shut the hell up, Tommy,” Billy drawls from the bathroom doorway, a gaudy green towel wrapped around his hips. Steve feels himself staring but is only reminded to stop when Billy’s eyes dart over to glare at him, and Steve flinches. “But he’s right,” Billy addresses Steve, poking his earring back through its hole. “Don’t fuck this up.”

Steve can feel the protest bubbling up from his throat, but whatever he was planning on saying dies the moment Billy casually drops the towel onto the carpet and bends over to grab his sweatpants from his bag. Steve feels his face burn and stands with a huff, making his way into the bathroom before anyone can catch him committing the view of Billy’s ass to memory.

He’s the last one to shower so he takes his sweet time, knowing no one is waiting for him to finish. Also he kind of dreads falling asleep to the smell of three other teenage boys and their sweaty jerseys laying in a heap on the ugly brown carpet. Oh, and there is the fact that he’s not so sure he wants to spend yet another night listening to the sound of Billy breathing softly, gazing up from his spot on the floor at the calloused hand he throws over the edge of the bed, fingers twitching in his sleep.

Yeah, nothing about any of this is ideal.

When Steve is at last done showering and he has a t-shirt and sweats on, he flicks the bathroom light off and opens the door. He lets his eyes adjust to the dark, making out Tommy on the floor, already asleep, and Eddy snoring next to him in the bed. Steve’s eyes fall to the window where Billy stands, smoking out into the cold night. As he lies in his makeshift bed on the floor, Steve thinks about how they’d made these sleeping arrangements.

“Why don’t we just share?” Steve had suggested because it was the most logical and civilized thing ever.

Tommy looked at him like he was from outer space. “Jesus, Harrington. We know you’d love that but it’s a little too queer for us.” And Eddy had sniggered in place of verbally agreeing.

But Billy had turned his face from those two and rolled his eyes, tossing his bag on the floor. Steve saw, though. It didn’t mean anything, not really. Tommy’s the most unbearable human ever so Billy’s reaction was exceedingly normal. But it was just odd, his reaction paired with the whole prospect of… of queerness.

Not to mention the shift in the energy between them. When Steve’s face finally healed, many weeks after that November night, Billy had almost become friendly. No, that’s not the right word. More like he was begrudgingly less of an asshole to Steve. When Steve said something stupid in English, Billy would agree and make shit up just to make it seem like Steve’s idea wasn’t so dumb after all. One day, Billy had somehow gotten the whole class to agree with Steve that One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest was about the effects of communism (Steve didn’t read the book). And in bio, when Steve asked a question to which the answer was so glaringly obvious, Billy would often pretend he was confused about the same thing until their teacher had to explain everything again. And then Steve, in his astonishment, would offer Billy a small smile saying either thanks or what the fuck? or both. But Billy would just act like he didn’t see him or glare at Steve until he looked away.

Still an asshole, though. He still shoves him in the hallway and grumbles a, “Watch it, pretty boy,” to go with it. But, and maybe this is Steve’s imagination, the shoves were getting lighter and no one was ever around to witness them. It was just Billy doing it for his own… whatever. Steve doesn’t care much about why as long as he keeps it up. He’ll gladly let him get under his skin some more.

He has to stop thinking like this. Stop holding out hope that Billy just may be a little bit into him. It’s ridiculous and dangerous and above all stupid. That version of Billy Hargrove, the one he made up, will only ever exist in his fantasies. Period.

So Steve had said to Billy, “You can have the bed.” And that was fine by everyone.

Steve feels the bed next to him shake as Billy sighs and pulls the covers over him. He immediately switches his thoughts onto basketball and the game tomorrow night and other mundane things that don’t involve his random and inexplicable attraction to Billy.

A restless hour later and Steve is shivering uncontrollably while also pissed at himself for listening for those soft noises Billy makes in his sleep. He doesn’t hear anything but Eddy’s obnoxious snores and the thin sheet on top of him does nothing to protect him from the cold. Billy must’ve left the window open, which is doing wonders for the stench of the room but sours Steve’s mood further.

Steve twists his body and leans over to his bag, snatching up a gray hoodie and tugging it over his freezing skin. He even pulls the hood over his head but he’s still cold and can’t catch a wink of sleep.

Sometime after he tucks the sheet tighter around himself, quietly accepting his discomfort, Steve hears the bed creak ominously and feels a shadow cast across his face. He opens his eyes to Billy’s looming face as he peeks over the edge of the groaning bed.

“Quit your yammering and get your ass up here,” Billy says in a low tone. The pendant on his necklace swings just above Steve’s face when he leans over closer and adds, “Unless you’re more afraid of catching something other than a cold.”

“Fuck off,” Steve hisses quietly but stands nonetheless, making quick work of shoving Billy over so he can get under the covers. The gloriously warm covers. He doesn’t even consider the fact that he’s getting into a bed with Billy, he’s so fucking cold and desperate for sleep.

Billy snickers at him and it takes Steve a whole minute to process what Billy said to him. And, oh. Oh?

“Get closer,” Billy says from right beside him, Steve can fucking feel his breath on his skin. His warm breath. His eyes are screwed shut and he doesn’t dare to open them. “I won’t cop a feel, don’t worry.”

Yeah, as if Steve is worried about that. He’s focusing on not getting unnecessarily hard by just lying in the same bed as Billy. But he shuffles a little closer anyway and pulls the covers up to his chin, muttering some unintelligible complaints as his face heats up at the prospect of Billy touching him in any way at all. God, he’s pathetic.

‘This is worse,’ Steve realizes after about five minutes. He’s comfortable and warm but he can’t possibly be expected to relax right now. He chances a peep at Billy and, yeah. He understands precisely why he’d sworn to keep his eyes closed two seconds ago.

Billy’s got his hands tucked under his head on the pillow, staring up at the undoubtedly drab ceiling and Steve lets his eyes open completely to take it in. He follows the sharp line of Billy’s jaw, the rise and fall of his chest, the lazy way he blinks with moonlight shimmering off his eyes. His eyelashes are at the very least a mile long.

Steve is unable to keep his big mouth shut. “Aren’t you tired?”

Billy looks over at him and it’s unlike how he usually does, with daggers and rage and irritation. It’s easy and slow and his eyes are so round and blue.

“Tired of listening to Eddy snore, sure,” Billy says quietly as he looks to where that incessantly annoying sound is coming from. “But other than that… not really.”

And anyone would agree at this point that there’s nothing else to say, that Steve should just roll over and go to sleep.

So he, of course, continues to make small talk. “You nervous for tomorrow?”

Billy looks a little bit like he’s one of those people that’d tell Steve to go to sleep, but he humours him anyway. “I don’t get nervous for stuff like that.”

“Oh,” Steve articulates brilliantly. “Do you get nervous at all?”

‘What the fuck am I saying?’

“I am a human, Harrington.”

“Barely,” Steve lets slip out, louder than all his other words.

He’s worried for a second that Billy’s gonna shove him off the bed but he doesn’t. He just chuckles low in his throat and Steve is simultaneously so relieved and intrigued that he scoots closer without meaning to. “I get nervous whenever the ball’s in your hands.”

Steve kicks him under the covers, his bare foot nudging Billy’s own and it’s almost strangely intimate. “Asshole.”

“You just implied that I’m not a human, so I think it’s safe to say you’re the only asshole here,” Billy points out and Steve could listen to that smooth, deep voice all night, talking so quietly. Just for Steve to hear.

“Fair enough,” Steve concedes and is unable to wipe the idiotic smile off his face. It’s alright though because Billy grins back at him, his canines sharp and white.

They’re quiet for a while and Steve closes his eyes again. But he really does love hearing Billy talk.

“So, what?” Steve turns so he’s on his side and facing Billy. “What makes you nervous?”

Billy looks at him seriously for a moment and then turns his face to the open window. There’s some indistinct honking and shouting coming from way below, but it’s so soft it could be a lullaby. A police siren wails in the distance.

“I get nervous before big tests.” Steve would not like to admit how thrilled he is that Billy answered him after figuring he was just going to ignore Steve until one of them fell asleep.

Steve just hums and again racks his brain for something to say, but Billy speaks before he can ask him what his favourite colour is (a stupid question anyway, probably). “What about you, pretty boy? What do you get nervous about?”

“Everything,” Steve answers honestly instead of breaking it down into three categories; the Upside Down, the future, Billy Hargrove and his silky voice and smooth muscles.

“That’s not gonna fly,” Billy turns over and now they’re facing one another straight on. “You gotta give me the specifics.”

Steve huffs in annoyance and Billy snickers at him. “I… get nervous…” He’s not actually about to tell him, right? That’s insane. “...Around people I like.”

“Awww, King Steve,” Billy mocks him and he should be rolling his eyes but… he doesn’t hate being teased by him. “What’s there to be nervous about?”

‘Oh, it’s probably just the fact that I’ve never had a crush on a guy before and of course the first guy to find his way into my dreams is fucking you, of all fucking people.’

“I’m done talking about this,” Steve squeezes his eyes shut and he knows it’s lame but he can’t chance slipping up.

Billy sighs and Steve feels him move closer. He really shouldn’t do that.

“What else is there to talk about?”

It may be the ringing in his ears, but Steve is almost positive Billy’s voice is impossibly lower. It’s sultry and dark and Jesus Christ something akin to arousal stirs in his gut. No, no, no.

“Literally anything else. What’s your favourite colour?”

“Brown.”

“Why?” Steve’s eyes fly open because he was expecting the average blue to be his answer, and his breath leaves him and his lungs to shrivel up and die with the sight of Billy so close to him.

“Sorry, no follow-up questions,” Billy smirks and then raises a brow when he asks, “Are you gonna tell me yours, or is that top-secret info, too?”

“Yellow,” Steve mutters and his face feels like it’s on fire when Billy grins and runs his tongue along his sharp teeth.

“A sunny yellow or a mustard yellow?”

“A yellow yellow, what the hell?” Steve can’t help the bark of confused laughter that escapes him. Billy claps a warm hand over his mouth, shushing him with wide, mirthful eyes.

When Billy takes his hand off Steve’s mouth, he wipes it on the hood of Steve’s sweatshirt. “You’re drooling over me.”

‘You’re fucking right.’

“You wish.”

“Yeah,” Billy breathes and closes his eyes, all casual like he’s not turning Steve on for literally no reason.

Maybe ten minutes later and it’s Billy who breaks the silence. “Yellow yellow isn't a colour.”

“It’s still a better colour than brown.”

“Hey,” Billy warns him with a finger in his face. “Shut the hell up. Brown is a pretty colour.”

“Pretty?” Steve teases and then absolutely dies when Billy’s fingers start toying with the drawstrings on his hoodie.

“Handsome, if you prefer,” Billy says like it makes any sense at all. “Guess what?”

Before Steve can ask, Billy’s yanking on the strings and closing the hood over Steve’s face. Steve giggles like a child and bats Billy’s hands away until he can loosen the hood around his face. When he’s able to see again, Billy’s no more than a few inches away.

“I have a question for you, Harrington.”

Oh, great. “Lemme hear it.”

Billy licks his lip and whispers in an unnecessarily playful tone, “Why do you get nervous around girls you like?”

Girls, right. As if he’s exclusively attracted to girls and there’s no chance he’d crush on a guy. Steve rolls his eyes. “I’ve actually hit my word limit for the day, sorry. Can’t answer that.”

Billy hums. “I don’t see what the big deal is, amigo. I’m just curious. I heard you were quite the charmer, so I’m wondering where all that fire went.”

“Oh my god,” Steve squeezes his eyes shut until he sees fireworks behind his eyelids. “You’re insufferable.”

“Thank you. Now answer my question.” Billy is practically flush against his side, it’s intoxicating. “Pretty boy like you shouldn’t get nervous around girls.”

“I don’t get nervous around girls,” Steve hears himself say the words before he can do anything to shut his fucking mouth. He freezes up and hopes Billy will just leave him alone.

But Billy’s too smart. And too much of an ass. “No? Huh.” Steve wants to wrap his drawstrings around his neck and die. He hopes the hotel will come tumbling down.

Billy’s quiet for a concerning amount of time and he’s not looking at Steve. He’s looking just past him, at the bland wall with a crooked framed photo of a boat nailed to it. He doesn’t seem like he’s about to beat Steve up, so that’s something.

The silence stretches on and Billy doesn’t move away from him. Steve can’t handle it so he pulls the plug from his mouth and lets all kinds of shit spill out. “Look, I didn’t - I meant to say - I just…” Steve stammers and, okay. He should’ve just stayed silent until morning. But now that he’s started he can’t stop. “I just meant to say that I don’t get nervous around girls, generally.”

“Right,” Billy nods and the fucker looks doubtful. “So you do get nervous around girls you like?”

“Yes,” Steve breathes, relieved.

“What’s her name, then?”

Steve turns his head, a bad idea with how close Billy is, and sees him smirking like he knows shit. Oh, fuck him. “She doesn’t… have a name.” Jesus. That wasn’t the right thing to say.

“Sure she does. Everyone does.”

“Why’s this so important to you?” Steve snaps, perhaps louder than he should. But Eddy still snores, and he can hear Tommy begin to join in.

“‘S not important, Harrington. ‘M just curious.”

Steve really wishes Billy’s voice wasn’t so alluring, but it is and fuck him if he’s not turned on, bunching the comforter in his fists where Billy (hopefully) can’t see.

“Oh, really?” Steve lets his voice become a bit venomous as he tries to deflect the attention from the truth. “You’re curious? Thought you hated my guts.”

“Your guts aren’t what I hate about you,” Billy denies easily and it’s so ridiculous that Steve has to laugh.

“What is it, then?” He asks through muffled giggles. “What do you hate about me?”

Billy bites his lip and squints at Steve, carefully examining him. The attention makes Steve weak. “Your dumb hair. And your stupid pretty face.”

Steve huffs in offence and rolls his eyes. Billy saying he has a pretty face does, however, set a fire inside his gut, even if it was meant to be taken as an insult.

“And what do you hate about me? This should be a short list…” Billy teases arrogantly, looking boredly at Steve but there’s still that strange new playfulness in his blue eyes.

“Everything. Short enough?”

Billy reaches out and pinches Steve’s side in retaliation, making Steve yelp and squirm. Billy covers his mouth again, looking exasperated with Steve’s inability to be quiet.

“When I move my hand, you better be fucking quiet. Got it, shitface?”

Steve glares at him until Billy releases him, though he wishes he had the liberty to kiss that palm and all those thick fingers. God, that’s a thought. A new, odd, exciting thought.

Billy lies back like he was before and sighs. The room is full of fresh, cold air and Steve wonders how a guy from sunny California can not only stand it, but choose to be shirtless in it.

“Aren’t you cold?” He just keeps proving how desperate he is for Billy’s attention, asking him all these questions.

“A little.”

“Well, then…” Steve’s really not one to make a single good decision. “C’mere.”

Steve opens the covers to let Billy under them and hopes to God he’s not aroused enough that it shows.

Billy eyes the space next to Steve. “Want me to spoon you, Harrington?” He smirks, tongue darting out across his bottom lip.

Steve chokes on his saliva but his big ugly brain is somehow able to force his mouth open and say, “If you wanna.”

And that’s about the dumbest thing he could’ve said, he believes. He just lies like that, with the covers open and pretending he didn’t say anything at all.

Billy is gawking at him. “I was… kidding,” he sounds breathless.

“So was I,” Steve quickly asserts and mentally thanks Billy for giving him an easy out. “Jesus, did you think I was serious?”

“You looked serious.”

“Well, I wasn’t.”

“Wish you were."

Steve’s brain short circuits and his chest feels tight. “Y-you… what?”

“Kidding, Harrington,” Billy reminds him and situates himself right beside Steve under the warm covers. “Just kidding.”

Of course, he was kidding. How could he ever seriously want to do anything with Steve aside from punch or humiliate him?

Steve’s glad for his hood because it shields his flushed face from view. He shuts his eyes and once again attempts to get some rest.

“Does this chick you like go to Hawkins High?” Billy asks out of the blue, startling Steve.

“Yeah. Are you done yet?” Steve gives in. Let Billy think he has a crush on some girl.

“Is she a senior? A junior?”

“Oh my god,” Steve says in annoyance, his voice at a normal volume which is essentially a shout in the quiet room. “He’s a fucking senior.”

Okay, so this is really bad. Nothing about this is good. Steve’s face burns but his blood feels like ice in his veins. He thinks he might throw up. He keeps his eyes closed, awaiting Billy’s undoubtedly disgusted reaction.

But no reaction comes. Not a word or a shove or a cackle. Billy says nothing for at least ten minutes.

Then, “Do I know him?” He’s just inches away from Steve but it sounds like he’s all the way in the other bed.

Steve swallows. “I don’t think so.” Okay, so Billy knows he likes guys. Fine, not ideal but whatever. But Steve refuses to slip up on any more details. “Look, if you’re gonna kick me out of the bed, I get it -”

Steve’s cut off when Billy’s hand finds the front of his hoodie and tugs him closer until their bodies are flush together. Steve can’t breathe or think or move. Billy uses his other hand to push the hood off Steve’s head.

“Steve,” his first name sounds weird on Billy’s tongue, but Steve is already eager to get used to it. “Look at me.”

He can’t possibly disobey. He opens his eyes and tries not to squeak at the fact that Billy’s face is a breath away from his own. And he’s smiling at Steve.

“Does it look like I’m gonna kick you out?” Steve’s voice has decided not to work, the fucking traitor. He shakes his head. “Right. Now, let me ask you something.”

When Steve realizes Billy’s waiting for permission to continue, he nods. He dreads whatever’s about to come out of Billy’s mouth.

“You still nervous?”

Steve is about to ask him what the hell he means but his words are swallowed up by Billy’s mouth on his own. Billy’s lips are soft but insistent and his mouth is pressing so firmly to Steve’s, holy fucking shit.

Steve’s hand sneaks up onto the swell of Billy’s chest and Billy pulls slowly away. Steve opens his eyes, heavy with want and relief and a million other things he can’t even begin to express. And, oh, the way Billy is looking at him like he’s so important and desirable.

“I think I might know him,” Billy whispers mischievously.

“Dickhead.”

Billy does that thing with his tongue and it’s even more mesmerizing up close. “I make you nervous, baby?” Billy slips his hand under Steve’s hoodie, frowns when his hand is met with more fabric, and slips it under Steve’s t-shirt. His hand is warm and rough against his belly and Steve shakes at the touch and the pet name.

Steve doesn’t answer and doesn’t plan to, but when Billy brushes his lips against Steve’s, teasing him with a devilish smirk, Steve breathes, “Yes.”

And then Billy makes a low humming noise and dives in to devour Steve, his tongue running along Steve’s bottom lip. Steve opens his mouth, just a bit to test the waters and Christ. Billy slips his tongue into his mouth and it’s fucking over, he’s pressing his hips to Steve’s and Steve feels the unmistakable heaviness against his own half-hard cock.

He doesn’t mean to whimper but the sound escapes him anyway. Billy pulls away and grins while sliding his hand downward. Just before Billy reaches the waistband of his sweats, Steve grabs his hand, suddenly terrified. “What are you doing?”

“Lending a helping hand,” Billy explains easily. “I thought that was obvious.”

There’s a moment of total silence during which Steve gapes at Billy, eyes wide and his lips parted. Billy is serious. He’s looking at Steve, waiting for permission even though it’s obvious he wants to shove his hand in his pants and get this thing going. When Billy brushes his thumb gently over Steve’s happy trail, Steve shudders and decides he’s ready to venture into the unknown.

So he takes Billy’s wrist and pushes his hand into his pants. Billy nuzzles closer, peppering Steve’s neck in kisses as he takes his cock in hand and God, the contact is dizzying.

Billy’s hand is warm and calloused, and it’s odd at first because Steve has only ever had small, soft hands giving him pleasure like this. But it’s good, better than words. His grip is firm as he strokes him, just the way Steve likes it and he wonders if Billy likes it that way, too. The image of Billy in bed, touching himself… it’s overwhelming.

But he doesn’t have to imagine much, not with Billy here in bed with him, touching him. Billy’s dick is pressing into his hip, hard and firm and it’s really fucking hot. Billy runs his thumb over the leaking slit of Steve’s cock, spreading the wetness over the head before twisting his wrist just so and pulling a surprised mewl from Steve’s throat.

“Tell me how much you love this,” Billy whispers. He sounds as desperate as Steve feels.

“I - God,” Steve groans, keeping in mind that they’re not alone in the hotel room. It makes the whole thing better somehow. “Love this. Love your hands…”

Billy chuckles lowly and Steve whimpers. Billy quickly presses their lips together again to quiet him, squeezing his cock in a warning.

“Shh,” he whispers against Steve’s lips. “I wish you could be loud, baby, but you know you can’t.”

“I don’t know if I can be quiet,” Steve breathes a laugh but when Billy’s fingers tease his balls, it dissolves into a moan.

Billy kisses him again, slow and sweet as he continues to stroke him. He speeds up and tightens his grip minutely, enough to get Steve panting and struggling to keep in the sounds threatening to spill out of him. He runs his thumb along the vein on the underside of Steve’s cock, the touch featherlight and not enough. Steve bucks into his hand and doesn’t even care how needy he is because this is crazy but it’s happening, so he’s going to get everything he can from it.

Billy turns his head so his mouth is right at Steve’s ear and he whispers, “You have any idea how long I’ve wanted this, Harrington?” He slows his hand down and loosens his grip just a little, making sure Steve’s listening. “Longer than you have. Since I saw your pretty face.”

Steve feels as though his whole body blushes at the thought of Billy pining for him all these months. Suddenly, a lot about Billy and his behaviour makes sense, though Steve can’t be bothered to connect the dots when Billy’s jacking him off.

“I’m flattered,” Steve whispers loudly. “Now, prove it. Prove you want this.” Steve wraps his hand around Billy’s own, covering his cock, and coaxes him into speeding up and squeezes his knuckles to make his grip firmer.

Steve could cry from how good it feels and he realizes he’s much closer than he’d thought.

And then he has a crazy idea, the thought of which makes his dick twitch in Billy’s hand as it leaks over his knuckles. Tentatively, he reaches under the covers and presses his palm to the front of Billy’s sweats. He’s rock hard and Steve feels a little wet patch where the head of his cock is. It’s strange at first, to be touching another guy’s dick. But Steve quickly gets over that and immediately begins to like the feeling when Billy thrusts into his hand and quietly groans.

Steve’s elated when Billy seems to really commit, jacking him hard and fast with one goal in mind as he keeps tilting his hips into Steve’s space, panting when Steve squeezes him through the fabric of his sweatpants.

“You look so good, fuck,” Steve whispers, moaning at the sight before him; Billy’s lips are red and wet, eyes screwed shut in pure bliss as he lets Steve press into the outline of his cock.

“You should see yourself,” Billy gasps and Steve’s awfully proud of how gone he sounds.

When Billy moans softly and runs his thumb gently over the slit of Steve’s cock, it’s over. Steve comes with a moan that’s much too loud, but luckily Billy swallows the sound with his mouth before he can wake the whole fucking floor up.

After he’s spilled all over Billy’s hand and he’s able to uncurl his toes, Steve reaches into Billy’s pants and ignores how scared he is of really feeling him. But Billy grabs his wrist with a hiss, and it’s then that Steve notices the considerably bigger wet patch on Billy’s sweats.

“Fuck…” Steve whispers in awe. Billy came in his pants. “That’s hot.”

Billy looks at him with wide eyes, pupils blown ten sizes and his face is red and beautiful. Steve wants to kiss him again but he’s not sure he’s allowed to. Exhaustion is pulling at him, anyway.

Billy slips his hand from Steve’s pants and then slips from the bed. He takes his discarded towel from the floor and wipes his hand. Steve hears a zip and some shuffling, and then Billy’s back in bed with a clean pair of sweats on.

“Lay your head at the other end,” Billy whispers. “I don’t need those assholes making more jokes.”

Steve listens, even if he just wants Billy to spoon him, for real. He shifts around and allows the seriousness of what’s just occurred to lull him to sleep in an amazed, cloudy daze.

He’s worried everything will go back to normal, though. That he’ll wake up and Billy will continue to either brush him off or torment him.

But then he feels Billy’s foot against his knee, a touch that’s definitely not accidental, and he’s no longer nervous at all.