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If you asked Steve Harrington what the weirdest experience he’d had in 1984 was, he wouldn’t say fighting a small army of Demo-dogs, nor would he say becoming a babysitter slash friend to a group of 13 year olds (and he was a mentor, excuse you. Not a babysitter.). Nope, Steve Harrington’s single strangest experience of 1984 (to date at least) was being kissed by Billy Hargrove after they’d had a knock down drag out fight in the middle of his kitchen floor. Steve was still sat right where Billy had left him, at first he’d been too stunned to even sit up, just staring into the empty space above him that had been filled mere microseconds earlier with hard muscles and a defiance that was overwhelming. And then it was like Steve had blinked and Billy was gone, the front door swinging to crash into the hallway wall the only evidence of which way he’d gone.
Even as the seconds ticked into minutes, Steve sat there, frowning at the empty door way as his brain tried and failed to make sense of what the fuck had just happened. Why had Billy kissed him? Was Billy a queer? Why had he kissed Billy back? Was he a queer? (Maybe, he admitted quietly to himself, remembering his never explicitly acknowledged kind of crush on Jonathan Byers.) Did he even like being kissed by Billy or had he just instinctually responded to the warm press of bloodied lips against his own?
He groaned in frustration and scrubbed a hand over his face and through his hair, not particularly caring if he messed it up at this time of the night or not.
His gaze fell upon the bag of frozen peas, still wrapped in the dish towel but slowly defrosting, discarded on the floor where Billy had dropped them in his haste to beat Steve to a pulp. The fact that the other boy had been very clearly injured raised another handful of questions for Steve, ones that were no more comfortable to think about than the previous ones were.
Steve briefly debated going after him, but even if he took the car he had no idea which direction Billy had gone in, or where he might be going. And what would he do if he somehow found him? Try to talk to him? Because that’s worked so well before. Get in another punch up? Steve thought he would probably prefer to leave the next round for another day.
Sighing heavily he pushed himself up off the ground stood, deciding he would talk to Billy the next day at school and hoping that the semi-public setting would be enough to stop the other boy from beating the shit out of him again.
He didn’t really think it would.
Later, as he lay in his bed waiting for sleep to drag him under, he found himself thinking of bloodied teeth and sharp blue eyes and wondered, not for the first time, what the fuck was going on with his life?
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The night seemed to stretch on forever, or maybe it was Steve’s fitful sleep that made it seem that way. He dreamt dreams full of monsters and slimy black vines that try to trip him up and snake around his ankles as he runs through an endless maze of tunnels. Sometimes he dreamt fleetingly of blonde curls and blue eyes and a wicked smirk, only to have it dissolve back into absolute and utter terror.
He woke near dawn, sweat slick and heart pounding in his chest. Sitting up he rubs his eyes blearily and watches as the sun creeps over the horizon. School doesn’t start for hours, so he can take his time, shower, get dressed, try to think of what to say to Hargrove.
He makes it to school with over half an hour to spare, and he scans the parking lot, looking for the Camaro and it’s driver and comes up empty handed. He waits, leaning against the hood of his own car, until Tommy and Carol roll in and he can no longer use the excuse of waiting for them to explain why he’s continuously scanning the parking lot.
On his way to first period Steve spots the other boy in the hallway. His eyes seemingly drawn to him even as he disappears into the crowd of students. At least he’s here. Steve had more than half expected him not to show up today, and wouldn’t have been at all surprised if he hadn’t. So the fact that he’s here, sporting that split lip and a riot of bruises, shirt half open in a way that is completely inappropriate for school but makes his mouth go dry, sends Steve’s heart racing. But he doesn’t have time to dwell on the activities of his heart or why he’s suddenly hyper aware of the other boy and his presence. He has chem class in five, but he takes the few minutes to scrawl a note for the other boy,— ‘my place, after school.’— and with a quick look around to make sure he’s not being watched, shoves it between the vents of Billy’s locker.
After chem he hangs around the hallway, even though he has econ next and should probably be on his way. He watches as Billy wrenches his locker open, and doesn’t miss the discreet way he slips the folded note into the back pocket of his jeans without even reading it. It’s better than nothing, Steve tells himself, Billy could have just thrown the note away without even reading it. Or worse, he could have read it then and there and Steve could be having his ass handed to him in the hallway. It’s better this way. Now he just has to make it though the rest of the day, and then go home and see if Billy shows up.
The rest of the day passes agonisingly slowly.
But finally it ends, and he hurries back to his car with barely a wave to Tommy and Carol before he steps on the gas and speeds out of the parking lot.
The house is still empty when he arrives, but then again, he knew it would be. His father gone on a week long business trip, and his mother going with him to make sure he ‘behaves’. Steve sets himself a goal to finish the small amount of homework he has as quickly as he can and gets to work. He doesn’t think it’s even remotely likely that Billy will show up before it gets dark, if he shows up at all. Steve is intimately aware that he’s playing with the human equivalent of a lit stick of dynamite here, and that it could all blow up in his face in an instant.
It only takes him an hour to finish, and he spends another hour flipping idly through the stack of abandoned college brochures on his desk. The sun begins to set and Steve feels his nerves spike.
He’d never been this nervous, not fighting demo-dogs, and certainly never with Nancy. But that was familiar territory, girls, soft curves and softer skin. This…wasn’t. Even admitting that he maybe slightly wasn’t as straight as he should be was terrifying enough for Steve, and he had the distinct impression that this was how Wile E. Coyote felt, right as he realised that he’d run out of cliff and was about to go into free fall. Steve just hoped that the impact wouldn’t shatter him into a million tiny pieces.
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He begins to lose hope around 10:30, after a dinner of cold pizza and beer. He’s been sitting on the front steps for hours, his head tipped back to look at the stars as he waits and waits. Finally the cold gnawing at his fingers and toes sends him back inside.
The door hasn’t even been shut for ten minutes when the bell rings, and Steve freezes as his heart leaps into his throat. He has to force himself to take a breath as he opens the door.
Billy is standing on the other side, the note dangling between his fingers. He doesn’t say anything as he pushes past Steve into the hall way and takes it upon himself to wander through to the kitchen as Steve shuts the door. He might also discreetly pinch himself, just to be sure he isn’t dreaming any of this.
He tries to collect his thoughts as he walks towards the kitchen, tries desperately to grasp at something to say when he gets there. But it all leaves his head when he sees Billy, leaning in the same spot Steve had stood the previous night.
“Wanna explain this, princess?” the other boy drawls, acting casual even though Steve can see the way the muscle in his jaw tenses.
Steve shrugs but takes his time answering, choosing his words carefully. “Thought we needed to talk, Hargrove. Figured you wouldn’t wanna do it at school. I didn’t really want to do it there either, public beat downs aren’t good for my ego.”
Billy smirks at that, and Steve kind of maybe wants to kiss the look right off of his face.
“So talk.” It sounds like a challenge.
Steve can’t help but feel like Billy still has the upper hand in this situation. The other boy looks so calm, almost bored, but there’s the usual current of anger simmering just below the surface. Steve knows he needs to be careful here.
“Last night..” he starts but trails off. Jesus, why the fuck was this so hard? Surely he should be able to say ‘why did you kiss me and can we do it again?’. But he doesn’t miss the way Billy’s gaze flicks to the floor, looking anywhere but at him. It looks like he’s dismantled the other boy’s calm exterior in a matter of seconds. He looks as nervous as Steve feels right now.
Oh. The realisation hits Steve harder than Billy’s fist ever has. Steve knows he’s not exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he’d like to think he can read people well enough. That he can read Billy well enough. That he’s not wildly wrong about the pieces that seem to be clicking into place.
Between the kiss last night, the way that Billy is resolutely studying his kitchen floor like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen, and the flush spreading over his cheeks and down his chest, Steve is beginning to get a pretty clear picture of what is really going on here. Billy Hargrove likes him. Likes him likes him.
It’s honestly way more than Steve had ever dared to hope for.
A wide grin spreads over his face, and he crosses the kitchen in just a few steps. Billy’s gaze flicks back to his as he places his hands on the sink, crowding Billy back against it. He doesn’t miss the way Billy follows the movement of his tongue as he licks his lips right before he presses them to the other boys.
The kiss is chaste at first. Steve expects to be pushed away at any moment and for fists to start flying, but the shove never comes. Instead Billy’s hands migrate to Steve’s belt loops, tugging him closer and deepening the kiss.
Billy tastes like cigarettes and the faintest trace of mint gum, Steve discovers as he licks his tongue into the other boys mouth experimentally.
Steve pulls back when they’re both breathing hard and grins again. “I get it now. You like me.” He huffs with a laugh.
Billy scowls at him, but it somehow lacks the fire it once did. “Yeah, yeah Princess. But if you tell anyone—“
“I won’t. I won’t.” Steve says in a rush before he crashes their lips back together.
He could really get used to this.