if i stare too long

Fandom: Stranger Things
Pairing: Steve Harrington/Billy Hargrove/Eddie Munson
Rating: Explicit
Wordcount: 191,196
Description: After the end of the world, Billy Hargrove is a mess. But at least he has company.
Tags: post canon, healing, recovery, mutual pining, scars, alcohol, drugs, fluff and angst, emotional hurt/comfort, fix-it, everyone lives, post season 4, powered billy hargrove, period typical attitudes, triggers, nightmares, explicit sexual content, embarrassment, misunderstandings, semi-public sex, coming out, friendships
Published: 2022-07-12 | Completed: 2022-10-27

a gallery of all the art from this fic, along with other fanart, can be found here.

Jump to individual chapters:

chapter 1:

prologue

The first time he sees Steve Harrington roll through Hawkins’ shitty RV park to stop in front of Eddie fucking Munson’s trailer, he shatters the beer bottle in his hand just by squeezing too hard.

He’s sitting outside with the radio on full blast, in nothing but an old pair of basketball shorts, long since given up on bothering to hide the mess of scar tissue his chest and back have become. June has just rolled into Hawkins, and a heat wave followed.

Even without the gates of hell opening beneath their feet, it’s too hot for a shirt.

So he’s sitting there, shaking glass from his hand with beer dripping down his fingers, sweaty and shirtless and seething as he spots Harrington’s head pop out of the window as he lays into the horn. He doesn’t even look Billy’s direction.

“Munson!” Steve calls from the car, and even from here, Billy can hear the clatter coming from inside of the trailer sat opposite of where he’s been shacked up with the Mayfields since clawing his way out of a coma. “Let’s go! We’re wasting daylight!”

Billy thinks this is the first time he’s seen Harrington on the wrong side of town since the ex-chief of police’s little psychic daughter saved the world again. He doesn’t know if he came here before that– was too busy laying in a hospital bed with a feeding tube down his throat– but he’d put his money on fuck no, judging by the way he’s currently refusing to get out of his car, hanging with one arm out of the window instead.

He’s looking at the Munson trailer like it might bite him. Which is funny, considering the damn thing is brand new. A gift from the town, for all the trouble. Billy thinks the town needs to work on their hush money.

Steve lays into the horn again. “Eddie, c’mon!”

“Hot date, Harrington?”

Those big doe eyes of his dart over, wide and startled, like he hadn’t even realized Billy was sitting out on a rickety lawn chair trying to drink himself into a stupor before noon. He’s tense, jumpier than Billy’s ever seen, the hand hanging out the window flinching like he wants to grab something. It looks like he’s been caught doing something he’s not supposed to, in a place he isn’t supposed to be.

It does very little to soothe Billy’s hackles down. He has to take a breath before he reaches out and slaps the radio off, just to keep from breaking a third one. He can only beg the neighbors so many times.

“Uh,” Steve blinks at him from the car window, skittish gaze darting down to Billy’s chest– to the scars there– before jerking right back up. “I’m actually a glorified taxi, right now.”

Billy’s brow arches. Neither of them move– Steve, idling in the car, half out of the window; Billy, sitting sprawled and watching.

Steve’s fingers drum against the metal of the car door. Billy would bet he’s got a leg bouncing, like he would on the bench during games before he graduated, and he hates that he knows so many of this preppy, pretty boy’s habits. He hates how, even now, he doesn’t want to look away from all of that nervous, barely-contained energy.

Billy flinches first. Looks away. Bends down to snatch up the half empty pack of cigarettes tucked into the ankle of his sock, tapping one out before he’s even sat straight again. Slumps back in his seat, presses it to his lips, and grabs the Bic tucked behind his ear to light it up.

There’s a scattering of used up buds at his feet.

“Pretty fancy fuckin’ taxi service,” he mumbles around the filter and then breathes deep.

Steve Harrington squints at him as he blows out smoke. Tilts his head.

Only looks away when Munson’s door clatters open.

Before, Steve would have been the one to flinch first. Before smoke monsters and malls. Before whatever the fuck happened after that, while Billy was laying near brain dead in a hospital bed for nearly a year. Before Steve Harrington started picking up strays at the trailer park.

He doesn’t know if Harrington got brave or stupid. Barely knows the difference between the two himself.

“Sorry– I’m sorry, I’m– shit!”

At the very least, he does know that Eddie Munson is most definitely the latter.

He’s also a mess. Stray hair flying everywhere and clothes crumpled like he just fished them out of a pile on the floor. He looks frazzled, sleep-deprived and a little manic. It’s a long way from the charismatic Eddie Munson that Billy bought drugs from back in the corridors of Hawkins High.

Not like Billy is any place to judge, though.

He watches as Steve raises a friendly hand at Eddie. As Eddie’s trailer door slams shut behind him.

Billy’s the one who flinches, this time.

It’s small. Barely noticeable to anyone other than Billy. Still, it smarts, knowing that he’s come this far. It’s worse, too, when his almost imperceptible movement is caught by Eddie, whose eyes dart to Billy.

Eddie flashes him a grin as bright as day and waves. Billy’s not sure how friendly it’s meant to be.

“Munson,” Steve says. “Get in the car.”

Soon, they’ll be gone. And Billy will be left staring at tire-tracks and dust in the dry air.

“Isn’t Munson a little too old to babysit?” Billy says.

He can’t help himself. He’s not ready for more ringing silence that needs to be filled by the staticky radio he gets in the trailer park.

The barb is mild, but enough to make Harrington’s ears burn pink as he sighs and shakes his head. Tips his face up like he’s praying for patience.

Billy doesn’t know why– they’ve barely spoken these last few months beyond awkward greetings and stilted small talk in hospital rooms, the world a whirlwind after the fallout of what Billy supposes was meant to be the end of the world– until Eddie starts cackling.

“I told you that you were a mother hen,” he says, smacking his hand to the hood of Steve’s car as he rounds to the passenger side, shouting over the roof at Billy like he can’t hear him whisper from half a block away these days. “He’s such a fucking nag, Hargrove.”

Steve groans, muttering to himself, eyes closed. “I fucking hate you so much. I don’t know why Dustin likes you.”

“You think I’m charming,” Eddie wraps his knuckles against the roof.

“You make me want to commit homicide on, like, a semi-regular basis,” Steve replies, and then looks over at Billy with a tired smile. “I’d be happy to add you to the growing roster of adult high school students I’ve been toting around out of the kindness of my heart.”

Munson’s face wrinkles up. “You barely graduated,” he says to Steve.

“Ah,” Steve says, pulling a pair of sunglasses on. “But I did graduate. Are you getting in or not?”

“Thinking about it,” Eddie says.

But he makes no move to get in the car. Just leans on the top of it and looks between Billy and Steve with bright, attentive eyes.

“I graduated,” Billy says. “Not sure I qualify for the Harrington Taxi Service.”

“Sure you do,” Eddie says. Billy watches as Steve makes an affronted face. “The other qualifying factor is fucked up shit.”

He says it so easily. Like Billy doesn’t know that he spends his nights absolutely sleepless, playing records loud enough for Billy to hear. Like it’s just… no big deal. The nonchalance immediately ruffles Billy’s feathers.

Steve sighs again and waffles that hand he’s got sticking out of the window. “I try not to advertise that part.”

Eddie grins, cheek dimpling. “I’m loud enough for the both of us,” he says.

Billy blinks at the pair of them, hanging from Steve Harrington’s shiny burgundy car like it’s normal. Billy doesn’t think Harrington would’ve been caught dead with Eddie before. Really hates that he wasn’t around to witness whatever made that change happen.

Hates it even more when Eddie Munson just beams at him and drums his hands on top of Steve’s ride.

“C’mon, Hargrove, I’m trying to teach this preppy little bitch to let loose,” Eddie says, dark circles under his eyes and a smile on his face. “We’re going to go drink our trauma away at the lake. Otherwise he’ll be folding donated clothes with the other dweebs until the sun goes down.”

“Forgive me for trying to do something nice,” Steve grunts.

He’s got his eyes hidden behind those dark sunglasses, but Billy thinks he feels them on his skin. Thinks the way he slumps in the driver’s seat speaks of an exhaustion too far away for Billy to eavesdrop on.

Thinks embarrassed resignation isn’t a half bad look on him, face pink behind his shades.

“You really would fit right in,” Steve adds with a little shrug, like he’s not sure if the olive branch will get taken or snapped. “Might be better than roasting out here. If you’re, uh. If you’re interested.”

Eddie scoffs. “He’s interested. I’ve got the good shit, Harrington.”

“Would you–” Steve groans into both of his hands, scrubbing them over his face and shoving his sunglasses up into his hair. “Would you actually shut up and get in the car, already? You never fucking listen.”

“Shotgun,” Billy says, mouth moving before his brain can even catch up.

His own voice startles him, has his head reeling.

It’s a dumb idea to go, but Billy’s got an itch under his skin he hasn’t figured out how to scratch, and a change of scenery could be — well, it could be something, anyway. Better than rotting in a rickety lawn-chair in the midday sun. At least the lake’s got shade.

Eddie grins, wide and bright. Billy watches the way his whole face lights up as he turns to look at Harrington. Like a sunflower toward the fucking sun.

“At least put on a shirt,” he hears Steve say, resignation evident in his tone.

“Concerned for his modesty?” Eddie asks.

He’s already folding himself into the back seat. It sounds like some sort of running joke.

Billy thinks maybe he’s a little sick and tired of being on the outside looking in. Thinks he’s watched things happen for a little too long.

“No shirt, no shoes, no service,” Steve says.

Billy grabs a tank from the clothes line and slings it over his shoulder on the way to the car.

“I think that’s as good as you’re gonna get,” Eddie says.

“Damn straight,” Billy says, slamming the car door behind him.

In the backseat, Eddie snorts, already pressing forward to dangle himself between the two of them. Billy can smell the weed on him.

“Let’s go, Stevie boy,” Eddie pats at Steve’s shoulder, and Steve is already batting him away and shifting into reverse. “We’re burning daylight aren’t we?”

“I’m gonna fucking drown you in the lake,” Steve says, but there’s a crooked little grin on his face as he starts roll them back out of the trailer park. “Buckle up. You too, Hargrove.”

“Fuck,” Billy breathes, probably with more feeling than necessary, staring at Steve’s profile– and he knows it’s too long when he glances over and sees Eddie’s mile wide smile. “He really is a mother hen.”

Eddie shrugs. “You get used to it.”

Billy doesn’t know if he will. Doesn’t know if he should.

But when Steve threatens to kick both of them out, he’s quick to comply. Thinks he might miss something– something important, maybe even something good– if he doesn’t. Sees Eddie doing the same.

Thinks that, even if he doesn’t deserve it, he wants it enough that maybe it doesn’t matter.

chapter 2:

i’m burning (i’m burning for you)

When Billy first woke up, it was in such fits and bursts that it didn’t seem real.

The last thing he remembered with any true clarity had been screaming. Something hoarse and loud and ringing. Something that tore from his throat and left his chest raw.

He’d thought that’s why he ached so much, when he stirred back to life from the miasma of a never-ending nightmare. Hadn’t remembered, at first, that he’d had some big fuck-off meat monster spear him straight through the heart.

But then he had. And then he remembered everything else.

Pale and frail and shaking, he’d vomited up a feeding tube and forced himself to focus– clawed his way out of that red smoke and lightning– dragged himself back into the light like he might actually be worthy of it.

“Mmax–” was the first thing he’d gasped, spitting up and grasping out blindly, something cracking, crunching, breaking– “Max!”

He was a little late on the draw, but he guesses he gets points for caring or some shit. Max certainly hadn’t complained when they rolled her in, three days later, both her legs in casts and an arm in a sling.

Even with two black eyes, she didn’t hesitate to bawl. Billy hadn’t known what to do with himself then.

He doesn’t know what to do with himself now.

It’s the middle of the week, so the lake is sparsely populated. He thinks he can see a fishing boat off in the distance, but the sun is bright on the water. Like glass reflecting light.

There’s a scattering of others across the bend, but Harrington pulls them into a secluded inlet with one of those floating docks drifting a good swim off the shore. It’s a pretty choice spot, all things considered, but Billy still finds himself hesitating.

“You did bring the booze, didn’t you, tough guy?” Eddie asks, unstrapped from his seat belt the second Steve shifts to park, hands on both of Steve’s shoulders like he can’t fucking help himself.

“What would the point of this fucking be if I didn’t, Dungeon Master? You wanna ask another stupid question?” Steve huffs, derisive and just as resigned as before, glancing over his shoulder at Eddie’s grinning face.

Real nerd shit, if you ask Billy.

“King Steve,” Billy mutters, “how far he’s fallen.”

“How far I’ve dragged him down,” Eddie responds, sounding way too proud of himself.

That pride, that easy self-confidence, grates. It makes Billy’s skin feel too tight, makes his scar tissue itch.

Billy wants to reach over and pry Eddie’s hands off of Steve’s shoulders. Like that would help.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Munson. I’m nowhere close to joining your little club.”

And then Steve is shrugging off Eddie’s touch and letting himself out of his car. Eddie follows, hand on the door handle—but not before turning his sharp eyes to Billy and smirking a mile wide. The expression makes his face go a little darker, a little less carefree.

“Come on, Hargrove. Wouldn’t want to keep his majesty waiting, now would you?”

Billy gets out of the car before he can pay attention to the way his knuckles itch. To the way Eddie’s grin had made something inside him twist uncomfortably.

Steve’s got his trunk popped, and he’s already leaning down to haul out a cooler before turning to shove it into Eddie’s arms as Billy rounds his way to the back. Steve’s sunglasses are shoved up onto his head, so Billy doesn’t miss the scathing dryness that unfolds when Eddie sticks out his tongue.

“You’re a child,” Steve says.

Eddie kisses at the air toward him, leaning back a bit to counter the weight in his arms with a little swagger. “Better than boring.”

“I’m boring, now?”

If Steve wasn’t grinning, crooked and almost confused, a brow going up as his hands find his hips, Billy might think he’s actually offended. As it stands, he just looks bemused by Eddie’s antics.

“Never in your life, sweet Steve,” Eddie assures, with a fair amount of seriousness. “Other people are boring. But you? No, no. Not you. You’re a fuckin’ firecracker.”

No. By Eddie’s flirting. Because that’s what it is—that tone, that stance, those words—even if entirely unintended.

Worse, Steve looks strangely flattered, alongside his bewilderment. Almost flustered, shifting on his feet and rolling his eyes as he bends back down to pull out some big tote with towels in it to hold out to Billy.

The tips of his ears are pink again.

“Feel free to shut him up if he bothers you,” Steve tells him, gesturing at where Eddie’s face has twisted up into a mockery of offense. “I haven’t figured out how, yet– but I’m sure between the two of us…”

Billy can think of plenty of ways to shut Eddie Munson up. About a dozen, maybe even a hundred. Some of them involve knocking out his teeth. Others—don’t.

But Billy’s whole body feels a little too far away from him right now. Limbs too stiff, tongue too heavy. He can’t do anything other than tighten the hold he has on the tote that Steve shoved into his arms.

“Watch yourself, Munson,” is all that Billy says. He throws a little bit of teeth into his tone, but Eddie only sticks his tongue out at Billy, too—totally unphased as ever.

Billy wonders if Steve knows that Eddie was flirting just to rile Steve up. It seems impossible that he does.

Does Eddie know? That’s a different question entirely.

“Where the fuck are we going?” Billy says, as Steve stacks a folded blanket on top of the bundle already in Billy’s arms. “I’m not your packmule.”

“You’ll have to forgive him the mistake,” Eddie says, eyeing Billy rather unabashedly. Turning his stupid tactics on a far more dangerous target. “You did bulk up in record time–”

A pair of trunks– bright fucking mustard yellow things– smack into Eddie’s face.

“Oh, you’re jerking my chain, Harrington–”

“Stop poking, you nosy fuck,” Steve says, and then he’s waving both of them off toward the shoreline. “Move along. Go set up.”

“I’m not wearing these.”

“Should’ve brought your own, then.” Steve shrugs, unapologetic. “A little color won’t kill you. Don’t have anything for you though, Hargrove.”

“Don’t need ‘em,” Billy says easily, though he can’t help but wish Steve had something for him, too. “If I want to swim, I don’t need trunks. I’m not a pussy.”

Eddie makes a big show of thinking hard as they start walking. “Now, smack me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure that you spent the majority of last summer in swim trunks, showing off for all the moms of Hawkins.”

The rest of last summer Billy spent in a coma, Billy thinks. Eddie doesn’t mention that part. But he doesn’t step carefully over it, either. Billy can at least be thankful of that.

Billy puts on a grin. “Didn’t see you at the pool, Munson. Sad you missed the show?”

“Me? At the public watering hole? No. No, no, no.” Eddie’s shaking his head, but he’s still grinning as he shuffles closer, sneakers kicking up sand as the grass fades into the shoreline. “I am sad I missed it, though. All that peacocking must’ve been fun to witness.”

Billy huffs out a partial laugh. He can’t help himself—there’s something about Eddie Munson that feels relaxed; contagious. The easy way with which he shrugs off everything thrown at him and turns it around into a joke.

“It was,” Steve says. “I’m pretty sure even Mrs. Wheeler—”

“Shove it, pretty boy,” Billy says, before Steve can finish that thought. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

Steve makes a face. “I didn’t think you’d gotten that far.”

Eddie is laughing with his head back, knocking into Billy’s shoulder with his own. “Hear that, Hargrove? Pretty boy doesn’t think you’ve got game.”

Billy raises his eyebrows and shoves Eddie back, maybe a little bit harder than is necessary. “From what I hear, he’s not one to talk. And neither are you, Munson.”

It’s no secret to the town that Billy Hargrove didn’t pick up dating again after his accident at the mall fire. He’s still passed numbers on the back of receipts, on business cards, even written across the back of his hand. He has no real intention of calling any of those women back, even though he keeps most of the mementos, shoved into a drawer next to his bed. A reminder of—something.

Hawkins’ most eligible bachelor, someone called him last week at the diner. Billy had laughed for a long time about that one, once he got back home.

“I am a free bird, surfer boy,” Eddie insists, jerking to a stop when Steve catches him by the back of the shirt once they’re close enough to the water. “And Stevie gets plenty– he just can’t lock it down. Can you, Stevie?”

“I absolutely never gave you permission to call me that,” Steve mutters, but as he brushes by and snatches the blanket off the top of Billy’s armful, his cheeks have gone a ruddy color.

They absolutely haven’t been out in the sun long enough for him to have already started burning.

“What, your mom call you that?” Eddie waggles his brows, and Steve looks incredibly unimpressed as he starts flicking the blanket out and open across the rough sand. “Little Stevie boy?”

“My mom would dress you down in three different languages so fast that you would cry,” Steve says. “It’s just Steve, Eddie. Get it right, or stick with my last name.”

“Good thing I don’t speak any other languages, then,” Eddie says. He glances at Steve and then looks back at Billy, smile never faltering. “How come he doesn’t get a lecture when he calls you pretty boy?”

Unceremoniously, Billy drops the rest of Steve’s goodies into the sand next to where Steve has spread out the blanket.

“Now that’s a good question,” Billy agrees. “I guess you’re good for something after all, Munson.”

“I did save the world, you know.”

“You helped. Hopper’s little girl saved the world.” Steve replies, and then looks Billy in the eye. “And I tend not to argue with guys who smash plates over my head.”

Eddie hisses, brows shooting up. “Fucking what? Are you kidding?”

“I walked it off eventually,” Steve shrugs.

It isn’t meant to be mean. Billy doesn’t know if Steve Harrington even knows how to be mean.

He’d heard rumors, sure. But he’d never actually gotten to see it, outside of swinging fists back when they first met. Back before the end of the world shit took precedence.

Though from what Billy’s pried out of Max, the end of the world shit has been taking precedence for Steve for a lot longer.

Billy never apologized. But he sure as hell isn’t going to do that here, with Eddie Munson peering at them like this is some kind of daytime soap, eyes wide and too-seeing.

“You did drug me,” Billy says. “I think that makes us even.”

“Holy shit,” Eddie says.

“Your sister drugged you,” Steve replies, and his mouth is flat press, awkward but so very far from mad that it’s astounding. “I was unconscious. From the plate to the head. And, you know, the other stuff.”

“Other stuff?” Eddie asks, looking to Billy like he might offer up more details, eager as a kid at Christmas; he’s still clutching at the cooler, arms full, like he’s too distracted to even remember that he can put it down. “What else did you hit him with?”

“I did hit you with a car, though.” Steve chimes before he has to bother trying to answer himself. “Sorry about that.”

“You sure fucking did. And you better shut your trap, Munson,” Billy warns under his breath, “unless you’re asking to find out your answer first hand.”

Billy can’t muster up any real venom to back up his words, though—and it shows in the way Eddie doesn’t flinch. These days, Billy’s just tired. Exhausted, really.

“What if I ask real nice?” Eddie says, plopping himself down right in the middle of Steve’s blanket, arms still full of junk; he drops most of it to sprawl himself out, looking up at Billy with big, dark eyes. Like he’s putting on some sort of show. “Pretty please? I could throw a cherry on top. Stevie, you got any cherries?”

He doesn’t look away from Billy for an instant. Those dark eyes are like a dare. Billy just doesn’t know what it’s for.

“Those trunks are one more Stevie away from going in your mouth,” Steve grumbles, but he’s plopping himself down onto the blanket too– popping the cooler lid open and pulling out three beers. “Catch.”

He tosses one up at Billy. Passes another to Eddie. Cracks his own open and swallows down an impressive amount when it threatens to foam over his fingers.

“There’s already way too much talk and way too little drinking,” Steve says, voice beer thick, the way it gets when you drink a little too fast. “I didn’t come out here to become best friends. If I wanted that, I would’ve brought Robin.”

Eddie pantomimes getting what looks like a stab wound right in the chest. Very dramatic, very loud. “Ouch, and here I thought our friendship was blossoming right before my very eyes.”

Steve is sitting too close to Munson, given that Eddie is taking up way too much of the blanket. But that doesn’t stop Billy from sitting down on Eddie’s other side, not one to be outdone—though he does leave a little more breathing room between himself and Eddie.

“Why didn’t you bring your girlfriend, then?” Billy asks, cracking open his own beer and taking a long gulp. “For a band geek, she’s not too hard on the eyes.”

Not Billy’s type, but he appreciates a pretty face when he sees one.

Steve snorts. Looks across Eddie’s sprawled form to catch Billy’s gaze just so he can emphatically shake his head.

“No. Not– No.” Steve laughs a bit, and then he’s knocking his sunglasses down and hiding his eyes behind them. “I had a thing for her for about a minute. But she’s not… she’s not. She’s my friend. And… infinitely cooler than any of the people currently sitting here.”

Eddie snaps his fingers, pointing at him and propped on an elbow, toeing off his sneakers. “You’re sitting here.”

“And she’s infinitely cooler than me,” Steve says, like it’s obvious, and then finishes his first beer in nothing but a few gulps before crushing the can and snagging another from the open cooler. “Which means she’s, like, ten-times-infinitely cooler than the both of you.”

Steve beams at the pair of them from behind his shades and cracks open his second beer.

Steve’s assertion actually drags a sharp laugh right from the bottom of Billy’s gut, surprised and honestly amused. It feels—good. To laugh like that. To feel that spark of joy when it’s been absent from his veins for so long.

“Good one, Harrington,” Billy says, and takes another long pull of his beer.

The day is hot and the beer is cold, already sweating moisture against Billy’s palm. The condensation drips onto his bare stomach, the tank top he brought with him long abandoned in the front seat of Steve’s car.

It feels.

It feels—normal. Maybe. To be sitting at the lake on a sweltering day with a beer in his hand. It’s not totally the same as the summers Billy spent on the beach with salt air in his lungs and sand between his toes, but it’s still good. Better than sitting in a lawn chair, breathing in the stale air of the trailer park.

“I’ve been known to make a joke or two,” Steve says. “Sometimes they’re even funny.”

Eddie is clicking his tongue at him and sitting up, tapping his beer to Steve’s before taking a hefty pull of his own. “You say that like our lives haven’t become some weird punchline.”

“Monsters and demons and bad guys, oh my,” Steve says, laughing when Eddie shoulders into him before quickly shoving him at arm’s length again. “Rather a joke than a nightmare, I guess. Not that there aren’t plenty of those, too.”

Billy isn’t often left without something to say, but for a moment, words just—fail him.

He doesn’t know what to do with Steve’s easy admonition that he also has nightmares, that this horror that they all went through was just—shared history. A topic of jokes and conversation.

So, Billy just chooses to say nothing. To not engage. He keeps his eyes on the horizon line, at the place where the lake meets the trees and then the sky.

“Ouch, I think you broke him, Stevie,” Eddie says.

He waves a hand in front of Billy’s face—and only stops when Billy reaches out and snatches his wrist to make him stop.

“I warned you, Munson,” Billy snaps.

“Easy, easy, big guy,” Eddie says, the fingers of his beer hand splaying out like a surrender, except for the pinch of his thumb and forefinger keeping him from spilling his drink all over his ratty band shirt. “People zoning out is, historically, pretty bad on, like, an epic scale. Forgive me for checking.”

“Stop making excuses,” Steve sighs, but he’s shifting onto his knees to crawl over to where the tote Billy dropped lays slumped to the side. “You just like being annoying.”

“It’s my brand,” Eddie says, and he’s definitely not looking at Billy, dark eyes locked on where Steve is rummaging around. “But it does make me twitchy.”

“I know,” Steve says, and Billy thinks he hears some amount of softness there as Steve pulls out a portable little radio, sitting back on his heels, waggling it with a grimace of a grin. “Ta-da.”

Eddie’s wrist is still trapped in Billy’s grip. Billy can feel Eddie’s pulse rabbiting beneath his fingertips, the clench of his hand. But underneath that feeling is the heat of Eddie’s skin. A warmth that’s seeping straight into Billy’s bones deeper than the sun ever could.

It’s been so fucking long since he’s touched anyone. Since anyone touched him.

He lets go of Eddie’s wrist like he’s been burned.

“Can I at least expect your music taste to be better than Harrington’s?” Billy asks, in lieu of an apology. Seems like he’s short on those, these days.

He knows that he likes Eddie’s music. He hears it often enough.

“Oh, no,” Steve twists around, already shaking his head. “Fuck no. We’re not listening to heavy metal at eleven in the morning.”

Eddie grins at him with teeth. Like he’s the wolf and Steve is the poor little lamb he’s cornered.

He elbows Billy in the side. Doesn’t stop and check his wrist for bruises– doesn’t even miss a beat– already pressing his half empty beer to Billy’s chest, uncaring or oblivious to the scars he’s touching as he shifts forward toward where Steve is leaning away at the far corner of the blanket.

It loosens something in Billy. Something that’s been waiting for the both of them to do what everyone else in this stupid small town has done. To treat him like he’s broken. Like he’s fragile. Like the scars on his skin mean he’s not whole enough to take anything more than kind words and a gentle hand.

“C’mon, Steve, you know I’m not gonna let that preppy pop shit pass,” Eddie says, voice low like a warning, inching forward toward where Steve has taken off his sunglasses like whatever silly little argument they’re having is important enough for eye contact. “A little rock n roll never hurt anybody.”

“See, I can do the rock thing, that’s fine,” Steve says, and he’s crept himself off the blanket and onto the sand, eyes darting over Eddie’s shoulder to the water as he toes off his trainers. “But you want to make my ears bleed.”

Billy grins. “Munson here probably doesn’t, but I do. Sounds like a good time.”

Eddie laughs a little, encroaching on the space that Steve has been slowly ceding. Following him like a cat on the prowl.

“Not exactly selling a night with you, Hargrove. Is that how you treat all the ladies?” Eddie says, though his eyes never leave Steve.

Just for that, Billy finishes off his own beer, tosses it to the side, and starts in on Eddie’s.

“Eddie,” Steve warns, creeping back even more, and Billy can see his pulse rabbiting in his throat. “Personal space. We’ve talked about this.”

“Besides,” Eddie adds, not stopping even as Steve starts to get his feet under him, ready to dart. “Stevie is a mother hen, right? Isn’t that exactly your type?”

“Eddie,” Steve snaps–

But Eddie is lunging and Steve is on his feet and scrambling for the water.

Billy doesn’t even know what to say to that. Lucky for him, he doesn’t need to figure it out. By the time his brain’s back online, Steve’s already being hauled away from the water before he can get too far in. They’re knee deep, both of their jeans soaked, and when Steve drops like a deadweight with Eddie’s arm caught around his waist, they both land in the shallows with a splash. So much for the yellow trunks Steve brought him.

The problem is, Eddie’s too casual. Everything he says is too easy, too nonchalant. He thinks he’s a regular class clown, turning everything into a joke just to rile someone up or make them laugh.

To Eddie, everything is a fucking joke. Even flirting with another guy in small town Indiana.

Billy clenches his teeth, burning up from the inside out as Eddie smacks water up into Steve’s face and Steve laughs, and he lets himself fall backwards, sprawling out over the entirety of the blanket, Eddie’s cold beer still clenched in his hand. Fuck the two of them: they can find somewhere else to sit when they get back.

chapter 3:

hold tight (gotta stay close by me)

Billy knows this place.

He remembers the smell, the cloying musty dampness in the air.

As he walks, his boots meet puddles on the ground. They splash stale water into the frayed cuffs of his jeans. Somewhere off to his left, a pipe drips. Loud and echoing.

Something skitters through the warehouse. Too big to be a cockroach. Too frequent to just be one living thing.

Billy’s been here before. He knows this place.

His heart pounds in his chest, lungs doing their damndest to claw their way up toward his throat. He clenches his fist until his fingernails dig into his palms. It hurts. But not as badly as what he knows is coming.

Before he can slip fully into the nightmare, something wet and cold smacks him right in the face—he startles upward, choking, coughing, pulling at whatever landed on him.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” Eddie Munson says to him.

He’s shirtless and dripping wet, standing over Billy like a statue, silhouetted by the blue, blue sky.

In Billy’s hands is Eddie’s dripping tee shirt. It smells like the lake. Billy’s fingers are clenched hard enough to wring the wet straight out of it. Billy’s heart is still racing.

“Ain’t that a familiar look,” Eddie says, head tilting a bit, long hair damp and curling, scars almost as bad as Billy’s scattered across the pale skin of his chest and stomach.

Eyes too dark. Too knowing.

Billy looks away first.

He can’t have dozed off for long. The sun is still high in the sky, barely moved at all when Billy squints up at it. He feels hot– tacky to the touch– and he realizes he’d broken into a cold sweat despite the summer heat.

“His majesty stole the tunes,” Eddie says, sitting down next to him in wet jeans, gaze keen when Billy shifts away; he can hear some 60’s rock band playing, but Steve managed to get the radio out to that floating dock, so it sounds tinny and far away. “He is an admittedly– and, might I add, unfairly– good swimmer.”

Billy blinks a few times when he looks over at Eddie’s face– expression guileless and smile friendly. Completely bypassing whatever nightmare Billy had evidently and obviously been falling into despite clearly noticing.

“I’m serious,” Eddie adds, holding up an arm over his head and waving it around. “He held the radio over his head and still swam faster than me.”

Billy wants to laugh, he does—the mental image of that is just too perfect, too believable. Like a movie playing out in Billy’s head. But the laugh gets caught somewhere in his overcrowded throat.

“Is there more beer?” Billy asks instead. He lets the shirt drop somewhere between his knees with a soggy thump. “Or did Harrington take that too?”

He looks over at Eddie and grins.

“Sorry: Stevie,” Billy corrects himself, putting on the tone that Eddie uses.

Eddie hardly looks offended. Arches a brow and grins real wide, leaning back on his hands as holds Billy’s stare.

“Nah,” he says, gesturing with a jerk of his chin toward the water, toward the floating dock where Steve Harrington lays sprawled in the sun. “Ditched everything but the tunes.”

He’s not exactly wrong. When Billy looks, he mostly sees skin. There’s the dark scrap of what must be his underwear, his sunglasses, and that shiny red radio. Down by the waterline, his wet clothes lay discarded.

“I find it’s easier to sleep in the sun,” Eddie says, tonguing the inside of his cheek and shrugging a shoulder. “The night has too many shadows.”

Billy swallows, throat tight. He digs into the cooler, pushing his hands into the icy water that waits there, and grabs a beer. He clenches it in his fist like a lifeline as Eddie moves closer to him, taking up some of the space Billy vacated by sitting up.

Billy can’t say he disagrees with Eddie’s shared sentiment. He takes his fair share of catnaps in the sun, sprawled out in his lawn chair in the trailer park. That sleep never lasts long—the park is too loud, too close. But his sleep there is dreamless and dense.

“You sound like a fucking fortune teller,” Billy says.

He thinks of boardwalk arcades, of the machine with a woman and her crystal ball. Billy’s picked up enough twenty-five cent fortunes from that shit to last him a lifetime.

“Your lucky numbers are three, forty nine, and sixty seven,” Eddie quips, crowding in and reaching past him to grab himself another drink, skin damp and cool from the water. “Don’t wear blue next Tuesday.”

Billy should flinch away from Eddie’s easy closeness, the way he just pushes right in. But Billy doesn’t, even though he’s braced for it. He just—lets it happen. Eddie, in his space, until he’s not. Damp reminders left as memories of all their points of contact on Billy’s skin.

“Fuck,” Billy says. “I have a date next Tuesday and all my nice shirts are blue. You telling me I’m not gonna get lucky, Munson?”

Eddie chuckles into his beer, leaning back onto his hand again, legs layed out long in front of him, bare feet caked in sand. “I’m not saying that. But why risk it when you can just go without a shirt and do just as well?”

He says it like they aren’t both cut to shreds by claws and teeth. Like monsters hadn’t crawled out from under their beds to take a good chunk out of their sides.

Fuck, Eddie looks like he wears his scars with pride.

Billy looks in the mirror and just sees—a fucking nightmare. And sure, that doesn’t keep him from being shirtless, but he’s pretty sure it’d keep him from getting laid.

Not that that’s Billy’s number one concern. But Eddie doesn’t need to know that.

He gestures at his scars. “Just what kind of chicks do you think I’m trying to pick up?” Billy asks after a long pull of his beer.

Eddie makes a face, head jerking back a bit and nose scrunching, looking at Billy like he’s not sure if he’s making a bad joke or not. It has his spine stiffening. His hackles raising.

“Okay, I’ll bite,” Eddie says after a moment, and then grins with all his teeth. “The real pretty ones.”

There’s something about Eddie’s tone that Billy doesn’t love. Billy stares at him, looking into those dark brown eyes. He can’t help but bare his own teeth. He blames his immediate offensive on the nightmare, but it feels like something in him’s shouting danger, but Billy’s brain is too slow to catch onto what.

In the distance, Steve’s radio rings out tinny and faint. Distorted by the water, wind, and distance.

“You’re right,” Billy says, easy as pie. “My standards are sky high.”

Eddie whistles, soft and low, eyes darting between Billy’s own. “Well, then you’ve got nothin’ to worry about, do you? Pretty attracts pretty, after all. And we’re just so damn handsome.”

Billy can’t tell anymore if Eddie is giving him a compliment– or an insult in the shape of one. Can’t tell if he’s needling for the hell of it– or if he just can’t help himself.

“Where’d you get yours, by the way?” Eddie asks, switching tracks before that defensive rage can catch fire in his chest, tapping the butt of his beer can to the tattoo on Billy’s bare shoulder. “I like the linework.”

When Eddie pulls the can away, Billy’s skin still feels cold. Damp with condensation.

“A place a few towns over,” Billy had barely had the money to shell out for it at the time, but it had felt important. Now, it’s one of the few places on his body not marred by scar tissue. It feels even more important now. “Think it’s called Frank’s. Next to that big truck stop.”

Eddie hums, like maybe it sounds familiar. Hell, maybe it does. It isn’t like Billy knew a lot about the guy before nearly dying. He certainly doesn’t know enough about him after they both did.

He certainly doesn’t know enough about Hawkins to know if there are any more tattoo parlors, or if Frank’s is as far as the selection goes.

“You thinking about getting any more?” Eddie asks.

“Hell yeah,” Billy says. “Got a big payout from the government or whatever. Was planning on getting some ink with it.”

He should use the money to move as far as humanly possible away from Hawkins, Indiana—but, for whatever reason, he can’t bring himself to do that. He feels stuck here. Incapable of running away. Or unwilling.

All he wanted after graduation was to go back to California. Now, he doesn’t know what he wants.

Eddie folds his knees up so he can drape his arms over them, leaning in a bit with a crooked grin. “What’re you thinking about getting?”

He supposes Eddie himself is a litter of permanent choices, inked across his skin. Small and inconsequential in the long run– but just like the skull on Billy’s shoulder, he imagines there’s some kind of meaning there.

Or maybe he’s just projecting.

“No fucking clue,” Billy says truthfully. There’s something about the way that Eddie’s looking at him right now that doesn’t lend itself to lying. “Just—something.”

He wants to do something for himself. To himself. Something on his own terms.

Eddie is nodding like he gets it. Billy supposes he does when he says, “It feels good, doesn’t it? Taking back a little control? Like, if life is gonna fuck me, I’m at least gonna have some choice about what I’m gonna carry with me through it.”

Billy blinks, staring at Eddie. At the open sincerity on his face. He feels caught in his gaze, and a little bewildered by just how much Eddie gets it. And then Billy makes himself wrench his gaze away and down another few gulps of beer.

“What are you getting next, then?” Billy asks.

Eddie’s face breaks into a bright smile, and then he’s twisting around to show Billy his bare back. There are no scars there– just clean skin, warming pink in the summer sun.

Billy’s fingers itch.

“So the Byers kid rolled back into town to help with the end of the world shit, right? Quite the little artist, that one,” Eddie says, gesturing at some spot vaguely between his shoulder blades. “He’s working on one of those bats for me. Want a reminder of what I survived. You ever see those things? Vicious fuckers.”

“No,” Billy says. But.

But.

When he was asleep. Stuck in that coma or whatever they called it, his head wasn’t just empty. He’d caught flashes. Bits and snippets.

Emotions, to go along with the sights and sounds.

“Maybe,” Billy admits, a moment after. “Too many fucking teeth.”

And too much hunger, too.

He doesn’t know why he just told Eddie Munson that. He furrows his brow and glares at Eddie’s back like Eddie somehow managed to pry it out of him while not even looking, instead of Billy somehow letting his guard down and letting his lips go too loose.

Eddie snorts as he twists back around, meeting that glare head on. He taps at his stomach– at the pink, puckered skin stretched across multiple spots along his abdomen.

“You’re telling me,” Eddie says, head jerking toward the water. “Fuckers nearly did both of us in. Steve’s even got infected.”

Knowing that Steve and Eddie both have this shared history makes Billy feel some kind of way. Something complicated twists within him; something sour. Something that he sure as hell isn’t going to look too closely at.

“Yours looks more badass,” Billy says before he thinks better of it. He follows it up with, “Harrington’s fucks with his perfect image.”

Eddie looks offended on Steve’s behalf, a hand to his chest. “You sayin’ Stevie’s less pretty because he’s got scars? You’ll break his heart.”

Billy barks out a laugh.

“If Harrington gives two shits over whether or not I think he’s pretty, I’ll eat my fucking hat.”

Eddie clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “Poor bet. First of all, you don’t wear hats with that hair. I would know.”

“Would you?” Billy says, raising his eyebrows at Eddie’s hair. “You look like a drowned rat.”

Eddie’s curls have gone limp with the lakewater, and while his hair has been slowly drying out in the sun, most of his volume’s been lost. He looks—well, not bad. Because objectively, Eddie Munson isn’t bad on the eyes. But without the hair, he’s lost some of the persona, the costume, he puts on. He looks more touchable now. Softer, sort of.

At least he grates less, anyway.

Billy knows the importance of a good facade. Not that Eddie needs one for the same reason as Billy—but it’s something Billy spots, all the same.

“How mean,” Eddie replies, doing his best to look pitiful for all of three seconds before he’s cracking and laughing as he swigs back more beer. “You rolled into town mean, Billy Hargrove. I promise, no one’s gonna make fun of you for being a little nice.”

Eddie isn’t looking at him anymore. Is looking out at the water, grin going lopsided at the sight of Steve Harrington drumming along to whatever song’s on in the air, still soaking up the sun and laid back on the floating dock. Is clicking his tongue and shaking his head again.

“A plate,” he mutters. “Damn.”

Billy swallows. The lingering vestiges of his nightmare are gone, but his throat still feels tight. He feels better rested than he has in days, even with just that little catnap, except his head feels full and cloudy with the way Eddie Munson keeps making his thoughts ping-pong back and forth between annoyance and—not.

All Billy Hargrove knows how to be is mean.

“Careful, Munson. I don’t need dinnerware to do damage.”

Billy takes another long swig of his beer, tipping the last few drops into his mouth before crushing the can in his hands. It goes flat easy.

“And he deserved it,” Billy follows up, eyes straying from Eddie to Steve, to all that skin left on display.

Steve didn’t, Billy knows. He especially knows that now.

But he still remembers how afraid he had been, how mad. How terrified he was about the thought of coming home to face Neil without Max in tow. How mad he was, just looking at Steve Harrington’s face, no different than in the hallways at school where Billy had first seen him and hadn’t been able to look away.

“You know,” Eddie waffles a hand, gaze straying briefly to Billy before navigating inevitably back to Steve, grin going smug like he’s satisfied he’s not the only one looking. “I would’ve maybe bought that not six months ago. But Steve is, like… stupid nice. Have you talked to him? Even when he’s an asshole, he’s polite about it. Must be something in the water on the upper side of town that missed him.”

“When would I have fucking talked to him?” Billy snaps.

He grabs himself another beer and wishes he felt even close to tipsy. Instead, the sun is just beating down on him, making him feel hot and uncomfortable. Like Eddie’s sitting too close.

“Is that why you’re friends? Because he’s too nice to tell you to fuck off?”

“Ooh, prickly,” Eddie hisses, hands up in a mock surrender. “Should I leave you and that chip on your shoulder to sulk alone?”

Billy clenches his teeth and works his jaw. It feels, just a little bit, like Eddie just slapped him. It’s been a long time since Billy’s been in a real fight. If he even tried to pick one, now, he’d have to go far afield—he doubts anyone would try and land a punch. Everyone knows about Billy Hargrove’s story.

He kinda wishes Eddie would just slap him. Or hit him. Or do anything other than joke back, like anything Billy throws at him is as good as water off a duck’s back.

He thinks about Eddie leaving, of watching him swim over to where Steve’s basking in the sun on the floating dock. He thinks of being left all alone with his thoughts and nightmares again.

“Stay if you want,” Billy says with a shrug.

Eddie huffs a heavy breath through his nose, draping his arms over his knees again. He’s looking at Billy, watching his profile. Billy hates the weight of those eyes.

“Man, Hargrove,” Eddie says eventually, after whatever song echoing across the water changes over, strangling back a laugh when they both catch Steve singing. “I’m too tired to get my back up about every little thing– not that I cared too much before. I promise I’m not trying to get a rise out of ya. Well. Not too much of one.”

Billy can’t help but raise his eyebrows at Eddie, though he tries to keep his irritation down as he says his next words: “I thought that was all you did, try and get a rise out of everyone.”

Steve isn’t exactly a good singer. But Billy can’t seem to keep his eyes off of him.

He covers it, though, by saying, “He knows we can hear him, right?”

“I dunno. Should I ask?” Eddie says, waggling his brows, and that’s almost answer enough to Billy’s presumption as Eddie cups a hand to his mouth and shouts. “Stevie! Sing a little louder for us, won’t you? I can’t make out the words!”

Steve’s answer is a middle finger. He does get a little louder, though.

“I don’t see the point in taking everything so damn seriously, Hargrove,” Eddie says when he looks back at him, satisfied and laughing to himself. “Usually I’m just trying to get everyone to relax a little. It’s why I sell weed. It’s just my natural disposition to poke at things that gets everyone all pissed.”

“Not everything is a joke,” Billy says.

He can’t keep the bite out of his voice—though he doesn’t know if it’s resentment or jealousy that tinges it. Or just plain annoyance. He thinks of Steve’s face flushing as Eddie tries to rile him up and bites his own lip until he tastes the copper of blood.

“One day you’re gonna piss off the wrong person, Munson.”

Then again, Billy’s pretty sure he heard about the witchhunt for Eddie Munson—so maybe that already happened.

“I piss off someone new every day,” Eddie says, and it sounds like it should be something dismissive– but Eddie leans in like he means it. “If I lived in fear of something I can’t control, no matter how family friendly I make myself, I’d never leave the trailer again. Some old ladies still clutch their pearls when I walk by.”

Billy doesn’t expect Eddie to reach out and clap a hand to his shoulder. Doesn’t expect how cool it is, from cradling his beer between his palms, or the relief it brings to Billy’s hot skin.

“But we saved the fucking world, Billy,” Eddie says, and Billy feels something in his chest pull taut at his inclusion. “And I don’t know about you, but I was touch-and-go for a minute. I’d rather flatline again than stop trying to find a little joy in life.”

Billy feels like maybe he’s stopped breathing, just for a moment. He wills himself to take a breath, to fill his lungs with hot, summer air.

“Pretty sure I almost destroyed the world, but sure,” he says. But he—gets it. At least Eddie’s perspective of it, anyway.

Then again, if Billy stopped putting up walls, stopped taking things seriously, he could end up dead from giving the wrong person the—well—right idea.

“No,” Eddie says, and he shaking his head and pulling his hand back so that he can gesture dismissively with both of them. Billy tries not to miss the weight of the touch. “No, no. Absolutely not. If I start blaming you for that shit, then I’d have to use that same skewed logic on everyone that got possessed. You didn’t want to destroy the world anymore than Chrissy wanted to open the gate for Vecna. Or your little sister, for that matter.”

Billy doesn’t exactly remember who Chrissy is, but he knows that the body count didn’t stop when Billy did. Knows she must’ve mattered, if the way Eddie sniffs and clears his throat is anything to go by.

“I’ve got a bit of experience, being accused of things I didn’t do,” Eddie sniffs again and shrugs, playing with the tab on his beer can as he looks out at Steve again– like watching him is something of a comfort. Like he uses it to anchor himself there, while he’s sitting next to Billy. “Not the same, I know, but. I don’t subscribe to convenient scapegoats.”

“Wow,” Billy says, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

Because Eddie’s words are deep– too deep. And they hit somewhere raw inside Billy. This is the most he’s talked about any of this shit ever, really. Other than hearing the barebones details from Max.

“Guess you’re not catholic, then.”

When Eddie glances at him in confusion, tearing those big, expressive eyes away from Steve, Billy just shrugs.

“Catholic guilt, and all. It’s pretty inescapable.”

Eddie snorts into laughter, scrubbing a hand over his mouth. His head is already bobbing into a nod, whatever melancholy in his face fading for something a little brighter.

Billy’s chest fills– swells, almost– with something like pride.

“Yeah, I’m not too big into the organized religion thing,” Eddie says. “You carrying a cross around on your back, Hargrove?”

“You see a cross, Munson?” Billy says. Something in him feels like it’s gone a little easier, too. He takes in a breath, holds it, and then lets himself flop down onto his back to look up at the big blue sky. “Not Catholic anymore, just raised it. The guilt sticks around longer than anything else.”

“Well, that’s just disgusting,” Eddie grunts, eyeing him but not trying to follow after him this time– like he’s trying to let Billy unwind before he starts poking and prodding again. “Catholics do exorcisms, don’t they? Can you exorcize that out?”

Billy laughs. He closes his eyes and just—laughs.

“I don’t think any of that shit works,” Billy says. “Not the way they want it to, anyway.”

He thinks about praying for his mother when he was a kid. He thinks about praying to be fucking normal when he was a teen. Or even for his father to just be nicer. And he thinks about tossing a prayer into the unknown as it was all going down last summer—please, God, just let it stop.

He thinks about how none of it had made any difference at all.

When he opens his eyes and looks up, Eddie is looking down at him, an unreadable expression on his face.

“You’re a fuckin’ tragedy, Billy Hargrove,” Eddie says, so soft and so kind– so full of understanding.

It makes Billy freeze in place. He doesn’t know if he should be angry. He doesn’t know if he has the energy to try.

But Eddie is moving– is leaning over him to shove both hands into the slush of ice and water to grab two beers each– is rocking back onto his knees and gesturing over his shoulder at the lake.

“C’mon,” he says. “You aren’t the only broken boy around, California. And I hear misery loves company.”

Eddie is bewildering. Like one of those crazy Indiana storms that blows through in the early summer, taking Billy by surprise. The wind whips one way, and then suddenly the next, and Billy’s going between emotions like he’s a pre-teen again, full of hope and rage and frustration all in one breath.

Still, Billy follows Eddie out into the water, caught in his wake.

chapter 4:

dancing in the moonlight (everybody’s feeling warm and bright)

They gave Billy the good shit when he first woke up. He supposes they probably also gave him the good shit when he was unconscious, but he doesn’t remember much of that beyond the blur of hazy visions and a cloud of night terrors.

Had even teased Max about her own IV drip, when her words would slur during visits. They alternated– one of them being wheeled or walked to the other every other day– until both of them were finally making the trip on their own two feet again. Both of them healed a little too fast to be normal.

Max still uses a walker when the walk is too long– but she’d smiled so bright that Billy had felt struck when he started plastering band stickers onto the metal bars.

“You know this belongs to the hospital, right?” she’d asked, dry as ever in the face of Billy’s arched brow. “Like, we have to return it.”

“Well, hopefully the next invalid likes Def Leppard.”

They don’t talk about it– about the things that happened both before and after Billy died in front of her– about the things he remembers and the things he thinks he remembers– but he thinks that they’ve been through enough shit together that they don’t have to talk about it.

That might be Billy’s fault. He doesn’t like to talk about it. And he’s honestly too afraid to start that conversation when Max still wakes up screaming.

Evidently, Eddie Munson doesn’t have such a compunction. And if Billy thought he was a nosy little pest before–

Well, Eddie’s just lucky that he’s got the good shit too, or Billy would be a lot more irritated.

“Seriously, though,” Eddie says, feet in the water over the edge of the dock, gesturing with a lit blunt in his hand and talking around dense, dank smoke. “I think it would be fuckin’ wicked if you, like, got that massive monster–”

“Mind Flayer,” Steve chimes in, head cradled in his arms, laying on his stomach as he glances lazily between the two of them as they talk.

He’s quieter than Billy expected. More mellow when he’s high than Billy would have ever guessed.

But again– Eddie has the good shit.

“Right, Mind Flayer,” Eddie nods, smacking at Billy’s thigh with the back of a hand. “That thing. What a big fuck you to get that in ink, ya know?”

“Not everyone is a psychopath like you, Munster,” Steve mumbles against his forearm, sunglasses tucked up into his hair.

The sun has long since drifted behind the trees. Has starting painting the sky in pinks and purples. Steve’s pink too– across his shoulders and on his nose– but in the light of the setting sun, he mostly just looks golden.

High, Billy finds it real hard to tear his eyes away from Steve.

He has to keep doing it, though, because every time he does, he looks over at Eddie, who’s always looking back at Billy and grinning too wide and too knowing. Like the cat who got the cream.

It’s hard to feel anxious about it, though. Not when he’s as high as he is.

“Think I don’t want to explain that with every hookup,” Billy says.

Steve hums in commiseration. “No need to complicate something that’s supposed to be easy.”

Eddie hoots, catching Billy’s eyes and smacking at his leg again. He truly can’t seem to help himself.

At least he’s not tackling Steve off of the dock again.

“Easy? Are you listening to his majesty over here?” Eddie asks, jerking a thumb at where Steve grins up at them, dopey and so pleased with himself. “Easy, huh?”

“Well, I have such a pretty face,” Steve replies, glancing pointedly between them– for obvious reasons, in Billy’s regard, and because some people can’t let a sleeping dog lie in Eddie’s.

Something warm goes through Billy, as Eddie loops him into ribbing Steve. He tries not to focus on it too hard, on the way being included makes him feel.

He’s Billy Hargrove: he doesn’t need that kind of touchy-feely shit. He can go anywhere he wants, do anything he wants.

If he wants, that is.

“From what I heard, the pretty boy here can’t keep one on the hook,” Billy says. “Can’t be that easy, then, can it?”

Not that Billy ever kept anyone around, either. But when people looked at Billy, they never questioned it. With Steve—well, from what he hears, Steve is looking for more than just a fun night.

“Ah, but that’s just what Stevie wants people to think,” Eddie leans in, lowering his voice as he offers Billy the blunt between his fingers like he’s passing him a secret even as he holds Steve’s gaze the entire time. “You see, he gets a girl, he takes her out– wines and dines her. Does the preppy, polite thing–”

Steve swats at him half-heartedly, propping himself onto his elbows, and not for the first time, Billy catches sight of Steve’s own scars. Just as ragged and vicious. His back a patchwork of healed over skin, shiny and new where it had to grow anew. Deep, puckered gouges in his sides.

“– so he takes ‘em out,” Eddie continues, flinching back with a laugh when Steve swipes at him again. “They have this great fuckin’ night, tell all their friends about it the next day– and then Steve drops them.”

“I don’t drop them,” Steve shakes his head.

“No, you let them drop you, so that you don’t have to do it,” Eddie says. “Because none of them are right, right?”

Grumbling, Steve drops back down to press his face tiredly into his arms again. “Shut up, Eddie.”

Billy takes a long pull of the blunt, lingering with it for a moment before passing it to Steve. “See?” he says, slowly letting out a lungful of smoke as he does it. “Not that easy.”

When Steve takes the blunt from him, their fingers brush. Billy doesn’t flinch, but he does feel the ghost of that brief contact lingering on his skin for far too long after.

“Do you wanna know what I think?” Eddie says.

“No,” Steve says, vehement, turning to look at Eddie with a challenge in his eyes.

“Definitely,” Billy says. “I’m all ears, Munson.”

When Billy grins, Eddie grins back at him.

“I think Stevie here’s dating people he knows he won’t be interested in,” Eddie says.

“Munson, shove it,” Steve says.

“No, see, I’m right, right? Like, maybe you know it’s not going to work out, so there’s nothing to lose. Nowhere to fall.”

Steve grunts like Eddie’s punched him, closing his eyes with a sigh. Then, he takes the longest drag yet. Holds it until his neck goes a little red.

Then he holds it pointedly back out to Billy, glaring up at Eddie’s smiling face.

“I’m not wasted enough for you to start playing armchair psychologist with me,” Steve says, then glances over Eddie’s shoulder and shrugs. “Well. Lakeside psychologist.”

It’s a decent theory, Billy thinks. The last person Steve seemed particularly interested in dumped him in such a blowout that even Billy heard the gorey details. Maybe Steve’s just afraid of failing again.

“I think you’re right, Munson,” Billy says.

When he takes his next hit, he passes the blunt back to Eddie. Like some kind of small gesture of—something. Not quite friendship, but stepping away from outward hostility, at least.

“Thanks, California. Glad to know I’ve got your vote.”

“I’m not afraid of falling in love,” Steve insists, rolling his eyes at the pair of them. “I just– if it doesn’t feel right, then why bother wasting more time on the wrong person?”

Eddie hums, nodding solemnly. “And you know these girls so well after a first date.”

“I know them well enough,” Steve says. “And there’s no spark. There’s no… storm.”

Eddie hits the blunt and then holds both hands to his chest, swaying and swooning as he bats his eyes. “Steve Harrington wants a whirlwind romance–”

Billy can’t help but think of Indiana storms. Of how, only a little bit ago, they reminded him of Eddie, of all people.

Steve reaches out and finally gets a good smack in, right on Eddie’s bare thigh, the slap of it loud enough to echo and to make Eddie yelp and cackle as he cringes away.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Stevie–”

“Don’t be a dick when you started it,” Steve says, getting up onto his knees so that he can snatch the blunt away. “I know what I want– I just can’t find it, alright?”

“You sure you’re not just caught up on your ex?” Billy asks.

He wants to know and he’s too high to think better of the question.

He watches as Steve wrangles the blunt out of Eddie’s hands—how Eddie gives up easy and lets Steve take the win. He wonders if Eddie knows how lucky he is, to have Steve Harrington touching him so freely.

But Steve is blinking at him now, with those big doe eyes of his, and Billy hadn’t meant to hit the nail quite so perfectly on the head. But Steve’s throat is working as he glances away and takes one of the last hits, watching the burning end of the blunt as he blows out smoke.

“Yeah, well,” Steve mutters. “Maybe I’m just waiting for someone better than her to roll around. Nancy Wheeler is about as good as it gets in Hawkins, Indiana.”

“Nah, Stevie,” Eddie is saying, is crawling over to sling his arm around Steve’s shoulders, is tugging him too close and smiling too wide. “You just gotta broaden your horizons a little.”

“To where?” Steve hiccups, handing the blunt over as he resigns himself to Eddie’s octopus act. “Indianapolis?”

The way that Eddie is touching Steve makes Billy’s gut coil tight. The teasing look in his eyes doesn’t help.

Billy hears what he wants in Eddie’s words and he thinks, maybe—

“Hey!” someone shouts from the shore.

When Billy looks, it’s none other than Nancy Wheeler herself—with a bunch of others in tow.

Steve blinks at the sight and then groans, scrubbing a hand over his face. At his side, Eddie squeezes his shoulders before drawing up onto his feet.

“I’ll be the welcome wagon,” Eddie says.

And then he’s jumping into the water in an uncoordinated splash, leaving Steve and Billy on the raft, alone.

They can hear the chatter from the shore– muffled by the distance, by Eddie’s sloppy swim form, but even Steve could make out the words if he tried. Billy certainly doesn’t have to try.

“Is that Max’s brother?” someone asks.

“What’s Billy Hargrove doing here?”

“Should I, like, be worried that Steve’s out there with him, or–?”

“Fuck,” Steve sighs into his hand, face still half hidden, not looking like he’s planning on moving anytime soon. “Fuck it, let’s just stay out here until they all go home.”

He doesn’t mean it. Billy knows he doesn’t mean it– not the way he might want, if he let himself, anyway– but that doesn’t stop his chest from going tight as he sits there across from Steve Harrington with the sun setting in the distance.

“I always end up friends with a bunch of assholes,” Steve finally adds, right as Eddie’s splashing to shore. “Shouldn’t have spent so much time in the sun. I’m too tired to fend them off. Robin’ll roast me alive if this kind of talk keeps up.”

He’s babbling a bit. Quietly in a way that makes Billy think that maybe he isn’t supposed to be listening, but then Steve is folding a leg up to prop his chin on a knee, blinking heavy eyes at Billy. Like he’s waiting for a response.

It’s easy, looking back at Steve without Eddie to catch him, now. Easier, with Steve looking back at him like that.

They’re not being assholes, Billy thinks. They’re just speaking the truth. Extrapolating from the past, from everything that Billy’s given them.

“Dinnerplate,” Billy says. He feels relaxed, slow. But in a good way. He hasn’t felt this rested in a long time. “Think they’re entitled.”

Though he has some strange thought that maybe Eddie will keep them from going on the warpath. Which is a hell of a thing to think, given that Billy doesn’t know Eddie Munson. But that doesn’t stop his brain from hooking that thought like a fish and holding onto it, reeling it in to keep.

“I literally hit you with, like, an entire car,” Steve reminds him, like maybe he really does feel bad about it. “With a license plate that said Todfather.”

Billy wants to tell him that thought that license plate was hilarious, when Max told him about it. He wants to say something about what a relief it had been. He wants to tell Steve that maybe, just maybe, this makes them even.

“I never apologized,” Billy says, instead.

Steve blinks at him again. Like Billy keeps surprising him. Maybe he does.

“Do you– do you want to apologize?” Steve asks, brows pinching. “I mean, like, it’s not necessary. Shit was fucked before you even got there, so–”

“And I didn’t know shit about it,” Billy says. “And I knocked you out cold with a dinnerplate.”

Steve’s eyes are really, really brown in the light of the setting sun. On the shore, Billy can hear Eddie talking to Robin, can hear Nancy’s not-quite-panicked voice asking Eddie to explain, again, why Billy is out there with Steve.

“I’m sorry,” Billy says. It’s easier than he thought it would be, getting the words out. Maybe because he’s sat on them for so long, until they started going soft inside him. “I was—it was—fucked up.”

“Yeah,” Steve scoffs out a laugh, covering his mouth like he hadn’t meant to do it at all. “Fucked up was, like, such a fucking understatement. If you had come to and opened the fridge while we were gone? And, god, Max is never– never– allowed to drive, okay? Not ever.”

It’s scattered– a mess of other things from a night so far removed from where they all are now– but Steve is smiling at him all crooked like that’s all it took to get on his good side. Like all Billy had to do was say I’m sorry to get in his good graces.

Fuck, maybe he did.

“And, um. Water– water through the bridge,” Steve frowns, face going pink in an instant as he fumbles for the right words. “Un– Under? Under the bridge?”

“Under,” Billy says, feeling like his heart maybe, just maybe, is about to burst right out of his chest.

He feels warm all over, skin too tight. And just from talking to Steve alone for five goddamn minutes.

Holy shit, this is bad.

Luckily, Billy’s attention is caught by a voice from the shore. Jonathan, telling Nancy that he’s sure Steve can handle himself.

“I think they think I’m going to eat you,” Billy says.

Steve glances over at the shore and caves enough to offer a meek wave. Some long haired guy is the only one who offers one back.

“I think you’re right,” Steve mutters, gaze straying back to Billy’s, and he arches a brow. “Are you?”

Billy doesn’t bother waving. Though he thinks he makes eye-contact with Eddie, which is something else entirely.

“Me, eat you?” Billy laughs. “I’m a perfect fucking gentleman, pretty boy.”

He thinks of Eddie, with his jokes and his teasing and his—flirting. He wants some of that, too. And so Billy swallows down the tightness in his throat and thinks of how light he feels. How content.

He shrugs a shoulder and says, “I’d at least buy you dinner first.”

“I don’t know, Hargrove,” Steve shakes his head, and the tips of his ears are pink. “I’m an expensive date. I’d hate to use up all of that hero money you got.”

It’s the first time he’s heard the settlement he was given called hero money. Like Billy runs around in tights and a cape. He kind of likes the idea of Steve Harrington calling him a hero.

“Steve!” It’s that video store girl– the not-girlfriend– Robin, waving both arms and shouting like she thinks maybe Steve doesn’t see them milling about. “Steve, if you get drowned, does Dustin get your car?”

Steve bursts into laughter, smile coming more easy than Billy’s ever seen it.

He cups a hand to his mouth and calls back– but he still doesn’t make to move. Like he’s not ready to leave their little oasis anymore than Billy is.

“He’s not gonna drown me! Get the fire started before the sun goes down, already!”

“Shit, you really are best friends,” Billy says before he can stop himself.

Eddie knocked his tongue too loose with his words and then his weed, and now Billy’s useless. Stuck with the one person he shouldn’t be stuck with, right now.

“You sure you’re not into her?”

It’s just that—Steve’s smiling so big. And his shoulders have gone a little loose. And Billy—Billy would do anything, anything to make Steve react that way.

The pink at his ears spreads to his face a bit, and his mouth works like he’s trying real hard not to say something. Grimaces like he’s trying and failing to find a different way to answer that.

“It’s– No. Short answer is: no.” Steve finally admits, wincing with a sigh. “Shit, I’m way too high for this. Um. I thought I did? I didn’t. Doesn’t matter because she’s not– she– um. She hates my hair.”

Billy furrows his brow. He’s also way too high for this. “She hates your hair,” he parrots back.

And then—he laughs. He can’t help it. A bark, straight from his gut.

“No one could hate your fucking hair, Harrington. It’s too good.”

Steve gestures uselessly, clumsily, pink bleeding down into his neck as he leans into this strange little lie he’s come up with. “It’s– I don’t know what to tell you, man, it’s true. She hates my hair. Called it stupid, right to my face.”

“Well then she’s lost it,” Billy says, flippant as hell. “Awful taste. Either that or she’s a—”

Billy stops, the train of his thoughts smacking straight into him, knocking him almost sober. The word catches on his tongue, stuck.

Billy looks at the shore, at Robin still gesturing wildly at Steve. He looks, then, at Steve.

“Oh, shit,” Billy says.

Steve’s shoulders practically draw to his ears, and he’s shaking his head even as Billy blinks at him in surprise. And when he opens his mouth, Steve scrambles to cover it. Gets onto his knees, one hand balancing itself on the dock, leaning over Billy’s legs and crowding into his space to smack a hand over his mouth.

“No!” he says, voice high. “No, no. There’s no oh, shit. There’s not– no.”

But that’s it, isn’t it? Billy knows it now, can see all the pieces slotting together like a puzzle, complete. He doesn’t know Robin, but he does, in the way that of course he knows someone who orbits Steve so perfectly. He keeps track of the little things he learns, because it’s all he has. Because jealousy is an easy emotion and it fits so handily in the hollow space in between his ribs.

Billy doesn’t even have a chance to bask in the delight of Steve being so close to him, practically piling on top of him with his sunkissed warmth, because all Billy can think about is some kind of reassurance. Because Billy just unearthed a secret that wasn’t Steve’s to tell, and the panic is so desperately clear on Steve’s face.

But he doesn’t know how. Not without dragging himself out of the dark depths for Steve to witness.

“That’s hot,” Billy says, instead, after he’s reached up to drag Steve’s hand off his mouth. “Damn. Think I found the first girl in Hawkins that’d turn me down.”

He’s caught by Billy and staring him in the face like he’s looking for any hint of malevolence. Any trace of anger– or maybe even the threat of violence.

He must come up short because he slumps a bit, hand hanging limp in Billy’s grip. “You think it’s hot that she’d turn you down?”

Billy blinks. The gears in his head grind to a halt. Has Steve never picked up one dirty magazine before? Doesn’t he know the kind of shit that guys talk about in the locker room?

“Sure,” Billy says. “That’s totally it, Harrington.”

And then, just like that, Billy realizes how close Steve is. And how very, very few clothes he’s wearing. Billy’s heart just about stops.

Someone wolf-whistles from the shore. Eddie, Billy figures. It’s gotta be.

Steve grimaces, but his panic is quickly fading for something that Billy can only call fond and annoyed. He shifts their grip, mutters a quiet apology, and then uses Billy’s hand to flip Eddie off.

On the shore, Steve’s best friend Robin is watching with her arms crossed.

“He’s such a dick,” Steve tells him, under his breath, and he’s red in the face but he’s not pulling back, too busy squinting in Billy’s face like he’s something to be unpuzzled. “Is that really something you find attractive? Hard to get, I kinda understand, but I mean, she wouldn’t–”

Steve cuts himself off. Blinks a few times.

“Oh,” he says, then sucks in a sharp breath. “Oh, gross, she’s– she’s basically my sister.”

Billy laughs—or rather, giggles. Dissolving right into a fit of them. He can’t help it.

“Christ, your face, Harrington.”

It’s so good. Priceless, even, watching the revelation pan out over Steve’s face in slow motion. Eddie’s good shit makes it easy to enjoy Steve’s delayed realization– and is probably to blame for that delay.

But once Billy gets himself under control, he swallows down the laughter, quick. He tightens his grip on Steve’s wrist, like he’s trying to get Steve’s attention.

“Hey,” Billy says. “Hey, just—her secret’s safe. With me.” He swallows, unsure how to talk around the lump in his throat, but pushing through and past it anyway. “I need you to—know that.”

Steve had sat back onto his heels while Billy was laughing. Was watching him, with those dark eyes of his, and keeps watching him now.

Hunting for the trick again.

“Yeah, okay, that’s–” Steve’s voice catches on itself, but he clears his throat and nods. “That’s good. She might flay me alive, otherwise.”

“We should get back,” Billy says, hearing Robin start muttering under her breath at Munson, who is still dripping wet on the shore. “So I can prove I didn’t tarnish your dignity, or whatever they’re worried about.”

“Dignity?” Steve huffs, but he’s withdrawing so that he can start climbing to his feet. “I ran around in that stupid sailor uniform all last summer, and I’m currently part-time actual babysitter and full-time video store clerk. My dignity took a hike junior year, I think.”

Billy’s mouth feels dry. He aches with the absence of Steve. Hadn’t realized how readily he’d accepted him– how easily and eagerly– until he experiences the breathless pull of him drawing away.

“That when King Steve lost his crown?” he asks.

Steve huffs, bashful and maybe a little ashamed as he folds his Ray Bans into his hand. “Yeah. Afraid you just missed him.”

And then he’s diving into the water– long and graceful and cutting into the dark mirror of it with ease. He disappears beneath the surface, and for a fraction of a second, Billy’s heart lodges itself right into his throat.

But then Steve’s head is popping up, and he’s tucking his glasses back up into his hair as he easily treads next to the edge of the dock.

“Pass me the radio, would you?” he asks.

Billy does. He’s quick to follow when Steve starts swimming off, radio held high, music a trail behind him.

The fire is blazing by the time the sky grows dark. After quick and awkward re-introductions, Steve is ushered away from his side by two tiny little women armed with very fluffy towels. Nancy Wheeler is nice enough to offer Billy one, but she watches him like he might bite.

It makes him want to snap his teeth. Give her a reason to be so wary.

Eddie comes over and slings an arm around his shoulders, which is just enough to keep everyone at bay.

He coaxes Billy into helping him set up the fire in the little dug out pit on the shoreline. There’s ash and soot blackening the sand, and Billy wonders how many nights have been spent out here.

His curiosity must be too obvious– or Eddie is just too keen– because Eddie answers what Billy leaves unasked.

“I live at one gate,” he says, stuffing dry grass between the logs like kindling. “Stevie comes out and checks on this one. The ex-chief of police keeps an eye on that backroad Fred Benson died at. We all take turns with Hell House.”

“The Creel House,” Nancy insists as she idles up, eyeing them both with her arms crossed.

At her flank, Jonathan Byers winces and mouths a sorry.

“You can stop looking at me like I brought a stray home, mom,” Eddie says, grin cheeky. “Dad told me I could.”

“I’m not–” Nancy blinks rapidly and scoffs. “I’m not looking at you like that. That’s not what I think.”

Jonathan steps forward, shoulder nudging at hers. “You kind of are, Nance.”

“I’m sorry, did you forget what he did to your house? In your kitchen?” Nancy asks, the bite of it softened a bit when she looks back down at where Billy is crouched and coaxing a fire to life, guilt pinching her brow and flattening her lips.

“To be fair, the house was a mess before he showed up,” Jonathan says.

Nancy opens her mouth, turning to face him, like she’s ready to fight about this.

But then Steve is there, back in his worn jeans and his t-shirt, scrubbing a towel at his hair as he shuffles barefoot through the sand saying, “I was the one who invited him, Nance.”

“And he has ears, you know,” Billy says, loud enough for them to hear.

Earlier today, Billy might have stood up and thrown a barb. Might have even threatened to throw a punch or two, just for kicks. Anger comes so easily to him. Always has. Even the calming haze of weed doesn’t completely dampen it.

But then he thinks of Eddie, how just about everything brushes right off of him. And then, how even Eddie had bristled at Billy’s unending hostility. How Eddie had offered retreat. And how Eddie is still next to him, right now. Even though he doesn’t know Billy, even though he doesn’t give two shits about him.

So Billy just blows a long breath toward the beginning embers of the fire and watches the flames begin to bloom.

For a long moment, silence rings out around him. The summer cicadas are screaming.

Billy can feel a shout of his own rattling around in his chest. Trapped beneath his rib bones. He chokes it down and keeps his eyes on the fire.

“God,” Eddie is the one who breaks the silence, but when he looks, Steve has placed himself so casually and easily between him and Nancy Wheeler’s war path as he dries off his hair. “And with big ol’ things like yours, you must hear an awful lot.”

He hears Steve snort from beneath his towel, plopping down blind next to Billy on the sand. “Billy, I’m pretty sure those trunks are still around somewhere, if you need them to shut him up.”

“What?” Eddie asks around a laugh, glancing around. “It’s a compliment. You know what they say… big ears, big hands, big feet–”

When Billy looks up from the fire, Nancy and Jonathan are looking at Billy like they’re waiting for an explosion. Something inevitable. They look braced. Ready.

“Hey Munson,” Billy says with a grin, tongue sliding between his teeth. “Didn’t know you were so interested in my—”

“Okay!” Steve butts in, face flushed red as can be. “I’m going to get those trunks and—”

“What trunks?” Jonathan asks, genuinely confused and trying to catch up.

He sounds already high. Higher than Billy was earlier.

His friend, the one that had been introduced as Argyle, sidles up next to him with a lazy sway. His shirt is mustard yellow, so Billy nearly misses the stretch of material between his hands.

“Hey, do these belong to anybody?” he asks.

Eddie is already wheezing next to him. Fallen over in the sand, cradling his stomach as he laughs.

Steve isn’t faring much better, choking down his own amusement as he says with a thick voice, “No. No, man, you can have ’em.”

It’s like a comedy of fucking errors.

“Okay,” Robin says, walking up next to Argyle with a beer already in-hand. It’s a different kind than what Steve brought, which at least means there’s more booze on offer. “But why is he here?” she asks, gesturing at Billy with her beer can.

“Because the Harrington Taxi Service was offering free rides,” Billy says.

“And Stevie’s never met a charity case he could turn down,” Eddie says.

“Help me,” Steve says, voice a flatline of any emotion, eyes rolling to Robin’s frowning face as she comes to a stop at his shoulder and offers him the spare can in her other hand. “I’m being bullied and I can’t defend myself.”

Robin, at the very least, looks vaguely chided– but she’s quick to join in on the ribbing. “You are kind of a pushover sometimes.”

Steve seems to take genuine offense to that. “Yeah, with the kids.”

“That’s not the ringing endorsement you think it is,” Robin replies, eyeing Billy one last time before taking her spot on the sand at Steve’s other side. “Those kids get up to some stupid shit.”

At this point, the fire that Eddie and Billy built has grown into something beautiful, something that can stand on its own. And so Billy sits back on his haunches, away from the heat, and lets himself look at the other people around him. It feels strange, to know that everyone here has been through the same weird shit as Billy—but it’s also comforting, even if Billy isn’t exactly being welcomed into their midst with open arms.

Though, Eddie’s arms seem pretty open. But maybe they’re just open for everyone. Which seems a little bit like the case.

“Robin Buckley,” Billy says, letting his gaze fall on her, flames licking up the space between them. “Don’t think we’ve met.”

He lets himself grin wide, something practiced and predatory. Steve is already blinking big eyes at him, but Robin remains unimpressed.

“A real shame. How could I have missed someone so pretty back at Hawkins High?”

“I think you were probably too busy trying to squeeze into those tight jeans,” Robin replies, smile thin and eyes narrowed. “They probably cut off the circulation to your brain– reduced cognitive function can impair decision making skills.”

Billy thinks that the nicest way anyone has ever called him a dumbass to his face before. The way it makes Billy feel is—nice. Or something close to it, anyway.

“Thanks for noticing my jeans, Buckley,” Billy winks.

“It would be criminal not to,” Eddie chimes in.

At the edge of their little gathering, Nancy Wheeler sighs. It’s resigned enough that she nearly looks like she’s sulking, and she ignores the hand her boyfriend rubs up her back in favor of glancing pointedly at Steve.

Steve is oblivious to it, even if Billy isn’t, too busy sharing a look with Robin. “You made it a point for it to be impossible to not notice.”

Robin’s grin loosens a bit. “So we all agree. His pants were too tight.”

“You want a beer, Munson?” Billy asks, pushing himself up from where he sits.

“Knew you were good people, California,” Eddie says with a nod and a smile that feels warm and genuine.

While Billy crosses the space between the fire and the coolers, he listens to them talk, voices pitched low so that Billy won’t hear them. Or shouldn’t hear them, anyway.

“You know I’m just making sure you’re safe, Steve, right?” Nancy says. “Your history with—with him isn’t exactly the friendliest.”

“I think Stevie can take care of himself,” Eddie says. “Isn’t that right, Stevie?”

The ice in Steve’s cooler has mostly melted, but Billy fishes out the remaining two beers left within and finds them cold enough. Feeling a combination of charitable and tired, he goes to peruse whatever Wheeler, Byers, and Buckley brought with them, just to give them a little bit longer to chat, if they need it.

“Munster’s right,” Steve eventually says, voice low, once Nancy’s whispered bickering with Jonathan starts to draw past its welcome. “And even if I couldn’t take care of myself, Billy wouldn’t do anything anyway.”

“He wasn’t possessed when he beat your face in,” Nancy says, a little viciously.

“You’re forgetting that there were a whole seven months of school after that night where he didn’t even look at me funny. And I wasn’t possessed when I tried to beat Jonathan’s face in,” Steve argues, soft where Nancy is sharp. “I just wasn’t very good at it.”

Byers snorts into laughter, and Billy would bet money that Wheeler is already rounding on him without even having to look.

Then, Robin’s smokey voice asks, “Munster?”

“Yeah,” Steve replies, a little slowly. “You know. Like the show. Munson, Munster. He likes creepy things, it was a show about– well, they weren’t creepy, but–”

“I will wear Munster with pride and honor, Stevie boy,” Eddie replies, and when Billy does finally look, he sees that his spot has been pinched, smaller than he left it, Eddie encroaching closer across the sand like he’s a moth and Steve’s the flame.

It makes Billy burn.

The can he’s holding in his hand crumples slightly, splitting at the seam until it’s leaking, dripping beer against the palm of his hand.

“Fuck,” he says under his breath. And then he uses the hole in the can to shotgun the thing like he meant to do it.

When he’s done, his stomach feels a little uneasy and his head feels light.

Still, when he comes back to the fire, he tosses a beer at Eddie; one he grabbed from the other cooler. Eddie catches it, cracking it open, and then pats the spot between him and Steve with that eager little grin. So wide and so pleased.

Nancy and Jonathan have been coaxed into sitting across the fire from them. Argyle has darted off to rummage in the van parked behind Steve’s car, muttering about snacks.

And Steve– Steve is sitting with his arms over his knees, tipping his beer toward Billy like an invitation. Robin is watching them both with eyes just as keen as Eddie’s, but she doesn’t say anything, just sips at her beer, when Billy shuffles back over to tap a new can to Steve’s.

“Sit down, stay a while,” Eddie says.

The space between Eddie and Steve is small and a little cramped, but Billy makes himself fit. It’s better than watching Eddie get stuck in Steve’s orbit. Left without disruption, Billy thinks that Eddie might even be liable to end up in Steve’s lap—provided Steve lets him, anyway.

“You’re a regular hostess, Munson. You gonna offer me a dessert, too? A place to put up my feet? One of those little pillow mints?”

“Well, the royal treatment is reserved for royalty, Hargrove,” Eddie replies, face giving a little shrug. “And there’s only one king I know about here.”

“Whoa,” Argyle says, padding up with an armful of sweets– chocolate and marshmallows and a few boxes of graham crackers. “One of you dudes is a king?”

Robin’s laughter is mean, a teasing toe knocking at Steve’s ankle when he groans and presses his face to his knees. “Oh, shit, have they been doing this all day?”

Across the fire, Nancy is looking at Billy with something like puzzlement on her face. Something like surprise. It makes her eyes go all dark and deep—but sharp—and for a moment Billy feels like he can maybe see what Steve saw in her. That unending curiosity coupled with her fierce protectiveness.

She’s not a bad friend for Steve Harrington to have.

“And it has been a delight,” Eddie says.

And then he loops an arm around Billy’s shoulders and pulls him in close. Like they’re friends. Like they’re buddy-buddy.

Eddie Munson is warm. Damp, still, from the lake’s water still making his sun dried clothes cling to his skin, but underneath that, he’s radiating heat and it seeps right into Billy’s bones.

“Isn’t that right, California?” Eddie says, and his voice is suddenly right in Billy’s ear. Breath tickling Billy’s skin.

And Billy should probably pull away. Imagines shoving Eddie back with a hand right in the middle of that scarred chest. Instead, he just lets himself be tugged up against Eddie’s side.

“It’s sure been something,” Billy grouses, taking a sip of his beer.

“I don’t know why everyone thinks you’re so scary,” Eddie mutters, loud enough for everyone to hear but pressed right to Billy’s ear like it’s meant to be a private conversation, watching Nancy frown from across the fire. “Ain’t been nothing but a big ol’ teddy bear, today.”

“A teddy bear,” Robin echoes under her breath in disbelief—but Billy hears it as loud as a shout.

Billy feels warm. Maybe even too warm. And still he feels himself shiver.

Eddie’s arm feels so heavy around his shoulders and he feels so—bracketed in. Escape feels utterly impossible.

And then Eddie’s fingers circle the joint of Billy’s shoulder, skin on skin. “Big. Ol. Teddy bear,” he repeats.

“You wish,” Billy mutters.

“Nah, I like it when you snarl too,” Eddie assures him, giving him a squeeze and leaning heavy against his side.

Steve is eyeing them, dry and amused, sipping idly at his beer. “I’m not even going to bother with an I told you so when your poking gets you hit, Eddie.”

“And mess with this handsome face?” Eddie pulls back just enough to run his other hand along his own jaw. “Hargrove wouldn’t do that to me. Would ya, California?”

Billy thinks about the easy reality of punching Eddie in his face. A year ago, Billy probably wouldn’t have even given it half a thought.

If he concentrates, he can practically feel the way the bone would feel, meeting his knuckles.

It’s easy to imagine the way Eddie’s face would split, though. The way blood might drip from his nose, over his lips, and then down his chin. A vision of Eddie sticking out that tongue of his and lapping it up darts quickly across Billy’s thoughts and sticks there like a bur. Like something he can’t blink away.

“Don’t tempt me,” Billy says.

“Heaven forbid I provide a little temptation,” Eddie says, but he’s not hanging as heavy off of Billy’s shoulders, giving him just enough room to breathe.

Steve rolls his eyes, but he’s laughing under his breath when Eddie cranes around Billy to wink at him. “Pass me the marshmallows, would you, Argyle? If I’m gonna watch a disaster unfold, I at least want a snack.”

And then there’s sweets being passed between hands. Marshmallows speared and stuck into flames. Chocolate melting on fingers. Laughter at the inevitable mess.

There’s still a tension, quivering taut just beneath the surface of everything, but there’s beer and there’s more weed and the night is stretching out long around them.

All the while, Eddie hangs close. Keeps touching Billy– and keeps reaching to touch at Steve. Talking with his hands, insistent at getting attention. Billy remembers peacocking on the basketball court, and he watches Eddie’s rings glint in the firelight each time he cranes across Billy’s lap to snag at Steve.

Even Wheeler loosens up after a while, laughing loud and bright at some story Argyle and Jonathan weave between the two of them.

And the entire time, Billy feels warm.

Tipsy, too. And really, really high.

It isn’t long before Billy realizes he’s looking up at the starry Indiana sky, head tipped back against Eddie’s shoulder.

The sky in California was never quite so dark. Never so full of stars.

“You good, California?” Eddie asks, voice low.

Nearby, Billy can hear Robin talking about some new movie. Billy must’ve frozen when he realized how close he was pressed to Eddie, must’ve stopped breathing—because he takes a breath and his lungs feel so empty.

“Yeah,” Billy breathes out. He lets himself linger there for a second, tipped back up against Eddie’s heat—and then he’s pressing himself back up, straightening and pulling away. “Drunk as shit.”

He doesn’t apologize. He’s done enough of that today. He does feel a little sorry for himself about pulling away. A little chilled, even though the night is warm.

Eddie’s humming and nodding easy. They’re all a little too loose. A little too wasted. A little too warm and fuzzy. The hard edges of the world softened for a while as Steve’s little radio plays some King Harvest song.

When he focuses enough to look, Wheeler and Byers are off and swaying a bit, talking quietly near the waterline. Whatever arguments they’d had have been long since forgotten for dancing slow with their bare feet in the water. Robin has conked out in the sand, feet by Argyle’s sprawled legs and head near Steve’s hip; there’s a towel bundled under her head and the blanket from earlier in the day has been dragged over to lazily cover her as she dozes in the firelight, talking blindly up at Steve.

Eddie’s knocking into him again before he can chance a look at him, but he can hear Steve’s voice like a low, pleasant hum as he talks quietly with Robin.

“You know any constellations, Hargrove?” Eddie asks, clearly pretty out of it himself, his own head tipped back to the sky and his smile real lazy.

“Huh?” Billy says.

When he looks over at Eddie, he’s all long lines and dark shadows. The cut of his jawline is sharp, but the way his eyelashes shadow his face is—soft. Startlingly so. Billy looks at him for a beat too long before his brain catches up with him, everything slowed down by the drugs and alcohol.

“Yeah,” Billy breathes out. “Here. Lemme show you.”

And then he’s pointing up at the sky and watching the way Eddie’s gaze follows his fingers, attention caught on the stars, the rest of the world forgotten for a scattering of light and the way it seems to make Eddie’s dark eyes glow.

Billy spends the rest of the night like that.

chapter 5:

and he’s strange (sure is strange)

The second time Billy spots Steve Harrington rolling into the trailer park, it is with a car full of children.

The last time Billy had seen him was only a few nights previous– Steve Harrington far too sober in the face of everyone else’s shitfaced slurring as he’d poured Robin and then Billy and then Eddie into his car with dawn right around the corner. Billy blurrily remembers him talking with Nancy just outside, leaned against the open driver side door, voice hushed as he assured her that he’d stopped drinking hours and hours ago–

And then Eddie had been hollering in the back seat, trying to climb over to hit the horn, begging Steve into the car before Nancy Wheeler could take up anymore of his time–

And then Billy was singing– belting along with Eddie and with Steve’s radio as Steve drove them slow and careful down winding roads– street lights blurring and blending in with all those stars–

And then he was waking up face first in his own bed, the memory of Steve fucking Harrington tucking him in clinging to him like so much smoke.

So when Billy spots him, not three days later, pulling up in front of Munson’s trailer again with a gaggle of teenagers already pouring out of the back before he can even come to a full and complete stop, Billy’s already not sure what to do with himself. Not only because any-kid-but-Max kind of makes him want to eat his own jeans, but also because Steve Harrington climbs out of his shiny car and waves at Billy.

He turns his radio down, though. And settles into more of a sprawl in his lawn chair, telling himself that it’s not posturing and knowing full well that it’s a lie. A bad one, at that.

“Is the taxi service picking up or dropping off?” Billy asks.

Steve huffs out a laugh as he shuts his door behind him. “Dropping off, but only momentarily.”

The curly haired kid is already rapping both hands on the Munson trailer door. He thinks Eddie was probably asleep because he hears a familiar crash and clatter that’s usually accompanied by an alarm when the Wheeler kid joins the other one at the door to start hollering his name.

Sinclair is there too– but he pivots and nods stiffly at Billy as he jogs by and toward the trailer behind him. It’s not the first time he’s come by for Max, and outside of some awkward conversation about basketball, the kid still doesn’t quite know how to behave around him– never quite sure if Billy’s gonna get in his face about his little sister all over again. Billy isn’t much better.

He thinks Sinclair is more afraid of Max herself, though. He’d think it was funny, watching him fall all over himself each time Max smiled at him, if he didn’t do the exact same shit with Steve Harrington.

Hovering by the car, a bean pole of a kid lingers by the trunk, glancing between all of them like he’s not sure where to fit himself. And at his side is a girl Billy hasn’t seen since he was still laying in a hospital bed, curls pixie-short and smile timid when she gives a little wave.

Billy can’t help but wave back, just a little raise of his hand. Nothing too friendly, but it still gets her smile to widen into something bright.

El, Max calls her. The kid who saved the fucking world.

The one who spent enough time in Billy’s head that he can’t help but feel a little fond—or something close to it, anyway. Like a defense mechanism. Or maybe she’s almost like those memories she spent so much time traipsing around in. Nostalgic.

The kid next to her looks at Billy for a ghost of a moment, and then quickly looks away to where his friends are trying to knock down Eddie’s door.

It’s only another fraction of a second before Eddie is bursting out the door, hanging from the jamb as he stumbles to a halt when he catches sight of the boys waiting for him. He barely looks awake, his dark hair everywhere, but he sniffs and squints at them and then smiles.

“Are you prepared for a most treacherous quest, gentlemen?” he asks, and glances past them to nod at El. “Little lady.”

“We’re so ready,” Wheeler replies, and Billy is always a little shocked by how tall he sprung up. “We’re absolutely ready. We’re ready, right, Dustin?”

“Beyond ready.”

Eddie hums, dark eyes surveying the lot of them. He lingers, pretty obviously, on where Steve is leaning against the side of his car and waiting. Then he glances past him, over at Billy, and then to where Sinclair is behind him knocking on the Mayfield trailer door.

“We’re missing a child,” he says.

Wheeler rolls his eyes hard, but Dustin seems to perk. “Erica has gymnastics until two. We can still set up, though.”

“Tell me you’re not taking them out to drink at the lake,” Billy says. Half to Steve, half to Eddie.

Not like Billy didn’t drink at the beach at their age. But now this is about Max, too, and Billy—well, Billy can’t help but be her older brother.

“Wait, that’s an option?” Dustin says. He’s suddenly all ears, bouncing on his toes. “Cancel everything, let’s do the lake thing.”

“We’re not drinking at the lake,” Steve says, hands on his hips like the mom he is.

“It’d be an adventure!” the Wheeler kid chimes in.

“Yeah, where’s your sense of adventure, pretty boy?” Billy says, because it’s funny.

Steve turns on him, and Billy doesn’t think he’s ever had the honor of being on the receiving end of this particular look of exasperation. “You literally just told me not to take them out to drink at the lake. Don’t start acting like you approve now.”

Dustin is still practically vibrating in place. “I dunno, he didn’t technically tell you not to do it– he just sort of implied it.”

“Henderson,” Steve says, tone clipped with so many layers of warning and annoyance and affection that it’s sort of ridiculous to remember that they aren’t even related.

His hands are still on his hips too– which really completes the tired parent look.

“No booze for the bitty babies,” Eddie chimes, swaggering down the steps out of the trailer, grinning when Wheeler groans. “You could barely survive the last campaign sober, Mikey. We’re not throwing liquor into the mix.”

El has her head tilted, her eyes narrowed. Billy nearly chokes when she asks, “What about weed?”

The look on Steve’s face is about as priceless as his revelation from the floating dock. He goes so pale that Billy’s nearly worried, eyes so very, very wide.

“Oh, my god, Hopper is gonna kill me,” he breathes, staring at El as she offers a crooked, mischievous little smile. “No! No weed!”

Billy can’t help but laugh, full-bellied and delighted. Steve Harrington as a babysitter is hilarious, but Steve Harrington as a babysitter of precocious, snot-nosed teens is another thing entirely.

When Billy finally pulls himself together, Eddie is looking at him, leaning on Steve’s car with his hip cocked, all long lines and strange charisma.

“I’m sure we can make room for one more,” Eddie says. “The house is big enough.”

Dustin makes a horrendous sound. “What?! No,” he says. “Eddie, you can’t just—”

“I can, I will, I just have,” Eddie flicks at his nose, shoving off the car to pad his way in Billy’s direction, brows already up and hands out, like a showman or a salesman ready to make a pitch. “Thoughts, California? I hear our accommodations are some of the best in town. Certainly better than sitting here all day.”

Billy doesn’t even know what they’re doing. Doesn’t know what quest or adventure they’re talking about. He has a feeling it’s something he wouldn’t have been caught dead even considering a year ago.

Behind Eddie, Steve is groaning into his arms and leant against his car, still commiserating about his own fantastic failures as a proper role model. The kid– he must be the other Byers boy– has shuffled close to give his shoulder a careful pat.

Eddie’s showmanship is impressive. And there’s something about it being turned in Billy’s direction that makes the Indiana summer sun beat down even hotter. Or maybe the wind has just died down and the air has gone still.

“Depends,” Billy says. “What’s the plan? Because I’m not doing nerd shit.”

“Oh, my god,” the Wheeler kid is saying from somewhere behind Eddie. “Please tell me we aren’t entertaining this.”

The Byers kid shrugs, crossing his arms as he glances between them all. “I don’t mind. More the merrier, right?”

El is already nodding, and Dustin’s face has scrunched up, but he’s waffling a hand. He shoves at Mike.

“If Eddie says he comes with, he comes with,” he says.

Prissy little Mike Wheeler crosses his arms just like his older sister. “Your inability to say no to our DM astounds me. He tried to kill El!”

Behind Billy, the door clatters open. He’s not necessarily surprised that Max comes to his defense– but he’s not exactly expecting it.

Doesn’t expect the way it makes him want to squirm right out of his skin, either.

“He was possessed,” she says, and when he looks over his shoulder at her, she’s already smiling at Lucas Sinclair. “Hey.”

He smiles right back. “Hi.”

God, kids are gross.

But at least Max seems happy. That never seemed as important to Billy as it is now.

When he turns back to Eddie, Eddie’s hand is outstretched in front of him, offering him help up. A week ago, Billy would have laughed in his face. Would have shoved himself up of his own volition. Now, he puts his hand in Eddie Munson’s and lets Eddie haul him out of the chair.

He’s deceptively strong, for someone with no apparent muscles.

“Where am I meeting you?” Billy says, and Eddie loops an arm around his shoulder.

“You’re alright, Hargrove, you know that?” Eddie says.

“I cannot believe this is happening,” Mike mutters. “Does he even have a car?”

“No,” Max says, striding up to the group, a knowing smile on her face. “It was trashed, remember?”

Billy definitely remembers.

He slips himself out from beneath Munson’s arm and strides to the side of the house, where Susan’s parked her clunker of a car. Next to it is what looks like a log pile, covered up by a big, blue tarp. With a bit of showmanship that might rival Eddie Munson, Billy pulls back the tarp to reveal his new baby: a 1978 BMW R100 motorcycle.

“Holy shit,” Billy hears Dustin say.

And then suddenly there’s a bunch of kids crowding around Billy and his bike, all talking a mile-a-minute.

Off to his side, Eddie whistles.

“Nice ride,” he says, dark eyes lingering on the body of the bike before darting up to Billy. “This what I hear you take off on at two in the morning?”

Billy nods and knows he doesn’t need to say anything else. Nightmares are something they’re all running from.

“Bitchin’. Totally bitchin’.” El says, and Max is next to her, grinning wide. “Do you get to ride it?”

“Sometimes,” she replies, maybe even prouder of the bike than Billy is. “He can take you for a spin on it, if you want.”

Dustin immediately tries to butt in. “Can I–?”

“Absolutely not,” Max snaps.

Billy supposes that, even if she is passing out invitations without his permission, she’s at least discerning in her taste.

The conversation, though, is finally enough to pull Steve Harrington out of his funny little breakdown. But, if anything, it only makes him look more frazzled.

“Please, no,” he says, looking directly and desperately at Billy. “Just– just no. Or– or knock me out, first– Do you even have helmets for that thing?”

“No one said you had to get on it, pretty boy,” Billy says– not that Billy wouldn’t kill to have Harrington on the back of it, arms tight around Billy’s waist. “And of course I have helmets. Max, go grab yours.”

His own is sitting at the tail end of where the tarp was. He fishes it off the ground and brushes it off.

Max ducks back inside and returns only a moment later with her own helmet, something that Billy had bought her as a gesture of—goodwill.

“Forget shotgun in Stevie’s car,” Eddie says as he peers at the bike. “I know where I wanna be.”

Billy raises his eyebrows. “You really wanna ride bitch, Munson?”

“I think I could convince you to let me drive her,” Eddie replies, with bright eyes and a sharp, toothy grin.

Billy’s gut twists something funny. He clenches his teeth against the feeling and swallows. And then he puts on a grin. “No one drives my baby but me.”

“He’s not going to let you,” Max says, stepping up next to Billy. “He doesn’t like you enough.”

Eddie chokes out a laugh, brows flying up as he looks at her. When she arches her own brow, crossing her arms and cocking her hip in that stubborn way Billy’s all too familiar with, Eddie laughs again and shakes his head as he holds his hands up in surrender.

“Alright. A task for another day, then,” he says, backing slowly away, eyes already darting at where the boys are still admiring Billy’s bike. “It’s always more satisfying when I have to work for it.”

And then he’s turning on his heel and taking off toward Steve’s car. The crunch of his boots on gravel is enough to alert the kids– and then Dustin and Mike are scrambling after him.

He’s fast, though. Faster than Billy might’ve imagined, all long legs and unrestrained glee.

“No!” Dustin shrieks, fully shoving Mike back like it might help propel him forward faster. “Eddie! I already called permanent dibs!”

But Eddie is already rounding Steve’s ride to jerk open the passenger seat door, tongue long and taunting as he ducks inside. They reach him right as he slams the door in their face, locking it with a showy slap of his hand.

Steve sighs. “The back doors are still unlocked, dweebs.”

Henderson lets out a fucking war cry as he opens it, and Steve winces as his car rocks in place when he dives in. Sinclair has a hand on his stomach as he laughs, his other hand balancing himself at the Byers kid’s shoulder where they hover back by the bike watching.

“Wow,” Billy says. “Real fucking mature.”

He shoves the helmet on, as careful of his hair as he can be, though he knows it’ll flatten his curls, just a little. But it’s worth it. So worth it.

“You’re telling me,” Max says, shoving her own helmet on.

It’s cherry red. Billy let her pick it out herself. They went for milkshakes, after.

“Just waiting on you, pretty boy,” Billy says to Steve. “You drive, I’ll follow. Since no one’s told me where the fuck we’re going.”

Steve holds out his arms, looking expectantly beyond Billy at the remaining teenagers milling about. Byers is the one that coaxes them away, a bit flushed in the face, like Steve’s exasperation is something he’s embarrassed about causing. Sinclair waves at Max as he goes, saying he’ll see her in a minute, and El lingers long enough to squeeze at Max’s hand before jogging after them to pile into Steve’s back seat.

It’s stupid and dangerous. Steve’s BMW has turned into a veritable clown car. But it’s not like Billy can put another teen on his bike, so.

“I guess you’ve never been to my place, have you?” Steve asks.

It nearly knocks the wind right out of him.

After a beat, Billy makes himself snort. He almost chokes on it.

“No,” Billy says, “I’ve never been to King Steve’s place.”

He draws out his words like Steve’s slow– like it’s a joke. And it kind of is. Imagine: Steve Harrington inviting Billy Hargrove to his house.

Of course, he knows where Steve lives. Because everyone knows where everyone lives in Hawkins. But Billy doesn’t need to tell Steve that.

“Just follow me,” Steve says.

Before Steve’s car door slams shut behind him, Max is clambering on top of the back of the bike, arms around Billy’s waist. She leans in real close and says, “Wow, that was pathetic. You know that, right?”

“Shove it,” Billy snaps.

He knows. But she doesn’t have to say it.

It really is an appalling contrast, Steve Harrington’s little McMansion on the upper side of town and the dirty, dusty trailer park they just rolled out of. It’s a sprawling thing; all sharp angles and manicured lawn. Rich and poor. Haves and have-nots.

Billy kicks his bike stand down and parks in Steve’s driveway next to the BMW with plenty of room to spare. He lets Max hop off before he’s swinging his leg around himself, pulling his helmet off and teasing his fingers through his hair even as he looks up at Steve’s fancy front doors.

Multiple. More than one.

“You want a gold star for good behavior?” Max asks, standing next to him, her helmet balanced on her hip. “Try not to bring up how big and empty it is. It makes Steve get awkward.”

When Billy looks down at her with a brow arched– because how the fuck has his annoying little step sister been invited to Harrington’s before him– she beams up at him.

“They’ve held D&D sessions here before,” she says.

“Thanks for the tip,” Billy says, because he is thankful.

And she is being awfully charitable. Which either means that she wants something, or he’s caught her in an unreasonably good mood. Either way, Billy’s not taking his chances.

“It’s not for you,” Max says. “I just don’t like seeing Steve get sad.”

And then she’s turning away and joining the rest of the group as they pile out of Steve’s car and make their way for his front door.

“You coming, Hargrove?” Eddie says, leaning in Harrington’s doorway like he owns the place.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” Billy says, ambling his way up the drive and toward the door.

And then, like it’s easy, like it means nothing at all, Eddie’s ushering him inside the place Billy’s always wanted to be: Steve Harrington’s house.

It’s pretty big and open and empty inside. There’s furniture and art– but it’s mostly a bunch of that postmodern bullshit. Sterile. Cold.

Susan’s trailer looks homier than this place.

Steve is rubbing his hands together in the foyer, smile tight on his face as he stands there to welcome everybody in. The entry flows easily into a living room– the open space leaving the rooms bleeding into one another. The sitting room leading to the dining room leading to the kitchen.

Big and empty. Max really did warn him.

Steve is closing the door behind him as the last person in, but Eddie is already dragging him deeper into the house, an arm around his shoulders.

Billy wonders when that became a thing.

“What exactly am I doing here?” Billy asks, as Eddie ushers him further and further. “And please tell me that Harrington has booze here.”

“Silly question,” Eddie says, patting him between the shoulders as he guides him over to where the kids are starting to set up in the living room. “You’re just here to look pretty.”

There’s something that looks like a boardgame being unfolded. Little figurines join it. Out of a backpack, Mike Wheeler pulls out a binder and flips it open, passing out sheets of paper to people as he skims each of them.

“Character sheets,” Eddie tells him. “Don’t worry, I don’t expect you to play. Still can’t get Stevie to join.”

Behind them, Steve is standing with his hands in his pockets. “I’m just the chaperone. Ah, and the booze is in my dad’s study.”

“Why does he get booze?” Dustin says, but it’s an empty complaint because he keeps emptying his backpack of other random things before plopping down onto the floor.

But Billy’s not paying attention to that, not really, because Billy’s spinning around and tugging himself out from underneath Eddie’s arm. He jabs a finger right in the middle of Eddie’s chest.

“Tell me I’m not watching you losers play D&D for hours.”

Grinning with his cheeks dimpled, Eddie backs up a step even as Billy eats it right back up. “You’re not gonna watch us losers play D&D for hours. Stevie’s got a pool.”

“I think he thinks I need to be entertained,” Steve adds, smile still terribly tight when Billy looks at him, but his shoulders are easy and there’s a shine of mirth in his eyes. “Robin’s working the video store today. There’s a billiards table in the pool house, too.”

“Oooh,” Billy says, drawing out the word with pure delight in his heart. “So I’m the babysitter. Real kind of you, Munson. How much am I getting paid?”

“Don’t think he needs to pay you,” he hears Max mutter underneath her breath.

She knows he can hear her.

“What was that?” Lucas says.

But even Max’s comment can’t harsh Billy’s vibe. The idea that he gets an unprecedented amount of time with just Steve is—unfathomable. It’s a treat. A gift.

“Pay can be negotiated at a later date,” Mike says, eager to play now that he knows Billy won’t actually be joining in. “Can we get set up, now? Without spectators?”

Steve sighs, coming forward to knock his elbow into Billy’s arm as he passes by. He gestures with a lazy swing of his head for the sliding glass doors.

“They won’t stop being assholes until we leave, I think,” Steve says over his shoulder. “Well. Mike won’t. And El and Will are never assholes.”

There is a scattering of heys around the room. Dustin probably looks the most putout. He thinks he sees Will Byers blush in the dim light of Steve’s living room.

And then he’s shoving the sliding glass door leading to the backyard open and stepping out. Stands in the sun waiting for Billy to follow. Which he does. Easily. Like he’s stuck in Steve’s shadow, unwilling to try and pull himself away.

It’s easy to leave the chaos of everyone else behind.

“Are we swimming, pretty boy?” Billy asks, looking around the huge, green, open space. “Or am I going to beat you at billiards?”

“You don’t think I’m too easy a mark?” Steve asks, shutting the door on Eddie’s enthusiastic voice bellowing after them. “I’d rather a game, if it’s all the same to you.”

He eyes the pool briefly, but he’s already leading Billy toward the pool house on the far side.

“Plus, there’s another fridge in there stocked to the gills with beer,” Steve adds, like Billy needs an incentive to maybe get a chance to give Steve a few pointers with a pool cue. “I don’t advertise that, though. There’s not a lock and both Eddie and Robin drink like fishes. I mean, it’s honestly pretty shocking to witness.”

Billy’s more than happy to follow Steve pretty much anywhere. Sure, he’d kill to take a dip in that clear blue pool, but he’d rather be where Steve wants to be. Otherwise, Billy’d just be squandering his time.

“Is Munson even more annoying when he’s drunk off his ass?”

Because Billy saw him tipsy, and he’s pretty sure he was annoying. He was handsy and got too close, with everyone, including Billy—but mostly with Steve. Remembering it, Billy thinks it was annoying as hell.

“Not… annoying,” Steve says, squinting like he’s trying to come up with a better word for it– a nicer word for it. “He’s actually pretty funny.”

The pool house doesn’t have any AC, but when Steve opens up the sliding double doors and flicks a switch, two big fans hum to life overhead. There’s a little couch to his left, with a used pool towel draped over it, and Billy spots a pair of trunks hanging from a hook by a door that probably leads to a small bathroom. On the far wall, there’s a little kitchen– counter, sink, and fridge– and to Billy’s right, at the center of the room, is the pool table.

The balls are scattered across the felt. There are cues propped nearby.

Steve heads straight for the fridge, opening it and stepping aside. “He gets loud when he’s shitfaced. Eddie, I mean. You do, too.”

Billy knows he gets loud. It feels like one of the only times he can really let loose—and even then, he still has to be careful.

“You don’t,” Billy says, wandering over to the fridge to stick out his hand for a beer. “You get quiet. Unless you’re giggling with Buckley.”

Even that, Steve does quietly, though.

Steve grunts, his face coloring a bit, but he reaches into the fridge and grabs them both a bottle. He checks the door with his hip to shut it, grabbing an opener from one of the drawers and popping the cap on Billy’s before passing it over.

“Better to be seen and not heard,” Steve says with a little wince, matter of fact as he cracks his own beer open and takes a swig. “That’s an old lesson, though. The other part of it is probably just because I don’t really have a lot to add to the conversation.”

Billy huffs out a laugh. “I don’t think Munson has much to add to the conversation either.”

Billy knocks his shoulder into Steve’s as he turns to head toward the pool table. He leans against it, bottle in hand, and looks back at Steve.

“You should talk more, King Steve. Bet you’re not just a pretty face.”

Steve makes a face, nose scrunching, but he’s smiling like he’s flattered. He sips his beer, eyeing Billy for a second, and then he’s pacing over. He’s moving like they’ve got all the time in the world, free hand tucked back into the pocket of his worn jeans as he rounds the billiard table.

“I think quite a few people would argue the opposite,” Steve says, gesturing to the felt with a jerk of his chin. “You know how to play?”

“Of course I know how to play,” Billy says with a grin full of teeth. “Though you’re more than welcome to teach me, pretty boy. Pretend I’m one of your hot dates and show me the ropes, huh?”

Steve blinks at him, all big doe eyes and guileless innocence. “I’m sorry, did I say that I could play? Honestly, I was hoping you could give me a refresher.”

Sure, Billy doesn’t believe in God, not really– but he does say a little prayer of thanks up to whomever might be listening that he has this opportunity.

“Of course I will. It’s the least I can do.”

Steve looks relieved, setting his beer on the edge of the table so that he can pull the triangular rack from its spot tucked into the other side. He sets it on the felt and starts gathering up the billiards, taking one from Billy when he passes it and catching one he rolls with a little laugh.

“It’s… colors and stripes, right?” Steve asks, bent over the table as he sets up the rack, looking up at Billy through dark lashes. “But I know there’s something with the eight ball.”

“If you sink it before the end of the game, you lose,” Billy nods, taking a long pull from his beer just because his mouth has gotten so damn dry. “You can pick before you break, if you want. Or you can wait and see what you get first.”

Steve hums, head bobbing as he pulls away to grab them both a pool cue. He rounds the table with them and Billy turns and watches him approach. Leans a hip against the table just to anchor himself as Steve offers one out to him.

“There’s the little chalk things too,” Steve says. “Never really got what that was for.”

Billy bites his lip around a grin that wants to take over his whole face. “Don’t worry about it. Honestly, Harrington, how you can have a pool table and not be good at it is beyond me.”

Billy used to spend a lot of time down in the dive bar a town over, where there was a pool table and no one carded at the door. He made a lot of money that way. And also, maybe once or twice, actually got in a decent hookup in the shitty bathroom in the back of the bar.

“You wanna go first, pretty boy?” Billy asks.

Steve shakes his head. “Show me?”

And Billy would be hard pressed to deny him. Feels like he’d be stupid not to show off a little.

Tongue sliding between his teeth, grinning big and broad, Billy moves to position himself at the head of the table. Sets himself up to tap the cue ball into motion. Breaks the billiards apart with a clatter.

Hits a stroke of luck when a striped ball sinks into a corner pocket.

Steve, leaning against his pool cue, shifts so that he can clap. Billy snorts and lines up to try and sink another. He manages it, but misses the third. Steve is up after that.

“I’m automatically the other billiards, right?” he asks, squinting down at the table with his head cocked. “The solid ones?”

“Got it in one,” Billy says.

And then he leans against the table to watch Steve go—only to laugh a moment later when Steve’s stance is shit.

“Bend down more. You’re gonna chip it off the table if you strike it like that.”

Steve frowns up at him, bending more, but not nearly enough. “What, like this?”

Billy scoffs. “No, not like that. Christ.”

And—the temptation is too strong.

Billy’s only human. Billy can’t stop himself from setting his beer down on another table and walking over to Steve. He puts a hand between Steve’s shoulder blades and eases him down.

“Did you not even watch me?” Billy asks. “More like this.”

Steve goes easy, bending until Billy stops pressing. His skin is so warm beneath the cotton of his shirt that it radiates up Billy’s fingers and into his palm.

He pulls away so that Steve can take the shot.

He clips the cue ball at an angle, straightening out with a grimace as it spirals into a striped ball and does little else. The tips of his ears have gone that pink color.

“Shit,” Steve mutters. “This is gonna be embarrassing.”

“Don’t worry,” Billy says, picking back up his own cue for his turn. “I’m sure you’ll get better at it.”

Steve—does not get better at it.

Billy trounces him in their first round. And the second. By the third, Billy’s feeling a combination of booze and sheer delight at winning, and at being able to correct Steve at every turn, too. The guy played basketball, is a brilliant swimmer—how is he so deeply uncoordinated at pool?

He doesn’t know how long they’ve been doing this, but the time and conversation have flowed easier than Billy would’ve guessed. By now, the sun is getting low in the sky and Billy’s leaning against the pool table, trying to give Steve every pointer in the book. Even playing worse, just a little bit, to try and let Steve get at least something. Like Steve’s a pretty girl Billy’s trying to impress.

By the time Steve’s showing any kind of improvement, the beer has started to get to Billy’s head a bit. It’s heavy in his otherwise empty stomach, and he’s leaning a little lazier– lingering a little longer– when he helps Steve adjust.

And then Steve’s beaming at him when he wins a round out of sheer pity and luck. All bright eyed and flush in the face. There’s quite a few empty bottles littering the countertops.

“I think I’m finally getting it,” he says.

Billy can’t help but feel a little proud of him. And a little like he did something, like he played a part in it. He grins, wide and big and a little stupid.

“You sure are,” Billy says. “Wanna keep going?”

Billy does. He doesn’t ever want to leave this pool house or break away from this warm camaraderie he’s sharing with Steve Harrington.

Steve is nodding. He’s grabbing one of the chalk cubes even as Billy starts reracking the balls without waiting for an answer.

“It’s not too boring for you?” he asks. “We could make a bet out of it now that I’m not miserably awful.”

Billy’s feeling too good to catch himself when he says, “Baby, this isn’t boring at all. Let’s do it, what do you wanna bet?”

Steve blinks a few times, and Billy knows it’s wishful thinking when the flush of Steve’s cheeks seems to deepen. Doesn’t stop him from admiring it for a second.

“I wanna ride on the bike,” Steve says.

Billy raises his eyebrows. “You heard me tell Munson that nobody else drives her but me.”

“Oh, please, I’d crash in an instant,” Steve shakes his head. “I wanna ride it, I don’t wanna drive it. I’ve been on a Vespa but never been on a motorcycle.”

Billy laughs helplessly. “Sure thing, King Steve. You can ride on the back of the bike—if you win.”

Billy thinks about trying to lose, just so that it happens. But he thinks that’s more dangerous than anything else. The idea of Steve on the back of his bike sounds like a dream—and Billy knows better.

“Now, what about if I win?” Billy asks, but he doesn’t know what he wants– the prospects are so wide, so vast. “How about an I. O. U.? A favor, for later.”

Steve shrugs. “Sure, why not? You want to break this time?”

“It’s all you, pretty boy,” Billy says, backing away from the table.

“Thanks,” Steve says, and then he’s lining himself up for his opener–

And Billy might be drunk, but he’s pretty sure that his form is fucking perfect. Bent just right, lined up all pretty, and then the cue ball is cracking against the other billiards–

And two solid balls sink into two different pockets.

Even then, for a fraction of a second, Billy thinks it’s luck. Whistles for him as he lines up for another shot, more than a little impressed.

Then Steve sinks another. Then another. Then another.

By the time he’s done, all that’s left are stripes and the eight ball. Steve doesn’t hesitate to sink that last one too. Calls it and everything– corner pocket– popping it over the number thirteen ball with a fancy little trick that Billy only ever sees at bars.

Game won without Billy even getting a shot, Steve straightens back out with a smile.

“Holy shit,” Billy says.

Steve’s mouth shrugs with his shoulders. “Guess I’m not just a pretty face.”

He sure fucking isn’t. Billy downs the remainder of his beer in one long gulp.

“Jesus,” Billy says, “you fucking played me.”

And he fell for it. Hook, line, and sinker. Practically ate that shit out of the palm of Steve’s hand.

“I might’ve played you,” Steve admits, but he’s grinning all crooked and quietly pleased with himself, leaning on his pool cue as Billy surveys the carnage of the table. “Just a little bit.”

The sharp rap of knuckles against the open door has Billy startling. He’d forgotten, for a while, that there was anyone else but Steve Harrington in the world.

He turns to find Eddie standing there with his brows up. He’s eyeing the table and then glancing between the two of them, stepping into the pool house as Steve greets him.

“Are you playing with your food, again?” Eddie asks, resting both hands at the head of the pool table and catching Billy’s gaze. “He chewed me up and spat me out when I first played him.”

It’s a good description for how Billy feels. He feels—flayed open. Raw.

He also feels stupid. Like a real idiot. Not just because he was played, but because it was so easy, because Billy’s a sucker for Steve Harrington. It’s embarrassing as all hell.

And he doesn’t feel too positively about Eddie seeing him like this. Because with the way Eddie is looking at him, it feels like Eddie can see straight through him, right at the part of Billy that’s weak for Steve.

“Harrington’s a little bitch,” Billy snaps.

Steve jerks a bit in place, like Billy slapped him. His mouth presses thin as he glances away.

The guilt follows quick on the heels of his anger. Not enough for him to take it back, but enough for him to want to. Especially when he glances at Eddie again and finds expression darker than he thinks he’s ever seen it. A quiet rage that almost makes Billy take a step back.

“Sorry,” Steve is saying, moving to hang up his pool cue without looking back. “Thought it would be fun. You can forget about the bet if you’re that pissed about it. I’m assuming we’ve come to some kind of pause in the campaign?”

Eddie’s still looking at Billy. He isn’t glaring, not exactly, but there’s a tightness around his eyes and an arresting flex to his jaw.

“Yeah,” he says. “Taking a break. I think they emptied out your pantry.”

“Cool,” Steve sighs, brushing by and patting Eddie on the shoulder as he heads for the doors of the pool house. “I’ll go order pizzas.”

And then he’s just– leaving. Letting Billy’s anger lie. Ditching him with Eddie fucking Munson.

Worse, Billy knows he doesn’t have any right to stop him.

The door closes and Billy digs his fingernails into the palm of his hand. He looks away from Eddie and turns back to the fridge to grab himself another beer. Even though part of him debates the merits of leaving it and just taking the bike home, even though he’s probably too tipsy to drive. None of the cops in this town have the balls to pull him over, anyway.

He pops the cap on his next beer and ditches the thought—Billy Hargrove doesn’t run away.

Part of him wants to take the anger in Eddie’s eyes and tease it out. To see how deep it goes, how protective he is of Steve. Part of him knows better. But the first part still wins out, too tempting to resist.

“Shit, Munson, did I touch a nerve?”

“You’re a sore fucking loser, Billy Hargrove,” Eddie tells him, unmoved from his spot braced against the head of the pool table, eyes darting across the surface; his knuckles are white where he’s gripping the table’s bumpers. “Or do you just get off on being a dick?”

Billy leans back against the fridge and take a long sip from his bottle. The beer is cold as it slides down his throat.

“Pretty sure it’s not the first time someone’s called Harrington a bitch. Does he really need you to protect his virtue from me, or does it just make you feel special?”

Billy lets himself smile, wide and a little mean. It’s easy to hold onto anger, to use it to cover up the feeling of vulnerable stupidity. Billy knows better. He shouldn’t be so easily swayed by pretty brown eyes and an easy game.

“Pretty sure Steve Harrington could knock your head off your shoulders if he really put his mind to it,” Eddie says, twisting to face him, his anger so quiet and cold– so different from Billy’s own. “He doesn’t need me to do shit for him. I do it because he’s a good guy and I like him.”

Billy wonders what makes him so sure of Steve’s capabilities. Doesn’t think he’s seen Steve in a fight, if that’s his opinion of him.

But things changed while Billy was under. Time passed. And Billy didn’t know shit about Steve before he was possessed– he certainly doesn’t know shit now.

“Sure he could,” Billy says, knowing full well that it’s the truth.

If only because Billy would absolutely let him. He doesn’t want to hit Steve Harrington again. Doesn’t want to see his face split open and bloody because of Billy’s own hands. Doesn’t think he could live with himself if he did.

He decides that doesn’t love the look of anger on Eddie’s face. He thought he would. It’s dizzying to realize otherwise.

“Why don’t you go back to your nerd shit,” Billy says, gesturing at the door with his bottle. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

Eddie breathes out hard. He tilts his head, chin dipping with something like a warning, but the most he does is smack a hand against the pool table and turn on his heel to walk away.

“When you get your panties out of a bunch, feel free to come inside,” Eddie calls over his shoulder. “Stevie’s pretty nice. He’ll probably forgive you.”

And then he’s out of the pool house and trotting across the backyard to get back to Steve’s house. And then he’s leaving Billy there, alone in the pool house with his rage and his guilt.

chapter 6:

what’s puzzling you (is the nature of my game)

Billy lingers in the boathouse until it’s fully dark. He finishes his beer and flops himself down into one of the chairs near the pool table. Without Steve, this space feels so quiet, so small and empty. And in that hollow place, Billy’s thoughts are all too loud.

He wants to turn back the clock, to laugh along with Steve’s stupid fucking ruse. He wants to brush off the embarrassment and not have it tasting so bitter at the back of his throat.

The truth is: Billy’s liked Steve Harrington since the moment he first laid eyes on him, danger of it be damned. There wasn’t anything he could do to help it, but he didn’t have to feed it like he did, either. Didn’t have to yield to it like there was no other fucking eventuality in the world.

Billy doesn’t need to let himself be so easily swayed by Steve Harrington. Doesn’t need to let himself be played like a fool and then left on display for Eddie fucking Munson. Billy’s stronger than that, isn’t he?

He closes his eyes, tips his head back, and takes a long breath.

He’s sober enough to drive, he thinks. He’ll leave Max here and go back to the trailer park to nurse his wounded pride in peace. And then he won’t let Steve get to him so easily again.

From inside the house, Billy can hear the sound of the doorbell. The shouts of the kids. Pizza’s here: a good time to escape.

Billy leaves the pool house and carefully walks around to the sliding back doors of the house, quietly letting himself in once he makes sure no one’s there to see. From what he can tell, everyone’s crowded into the kitchen, talking loudly and fighting over different pizza boxes. From there, it’s easy to bypass the kitchen and snag his helmet from where he dropped it in the living room—but it’s only as he’s making his way to the front door that Billy catches the sound of it. Hushed voices coming from a small room to the left of the entryway.

Steve and Eddie, talking behind a cracked door. And of course, Billy can’t help but stop and listen in.

“It really is fine,” Steve is saying, and when Billy chances a glance in the gap left there, he spots him sitting on top of a big, dark desk with his legs dangling as he watches Eddie poke and prod about the study. “You’re more worked up about it than me.”

Eddie scoffs. “He was rude as shit. What did you even bet on, anyway?”

“I wanted to ride on the motorcycle.”

Eddie drops something to the carpeted floor with a dull thump. Billy can’t see him, but he can see the way Steve’s face presses into a chiding look.

“Sorry,” Eddie says. “Surprised me. You want to ride on a motorcycle? I know, like, a dozen guys with bikes I could borrow.”

Steve’s brows arch, but he remains unimpressed. “It’s fine, Eddie.”

“No, no, I’m serious,” Eddie continues, and then he’s pacing into view again, drawing over to where Steve is sat, both hands coming up to clap onto Steve’s shoulders, big and squeezing. “What are you doing tomorrow? Do you have work? We could get this checked off your bucket list like that.”

Eddie snaps his fingers and Steve laughs.

Something about that makes Billy’s chest go tight. God, fuck Eddie Munson. All he wants is to make Steve Harrington laugh—and he’s good at it, too. Better than Billy’s ever been.

Not that Billy’s ever given himself much of a chance on that front.

“I’m on the day shift for the rest of the week,” Steve tells him with a little smile. “And I’m not looking to crack my skull open, so unless you know how to ride–”

“What, and Billy Hargrove was gonna drive you around?” Eddie asks, propping a hip next to one of Steve’s knees, his back angled toward the door as he crosses his arms.

“That was the idea.”

For a moment, Eddie doesn’t say anything. Just stands there quietly, looking at Steve in some kind of way, because Steve is rolling his eyes and laughing again.

“What?” he asks. “Stop making that face.”

“I’m not making a face.”

“You’re making a face,” Steve tells him. “A very specific one, and I want you to stop.”

He’s still sort of laughing, though. Chuckling around his words. He looks so at ease, hands braced at the edge of the desk as he leans forward. His feet sway a bit too. Always moving, like he just can’t sit still, even when he’s got nowhere to be.

Billy’s always sort of wanted to catch that nervous energy. Always wondered where it came from.

“I’m just… surprised you’d want to ride on the back of Billy Hargrove’s motorcycle,” Eddie finally says.

Steve glances away then, waffling his head, cheeks going a bashful, ruddy color. “I dunno. It looked cool. Like it could be fun. I thought I could impress him a little and win myself a ticket.”

That. Billy doesn’t—

Steve wanted to impress him?

Billy’s head spins. He feels warm. His gut does something weird and twisted inside his stomach, tangling itself into uncomfortable knots.

“You wanted to impress him,” Eddie says, and it’s not even a question.

He sounds almost as shocked as Billy feels.

“Yeah?” Steve glances back at him with a meek little shrug. “Is that… a bad thing?”

Eddie is already shaking his head. “No. No, not– of course it isn’t a bad thing. Just– surprising.”

Steve shrugs again, a little stiffer this time. “You keep saying that, but I don’t see what’s so shocking about it. I’m not great at too many things– so why not show off a little when I can? It worked on you.”

“First of all, you’re great at about a million things, Stevie,” Eddie says. “But Hargrove’s—different.”

Billy can still hear the anger in Eddie’s voice. It makes him wince. Like cold water thrown on all of the warmth that flooded him the second Steve said he wanted to impress Billy.

“Besides,” Eddie says, a touch too dry. “I don’t think you need to try and impress him.”

Outside the door, Billy’s hackles go up. He stiffens in place, watching them through the space in the doorway– and the fear is so much like anger that Billy doesn’t recognize it until the relief floods him at the sight of Steve frowning and cocking his head over like a particularly puzzled puppy.

“What, it just comes naturally?” he asks, like it’s a joke, knocking his shoulder into Eddie’s before giving a dismissive shake of his head. “Nah. Not everybody needs to like me. I figured that out long before Billy Hargrove rolled into town.”

“That’s really not what I mean,” Eddie says.

And before Eddie can open that big mouth of his, Billy takes a couple steps back, then takes a few heavy footfalls forward toward the study, and then uses the helmet he’s got in his hand to shove the door open with a loud bonk.

“Hey,” Billy says, and watches the way the both of them startle. “I’m heading out. Will you drop Max home later?”

And Steve– Steve blinks at him with big brown eyes and asks, “You don’t wanna stay for pizza?”

Billy freezes, standing in the open doorway, caught in place.

Eddie makes a sound. A scoffed little thing. Rage and fear war in his chest until Eddie faces him and Billy spots the way he’s got a fist in front of his mouth and his thumb caught between his teeth. Biting back whatever he wanted to say in a very literal way.

His arms are crossed over his chest and his brows are high. It’s the face of a man who wants something to happen, but is skeptical of it actually happening.

It’s fucking expectant.

Billy feels fucking weak. Already raw. He clenches his jaw, tightens his grip on his motorcycle helmet, and then tosses it at Eddie’s chest. If only so Eddie will get his thumb away from his mouth and stop making Billy’s eyes catch on his teeth.

Eddie catches the helmet, confusion flashing over his face.

“Fine. What kind of pizza?” Billy asks.

“Um,” Steve blinks again, sliding slow to his feet and glancing between them. “A little of everything. Unless the kids already ate it all.”

Eddie is holding Billy’s gaze, expression unreadable as he cradles Billy’s helmet against his stomach. “I wouldn’t put it past them.”

Billy looks at Eddie’s hands. Looks at how they splay across the black of Billy’s helmet. Fingers long and covered in rings. There’s nothing gentle about the way he’s holding it, but despite his anger, his grip isn’t harsh. There’s no white knuckles here. It’s just firm. Sturdy.

Billy doesn’t know if he can’t get it back without fists flying, though.

Billy’s chest feels a little tight. Most of him still itches to step out the door, to escape the tension of Harrington’s house. But there’s a challenge in Eddie’s eyes and Billy can’t look away.

“Is it the good pizza place? The one on Main, not the one down on West Logan, that place is shit.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Steve, standing there and staring at them. Billy doesn’t even bat an eye.

But then Steve is clearing his throat and saying, “You know I’m half Italian, right?”

Billy jerks in place. He’s gonna get a concussion with all of this emotional whiplash.

Ripping his gaze from Eddie’s, Billy stares back at Steve. “What?”

“I’m half Italian,” Steve repeats. “I would have to burn my house to the ground if Little Tony’s came within a three block radius of the place.”

He says Little Tony’s with such genuine disdain that it startles a laugh out of him. His gaze darts furtively back to Eddie, but he’s muffling a laugh against the back of his wrist as he turns away to hide his delight, still holding Billy’s helmet to his stomach.

When he looks back at Steve, his hands are on his hips and he looks so damn serious that Billy has to strangle down another chuckle.

“It’s not even a little funny,” Steve insists. “They use sauce from a jar.”

It’s so fucking cute that Billy could kiss him. Wants to. Is absolutely seized with the desire to kiss that little pout right off Steve’s face.

Billy jerks back from that thought like he’s been scalded.

“Perfect,” Billy says with a smirk. And then Billy turns on his heel and makes for the kitchen.

The tension feels lessened now. Or maybe that’s just because Steve got Eddie to laugh. Or because Billy now knows that all Steve wanted to do was impress him. Either way, it’s enough to stick around. To let Billy leave his back to the two of them as he walks away.

Behind him, he hears Eddie mutter with a little whistle, “Wow. It’s worse than I thought.”

“What’s worse?” Steve asks.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” Eddie’s saying. “Let’s chow.”

And then they’re hot on Billy’s heels.

By the time the kids have stuffed themselves into a food coma, pizza boxes demolished in record time before they all puppy piled into Steve’s living room to watch the pile of VHS tapes Steve got from the video store, most of the rage has been bled out of Billy.

He’s still tense. Still on edge as he waits for the other shoe to drop. Still wrapping his head around Steve wanting to impress him and just how much Eddie’s anger made him feel like he’d committed a cardinal fucking sin.

Which– alright, wouldn’t be that far off. Wrath and pride and greed and lust– all knotted up in this complicated ball in his chest that Billy just can’t seem to cough up.

Not to mention the envy.

That one certainly keeps rearing its little green head. Especially when Eddie Munson hangs off of Steve’s back in the kitchen while Steve is over the sink washing up.

Billy is breaking down the last of the pizza boxes, watching them with his teeth in his cheek if only to keep his mouth from doing something stupid again. It had been easier, surrounded by baby teenagers, the kids’ chatter easy to slip in and out of. The kids a buffer between Billy and all this shit he’s too tired to untangle.

The kids aren’t here now. Half of them are already passed out in Steve’s living room.

“I have been itching to get in the pool all day,” Eddie is saying, one arm hooked over Steve’s shoulder as he presses in flush at his back, popping the bubbles Steve keeps making with his free hand. “You’re not gonna leave me suffering, are you? It’s no fun, swimming alone.”

Steve scoffs, head down as he focuses on cleaning the stack of plates soaking in the sink. “You just want to try and drown me. I don’t want to deal with your monkey routine, Munster.”

“You wound me. You really and truly do,” Eddie says. “I just wanted to test those aquatic abilities of yours.”

Billy wants. He wants to stay, to fall in so easily to that easy warmth radiating around Steve and Eddie. But it somehow seems more complicated now than it did the other day.

Maybe if Billy didn’t keep throwing poison into his own waters.

But he wants to try. And right now, the biggest obstacle is Eddie– Steve has seemed fine. Like maybe he just expects Billy to lash out with teeth.

“You need a lifeguard, Munson?” Billy says. “All you had to do was ask.”

Eddie’s own quiet anger has mellowed down, his glassy black eyes more keen and wary than furious when he glances over his shoulder at him. “I think I’d prefer it if Stevie gave me CPR when I drowned. He’s prettier– ow!”

Steve’s elbow is practically malicious when he digs it into Eddie’s side. It leaves Eddie laughing and curving away, one hand going to the spot on his stomach as he clings to Steve with the other.

“Go get us some trunks from my room,” Steve tells him, the back of his neck red even if Billy can’t see his face.

Eddie’s words linger in Billy’s ears as he beats a retreat, practically skipping across the kitchen and out of the room before anyone can say anything else.

He can’t help but imagine it—Steve’s lips on Eddie’s as he’s sprawled out across the pool deck. It makes something inside Billy heat with jealousy, with something that squirms around at the pit of his stomach, like a living thing, and makes all the pizza he ate sit funny.

And sure, Billy knows that CPR’s no romantic fantasy—he’s had to do it enough, back when he was a lifeguard in Cali and then once at Hawkins pool. But that experience doesn’t color his thoughts with anything other than the knowledge of how vital it can be. How powerful, too.

He thinks, for a split second, about having to be the one to breathe life back into Eddie’s lungs.

“Well shit, Harrington,” Billy says to distract himself from his own thoughts, leaning up against the counter a safe distance away. “I didn’t realize that all your game was wasted up on Munson. I think you found one that’s stuck.”

The second Steve looks over at him, genuine confusion pinching his brow, Billy feels a little bad for ribbing Steve about Eddie’s own antics and interest– feigned or not. And Billy’s less sure about that with every damn interaction.

“Excuse me?” Steve asks, still scrubbing at a plate.

“You can’t keep a girl around, but you can keep Munson,” Billy says, like it’s easy. Like it’s an okay insinuation to make.

And he shouldn’t, of course, but he just can’t help prodding this venomous snake with a stick.

When all Steve does is blink at him, Billy shrugs. “Maybe your situation’s not as dire as you thought.”

He does feel a little bit bad about it. So he crosses the space between the two of them and slaps Steve on the back, letting his palm splay wide across Steve’s shoulder.

“Pretty boy’s still got game, huh?” Billy says.

He’s not sure what he’s trying to get out of this. Doesn’t know if he’s trying to sabotage whatever kindness has been built between himself and Steve Harrington– or if he’s trying to fracture that connection between Steve and Eddie just so he can find a way to worm in.

He doesn’t know if he’s that mean anymore. Doesn’t know if he wants to be.

He isn’t sure what he expects from Steve, either. Anger, maybe. Disgust.

But Steve doesn’t give him any of that.

“Robin had a panic attack in my car when someone told her that her new haircut made her look like a dyke,” Steve says, hands still, eyes hard on Billy’s face. “I don’t think joking about that kind of stuff is very funny.”

Billy doesn’t know if he’s even joking. Because on the one hand, Eddie could be trying to rile Steve up just for kicks—but after spending some time around the two of them, it’s feeling less and less likely. Eddie isn’t like Billy; he’s too good. Too shockingly genuine, even with the shade of his whole obnoxious persona.

And Billy could press it, could lean in for something mean, but he finds that he doesn’t want to. Because he knows how much of a joke that kind of stuff isn’t. And he’s got scars to prove it.

As he’s squeezing Steve’s shoulder, he hears the sound of Eddie lingering at the kitchen doorway. Doesn’t know how long he’s been standing there.

“Sure thing, Harrington,” Billy says. “Guess it isn’t.”

Steve grimaces, shrugging Billy’s hand off of him as he twists a little to face him, hands still buried in soapy water. “Listen, if you’re stirring up shit because you’re still pissed about earlier, the least you can do is take it out on who you’re pissed at. Eddie didn’t hustle you. I did.”

Pulling a plate from the sink, Steve gives it a little waggle, water dripping down his forearm.

“I mean, I’ve got a whole stack of dinner plates right here,” Steve adds. “It might be a little kinder than implying things behind someone’s back.”

Billy doesn’t step away. He can’t.

He swallows around the lump in his throat, feeling off-kilter and imbalanced. He knows that Eddie’s right there, standing right outside the doorway, probably listening, but that doesn’t stop him. Maybe it gentles him a bit, though. Makes him smarter.

With a slow hand, Billy takes the plate out of Steve’s grip. It drips wet, sudsy water. Carefully, slowly, Billy raises it, until he’s touching it to Steve’s forehead with a gentle tap.

“There,” Billy says, meeting Steve’s eyes. “Got it out of my system. I want a rematch, you know. A real one.”

He leaves the topic of Eddie behind in the dust, because he doesn’t know what else to say about it. His only explanation is the truth, which isn’t ever going to grace his lips in a conversation with Steve Harrington.

Steve reaches up to take the plate back. He doesn’t look away once.

That’s something he’s always admired about Steve. Way back when he first rolled into town, Tommy H. had told him that Steve was a runner. Billy hasn’t ever actually seen Steve run from anything, though. Too busy trying and failing to plant his feet.

Then, Steve arches his brow. “So you’re done being a little bitch?”

Billy can’t help but laugh, a wave of relief flooding him. It feels like the tension—at least between himself and Steve—has snapped. And now Billy’s just left with opportunity.

“Sure,” Billy says. “I’m done being a little bitch.”

“Wow, so docile. He’s practically tame,” Eddie says from the door after a low whistle.

When Billy turns to look at him, Eddie’s just leaning there, a long line of limbs up against the doorway. He’s ditched all of his clothes except a pair of borrowed swim trunks. Not the yellow ones from before, but bright red—like Eddie’s the lifeguard. They’re short on his long, pale thighs. There’s a smattering of dark hair below his belly button.

The sight of his scars reminds Billy of just how much they’ve all been through. Makes him feel a little childish, when he thinks about end of the world shit and then– this.

This, even as frustrating and flummoxing as it is, is infinitely better than end of the world shit.

“I have a way with metalheads,” Steve says, and then he’s turning away to unplug the sink so he can finish up. “Apparently.”

The pair of mustard yellow swim trunks hit Billy square in the chest. He raises a hand up to catch them.

“For you,” Eddie says, moving from his perch, walking back toward Steve like he’s being pulled by a magnet.

Billy knows the feeling.

By the time Steve’s done with the dishes, Billy has changed and is lowering himself into the pool in the quiet of Steve’s backyard. Eddie’s still perched on the ledge, feet in the water, when Steve walks back outside.

“Anybody else worried that letting them watch Evil Dead will, like, scar them for life?” Steve asks as he pads out in a pair of bright blue trunks, arms piled with towels. “I know we fight monsters as a fun hobby sometimes, but that movie is kind of fucked up.”

Eddie is rolling his eyes as Steve drops the towels on one of the lawn chairs. “No, mom, I think the kids will be just fine.”

“I’m just saying,” Steve pads over to the edge of the pool, blue light reflecting over his skin as he kicks at Eddie’s hip. “The blood is fake, sure, but it’s still fucked up.”

Billy turns away from their casual touching and dunks his head under the surface, relishing the silence of being underwater for a brief moment before coming back up for air.

“Pretty sure they’ve seen worse things than some fake blood,” Billy says. “Think of it like exposure therapy.”

He kicks himself into a horizontal position and lets himself float there, on the surface of the water, eyes turned up toward the stars.

“Maybe by this time next year, with enough free movies from Family Video, they won’t be scared of shit,” Billy says.

Not that he thinks Max is scared of anything by now, anyway.

Billy still is. And he knows it too.

“Yeah, I watched plenty of fucked up shit and I turned out just fine,” Eddie says.

“You held a broken glass bottle to my throat when we first met,” Steve replies, and when Billy’s head jerks up in surprise, he sees Steve holding his hands apart in front of himself. “And you got like, just a big, fuck-off hunting knife. You carry that thing with you everywhere.”

“I’m– I’m sorry, is this coming from the guy who carries a nail bat around in his trunk?” Eddie squints up at him. “Glass houses, Stevie boy.”

“Yeah, but I don’t carry it around expecting to use it on people,” Steve insists as he sits down on the edge and then lowers himself easily into the water. “That’s Max’s job.”

Billy sputters out a laugh. It’s small at first, and then loud enough that it breaks him out of his float. He thinks of Max, that night with the bat. It shouldn’t be funny—but it is.

It is.

“You wanna wake the kiddos?” Steve tells him, splashing water toward where Billy is in hysterics.

Which is funny, because maybe he should be more worried about the neighbors than the kids.

Billy doesn’t even care. He can’t stop laughing, like the mirth has taken over. “You’re telling me,” he says between laughs, “that I’m the most normal one here? Because I don’t keep a weapon on me?”

“That’s because anything you touch can be used as a weapon,” Steve tells him, but he’s half hiding his grin in the water as he treads in place.

“Plates,” Eddie says with a sage little nod.

Steve tilts his chin up to say, “Basketballs.”

“Wow,” Billy says. He splashes Steve back. And then, for good measure, sends a splash over at Eddie, too. “I’ll take that as a compliment, thanks.”

They don’t even know how true it is.

It’s what Billy tries not to think too much about, ever since he woke up. The way his hands so easily crush what’s in them, the way he can exert so little force for such gain. The way he can cause so much destruction without even trying.

It’s not even—that bad, he keeps telling himself. Barely even noteworthy. But he’s not even sure how true that is.

“Wow, don’t look so sullen, Hargrove,” Eddie says.

And then Billy’s watching as Eddie’s slipping himself into the water, watching the way the lit pool swallows him whole. He comes back up smoothing his hair out of his face, but the dark length of it floats around his shoulders as he takes a few slow strokes toward the center of the pool.

The night around them is quiet and still. There’s noise, of course. The dense forest Steve’s house backs up to its alive with midnight calls. But so far removed from the busy main streets of town, Steve Harrington’s house feels a world away. Like it’s in its own little bubble.

It’s almost like a dream.

Steve has closed his eyes and tipped his face toward the stars. Eddie watches him– but he watches Billy too.

“I think I would actually love being able to knock someone out if I needed to,” Steve eventually mumbles. “I can’t throw a punch any better than I can take one.”

“You throw a punch well enough,” Billy says before he can think any better of it. “I’ve just got more practice in taking ‘em than you.”

When Billy looks at Eddie, those dark eyes are on him, eyebrows raised.

“You lose a lot of fights, California? Somehow I can’t see that.”

Billy laughs, but there’s nothing behind it– no mirth, no joy. “I’ll throw in a lesson for you, pretty boy. Free with the ride.”

Steve seems to perk right up. Stops his half floating so that he can look at Billy. “I still get the ride?”

Billy’s feet are planted on the scratchy bottom of Steve’s pool but he feels light, like he’s floating in place. Illuminated from below, Steve looks like he’s just a dream– eager eyes and wild hair– and somehow Eddie’s there too, kicking around in the background and making waves.

“You still get the ride,” Billy says.

“Man of his word,” Eddie says. “Color me surprised.”

Steve is practically beaming, though. Mouth half open with his crooked grin, and he splashes at Eddie without even looking at him.

“Don’t ruin this for me, I put a lot of effort into playing bad,” Steve says.

Eddie ducks his head with a laugh. “Of course you did.”

And he sure did. He put on one hell of a show. Sure, he was helped by Billy’s hopeless crush—but Steve deserves some credit too.

Steve treads a little closer to the shallows, eyes on Billy. “You’re not allowed to take that back, now. Even when I inevitably destroy you in our rematch.”

“Fat chance,” Billy says. “I know my game.”

Though he’s not entirely certain of that. Billy’s good, but from what he saw, Steve’s stellar. Good thing Billy likes a challenge.

“Don’t worry, pretty boy. Your prize is safe.”

“Of course it is,” Eddie says, giving Billy a little wink as he swims by.

And then Billy’s on him, tackling Eddie by the shoulders and dragging him underneath the water. He’s not mad– but all of this agitation Eddie keeps stirring up has to go somewhere.

Eddie’s cackling when he claws back to the surface, twisting and instantly delighted as he tries to shove Billy down too. His joy is instant and all encompassing. He doesn’t hold onto his rage the way Billy always does, caging it behind his ribs until it breaks out again. And as Billy lets Eddie shove him down, he decides maybe he can let his anger– this anger– go too.

chapter 7:

it’s been the ruin of many a poor boy (and god i know i’m one)

The third time Steve’s BMW kicks up dust at the trailer park, it rolls just past Munson’s place– and right up to Billy’s.

It’s been a week since he spent a night splashing around in Steve Harrington’s pool. A week since Steve has been by. Billy had even been tempted to take Max down to the arcade just so he could have a reason to waste time at Family Video.

He hadn’t done it, but he’d certainly given it some thought.

Instead of stepping out of his car, though, Steve rolls his window down before killing the engine. Unbuckles. Twists in his seat and rests his forearms on the windowsill and sets his chin on his forearms. Eyes Billy where he’s sitting and smoking in his lawn chair again.

There’s at least an empty basket next to him, and fresh clothes on the line out front and in back.

“Hey there, trouble,” Steve says.

“Hey yourself,” Billy says. “What, not here for Munson?”

Billy knows that Eddie is probably sleeping right about now. It’s midday and he was up all night playing music that filtered in through Billy’s window. Billy fell asleep sometime around six in the morning. Slept for a few hours until the sound of Eddie’s music cut off. And then he woke up.

Steve’s head tilts a bit as he lets his gaze stray across the dirt road to Eddie’s trailer. Mr. Munson, Eddie’s uncle, is actually milling about with a cup of coffee in hand. Steve gives a little wave.

“No,” he says, glancing back at Billy. “You owe me a ride.”

Well. Billy’s pretty sure he woke up. Because this is right out of a wet dream. Especially as Steve climbs his way out of the car, all limbs and charm. The smile on his face is big and expectant, and somehow instead of looking dopey he just looks confident and in charge.

Like he knows Billy’s helpless for him.

“Fine,” Billy says, feeling warm, feeling dreamy. “Let me get you a helmet.”

He ducks inside and comes back out with two helmets. One is older, the first one that Billy bought. He tosses the newer one, his usual one, at Steve.

“It’s gonna ruin your hair,” Billy warns.

Steve shakes his head, already rolling the helmet around in his grip, sort of bouncing on his toes. All that nervous energy, just for Billy. Billy wants to contain it, to catch it and feel the way Steve might buzz underneath his fingertips like trapped lightning.

“Nothing can ruin my hair,” Steve assures him.

“We’ll see,” he says. And then strides over and raps his knuckles on the helmet he gave to Steve. “C’mon. Put it on. I’ll help.”

After Steve slides it over his head, Billy helps him adjust it. Tightens the strap and makes sure it sits comfortably—and correctly—on Steve’s head.

Billy’s not planning on going too fast. God fucking knows he’s taken enough chances with Steve in the last couple of weeks to keep him careful.

“Ready, pretty boy?” Billy asks, popping his own helmet on. It’s not as comfortable as his new one, but he’ll make do. “Once you’re on, you’re going to want to put your hands on my hips. Won’t be able to hear you too well, so give me a tap,” he pats at his own side, like Steve should, “if you want to slow down or stop.”

Steve nods, dark eyes darting down over him, and he tilts his head with a little frown. “Shouldn’t we be, like, wearing leather jackets or something?”

“Wasn’t planning on going that fast,” Billy says. “But you can borrow one, if you want. Might not be a bad idea.”

And, if this really is going to be a wet dream, Steve might as well be in one of Billy’s jackets. Before Steve can think any better of it, Billy’s already ducking inside to grab one. At least the day isn’t too hot.

“Hot date?” Max asks, from where she’s watching TV on the couch.

The window’s right behind her, so Billy knows she’s heard it all. Has probably been watching too.

“Shove it, twerp.”

And then Billy’s back outside, tossing his favorite jacket at Steve. He doesn’t have one for himself, but he’s fine. He’d rather feel the heat of Steve up against him only through the thin cotton of his current shirt.

Steve shrugs the jacket on without much preamble. Runs long fingers against buttery, worn brown leather. It’s a little big in the chest and shoulders, but it seems to fit him just fine. Wraps around him like a dream.

Billy has to take a breath.

“So, where are you taking me?” he asks, pacing over to where Billy’s bike is parked.

“Gee, in the minute I had to plan a route?” Billy asks, following in Steve’s footsteps. “Is there anywhere you wanna go?

Steve shrugs, glancing over at him. “It’s been a while since I took the scenic route around town. But as long as you’re not trying to pop any wheelies with me hanging off the back, I don’t really have a destination in mind.”

“Then let’s just drive,” Billy says, already planning a bit of a route in his head.

Not that he really needs to—he figures he’ll take the same loop he normally does when he can’t sleep, the one he used to take in his car, back when he first came to this shithole town.

He climbs onto his bike and then gestures for Steve to do the same, pointing out where he should hold on, where he should put his feet.

And when Steve saddles up behind him, crowding in close and getting his hands on Billy’s hips, Billy’s sure he’s about to wake up.

But he doesn’t.

“Oh, boy,” Steve breathes, wobbling a little behind him.

His hands tighten reflexively on the handlebars when Steve’s shift at his waist. His chest is brushing against Billy’s back, but he’s sort of hovering back a little, like he’s afraid to press into Billy’s space. Or like he’s not certain if he’s allowed to.

“We good?” he asks, fingers a flex at Billy’s hips. “I don’t know if it’s normal to feel like I’m gonna fall over.”

“It’s normal,” Billy says, offering a bit of reassurance that he thinks Steve probably needs.

The guy can fight interdimensional horrors, but can’t feel safe on the back of a bike—but that’s okay, because Billy will keep him safe.

“Hold as tight as you want. Promise I’ll keep any plates away from your head,” Billy assures him.

And then he starts up the bike. It takes a couple of revs before she’s purring happily and steadily underneath him.

Behind him, Steve barks out a laugh, flinching a bit as the bike comes to life. His legs jump, thighs knocking into the backs of Billy’s as his grip tightens at his hips.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Steve calls over the rumble of the bike. “I was really worried about the serving dishes we might encounter along the way.”

Billy laughs too, deep and from the chest. And then he’s shouting a, “Here we go!” to Steve before he pulls the bike out from where she’s been sitting to the main road of the trailer park.

Immediately, as they move, Steve’s fingers go tight. Billy’s chest swells with warmth and excitement. He keeps it slow and cautious as they get to the main road, where things are paved and better upkept. He lingers there for a moment, walking the bike forward a few feet, feeling Steve behind him.

“You good?” Billy shouts, one last check-in before they really start to go.

“I think so,” Steve says, but it sounds like he’s smiling.

So when Billy revs the engine one last time, it’s really the only warning he gives before he’s pulling his feet up and letting the throttle open– pulling them out and onto the road, the wind already whipping by.

It makes Steve yelp. Makes his arms snake tight around Billy’s waist. He can feel Steve’s chin on his shoulder and those longer fingers curled into the shirt over his stomach. Flush against his back, Steve Harrington holds on like he’s afraid he might fall, and Billy is more than happy to let him.

By the time Billy pulls them back to the trailer park, his heart feels full, his chest warm. He’s glad he didn’t put on a jacket, because he thinks he’d be boiling over with heat—from sheer joy caused by the tight way Steve clung to him for the entire ride.

It’s better than any goddamn dream Billy could’ve come up with.

His heart’s pounding, blood racing. He wonders if Steve can feel it in his fingertips, underneath the thrum of the engine.

When Billy pulls in to park at home, Eddie’s sitting in Billy’s lawn chair, a coke in his hand. He’s listening to Billy’s radio, too.

“Fun ride?” Eddie asks, when Billy kills the engine and Steve begins to awkwardly clamber off the bike, hands clasping at Billy’s shirt and shoulders as he steadies himself.

He doesn’t look mad. Just tired. Maybe a little like he’s sulking too, if the slump of his shoulders is anything to go by.

But he can’t keep the frown on his mouth in the face of Steve’s big smile anymore than Billy seems to be able to. Especially not when Steve stumbles a bit, legs wobbly from the ride, and barks out a laugh as he catches himself with a hand on Billy’s shoulder again. Billy steadies him, feeling pride rush through his veins.

“Aw, Stevie, you’re like a little baby giraffe,” Eddie teases, leaning forward in Billy’s lawn chair to watch as they both pull their helmets off.

“He is,” Billy says, fluffing up his curls with his fingers.

They’re sweaty—he’s sweaty. So warm, his blood is running hot.

“How much for you to take her on another spin?” Eddie says, jerking his head in the direction of Billy’s bike. “I can’t let Stevie have all the fun.”

“You didn’t hustle me in pool,” Billy says.

But he—isn’t totally against it. Part of him wants to get back on the bike, so full of restless energy from having Steve behind him, from keeping his corners careful and his turns cautious. From keeping his hands to himself.

Steve is dragging his fingers through his own hair, the volume hardly diminished, but some damp strands sticking at the back of his neck and his temples. He’s breathing heavy, like the ride winded him, and his eyes catch like amber in the sunlight they’re so bright.

“No, but his cannonball splashes were bigger,” Steve says, once he’s steady on his own two feet. “I think that’s enough to earn a ride. Maybe.”

He’s looking at Billy like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to say that. It’s Billy’s bike, so it’s not like Steve has any say over who has or hasn’t earned a ride on it.

But he’s looking at Billy like it’s a question. Like he’s asking if Eddie can go for a spin too.

Billy wonders, for a second, if Steve knows that Billy’s weak for him. If he can see right through Billy. Some days, it feels like Billy’s wearing a flashing neon sign with his crush right on it.

Steve’s just lucky he’s pretty.

“Give him your helmet then, King Steve,” Billy guesses Eddie can have the better helmet, too. No easy way to take it back, anyway. He turns to Eddie, pulling his own helmet back over his head. “You been on the back of a bike before, Munson?”

Eddie is popping up onto his feet, stepping close and taking the helmet Steve passes him with a bright grin. “I’ve been on the back of an old Harley or two. You’re not gonna pussyfoot about opening her up, are you? It’s more fun when it’s fast.”

Billy can’t help but grin. “Now you’re speaking my language.”

The allure of going fast, of breezing through the vast and empty fields of Hawkins sounds irresistible. The idea of having company while he’s doing it? Doesn’t sound half bad either.

“You gonna be okay without us, pretty boy?” Billy asks, but he’s not waiting, just revving the bike back to life, waiting for Eddie to join him.

Steve shrugs. “I’m sure I’ll find some way to occupy my time.”

He’s still wearing Billy’s jacket, standing there watching as Eddie eagerly climbs his way onto the back of Billy’s bike. Eddie isn’t nearly as cautious as Steve was. He yanks the helmet on over his head, the straps hanging loose around his chin, bare arms wrapping around Billy with his hand locking around his own wrist as gives him a little jostle.

“Giddyup, already, I’m going gray,” Eddie says, long tongue darting out when Steve laughs at them.

Eddie’s arms around his waist feel different. But Billy still feels just as warm. There’s no leather in between him and Eddie—just the skin of Eddie’s arms against Billy’s sweat-damp shirt.

“Actually buckle your fucking helmet, Munson,” Billy tells him. “Or we’re not going anywhere.”

Eddie sighs, rolling his eyes with a little waggle of his head, making sure to jut his chin out far enough for Billy to see when he twists around to watch him fasten the straps. “Such a killjoy,” he says.

“No, I’m with Billy on this one,” Steve says. “You gonna let the pavement get you when demonic bats couldn’t?”

Eddie clicks his tongue. “Fine, mom. I’ll be back before ten. I promise to keep it above the belt.”

Steve’s face goes pink, but he crosses his arms, unimpressed. “You’ll be back before sundown– or I’m kidnapping your baby.”

At Billy’s back, Eddie jerks a little. “You’re still not allowed in my room. Don’t go nosing around, Stevie.”

Making a face, Steve presses a hand to his chest, as if to ask: who, me?

And then he crosses the fingers of one hand, tucks it behind his back, and waves them off with the other.

“I promise to keep my nose to myself,” Steve says. “Have fun.”

Billy wants to ask what Eddie’s baby is. Wants to nose around in Eddie’s bedroom like he nosed around in Steve’s house. Instead, he shifts the gear into drive. Feels the way she revs up underneath him and the way Eddie’s arms tighten just a bit more around his torso, getting ready. He doesn’t hold Billy as tight as Steve, but he’s not shy about it.

Which is good. Because they’ll be going fast.

He pulls out of the park faster than he did with Steve. Doesn’t pause at the entry to the park. Just hits the blacktop and runs.

Behind him, Eddie is a long line of heat. He hoots in Billy’s ear as they rumble through the tree-lined roads and then break out through the treeline into the endless expanse of fields surrounding Hawkins.

By the time they get back, Steve is nowhere to be seen. His car is still parked next to the Mayfield trailer, but Steve isn’t in it or around it.

Billy wonders if maybe he’s inside watching TV with Max, but when they pull up, Eddie’s uncle is just heading out. He stops them on the dirt road, rolling to a slow stop in his pick-up, the window down as he hangs out to call over the idle of the bike’s engine.

“Let your friend into the place when he came begging for coffee,” he tells Eddie, whose hands are balanced at Billy’s shoulders as Billy holds them in place. “Looked like he needed some shut eye.”

Riding with Eddie had been just as exhilarating as riding with Steve– though for different, if not similar, reasons. Billy’s trying not to squint too hard at the parallels between the two, content to pass it off as the adrenaline rush from the ride. Eddie had even goaded him faster at one point, screaming down the road the whole time, fingers splayed out wide over Billy’s stomach, over the worst of his scarring.

The touch of him still lingers.

“Okay, thanks,” Eddie’s saying, but his eyes are darting for his trailer as he pats urgingly at Billy’s shoulder. “Let’s get this thing parked, huh?”

Billy half expected Eddie to clamber off the bike before then, but he stays on until Billy parks it and shuts off the engine.

The whole experience had been—more fun than Billy thought it would be.

Probably helped that Billy couldn’t talk the whole time they were out, couldn’t put his foot right in his own mouth. In silence, Billy’s safe with Eddie Munson. When he’s liable to talk, to ruin it for himself? That’s a different story entirely.

But he wants to keep some of that peace. That easiness between them. So once Eddie swings off the bike and Billy follows, Billy just sticks his hand out for Eddie’s helmet and starts wandering back over toward his chair.

“Good luck with Harrington. At this point, he’s probably been through all your drawers at least once.”

“Yeah, honestly, that kind of terrifies me,” Eddie says, already backing toward his trailer, a genuine worry pinching his brows. “Which means I really can’t go back and forth trying to convince you to come get high with us, so I think we should just skip that part and you should follow me. Who knows, I may need help exacting my revenge.”

Billy can’t help it. The ride loosened something in him. So he just grins and tosses the helmets in his chair.

“You make such a compelling argument, Munson,” he says, and follows in Eddie’s footsteps until he’s inside the Munson trailer and following Eddie to the back.

Eddie’s place isn’t much smaller than his, but the hall and the doorway are narrow things.

It means that Billy has to stay at Eddie’s back as they head to his room. It also means that, when Eddie opens the door and comes to a sudden halt, Billy runs right into him.

“What the fuck, Munson?”

Billy grunts, but his gaze is straying across the messy bedroom– posters and vinyl and an entire menagerie of weird figurines and books– to the bed where Steve Harrington is passed out under Billy’s jacket.

And dangling from one of his wrists, shiny and silver, are a pair of half undone handcuffs.

Billy’s thoughts screech to a halt. Television static rings in his head. His eyes catch on the silver and won’t let go, hooked like one of the fish in Lover’s Lake.

In the circle of the cuff, Steve’s wrist looks small, bony, delicate. His face probably looks relaxed in sleep—but Billy wouldn’t know. He can’t look away from Steve’s hand.

Billy is standing too close to Eddie, had been ready to take another step when Eddie stopped walking—but he doesn’t think he can move. Trapped. Caught.

Steve’s stuck in a pair of Eddie’s handcuffs. Eddie—has handcuffs.

The static in Billy’s head gets fucking louder.

“Um,” Eddie says, and his voice is so rough and so low that he has to clear his throat, blinking rapidly as he seems to force himself to look up at the ceiling of his own room, like Steve needs the modesty just for sleeping there– before caving an instant later and looking right back down at him, leg bouncing. “He’s, uhh– he’s out, so–”

On the bed, Steve sniffs and stirs.

Sure, maybe Billy should back up so that Eddie can back up, so they can go back out to the living room of the trailer, but Billy’s feet are stuck to the ground like glue.

He wants to ask Eddie why he has handcuffs. But there’s really only one answer to that question, when the handcuffs are in his bedroom.

“Yeah, I can fucking see that,” Billy whispers back.

In front of him, Eddie is warm. And just as statuesque as Billy. They’re both watching Steve with attention rapt.

Eddie elbows him clumsily, twisting slightly to hiss over his shoulder– but he’s sure as fuck not looking at Billy. “So we should let him sleep or– or some shit–”

On the bed, Steve groans a little. They both almost seem to refreeze, breathless in suspense, before Steve is tugging Billy’s jacket up and over his head, hiding his sleeping face beneath it.

Billy’s heart wrenches a little bit. He can no longer really see the glint of the cuff on Steve’s wrist, but now Steve is wrapped up in Billy’s jacket and sprawled out in a bed—and granted, it’s not Billy’s bed, but his brain doesn’t seem to care about that.

“Yeah,” Billy whispers. “We should—uh—”

It takes him a second, probably too fucking long, but finally, Billy’s tearing his eyes away from Steve and looking at Eddie. Who is still staring at Steve. And looking like Billy feels.

Any question Billy had is gone. Shot straight out the window.

Eddie stumbles a step back into him, and it’s enough to jerk Billy out of his stupor. He gets a hand fisted at the back of Eddie’s shirt, jaw winding tight as he steps back out the door and hauls Eddie backward after him.

Eddie hisses, hopping a bit, scrambling for the door so that he can shut it on the sight of Steve Harrington’s hair sticking out messily under worn leather. So that he can block them both from the sight of it.

They don’t go far, Billy jerking to a stop once the door has shut with a quiet click. But his hand is still fisted in the back of Eddie’s shirt. But Eddie’s hands are both still on the doorknob, like he can’t quite let go. But Billy is swallowing around his want like it might choke him. But even over the pounding rush of his own blood in his ears, he can hear how heavy Eddie is breathing.

Well fuck, Billy thinks.

Eddie’s shirt is soft in the clench of his fist. And a little sweaty from their time on the bike. Slowly, slowly, Billy makes himself let go. Even though he feels like he might drift away without that anchor.

“Handcuffs, huh?” Billy says to Eddie’s back. Because it’s either that or Steve Harrington, huh? and Billy’s not ready to tackle that one head-on just yet.

Eddie spins around to face him, one finger up, like he’s warning Billy– or like he needs a minute– and then he’s dragging the other one over his pale, stunned face with a low groan. That finger moves, pointing blindly at Billy– like an accusation– before he drops both hands with an agitated jerk.

His eyes are dark and hard on Billy’s face.

Then, he’s sliding forward a step. Then he’s catching Billy by the wrist.

“We,” he says, that finger back to point between the two of them. “Are getting high. Right now.”

Eddie forces himself past Billy without waiting for him to answer, grip unyielding at his wrist as he tugs Billy around after him– and Billy lets him. Doesn’t think he could stop him, not with his legs feeling like soft rubber.

Billy’s only complaint—not that he’d voice it—is that once Eddie lets go of his wrist, Billy feels adrift in the Munson living room.

That feeling only goes away when they’re seated next to each other on a very worn couch, Eddie already breathing in a lungful of smoke from a blunt he procured from somewhere in the trailer.

Their fingers brush as Eddie passes him the blunt. Billy doesn’t even flinch. How could he, when Eddie’s such a kindred spirit?

He doesn’t have any words. So he just sits next to Eddie and smokes. Eddie isn’t faring much better, staring forward blindly as they pass the blunt back and forth. The only sound is the ticking of a clock mounted on the far wall. The occasional barking dog outside.

Then, once they’ve burned nearly completely through the blunt, Eddie slumps back on the couch with a sigh. His chin tucked against his chest. His hands over his belly, rings glinting in the light, fingers laced and thumbs spinning around each other in an endless loop. He tilts his head over, but he’s still staring forward at the entrance to the hallway.

Billy is too.

“I didn’t actually think he’d go nosing around my room,” he eventually says, voice quiet, like he’s scared he’ll wake up Steve from even out here.

Billy looks back and then finds his eyes caught on Eddie’s rings. On his fingers, all long and lean. Billy thinks he might be jealous of a couple of them. That’s gotta be it.

“He’s a fucking menace,” Billy says. “Dunno how you didn’t expect that.”

The weed has at least taken the edge off his anxiety. Has eased him into at least a general comfort in this moment.

Eddie’s thumbs keep circling each other, his stomach flexing as he breathes out a dry laugh. He shakes his head, kissing his teeth.

“Yeah, a real fuckin’ menace,” Eddie says, eyes still locked forward. “That your jacket he’s sporting?”

Billy’s too high to lie. Too high to think better of just—letting his guard down. Because Eddie looked at Steve like Billy looked at Steve. And Eddie’s still looking, even though there’s a whole trailer between them.

“It sure fucking is,” Billy says on an exhale.

It feels—it feels so good, not having his walls all reinforced like they usually are. It feels good, not having to think about it.

Eddie is nodding this time. Breathing slow. He makes a face, like he’s about to regret what he’s about to say, but he says it anyway.

“He looked good in it.”

Billy’s breath cuts short. Caught in his throat. He’s never—talked about this shit. Not like this. Everything’s always been—a scramble. A fumble in a back room. Something kept hushed. He feels something inside him just. Go soft. Melt.

Something in his eyes– burns.

He drags his eyes from Eddie’s hands to his face, watching him watch the hallway. His chest aches.

Billy huffs out a breath. Almost a laugh. “He sure fucking did.”

Eddie snorts, and there’s a grin spreading over his face, a dazed glaze to his eyes. One of his legs has started to bounce again.

“Fuck,” he says, breathing out hard and then shaking his head as he works his jaw around a low laugh. “How’d you fuckin’ swing that?”

Billy laughs. Because there isn’t anything else to do.

It’s like a release, the floodgates all opening at once. He dissolves into a fit of giggles, only barely keeping himself upright. Only barely keeping himself from collapsing against Eddie’s side.

“Get this,” Billy says between laughs. “He wanted to. Practically asked for it himself. Was all concerned.”

Eddie’s hands are uncrossed, and he’s clutching at his gut with one as he smacks Billy’s knee with the back of the other. He’s laughing hard, loud and long and belly deep. He has to bend over his own knees as he wheezes through a reply.

“He– Shit, Dustin said he–” Eddie coughs, twisting to look at Billy as he straightens out, as he laughs against the back of a hand. “Said he took first aide classes at the fuckin’ rec– he’s such a fuckin’ mom, California.”

Eddie’s face is red, still all caught up in the mirth of the moment. The edges of his hair lining his face are sweaty from the helmet. His eyes are dark and wide, pupils blown.

Billy thinks, for a ghost of a moment, that he’s never looked so attractive. So touchable. So real.

Which is something else entirely. So far out of left field that it knocks Billy for a loop.

He looks at Eddie for a long beat, and then another fit of giggles takes him.

They end up falling into one another as their hysterics carry on. Eddie is clutching at his own chest, tears at the corners of his eyes. He’s got an arm draped heavy over Billy’s shoulders, and Billy has to brace his hand on Eddie’s knee at some point when he nearly chokes on his own breath.

There are no words. Billy has never felt so light.

By the time they’ve settled down, Eddie has slid down to the floor in front of the couch with his legs sprawled out before him. Billy has his head in his hands, thumb working at the joint in his jaw, face aching.

Eddie’s voice is rough when he finally speaks again. Worn from their shared relief. Their joined glee.

“We’re stupid, stupid men, Billy Hargrove,” he says.

Billy half wishes Eddie were still next to him, clutching at Billy like it was all so simple. But it’s easier, he thinks, having Eddie at his feet. A breath away. Not quite so touchable. Not quite so dangerous.

“Sure are,” Billy says, but then he continues on, nudging Eddie with his knee, prodding the warmth that is Eddie Munson from a safe distance. “But I at least I didn’t leave handcuffs out in my bedroom for Harrington to find, so.”

Eddie presses his face into his hands with a hilariously embarrassed noise, half frustrated and half amused, before he drops them to his own lap with a smack. “I was, like, a fraction of a second away from asking you to leave.”

Billy doesn’t have time to think about the fact that Eddie’s flailing borders on adorable before his face is twisting up in confusion, his soupy brain trying to catch up to what Eddie just said.

“When? Before we got into the trailer, or after you found him—like that?”

He shoves Eddie again with his leg, this time a little bit harder.

Twisting around to face him, Eddie props an elbow onto the couch cushion, planting his hand in his palm as his brows shoot sky high. Stares up at Billy’s frowning face for a long second before he’s clicking his tongue and leaning closer.

“Oh, California, come on,” he says, voice low with disbelief, batting at Billy’s knee with the back of his hand. “There wasn’t a fraction of a moment where you thought about just– shoving me out of my own door? Shutting it behind you? Just for a chance alone with him all soft like that?”

Billy’s brain goes staticy again. It’s the combination of that idea, that temptation—and Eddie leaning close. Eddie getting it.

Billy laughs again, but he doesn’t feel any real mirth, no joy. It’s just a laugh of relief.

“In your bed? Not ideal, but—” Billy says, trailing off.

He’s never talked about this before. Not like this, not so easily—if he could even call this easy.

Billy’s leg stays pressed up against Eddie’s side, even as Billy works at the side of his lip with his teeth, trying to drag some thoughts back into his head. Something other than Steve in Eddie’s bed, that is.

“In your jacket,” Eddie grunts with a roll of his eyes. “You have any idea how hard it is to get that guy to wear something that isn’t from a foreign catalog?”

Billy snorts.

“It’s probably all my good taste,” Billy says. “Beggars can’t be choosers, Munson. He looks good in it– enjoy it while it lasts.”

“I’m not arguing the fact that he looks good in it,” Eddie replies, eyes straying to the hallway once more, gesturing to it with a wide swing of his hand. “He looks good in nothing. That’s not the issue here.”

He says issue, but the funny part is that there isn’t one at all. That they’re both right in the same stupid little boat, paddling toward Steve Harrington like he’s a light on a distant shore. That they were both, for at least a minute, completely wrecked just by the sight of him sleeping.

Billy shoves at Eddie again. He wants to grab him by the hair and shake him. “Fuck, are you jealous? He’s wearing your fucking handcuffs, Munson. I can’t fucking believe you.”

Eddie is laughing again as his dark eyes fall back to Billy. There’s something satisfied there, like this is an expected outcome he had been waiting for. But there’s relief too– a softness that Billy doesn’t think he’s been on the receiving end of before.

“I had him in my denim vest during the apocalypse,” Eddie says, like he’s trying to trump Billy’s leather jacket. “Granted, it was because he was all fucked up from evil demon bats, but I still got him in it.”

“See? Why are you even complaining?” Billy asks.

Because when it all comes down to it, they both know who would win out between the two of them in a battle for Steve Harrington—and it certainly isn’t the guy who knocked him unconscious two years ago.

Billy breathes out a laugh. “Complaining, and he’s in your fucking bed. Jesus.”

Eddie’s head sways back and forth as he groans, shoulders shaking when he laughs again. “Stop mentioning that he’s in my bed.”

“Shit, sorry,” Billy says, not sounding or feeling very sorry at all. “Is that inconvenient for you, Munson?”

“Inconvenient is a word for it,” Eddie says. “Frustrating is another. There’s a couple others buzzing around– I think they might be blue balls.”

Billy snorts again. “Yeah, I fucking hear that.”

Sleeping isn’t easy as it is. He can’t imagine how difficult it would be if his pillows smelled like Steve. If he had the mental image of Steve all soft and sprawled out in his bed.

Billy leans back on the couch and closes his eyes, tearing his gaze away from Munson. He keeps his leg where it is, if only because moving it would be too much work.

“Guess you just have to deal with it,” Billy says, letting himself float in the blackness behind his eyelids.

“Yeah,” he hears Eddie sigh, and then he feels his fingers drum against the toe of his boot. “Yeah, guess so.”

A quiet falls between them again. Much like the one that had stifled them, when they had first sat down in a daze on Eddie’s couch. It is, however, softer. Kinder.

Billy drifts, for just a little while. Head tipped back against Eddie’s couch, breath slow, heart still beating hard– but not pounding, not fluttering like a frightened animal. He can feel Eddie pressed to the side of his leg. He can feel Eddie’s fingers drumming against his boot– picking at his laces. It’s grounding. Anchoring. Nice.

Then, down the hall in Eddie’s room, he hears bed springs creak. Hears socked feet pad across a carpeted floor. Hears the door crack open.

When he blinks his eyes open, Steve is already standing in the entry to the hallway, a bemused little smile on his face, sleep mussed and with Billy’s jacket folded over his right arm, clutched in front of his chest– hiding that handcuff around his wrist behind it.

“You guys been back long?” he asks.

Billy can’t look away from Steve. He looks so fucking soft, softer than he did all curled up in Eddie’s bed. There are creases on his cheeks and his eyes are bright with rest.

“A while,” Billy says. At the same time as Eddie says, “Not long.”

Eddie swats at Billy’s ankle.

Then he juts his chin forward, eyes on Billy’s jacket. “Whatcha hiding there, Stevie?”

The dusting of pink across his cheeks and nose just adds to the entire look. Like a dream just walked out of Eddie Munson’s bedroom.

“I, uh,” Steve shifts on his feet. “I snooped around and am currently suffering the consequences of my actions?”

“Uh huh,” Eddie’s head bobs, but he slings his arm over the top of one of Billy’s thighs, leaning against it as deft fingers drum against Billy’s shin through the denim of his jeans. “And what kind of consequences are we talking about?”

Billy thinks that he could kiss Eddie Munson.

Or something like it, anyway. Because when he sees the flush that darkens over Steve’s cheeks and ears, Billy’s whole chest goes warm. His eyes catch on that flush, that embarrassment. He wants to lick it up, wants to taste the heat on Steve’s skin.

Billy stays real still. Real quiet. But he can’t keep the grin off his face, the delight in the situation—and from the weed—filling him with absolute glee.

“Um,” Steve’s mouth presses thin, and then he’s lifting his left hand slowly, wincing as the free cuff swings from the one clasped tight around his wrist. “Should I start contemplating amputation?”

The metal of the cuff jingles in the quiet after Steve’s words.

And then Billy giggles. Just a little bit. He can’t help it. And then he’s gripping at Eddie’s arm, the one that’s draped over his leg, like that’s going to help him keep it together.

Steve Harrington, caught in Eddie Munson’s sex handcuffs.

Billy wonders if Steve knows what they are.

He wonders, head spinning, if Eddie’s used them before.

His grip on Eddie’s arm goes a little bit tighter, but his giggling dies down. Eddie pats at his calf like he’s trying to reassure him, but he’s still grinning, the look a dreadfully wicked one as he stares up at Steve.

“Now, I don’t know about amputation,” Eddie drawls, gesturing lazily at Steve and the handcuff dangling from his wrist with his other hand. “But if you ask me real nice, I might find it in my heart to go look for the key.”

Steve’s head drops back as he lets his hands fall to his sides, Billy’s jacket still held carefully over his right arm, groaning up at Eddie’s ceiling. “C’mon, I didn’t know they were real.”

Eddie scoffs, and his fingers have slipped to curl around Billy’s calf, squeezing at the back of his ankle. “You didn’t know they were real?”

Steve’s eyes are wide and a little wild when he looks back down at them, gesturing at his own cuffed hand with his free one, face so red, voice pitched a little high. “Why would you have real ones? I thought they were those trick cuffs, and I’ve never been handcuffed before, so I tried it!”

Billy clenches his teeth around an actual laugh before he leans forward and asks, “Hey Munson, you do a lot of magic with those cuffs?”

His grin is wide and cheshire-like, and the absolute and sheer joy he feels right now feels unbridled.

Eddie arches a brow up at him, but his grin is just getting bigger. “What, do I look like Harry Houdini to you?”

Eddie’s hand on his ankle feels hot. Like a brand.

Billy makes a show of thinking about it. Finally, he settles on: “Not quite.”

Steve coughs to their side, looking between the two of them. “Sorry, did I miss something?”

Eddie turns that toothy grin of his back on Steve. He doesn’t make to move. Doesn’t even flinch.

“California and I did some bonding,” he says. “I think we’re best friends now.”

Steve blinks. “How long was I asleep?”

“You’re trying to change the subject,” Eddie replies. “But I promise those handcuffs aren’t going anywhere without a key.”

“Or a bone saw,” Steve quips.

“You saved the world how many times?” Billy asks. “And you’re catastrophizing over some handcuffs?”

Billy realizes with a strange jolt that he doesn’t want Eddie to move, to remove himself from the drape he’s got going over Billy’s leg. But that realization is enough to bring Billy a little clarity, to have him sobering up, just a little bit.

“You should put him out of his misery,” Billy says with a little shake of his leg. “Go get that key, Munson.”

Eddie grimaces up at him, mouth pressed and crooked, a look in his eye that says: oh, come on.

“You are absolutely my new favorite metalhead,” Steve says, pleased and relieved.

“Fickle,” Billy says with a tsk.

Because while he obviously preens with pride at the sentiment, he knows exactly how that must make Eddie feel. Billy shrugs, then.

“Or make him suffer a little bit,” he says to Eddie. “Up to you.”

Steve scoffs.

Billy grips once more at Eddie’s arm, gives it a little squeeze.

“Say, Munson,” Billy says, all nice and sweet. “Why do you have a pair of handcuffs?”

Billy grins at Eddie. And then sticks out his tongue and gives it a little waggle.

Steve must recognize that look– the deviousness Billy only really let loose on him when they were on the basketball court back at Hawkins High– because he stiffens in place. His face is already ruddy, blush only growing as the implication lands home, color spreading to his ears and down his neck.

Eddie squeezes at his ankle, jostling himself into Billy’s leg. “That’s a good question, California.”

Steve looks like he wants to vibrate right out of his own skin. “Don’t–”

“Stevie, do you know why I have those handcuffs?” Eddie continues, leaning forward a bit, eyes keen and a little mean on where Steve is practically squirming in place. “I could always show you–”

“Please take your weird sex handcuffs off of me,” Steve blurts in a rush, face on fire, shoving his wrist out in front of himself and looking a bit like he’d like to just bolt out the door.

A hundred jokes flit through Billy’s head—but he remembers the way Steve looked at him in the kitchen last week. The way he had told Billy that he shouldn’t joke about Eddie like that. In hindsight, Billy knows well and truly that it wasn’t a joke, wouldn’t be, but he doesn’t want to make Steve frown again.

The embarrassed squirming isn’t something he wants to lose.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have put on Munson’s weird sex handcuffs, pretty boy,” Billy says.

And Billy can’t help himself before he keeps talking. He wants to know. Has to know.

“The question is: does Munson even use them enough to know where the key is?”

Eddie clicks his tongue, giving a little shrug. “I mean, it has been a while. You might be stuck like that for a hot minute, Stevie boy.”

The urge to flee must be overwhelming. Steve is looking almost longingly at the door.

His leg is even bouncing.

“I could always go find Hopper,” Steve says.

Eddie snorts. “You wanna explain how you got yourself in those handcuffs to the ex-chief of police?”

He whistles, long and low. Steve glares down at him, but it’s venomless. He’s too flush, too worked up by the conversation. It’s got no teeth or claws.

“I wouldn’t have to tell him the truth,” Steve insists. “It’s not like he’d suspect that they were–”

“Weird sex handcuffs?” Eddie chimes in.

Steve closes his eyes, fists clenching at his sides.

Billy owes Eddie for this. He really does. Eddie’s been keeping Steve flushed and embarrassed and frustrated for long enough that it feels like a treat– an over-indulgence. It’s a goddamn present, all wrapped up in a bow, just for Billy Hargrove.

Well. And definitely for Eddie too.

“Maybe if you asked real nice,” Billy drawls. “Munson might consider it. Isn’t that right, Munson?”

“I’m a nice guy,” Eddie says. “It could happen.”

Steve’s head droops between his shoulders. He heaves out a great sigh, like any energy that catnap he took on Eddie’s bed had given him has already been used up just standing there.

Then, he looks up, schooling his features the best that he can as he holds out his wrist again.

“Please take your weird sex handcuffs off of me,” he says again, slower and more pointed than the frazzled rush from before, and then he adds, “Please. With a fucking cherry on top.”

Billy tsks. “I think you can do better than that, pretty boy. Put a little enthusiasm in it.”

Eddie better fucking appreciate this, Billy thinks. Because sure, Billy’s winning out here too, but he’s not getting Steve to look all pretty and ask him all nice to help him out.

Steve huffs, and he reaches up to pinch at the bridge of his nose– wincing back when the loose cuff knocks into his chin.

That seems to be the final straw– because Steve is looking at his own wrist, is glancing at where the two of them are hanging off one another and delighting in his ribbing, is letting his gaze dart to the front door again.

Because then Steve is darting for that door.

Eddie is lurching to his feet with a shout, lunging to catch Steve before he can make it more than a few paces and tackling him down onto the carpet. Billy feels cold without him, but there’s barely time for him to think about that, because—

“Eddie, goddamn it–” Steve is shoving at him, Billy’s jacket discarded for his kicking and squirming. “Get off of me–”

“Aw, Stevie, don’t go,” Eddie is laughing, and it really is like he’s an octopus with the way he seems to latch on everytime Steve manages to pry one hand off. “We’re just teasing–”

Steve grunts, getting one of his socked feet on Eddie’s shoulder as he drags himself out from under him, trying to keep him back. “I’m not a fucking wind up toy–”

“California, help me out here,” Eddie says, and steals Steve’s sock when he catches at his ankle and Steve tries to yank away. “I can’t let Stevie walk outta here with my weird sex handcuffs, can I?”

“Sure can’t,” Billy says.

And then he’s shoving himself up and off the couch, still feeling high.

It’s what gives him the courage to pad over to them. Billy stoops down to wrangle Steve around his middle, scooping him up and throwing him over his shoulder. Holding him by the legs. Which only works because Eddie helps out and lets go, allowing Billy to pick Steve up.

It’s easy, considering Billy’s strength, even though Steve’s gotta be pretty solidly muscle. Even though he only filled out more in the time Billy was unconscious. Billy’s never really tested it out before. Not like this.

Eddie whistles.

“Got you a present, Munson,” Billy says.

Steve’s fingers are clutching and scrambling at the back of his shirt, arching as he squirms from his spot dangling over Billy’s shoulder. A knee nearly catches him in the gut.

“Oh, c’mon, this is–” Steve’s voice wobbles, a little yelp jolting out of him when Billy jostles him into better place. “This is just ridiculous–”

“I knew I was a good boy this year, but really,” Eddie says as he pushes to his feet. “How’s it hanging back there, Stevie?”

“I fucking hate you,” Steve replies.

But even now, he doesn’t sound mad. Just resigned.

Steve is a good weight in Billy’s arms. A nice one. And he probably shouldn’t be holding Steve right now—they’re not close, they’re not good friends. But Billy’s high and Eddie’s spent the better part of the last hour being close to Billy in one way or another, so it ends up just feeling right. Easy.

Billy turns to look at Eddie, mouths a you better thank me later, and then takes the few long strides it takes to get back to Eddie’s room—with Eddie in tow, of course.

Once Eddie’s in the room, Billy hoists Steve around and tosses him on the bed. Watches him bounce off the mattress, eyes all big and surprised, hair a mess.

And as much as Billy tells himself that it was a treat for Eddie, that was the most self-indulgent thing Billy could have done. And it was worth it.

“Now, where’s that key?” Billy says, voice a little rougher than before.

He’s trying not to push their luck too far past Steve’s breaking point.

Propped on his elbows, sprawled sloppily back on that same bed that started off this whole fever dream of an afternoon, Steve glares up at the both of them. That blush of his has spread down beneath the collar of his shirt.

For a dizzying second, Billy thinks that this might be a mistake. But then Eddie is clapping a hand to his back as he sidles up, so fucking pleased that its infectious. So delighted in the face of Steve’s embarrassment that the fear Billy feels is so momentary, it’s barely a blip on the radar.

“It’s around here somewhere,” Eddie says.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Well, now you’re just being a dick.”

Billy laughs, leaning his hip up against Eddie’s set of drawers.

“Yeah, that’s it. Munson looks real organized.” Billy looks around the room, at the piles of shit and clutter everywhere.

Steve’s gaze seems to follow the same path Billy’s takes because then he flops back and covers his face with both hands, groaning. His words are muffled, but they can both clearly make them out.

“I’m gonna be stuck like this for a month.”

“Nah, it’s not that bad,” Eddie tells him, bending over to pat at his knee. “I’ll have you out of them in a week at the latest.”

Billy hopes that Eddie is savoring this like really nice weed. The sight of Steve Harrington in his bed should be a treasured thing. Once in a lifetime, except it’s been twice in one day. Billy deserves a medal for making it happen again.

The only thing better, Billy thinks–

Without any warning, Billy huffs out a laugh and launches himself onto the bed too.

When Steve gives an indignant squawk, scrambling to make some space between them and looking at Billy with confusion, Billy just grins. Makes himself comfortable in a loose sprawl, arms crossed behind his head. Body a long line in Eddie’s bed right next to Steve.

“If it’s gonna be a while, I might as well be comfortable. Right, Munson?”

And then Billy tosses Eddie a wink.

The look on Eddie’s face gives him a moment of pause. His dark eyes, a brown so deep Billy has thought them black, catch in the dim light of the room like a bottomless sea. His head cants, gaze a physical touch, practically burning as he looks over the sight of Billy in his bed with Steve.

For the very first time, Billy thinks that Eddie Munson looks dangerous.

“Isn’t that a sight,” he says, crossing his arms as he leans a hip against the footboard of the bed, fingers a flex over his own biceps like he’s trying to keep himself from reaching out to touch. “Two of Hawkins’ most eligible bachelors in my bed.”

“Fuck off, Eddie,” Steve sighs.

Billy should probably have known better than to throw himself into Eddie Munson’s bed with Steve, but he didn’t think it would land him like this- unable to tear his eyes away from Eddie, not Steve.

Billy’s heart feels so far up his throat he fears he might choke on it.

“You gonna get those keys, Munson?” Billy makes himself ask, words heavy and hot on his tongue. He needs something, anything to focus on but his sudden feeling of imbalance. “Or are you just gonna keep staring?”

“I think I’ll keep staring,” Eddie says, but he’s laughing as Steve moves to kick at his thigh. “Alright, alright– slow your roll, I’m looking for the key.”

He steps away, hands raised, head ducked a bit like he’s trying to look meek.

But his eyes are too dark for that. His smile too wide and too satisfied.

“Relax, Stevie boy. Stay a while,” Eddie adds, backing away, shooting a wink at Billy. “I’ll have you out of my weird sex handcuffs in no time.”

And just like magic, Steve’s features take on that lovely pink hue again.

And then he looks at Billy, face pinched in exasperation. “Can you believe this guy?”

Billy can. And Steve has no fucking idea.

He feels so warm. Like maybe he’s blushing a little bit too.

“Better get comfortable,” Billy says.

He even gives a performative little stretch.

Steve, propped on his elbows, blinks down at him for a moment. His gaze darts, skirting down along the length of Billy’s body. It has his skin raising– a sensation like electricity sparking along his nerves, scalp tingling.

He can hear Eddie rummaging around. It sounds so far away all of a sudden.

Then, when Steve meets his eyes again, he arches a brow and lifts his left hand, metal clicking as he gives it a little shake, voice dry as he says, “You’re way too okay with this, you know that?”

“I’m not the one in Munson’s weird sex handcuffs,” Billy says.

“Careful, California,” Eddie says with a waggle of his tongue. “The other side is still free.”

With a defeated little grunt, Steve lets himself fall back against the bed. “Why do I feel like I knew this would happen? I should’ve never let you two hang out, all you’re doing is ganging up on me.”

“Oh, Stevie,” Eddie says, low and chiding and full of something like promise. “We haven’t even started.”

Billy’s head spins. He can’t help but look at Eddie like what the fuck. Because, what, is Eddie trying to kill him?

“Are you even looking?” Steve asks Eddie.

“Doubt it,” Billy says.

Eddie makes a show of opening up the top drawer of his dresser, sticking a hand in blindly to feel around for the key. “I’m taking this very seriously, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, you’re really breaking a sweat over there,” Steve grumbles. “I feel so reassured.”

“If you’re in need of some comfort, Billy is right there,” Eddie taunts.

Billy wants to hit Eddie Munson right over the back of his head. He also maybe wants to kiss him a little.

Because Steve’s looking at him, still flush and laid out right next to him on Eddie’s bed. His expression has softened into something dryly amused– like Steve has just given in to whatever chaos they’ve decided to stir up between them. Like he’s just decided to hang on for the ride.

And then, eyes locked on Billy’s, Steve calls over to Eddie. “Because he’s a big ol’ teddy bear, right?”

If Billy wants to survive this, Munson is going to have to get those keys fast. Or he’s liable to die of a stroke any second now.

“Munson,” Billy says, teeth gritted as he tears his eyes away from Steve’s.

“Can’t take the heat, Hargrove?” Eddie says; he opens another drawer, paws around in it, and closes it with a cheery, “Nope!”

“You’re really high, aren’t you?” Steve asks, blinking a few times and then pulling back a bit like he’s trying to double check. “Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you blush.”

Billy’s palms itch. He’s glad he’s got them tucked behind his head because he thinks that if they weren’t, he would be making a dangerous decision.

“There’s a heat wave,” he finally manages, throat working as Steve arches a dubious brow.

“There’s A/C,” Steve replies.

And then Eddie is making a triumphant sound, pulling the key from nowhere, holding it high. Saving Billy’s ass before the pressure cooks him alive.

Steve surges up, already holding out his hand for him. “Oh, thank fuck.”

“No, no,” Eddie wags a scolding finger, dangling the little key set from his other hand. “Thank Eddie.”

Steve swings his feet over the side of the bed, rolling his eyes. “Thank you, Eddie. Now get these off of me.”

If Billy were feeling more held together by anything other than sheer self-preservation at this point, he’d keep teasing, tell Steve that he barely even sounded like he meant it. But right now, Billy doesn’t think he can take it. That little circle of metal snaring Steve’s wrist is liable to cause his absolute downfall.

Billy should probably get up. Should push himself off of Eddie Munson’s bed. But he can only watch, attention caught like a wild thing, as Eddie takes those long fingers of his and holds Steve’s wrist tight, maneuvering it right in front of him like Steve wasn’t doing a good enough job holding it out.

And Billy could call him on it. Would call him on it. If he thought his tongue would work.

Eddie, because he’s Eddie, makes a show of it. A fucking performance. He’s gotta know which key on the ring is the one for the cuffs—how could he not?—but he tries every other one first, all while Steve pouts.

And Billy watches through it all, wondering when Munson’s hands started looking so nice.

chapter 8:

tell it to me slowly (tell you what i really want to know)

Billy isn’t a taxi service. Not like Harrington. So he doesn’t know how he got roped into driving Eddie Munson around on the back of his bike.

One minute, Eddie was smiling at him, all wide and expectant, and, well the next—Eddie’s arms are tight around his middle, the cornfields are flying past, and the wind is screaming in his ears.

Billy’s clearly a sucker. It’s the only explanation for how Eddie managed to convince Billy to take him out on the bike. Billy hadn’t exactly been avoiding Eddie since that evening in Eddie’s trailer—he’s just been busy. Hasn’t run into Eddie or Steve since.

But it’s the worst heat wave of the summer, Eddie’s A/C is out, and Billy gets it. It’s hot and the Indiana sun takes no prisoners. And Eddie made a real compelling argument for the lake that afternoon. And also offered to buy Billy a soda on the way.

So, after a pit-stop at the gas station and two bottles of coke getting warm in his bike’s panniers, they pull up at the lake. The same spot as last time—only no Steve.

“He’ll meet us here,” Eddie had promised.

Steve works until late, but it’s his monthly check in at the gate at the bottom of the lake, apparently. And Eddie doesn’t want to leave him to do it alone. Billy doesn’t know why he had to be a part of it too, other than as a shuttle for Eddie to get around, an excuse for Steve not to pick him up on the way.

They don’t have a fancy cooler or blankets this time. But that doesn’t stop Billy from dropping down into the sand to tug off his boots, shirt already long since discarded.

Eddie isn’t far behind him, kicking off his own shoes and stripping off a Misfits shirt filled with holes. His jeans are next, and he’s kicking out of them with a clumsy urgency. There’s sweat dampening his fringe, glistening on his skin, and he’s eyeing the water eagerly. Like he’s about five seconds from giving up on the sneaker he can’t quite get off to just dive straight in, hopping a bit as he has to finish tugging it off with a hand while his pants are halfway down his thighs. His tongue is sticking out at the corner of his mouth just from the apparent effort.

It’s almost comical, the way he finally strips down to his boxers and then takes off straight for the lake, getting only about knee deep before just collapsing into the water, scooping it up over his head. The heat is stifling.

Watching Eddie Munson twist around, knelt in the water and dripping, smile bright as he beckons Billy over, is even worse.

“C’mon, California, the water’s great,” he says.

“Anyone ever tell you you should be a stripper, Munson?” Billy says with a leer. “You’re so graceful.”

Eddie presses both hands to his chest, folding them over his heart, overdramatic as always. “You really know just the right thing to say to a fella.”

“What can I say, I’m a charmer,” Billy says.

Honestly, though, with his feet in the sand and sun warming his skin, Billy finds that watching Eddie in the water isn’t such a bad view.

Especially not when he pushes back to his feet– boxers clinging, pale legs invitingly long– and begins wading deeper into the lake. He only turns around when he’s waist deep, slapping at the water with a hand, like he might be able to reach Billy on shore.

“Seriously, are you actually gonna stay out there in the sun?” he asks, genuinely baffled. “It’s blistering, California. Come cool down before you cook.”

“Jesus, keep your panties on,” Billy says.

He makes a show of pushing himself up, hands in the hot sand. He tries not to think too hard about how he strips off his pants – he just knows he does it smoother than Eddie.

And then Billy’s kicking them off, chugging the remainder of his soda, and is wading out into the water to join Eddie.

“Happy now?”

“Elated,” Eddie tells him, and he sounds like he actually means it. “See? Isn’t this nicer than roasting on the shore?”

He’s wading chest deep now, dipping his head back to get his hair wet and then shaking it out. Not for the first time, Billy is reminded of an eager puppy dog.

Billy watches him for a second, soaking it in. The view isn’t half bad, especially up close. And then Billy whoops out a shout and dives into the water and goes straight for Eddie’s legs.

Billy gets his arms around those limbs and then hauls Eddie upward to tip him. To drag him under the water with Billy. He can hear Eddie squawk, just before Billy pulls him down. They grapple, very briefly, under the surface– but then Eddie is shoving up, gasping and laughing as they both emerge.

He’s instantly slapping another wave of water into Billy’s face, blinding him to get the upper hand. He uses Billy’s flinch to get his hands on Billy’s shoulders, using his weight to push him down, down, down–

Billy gets an arm around his waist to yank him down with him.

“Ah, shit–!” Eddie manages, just before Billy’s bringing them back down into the lake again.

They go back and forth like that for a while. Longer, probably, than they really should. But Billy’s not stopping and Eddie’s not telling him to– all too happy to fuck around until they’re both too breathless to continue.

Eddie’s hanging off the rickety ladder on the floating dock, wiping water from his face, flush and grinning, hair a mess. Billy half floats, half treads a few feet away, breathing just as heavy as Eddie, chest filled to the brim with something he can only call joy.

“You know,” Eddie says, pinching his nose for a second and sniffing, still blinking water out of his face. “That strength of yours is really something.”

The warm joy coursing through Billy’s veins goes a little cold. Going from lava to ice.

“I work out,” Billy says, giving Eddie one of his more flirtatious grins. “Thanks for noticing.”

The thing is—Billy doesn’t work out. Hasn’t, since everything. Sometimes he runs. Or swims. Just to have something to do. But he doesn’t need to work out to be stronger than he’s ever been before.

Eddie makes a face, chin dipping, eyes dubious. “That’s the second time you’ve lied to my face at this lake. I’m trying not to let it hurt my feelings that you don’t want to tell me about your super powers. Your sister has already told all of her friends about that rapid healing of hers.”

When Billy stares at him, stricken, Eddie looks a little uncertain.

“What? Dustin has a big mouth,” he says.

“Fuck,” Billy says.

He feels a bit adrift, and he can’t do anything else other than swim up to the dock, to grab ahold of that, too. Close to Eddie but not quite touching him.

“Fuck,” he says again, this time with more feeling. “You’re fucking– impossible. You know that, right?”

Nothing like Billy ever expected.

Eddie just grins at him again, chin tilting up, practically preening. “I take your breath away, California?”

Billy kicks out at Eddie with a foot. It hits his shin and then disconnects, and Billy is left alone again.

“Thinking awfully high of yourself, Munson,” Billy says.

But it’s—true. As much as Billy half hates to admit it. Munson is like a fucking fungus—growing on him until he doesn’t know what to do with himself, overgrown and overtaken.

“It’s all those years of hanging on at the fringes,” Eddie replies. “Made me irresistible. Dark, mysterious Eddie Munson– I could do without the possible cult leader bit some people still buy into, but I take what I can get.”

Billy laughs. He supports himself with an elbow on the dock and lazily kicks his feet, feeling the cool water pass over his skin. The sun’s just starting to dip closer to the horizon, the most oppressing heat of the day subsiding to something warm and mellow, not overwhelming.

“Jesus,” Billy says, breathing out. “You’re the first person who—”

And then Billy stops. Because Eddie’s the first person for him for at least two things. Which is—laughable, to say the least.

“Asked about my super-strength,” Billy says.

When he really means: knows about my horrendous crush on straight-boy Steve Harrington.

“I knew it!” Eddie whoops victoriously, pumping both hands into the air–

And incidentally losing his hold on the dock, instantly sinking below the surface with a splash.

Billy is too busy laughing to expect the hand around his wrist. But he thinks that he shouldn’t be surprised when Eddie yanks him under.

It doesn’t quite start another round of shoving each other, but Billy does splash him at just the perfect time to leave him sputtering once they’ve surfaced again.

“I fuckin’– I knew something was fishy,” Eddie is grinning as he swims back over to the ladder, hauling himself up and out so that he can sit at the edge of the float, his legs a dangle in the water. “Damn. So tell me about your super-strength, hotshot.”

Billy is—so much closer to him than before. Supporting himself with an arm hung over the dock right next to where Eddie’s hauled himself out, Eddie’s leg up against his chest. The connection feels good, keeping him grounded and anchored, now that he’s practically alone in the water.

“Shit,” Billy says. “There isn’t much to say. It’s there. Nothing—huge. Just. It’s there.”

He looks up at the sky and sees the beginnings of stars. On the horizon, there are clouds—maybe even storm clouds, looming by the trees to the east, shrouded in the darkness of the setting sun.

Billy laughs, kind of humorless, as he rests his chin against his own arm, looking up at the way the sunset silhouettes Eddie’s smile. “Maybe I could win some strongman competitions, but that’s it.”

“Still,” Eddie whistles, knee nudging into his chest. “Impressive party trick. A skill like that could come in handy.”

Billy laughs, though there isn’t much joy in it. “Not a lot of fights I need to win, these days.”

Though it does help him, sometimes—when he can’t sleep at night, when he’s afraid that something’s going to come after him again. Be it something from the Upside Down or government agents. At least next time, Billy will have a fighting chance.

Billy lets out a sigh. “You sure you didn’t get some superpowers from that place? Because you’ve gotten more outta me than—”

Billy trails off.

“Anybody else?” Eddie asks, leaning down, his elbows on his thighs, dark hair dripping over one shoulder. “I just have one of those faces that makes people wanna open up. No special trick there.”

He’s teasing, so Billy smacks the back of his hand against his knee.

“No,” Eddie continues, chuckling a bit. “It would be great if I had some Dracula shit, but I’m afraid the super power train missed me. I’m not hypnotizing you into telling me anything, California. We just have an awful lot in common.”

Billy snorts.

“Bad taste in men,” he says.

And—god, the relief that comes with those words. He isn’t drunk, but he can’t quite stop himself from tipping his head forward and resting his forehead on Eddie’s knee, just for a second.

Because Eddie knows how it feels to be in love with Steve Harrington. To lie awake, sleepless at night, caught on thoughts of those pretty eyes. And then Billy laughs, wrapping his fingers around Eddie’s ankle.

“Such fucking bad taste,” Billy mutters.

“Umm,” Eddie says, in that snooty way teacher’s pets always did when someone finally answered wrong. “Actually we have great taste in men. I mean, have you seen him?”

And then Eddie Munson’s fingers are in his hair. Gentle, just patting, but he lets it rest heavy over Billy’s crown, thumb drawing back and forth just above his ear.

“Besides,” Eddie adds. “I’m not convinced he’s totally straight.”

The touch makes Billy melt. He feels like he’d be half-liable to drown, if he wasn’t holding onto Eddie’s leg so tight, if he wasn’t propped up on him in a way he really should be embarrassed of.

“Fucking optimist,” Billy spits out.

But he can’t sound all that mad, not when Eddie’s fingers—those fucking fingers—are scraping over his scalp in a way that makes his thoughts turn to absolute mush.

But it’s not bad. It’s—so good. The water is cool and the air and Eddie’s hands are so warm.

“He’s so pretty,” Billy grouses. “It’s fucked up.”

Eddie hums in quiet commiseration. His painted nails are blunt, but when they drag over his scalp, they feel divine. Like heaven sent.

“You, uh…” Eddie huffs, like he can’t believe he’s about to ask whatever it is he’s about to ask. “You ever get to catch sight of him in that sailor uniform from Scoops Ahoy?”

Billy isn’t sure he’s even on earth right now. His thoughts feel elsewhere, Eddie’s touch transcending him through time and space.

He huffs out a laugh, letting himself go more relaxed. “Saw him in the locker room. And somehow, that uniform was more.”

More what? Billy doesn’t exactly know. But his fingers tighten around Eddie’s ankle and his eyes go totally shut.

He just lets himself drift for a bit, thinking of Steve in that stupid uniform. And how all Billy wanted to do that summer was sidle up to the counter of Scoops and ask for an ice cream. He’d never gotten the chance.

“Damn shame he got rid of that thing,” Eddie tsks, then taps his thumb all gentle at his temple. “You still with me, California?”

When Billy grunts, Eddie huffs again.

“Good. Can’t have you drownin’ on me,” Eddie says. “I don’t have one of those hot little red numbers. You’d be shit outta luck.”

Billy’s thoughts feel slow as molasses– easy as pie. The evening and his mind feel syrupy, and he can’t even blame it on drugs or alcohol, just on the waning adrenaline and the feeling of Eddie’s nails carding over his scalp.

“Fuck you,” Billy mumbles. “You’d give Harrington mouth-to-mouth.”

He knows.

He imagined it, the other day while they were at the pool. He finally tilts his head up, cheek resting on the outside of Eddie’s knee as he looks up at the way Eddie is silhouetted against the darkening sky.

“You really think he’s not totally straight?”

The disbelief is palpable, unignorable, in his words. It makes Eddie frown a little, fingers pressing a little firmer– digging in and chasing away tension.

It makes Billy feel stupid. He can’t remember when he was last touched like this. Doesn’t actually know if he ever was.

There’s care in Eddie’s touch. Warmth. A kindness so long forgotten that Billy has to close his eyes or risk tears falling. It’s so good.

“Oh, California,” he mutters, stroking through Billy’s hair. “You haven’t seen the way he looks at you when you aren’t looking at him.”

Billy goes still. The water holds him like an embrace, like an old and trusted friend. Which he needs.

He tightens his grip on Eddie’s leg and chokes out, “You can’t just say that shit.”

Billy knows what the two of them must look like from the shore. All close and cozy. He really should pull away, knows he should, but he’s not so sure what kinda look he’d find on Eddie’s face if he did.

Eddie gives an exaggerated wince. “Oops. Pretty sure I just did. What, you don’t want me to tell you about those pretty Bambi eyes trailing after you?”

Billy feels like Steve when he says, “You can’t joke about that shit.”

For different reasons, though. Because Billy thinks it could probably break his heart.

Besides. It’s confusing. All tangled up. Because Billy wants and wants and wants, greedy and ravenous. And he doesn’t think he just wants Steve to look at him like that, he wants–

He finally wrenches himself back from Eddie’s touch. Puts a little space between the two of them. Doesn’t look at Eddie when he repeats, “You can’t.”

“Hey,” Eddie says, and his voice is so firm– there’s no anger, no disappointment, but Billy is still struck by it– and it still makes him look back up in sheer reflex; Eddie only continues when their eyes meet. “I wouldn’t lie about shit like that, Billy.”

“Shut up, man.”

Billy reaches out and shoves at Eddie’s leg. And then pushes himself back out from the dock and into the darkening waters.

He believes that Eddie wouldn’t lie. And as surprising as that is, it feels nice to be able to trust him like that. He’s just not sure he believes that Eddie is seeing what he thinks he’s seeing. God fucking knows jealousy has made him see stupid shit too, like Steve’s eyes tracking over Eddie like he’s hungry.

But then Eddie is laughing after him. It isn’t as friendly as it usually is. For the first time, Billy thinks Eddie sounds bitter.

“Hargrove, he was trying to impress you,” he says, and Billy already knows about that, but he’s helpless against the pull of Eddie’s voice, rich and low as the setting sun paints the sky red behind him. “Like, he wants you to like him so much. The only reason I haven’t tried to kiss him stupid is because I’m pretty sure he’s waiting for you to do it.”

“I think you need your eyes checked, Munson.”

Billy probably needs his checked too– because like this, Eddie Munson looks like a goddamn dream. Angle-kissed by the sunset and a strange kind of sadness on his face.

Billy dips under the water and when he comes up, head clear, nothing has changed. Eddie’s still there looking at him and Billy’s heart is still pounding in his chest.

“I think I’m right,” Eddie says, hands braced on the edge of the dock, sitting there all soft and easy and patient– like they’ve got all the time in the world. “And I think you’re just too scared to hope a little. But hey, if this is you throwing in a white flag, I’ll gladly give it a shot myself.”

For a moment, Billy thinks he might drown. Shocked, his legs stop kicking and his arms go still—and then he’s going under again.

It doesn’t take him long to right himself, for the way the world fades to quiet as the water hits his ears to shock him back into place. He comes up spitting, finding rage as he hauls in a breath of evening air into his lungs. He hates how easily his body bends to it, how easily it fills him up.

There’s too much within him—anger and pain and want and fear.

“Don’t you fucking dare, Munson.”

And despite all of it, the words come out sounding weak. Like a challenge that falls flat.

A grin begins to stretch itself over Eddie’s face. Like he just found a shiny new button to press.

“No?” he asks, sitting up straight so that he can spread his arms out, like an open invitation. “What are you gonna do from all the way over there, California? Cry about it? If you’re gonna shove your head in the sand, why can’t I move in on your territory?”

But Billy’s now not in the mood to joke, to play around with Munson anymore.

“You know I don’t need a plate to knock you around,” Billy warns.

But there’s a pull to go back to the dock. To get his hands on Munson, even in anger.

“You know,” Eddie starts, bracing his hands on the dock again so that he can lean forward, so that he can lower his voice like it doesn’t echo across the flat of the water, so that he can poke and prod with an easy, crooked smile. “I wonder what he’ll taste like, when I finally get him alone.”

He says it like it’s an eventuality. An inevitability. Like the next time Eddie does get Steve alone, he’s going to make a move because Billy is too frozen in fear to do it himself.

Billy’s blood boils.

Before he even knows it, he’s swimming back to the dock, seeing red.

He doesn’t know what he’s going to do. He just knows he needs to make Eddie Munson shut up. Like maybe, maybe, if he can get Eddie to stop talking, Eddie won’t get his hands on Steve. Or his lips.

“Shut your fucking trap,” Billy’s saying, as he’s hauling himself out of the water to get to where Eddie is on the platform, smack in the middle.

Smartly, Eddie had pulled his legs up from the water and scooted back before Billy got halfway there.

Sitting there, his hands up despite being so very far from surrendering, Eddie never stops grinning. “Or what, super strength? You gonna shut it for me?”

Billy’s on him before he can stop himself. He should know better, he really should, but Eddie knows just what buttons to push and Billy can’t keep his head from spinning. Everything goes molten hot and his thoughts go tight—and then Billy’s shoving Eddie down to the flat surface of the dock, wet fingers shoving against the warm skin of Eddie’s shoulders.

“Do you ever stop fucking talking?” Billy hisses.

He’s panting now, breathing hard. He can feel the way his chest heaves. How hot they fall, into Eddie’s face, as he shoves him down and holds him there.

Eddie’s eyes are as dark and as deep as the lake around them. Water runs in little drops and rivulets over Billy and down onto all of that pale skin below. He’s still grinning.

“I’m afraid my motormouth is a part of the charm,” he says, jutting his chin up. “You want me to keep going? Tell you about how I’d think he’d blush when I touched him? Or how about the sounds he’d make–”

Billy wants Eddie to be afraid of him, to flinch when Billy snarls at his words—but he’s not. He looks up at Billy with bravery in his eyes, like he knows Billy’s not going to punch him, like he knows Billy’s not going to hurt him. He looks so fucking sure of himself in that conviction.

Even Billy doesn’t feel that sure.

But he doesn’t knock his knuckles into Eddie’s jaw like he half wants to. And he doesn’t get his hands around Eddie’s throat like he really wants to.

He doesn’t feel like he’s in control of his body as he surges forward and slams his lips against Eddie’s, stopping him mid-sentence.

Their teeth click. It’s sloppy and rough and angry–

And Eddie is surging up to meet him. Getting those fingers in Billy’s hair and pulling. His other hand is a hot brand up Billy’s bare thigh. He groans against Billy’s mouth. Billy groans right fucking back.

Kissing Eddie is like getting caught out in a storm, lightning making his skin feel charged with electricity. His skin feels too tight and his head pounds with the sound of his own heartbeat racing.

It’s easier than Billy thought, straddling Eddie atop the dock, grinding down against him hard enough that Billy can’t tell where his body ends and Eddie’s begins. He suddenly can’t get close enough, fingers digging into the meat of Eddie’s shoulders, trying to haul him up and closer and push him down at the same time.

The kiss is mean and raw, and it feels like coming undone. Like the first rush of a high, like going too fast on his bike, like knuckles to his own jaw.

And Eddie isn’t shy. Gets his hand tangled deep in Billy’s hair, cradling the base of his skull, squeezing. Smooths the other up, up, up his thigh, fingers worming under the wet cling of Billy’s underwear, drawing rough fingers hot against the water cool skin beneath, creeping around to dig in at the flex of Billy’s ass. Pulling at him. Urging him on.

He presses himself up into Billy’s space, chasing a mouth that isn’t even pulling away, licking his way past lips and teeth–

Then, there’s the sound of tires on gravel.

The sound hits him like a smack. Leaving almost a physical sting in its wake.

Billy scrambles back, breathing hard, fear caught up in his throat.

By the time Billy even sees the headlights, his knees are digging into the wood of the dock and there’s a solid foot of space between them. He feels kiss-drunk, head spinning. He could look at the car—maybe should, just to see who it is. But he can’t tear his eyes away from Eddie Munson.

Eddie Munson who is looking at him with that same dark, starved look he had when he was staring at Steve in his bed just the other day.

Eddie Munson who just kissed him stupid– head still spinning, breath short, mouth tingling like he licked a fucking battery.

Eddie Munson who very much looks like he wants to crawl right over and finish what they just started, Steve’s BMW rolling to a stop be damned.

When Billy shifts, moves like he might shy away from that want– unfettered and unfiltered– Eddie clicks his tongue.

“Easy, California,” he says, voice rough and smile sly. “Don’t go rabbiting off now.”

Billy stops in his tracks. Like his limbs are suddenly made of lead. He should dive off this dock right now, should swim to the shore, escape on his bike, and let Steve take Eddie home. But when Eddie tells him to stop, he just—does. Like nothing has ever been easier.

For the first time in a long time, Billy doesn’t have any words. Nothing to make his tongue go loose. Just kneels there on the dock in Eddie’s shadow, as a car door slams from the shore.

“You know,” Eddie says, and Billy’s jaw goes tight enough that his temples ache, watching, trapped in place by that midnight stare. “Had we stopped fucking around and started this earlier, we wouldn’t have to go see Stevie with blue balls.”

He pushes up from where he’d leaned back on his hands when Billy pulled away, legs long and spread before him. And when Billy looks, he can see that Eddie is already half hard in his soaked boxers.

Knows he’s not faring much better, if the burning trail Eddie’s gaze takes down between his legs is anything to go by.

“Thank fuck the water is cold, huh?”

All of the rage and anger has washed completely out of Billy by now, leaving him hollowed out, nothing left behind but stunned silence. Nothing to take its place. He feels like he can’t quite get his footing—but maybe that’s just the gentle rocking of the dock on the water.

“I didn’t bring my lifeguard uniform!” Steve shouts from the shore. “You’re not gonna make me come save you guys, are you?”

And when Billy looks at him, he’s waving. Grinning wide and stupid and bright.

“Fuck,” Billy breathes out, like that one word might stop the pounding of his heart.

Like it’s a lifeline.

He takes a breath, holds it for a second, and then shoves himself up and to the side of the dock. Feet sliding into the cool water.

“Hold your fucking horses,” Billy shouts back. “We’re coming.”

“Yeah,” Eddie sighs, the dock rocking a little harder, and then he’s sitting next to Billy with his feet in the water too, staring at where Steve is waiting for them on the shore with his hands on his hips. “You ever think he’s doing it on purpose?”

He knocks his ankle into Billy’s under the water.

Billy doesn’t know what to do with Eddie Munson. With his ease. His nonchalance. He seems comfortable all the time, when Billy—never is.

“In my dreams, maybe,” Billy huffs out and almost laughs. “But no,” he says. “I think he’s too fucking dense.”

And then Billy leans into Eddie, brushing their shoulders together for a second before he lets himself slip into the water.

“Come on, Munson. Before he decides to fucking join us and I have to explain why I’ve got a hardon.”

When he looks, Eddie is beaming down at him. Smiling crooked, dark eyes catching in the last of the light setting the sky on fire. He looks so pleased. He looks proud.

Then, he’s pushing off of the dock and into the water after him, already paddling for the shore– Billy easily and readily keeping pace– like two lost ships being guided in by the light that is Steve Harrington.

“We’re finishing this conversation later,” Eddie tells him.

Billy just grunts. He wants to argue that it hadn’t been much of a conversation, even though they both were sure using their mouths a lot—but Steve is getting closer and closer, and Billy doesn’t want, isn’t ready, for him to overhear.

By the time Billy’s walking up to the shore, most of his earlier heat has left him, though he still feels warm. It’s pleasant, though, and watching Eddie smile at Steve, offering him a little bow to say hello, only makes him feel warmer—but strangely not angry.

“Didn’t think I’d find you both here,” Steve says, and he looks a little surprised, though not at all disappointed.

“I told you last time, didn’t I?” Eddie asks, and Billy should really just expect it by now, but he still stumbles a bit when Eddie loops an arm over his shoulders, jostling him into his own side. “We bonded.”

Steve makes a face, nose scrunching in something like distaste, and for a fraction of a second, Billy’s heart plummets.

“The last time you two did any bonding, I ended up getting razzed for, like, a solid hour.”

Like nothing happened on the dock—or like something did—Eddie uses that arm over Billy’s shoulder to pull him closer. Billy can’t help but feel extremely aware of how little either of them are wearing, and how his wet underwear clings. How the damp has left a layer of cold between his skin and the scorch of Eddie Munson’s.

But the dark is creeping up on them, everything getting more shadowed with every passing moment, and for once, Billy is grateful that it’s difficult to see Steve’s face—it means Steve can’t see much of Billy, either.

“You should be proud,” Eddie says. “We only fought a little.”

And there go Steve’s hands, right back to his hips. “You fought?”

“Only a little. A tiny bit.”

Steve scoffs, unimpressed, and then he’s looking at Billy. “What did he say?”

Like it isn’t even a question that Eddie poked and prodded until Billy got mad enough. Like he’s disappointed with Eddie for stirring shit up– rather than with Billy, who he clearly knows lashed out.

“Noo,” Eddie whines like an overdramatic child. “Don’t scold me, I already apologized. Kinda.”

“Kinda?” Steve asks, crossing his arms over his chest, all his weight settling on one hip. “How do you kinda apologize?”

“I have my ways, Stevie, let a man live.”

Steve sighs out his nose, glancing between the two of them. “Well, neither of you look bruised, so I guess that’s something.”

Billy is pretty sure his knees are bruised. His lips, too. But it’s a good kind of bruising, more cathartic than something blossoming over his knuckles, heating them up until they sting.

“California apologized too. Didn’t ya, big boy?” Eddie says, patting Billy on the chest.

His hand is—so fucking big. Billy remembers the way it felt over his ass, how it had squeezed. He jolts, just a little bit.

He puts on a smile and hopes it doesn’t look strained. “Sure fucking did.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning when he shakes his head at the pair of them, like he’s not quite sure what to do with two thick-skulled metalheads. “Yeah, okay, you’re both very mature adults.”

Eddie winks. “It’s no fun, behaving all the time. We’ll get you to let loose eventually, Stevie.”

“Feel free to keep trying,” Steve snorts, and then he’s stepping back toward his car. “I’m gonna grab my flashlight and then go check things out. Are you guys sticking around?”

“Course we are,” Eddie says at the same time as Billy says, “Sure.”

It’s why they’re here, isn’t it? It’s why Eddie dragged Billy to the lake in the first place, all for Steve.

Once Steve has turned his back, Billy doesn’t quite shove back from Eddie, but he lets himself relax, posture going not quite so stiff, which puts a little space between them.

“Fuck,” Billy breathes out.

“Breathe, Billy,” Eddie mutters, head tilted and mouth close to Billy’s ear, big hand smoothing down his back. “Stop worrying so much.”

Billy wants to argue, but finds himself easily obeying, just taking a breath under the weight of Eddie’s hand. It helps, slightly, to lean back into Eddie’s touch. To remind himself that he’s not alone.

“Hard not to worry when people get hit for doing what we were just doing,” Billy says under his breath. Hit—and much worse. “Not that he would, I just—”

It feels like he can’t quite catch his breath.

Eddie takes one for him. Long and slow. Keeps his hand, warm and splayed, between Billy’s shoulder blades. Strokes up on the inhale, and pets down his spine on the exhale.

Does it until Billy is mimicking him without even thinking about it. Until they’re breathing in time.

“He won’t,” Eddie assures. “Even if he’s– not. He wouldn’t.”

It doesn’t quite cover all of his fears. Not when he’s a guy who likes other guys in Nowhere, Indiana. Not with a history of split lips and black eyes and broken bones, the word fag a brand at the back of his mind.

But then Eddie is knocking his shoulder all gentle into Billy’s again.

“Besides,” he says. “You’ve got super strength.”

The laugh that escapes Billy is weak, but it hits him like a punch. He doesn’t double over but instead falls into Eddie, leaning hard against him.

He wants, suddenly and painfully, for Eddie to squeeze him tight, to wrap him up in both of his arms and not just let Billy lean. It’s a strange impulse, not something that Billy ever has really had, not since he was a kid. He kisses and fucks and everything else, but holding isn’t usually part of the game.

“Wouldn’t hit him,” Billy says. “Never again. Not even if he hit me first.”

“I know,” Eddie replies.

When Steve turns back around, he finds them like that, half-wrapped up in each other, eyes on Steve and his flashlight. He tilts his head, bemused at the sight, his brows furrowed with a puzzled little smile on his face as he pads back over.

“You guys look whipped,” he says.

Eddie chokes, coughing out a laugh, and his hand eases up to curve over the back of Billy’s neck, grip firm and grounding. “Spent most of the afternoon trying to drown one another. Good to go, Stevie boy?”

Steve clicks his flashlight on and off, and then gives a little shrug. “I’ll be in and out. You don’t have to stick around and watch, you know.”

But Eddie is already shaking his head, already giving the back of Billy’s neck a pointed squeeze, like this is what he begged Billy out there for.

“Not letting you go out there without a chaperone,” Eddie replies. “I won’t make you take a swimming buddy, but you never know what could happen in this town.”

Steve’s expression softens, even if it is one that is mostly of mirth. “My very own knights in wet boxer briefs. I can handle myself, you know.”

“Oh, I fully remember,” Eddie assures, something in his voice that itches at the back of Billy’s brain.

It’s not jealousy that he feels. Just want, plain and simple. It’s dizzying in its clarity. Billy nearly falls into Eddie. Steadies himself with a hand on Eddie’s chest.

All the while, Eddie holds steady. Doesn’t budge an inch, not if he doesn’t want to, stubbornly digging his heels in.

He keeps his hand on the back of Billy’s neck.

“Okay,” Steve says, already moving to breeze by, patting Eddie on his shoulder and smiling at Billy as he goes. “I’ll be right back.”

Eddie hums, turning to watch him go– bringing Billy right along with him, jostling into him when Steve, with his back to them, begins stripping his shirt overhead. Squeezes at his neck, thumb dragging under Billy’s ear.

“We’ll wait for you,” Eddie says, and Billy wonders just how true that is. “Right here.”

chapter 9:

with just one look (i was a bad mess)

The air is thick and heavy with a coming storm the next day. It’s still hot– stifling and humid enough to make your clothes stick– but the sky is blotted out with dark gray, clouds pressing them down and quieting the town. The wind is already beginning to pick up, but the only sign of rain is the threat of the sky breaking open above.

Billy, most definitely not hiding in his bedroom, thinks he’s lucked out finding an excuse to not take up his usual spot outside in the sun. He has a tape playing in his radio on the vanity, volume low enough that he can hear Max’s stupid daytime drama that she got hooked on when they were still stuck in hospital beds. He’s got his window cracked open, has his hand draped over the sill, tapping the ashes from his cigarette out onto the lawn below.

Thinks that he’ll spend a quiet day inside. Thinks that he won’t have to think about dealing with Steve Harrington or Eddie Munson until, at the earliest, tomorrow after the storm has rolled on.

And then there’s a rapid knocking at the front door.

He hears Max sigh, heavy and loud, before the groan of the couch. Hears her drag her feet to the door, grumbling under her breath. Winces at the sound of the hinges on the front door screeches when she rips it open.

“You are, like, really annoying right now,” Max is saying.

And then– then he hears Eddie Munson’s voice.

“Sorry about that, Mad Max,” Eddie says. “Your big bad brother home?”

Billy can practically see the face that Max makes. It’s something a little mean, and maybe a little sour.

“Do you have an appointment?” Max asks. “He’s real busy.”

Sometimes, Billy thinks that she’s the best sister in the world, actually.

Eddie hisses. “Yikes, I don’t. How long is the wait?”

“I dunno,” Max says, and he can picture it, the way she crosses her arms all stubborn. “You’d have to ask him.”

“I thought we were pals, Mad Max,” Eddie replies.

Max scoffs. “That doesn’t mean I’m gonna let you go bother Billy.”

She’s great, Billy thinks. He wonders when that happened.

Eddie makes a sound and Billy thinks that he doesn’t want to push his luck. So he pushes off his bed and saunters into the main room, leaning against the wall when he gets there like he hadn’t been planning on avoiding Eddie.

“Munson. What’s up?”

“I’m not your secretary,” Max says.

“No, but you’re incredibly helpful,” Eddie says, with all sincerity, hand to his chest, before looking at Billy. “I’ve got a little something special reserved for rainy days like this. You interested? It’s awfully boring to smoke alone.”

Max makes an interested sound. “Ooh, can I—”

“No,” Billy snaps. “No, you cannot.” He pushes himself off the wall and decides to take the lesser of two evils. “Fine, Munson. I guess you’ve got me. If only because you’re a bad influence on Maxine here.”

Eddie tsks over at Max. “Sorry, kid. Don’t do drugs. Stay in school.”

Max makes a disgusted face. “You are, like, the worst person to tell me that, Mr. Perpetual Senior.”

“Well,” Eddie shrugs. “I followed part of the advice, at least.”

But then he’s stepping back to invite Billy out, grin wicked, hands tucked into the pockets of the denim vest he’s wearing. Billy wonders if it’s the same one he bragged about getting Steve into.

“Shall we?” he asks, gesturing out the door and across the dirt road to his own trailer with a swing of his head.

“Lead the way, Munson. If you’re not careful, I might get lost on the way,” Billy says.

“Thanks for getting him out of his room,” Max shouts after them.

“Shove it,” Billy says, throwing her the middle finger, and follows Eddie to his trailer, trailing after him like he’s caught, heart doing its damndest to pound out of his throat.

Eddie lets them into the trailer with a little flourish– a gesturing hand, welcoming Billy inside. He lets the door shut behind him once Billy’s inside, the sound of it almost startling. Outside, the wind has started to howl through the trees. Not enough to start rattling any side paneling– but Billy thinks that this storm is just beginning.

When he can finally bring himself to do it, Billy turns to find Eddie leaning back against his own door and watching him. There’s something unreadable there– his eyes dark in the dim light streaming in through the windows– and his fingers drum restlessly against the door behind him.

Billy doesn’t know what to do with Eddie Munson. Never has. Probably never will.

Here, in the low, warm light of his trailer, Eddie looks touchable. Soft.

And Billy doesn’t know what to do with soft. He knows how to deal with Eddie when he wants to shut him up. How to deal with him when he’s pushing Billy’s buttons. He knows how to slam himself up against Eddie like a car crash, a strange inevitability.

“So, am I here to get high,” Billy asks, eyes on the way Eddie’s torso flexes as he leans back, “or—?”

Billy tries not to think about the fact that he kind of hopes for the latter. Doesn’t know what to do with that, either.

“Well, California,” Eddie says in that low, quiet way he was talking to Billy at the lake yesterday, something deep and dark and rich with promise in his tone, even as he shrugs. “I guess that depends on you. Do I need to get you angry before you’ll kiss me again?”

It’s a good question. Because Billy knows the answer is a complicated one. It shouldn’t be – because kissing Eddie should be easy. It was easy. But it’s—hard. For Billy.

Still, before he can think better of it, he’s taking a step toward Eddie. Back toward the door.

“If this was a booty-call, you could’ve just called,” Billy says.

The drum of Eddie’s fingers stops, the silence of it jarring. “Huh. So maybe I just need to get you angry for you to be honest.”

When Billy stops in place, his brows pinching, Eddie pushes off the door to start pacing closer, slow, hands tucked behind his back.

“I mean, I don’t think I’ve given an indication that a good fuck is all I’m after,” Eddie says, and Billy’s heard him say the word before– he has– but it strikes him still this time, eyes locked on Eddie’s face as he stops a few steps in front of him, head tilted. “You think I don’t like you, California?”

Even here, in the dim light of the trailer, Eddie’s confidence is dizzying.

“I think you like Steve,” Billy says. “I think we both like Steve.”

Saying it out loud doesn’t seem to be any less bewildering today than it was before.

Regardless, Billy takes a step forward. Closer to Eddie. Closing the distance between the two of them. Stepping up to Eddie like he’s a challenge.

Eddie’s the same height as him– even when they’re both in their boots. Meets him without flinching, unwavering, smile small and too confusing for Billy to try and understand.

“I do like Steve,” Eddie agrees, dark eyes flitting down– tracing Billy’s jaw, trailing down his neck, lingering across his chest. “I like Steve a lot. Probably just as much as you do.”

And then he’s pulling one hand from behind his back. He’s reaching out, slow, silver rings catching in the dim blue light. He catches one of Billy’s curls with his fingertips– winding it slow over his index finger and giving a little tug. Billy shivers.

Outside, thunder rumbles in the distance.

“That mean you can’t like me?” Eddie asks, and when his eyes draw back up to Billy’s, his pupils are blown out, his eyes so dark. “That mean I can’t like you?”

Eddie’s argument is stupid. Too simple. It’s all pretty words and bluster, more showmanship from Eddie Munson. But it’s still compelling as all hell.

“You think you’re such hot shit,” Billy grouses. “Do you ever shut up?”

And then he reaches up and grabs Eddie by his shirt. Like maybe he’s going to haul him forward. But instead he just uses that grip to steady him. To hold him there while Billy closes the distance between the two of them and slots their lips together.

Eddie hums as their mouths meet. His hands– the same ones that Billy’s been trying not to think about– move to clutch Billy closer. One sinks into his hair, cupping Billy’s skull to keep him from pulling back, and the other goes to Billy’s hip, gripping tight, fingers tugging.

He breaks away from Billy’s lips just long enough to say, “Only when my mouth’s busy.”

And then he’s angling his head and kissing Billy again. Pressing forward into him, crowding him even as he tries to pull him close, their knees knocking. He gets a grip on Billy’s hair and pulls, just enough to make Billy groan, lips parting just the way Eddie seems to have wanted– eagerly licking past his teeth with a low moan of his own.

Like he’d just been waiting to get at the heat of Billy’s mouth.

Billy surges forward, deepening the kiss, pushing and pushing until he has Eddie backed up against the door. It rattles in its hinges when Eddie’s spine collides with it.

“Fuck,” Billy breathes out against Eddie’s mouth.

His hands unclench from Eddie’s shirt and immediately push up under it, greedy to touch the bare skin of Eddie’s torso. Underneath Billy’s fingers, Eddie’s skin is soft and warm—and Billy can’t get enough of it.

He can feel the flex of muscle as his palms slide hot up Eddie’s abdomen. Feels the hand tugging at his hip move around to curve over Billy’s ass, fingers digging in at denim, teasing along the seam of his pants as he hauls Billy’s hips against his own. Feels the fingers in his hair curl tight– tighter– as Eddie coaxes Billy’s head over so that he can fuck his tongue more easily against Billy’s in a slick, filthy slide–

Feels Eddie shove a thigh between his as he drags Billy against him. Pinned in place and still plucking at Billy’s strings.

When Billy moans, breathy and hot and muffled, caught between their mouths, Eddie presses– hand big and possessive over the curve of Billy’s ass– and rolls his hips to meet him. He’s hard; just as hard as Billy, already straining in his jeans.

When Billy rocks back, riding against the thick line of Eddie’s thigh pressing dizzily up between his own, Eddie rips away from his mouth to pant and bite along his jaw– pulls Billy’s head over by that grip in his hair so that he can tongue and mouth at the pounding beat of his pulse.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he breathes, words searing against the skin of Billy’s bared throat. “Fuck, California, you taste like sunshine.”

Billy groans, the sound jerked straight of his gut like Eddie grabbed it with his fist and pulled. It almost hurts, the way Billy feels right now, fingers clutching at Eddie’s skin like it can provide any kind of stability and not just more heat in his veins.

Billy’s not sure he’s ever felt like this. There’s an electric urgency inside him, leaving him almost frantic and needy—but underneath that is a current of desire so unignorably strong that it makes Billy feel dizzy, desperate. He wants Eddie—and not in the way he wants a dark bathroom fumble or a quickie in the back of a car. He wants to get his hands on Eddie, to see him and feel him and hear him—and he wants to savor it, too.

The feeling is terrifying in its intensity, so strong that it knocks him for a loop.

It has Billy’s knees going weak, has him tipping forward and seeking out Eddie’s lips for a messy kiss.

“Wanna blow you,” Billy says, because that’s easy.

Because it’s safe.

Eddie grunts, winded by Billy’s words the same way Billy’s is breathless from Eddie’s touch. Eddie meets his mouth, open and hot and wet, feeding Billy kiss after drugging kiss until his lips feel swollen, tender, raw.

His fingers are a flex over Billy’s ass, tugging Billy against him at the same time that he moves. Takes the weight of Billy when he leans heavily into him, knees wobbling, friction burning along his nerves as Eddie keeps them rutting against one another.

“Can I get you off first?” Eddie asks, nails dragging against Billy’s scalp, humming as he kisses him again. “Wanna see how soft I can get all those hard edges.”

Outside, lightning flashes. The darkness of Eddie’s trailer lights up, crackling to life. Eddie’s eyes, however, stay dark. And so hungry.

It makes Billy feel seen. Exposed.

“No one’s gonna—?” Billy asks, nodding at the door.

He can barely concentrate, not with Eddie’s hands on him like that, but the fear of being caught bites through anyway. Always there, always present.

“No one,” Eddie assures him, breath hot and voice low, thigh dragging up, up– until pressure and friction earn him a ragged sound from the back of Billy’s throat. “You’re safe. I got you.”

“Fuck,” Billy breathes out. “Fuck.”

He doesn’t think he’s ever had this kind of privacy before. Nor has he ever had this much time.

That doesn’t make him feel any less rushed, though. No less needy.

Reassured, Billy grabs at the bottom of Eddie’s shirt and hauls it up and up, until he’s tugging it over Eddie’s head. Eddie lets him, but makes quick work of Billy’s shirt afterward. And then Billy’s standing there, panting, staring at a half-naked Eddie Munson who looks like sex on legs.

“Bed,” Billy says. “I don’t wanna fuck in your living room.”

And also, maybe, because he’s been thinking about getting back into Eddie’s bed ever since he first jumped into it.

Eddie is breathing hard as he stares back at him. His eyes burn like a cold fire, raising Billy’s skin wherever they land as Eddie takes a long, drawn moment to look Billy over. To take in the restless flex of muscle, the way Billy is standing there with his breath just as short, the littering of scars that stretch over his chest and abdomen.

He gets both of his hands on Billy’s hips, pulling him close again to tilt his head and catch his mouth. And then he’s pushing himself off the door, shuffling forward, pressing Billy back. Billy clutches at his shoulders as they kick off their shoes along the way, stumbling a bit into one another. Eddie laughs, hands roaming. Guiding him, leading him backward out of the small living room, past the kitchen, to the hallway. Palms up his sides as they move, their noses knocking, their mouths not quite touching–

“Been thinkin’ about you in my bed since you left it,” Eddie mutters at his lips, taking his time as he walks Billy back down the hall, hands burning back down the quiver of Billy’s stomach.

Billy lets himself be led—so easily. All Eddie has to do is give him one little push, one little gesture of his head, and Billy’s going. It would be embarrassing, if Billy weren’t so hard, if he didn’t want Eddie’s hands on him so badly.

Eddie’s bed is just like Billy last saw it, a tangle of sheets and a mess of blankets. Billy falls backward into it, fingers clutching tightly at Eddie’s arms to pull him along, too. It’s effortless to throw a leg over Eddie, to drag him closer until Billy is grinding back up into him, breathless.

Thunder rumbles outside as Billy says, “You talk too fucking much, Munson.”

Eddie is more than eager, hips rocking down in a filthy roll against Billy’s own. One of his hands goes for Billy’s thighs, squeezing, and then stroking up to worm its way under Billy, urging Billy’s hips up to meet Eddie’s in time with the natural rhythm they fall so easily into. The other braces against the bed, fingers clutching at sheets giving Eddie the perfect leverage to rut between the spread of Billy’s legs.

He curves down, mouth catching Billy’s briefly before he starts wondering– teeth at Billy’s jaw, mouth on his throat, the flat of his tongue dragging against one of the scars on Billy’s chest. Lightning flashes in Eddie’s windows and Billy’s head spins.

“I hope you don’t call me Munson when you cum,” Eddie tells him, hand on Billy’s ass, keeping him moving and meeting Eddie’s every rock. “Undo your pants for me, won’t you, California?”

Billy doesn’t have the energy, the strength, to snap back at Eddie—all he can do is obey, hands going for his fly before he can even think about how desperate he might look, how needy.

The problem is, he doesn’t even care. He just wants Eddie, needs him, in any which way.

Billy’s dick is out and in his hand before he can blink. He gives himself a desperate stroke before Eddie bats his hand away with a tsk.

Sitting back on his heels, Eddie uses both hands to drag Billy down the bed with him– until Billy’s thighs are draped over the spread of Eddie’s, cock twitching and leaking against his own stomach, pants open and chest bare, laid out for Eddie’s consuming eyes.

“Look at that,” Eddie mutters, head tilting, hands so warm as they drag from his hips, down his thighs, thumbs tracing the inner seam of his jeans as he draws them back up– just touching– just teasing. “You want it as bad as I do, don’t you, sweetheart?”

Billy can’t help it—he squirms in Eddie’s lap. He wants Eddie to touch him, to get his hands on Eddie too– but why did he ever think anything would be easy with Eddie Munson.

“If you want it so bad,” Billy grouses, fingers fisting in the sheets for lack of anything better, “why don’t you just fucking—”

Billy’s words dissolve into a moan, choked off and raw, as Eddie takes those long, stupid fingers of his, and gets them around Billy’s cock. Licks his palm first, so it’s slick enough that it doesn’t chafe as he starts to stroke.

Doesn’t even give Billy a chance to adjust to the shock of Eddie’s touch. Doesn’t give him a chance to catch his breath, pumping over his cock with a tight, wet fist at a pace that has Billy bucking up into his touch. Doesn’t let him worm away, his other hand splaying out over Billy’s lower belly and pressing him down.

Rolls his hips so that the hard length of his own trapped cock is grinding up against the curve of Billy’s bottom through far too many layers.

“What was that, California?” Eddie asks, keeping his hand moving at a consistent, mind numbing pace.

Billy has half a mind to tell Eddie to fuck him right now, but he doesn’t think he can last that long. Knows he can’t.

But, like this, Billy can barely think. Eddie is so close and the position Eddie’s gotten him in leaves little else for Billy to think about.

As Eddie strokes him, as he holds him down, Billy groans. He doesn’t have—can’t find—any words. All he has the energy to do is surge upwards, reaching out to try and get a hand in Eddie’s hair to pull him into a hungry, relentless kiss.

Eddie gives him what he wants, moaning, chasing after Billy’s mouth as he curls over him. Fucks his tongue lazily past Billy’s teeth, muffling the whine he makes when Eddie teases his thumb at the tip of Billy’s cock.

The hand on his stomach burns up over his chest. Fingers pausing, dallying over one of Billy’s nipples with a gentle pinch and pull, before sliding up to grip Billy’s jaw. Digs them in at the joint under his ear so that Billy will open his mouth wider. Keeps that horrible, terrific rhythm of his hips, a taunt of how he would– could– will fuck him, rutting between Billy’s legs as he jerks him off just a little faster.

Billy imagines it. He can’t help it—it would be impossible not to, really.

Billy arches up, thinking about the way Eddie’s hands, his fingers, would open Billy up. How his dick, which Billy hasn’t even seen yet but can definitely feel, would press inside. Knowing Eddie, he’d maybe tease Billy with it first, make Billy beg, and—

A low moan rips straight out of him, his breathing getting faster, rougher, as thunder cracks outside. He fists his fingers hard in Eddie’s hair, pulling, yanking, heartbeat skipping in his chest, as he gets out, “Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

Billy could last longer, probably should last longer, but he can’t. He’s too full-up with it, too wild with desire and need and adrenaline all tangled up together.

“Fuck,” Eddie breathes against his mouth, pupils blown out so wide, and he just strokes Billy faster. “C’mon. C’mon, sunshine, lemme see.”

Eddie’s voice, his stupid voice, is all Billy needs to shove him over the edge. He barely holds himself together, balling his fists up in Eddie’s hair as he comes, panting and grunting and swallowing down his own noises as Eddie kisses him through it.

Billy’s body goes taut with pleasure as he spills himself into Eddie’s fist. Wet fingers slide over him, coaxing him through and past the aftershocks, until Billy is panting a litany of curses into Eddie’s mouth, body arching up and off the bed.

Eddie groans, long and low as he works Billy through it. Draws back from his mouth with ragged, heavy breaths as he slows his hand carefully down– until Billy is quivering back down onto the bed with a punched out grunt. Keeps his hand around Billy’s cock, squeezing gently as he pulls up enough to look down at him, panting into the space between their open mouths.

His eyes are a hungry hunt across Billy’s face– and Billy can only imagine what he looks like. The slackened features; the parted, kiss-red of his mouth; the sweat clinging to his curls and his skin.

“Goddamn,” Eddie sighs, and then he’s pulling from Billy’s softened grip to sit back on his heels again, taking in all of Billy– his heaving, flush chest and the mess of his own spend coating Eddie’s hand and Billy’s stomach. “God-fucking-damn.”

And then he’s scrambling for his own fly, careless of the cum dripping from his fingers. Practically rips the zipper open, shoving his hands into his pants and underwear to pull the length of his own cock free. Shuffles in closer, jerking himself off with a quick hand as he stares down at the mess he’s made of Billy.

Billy feels gutted, sex-drunk. Watching Eddie like this leaves him breathless—for once, Eddie doesn’t seem as controlled. He looks just as desperate as Billy felt moments ago, mouth half-open in a pant, pupils blown wide.

He looks fucking gorgeous. Totally wrecked, torn apart in his need.

“Yeah,” Billy says, voice rough as Eddie’s stroking gets faster and faster, more frantic with each pull; Eddie’s knuckles graze against Billy’s cock, his eyes stuck on the mess he’s made of Billy. “Yeah, come on.”

Eddie groans, leaning back over him to brace a hand by Billy’s head, up on his knees as he fucks forward into his own pumping fist once, twice–

His spend is hot against Billy’s skin, searing against his oversensitive cock. Eddie shudders through it, breath stalling, fingers a clutch at the sheets as he grunts. He draws it out, like he’s trying to make a claim across Billy’s skin, only stopping to gasp raggedly once he’s milked himself dry.

He hovers there, panting down at Billy for a moment, before dipping down to steal a lazy kiss.

Billy lets him—no, encourages him. Kissing him long and slow and messy, still panting, breath still caught up in his throat. He feels like he ran a marathon, like he just came up for air.

It’s only when Eddie pulls back again that Billy looks at him, at the mess he made of Eddie, and huffs out a breath.

“Didn’t let me blow you,” Billy says. “A fucking shame.”

It is a shame. Because Eddie’s cock looks nice. Thick and long, like it’d be a perfect weight on Billy’s tongue. Next time, Billy thinks. Because he hopes there will be one– wants there to be one.

“Yeah?” Eddie asks, head cocking over, eyes dropping to Billy’s lips, words a breathless pant. “You want something in your mouth, sunshine?”

Letting go of his own cock, Eddie reaches down, stare falling to the mess they both made across Billy’s stomach as he takes Billy back in hand– shushing him when Billy hisses with a fleeting kiss. Strokes a few times, just to make Billy squirm, and then brings that messy hand up to Billy’s mouth. Noses at his cheek as he smears their spend over Billy’s lower lip.

“Open up for me,” he breathes, already baring down above him, pressing him into the bed with the weight of his body.

And Billy just came, he did, but his head still spins with something that feels like a fever when Eddie’s weight sinks into his bones.

There’s nothing Billy can do but open his mouth, parting his lips to let Eddie’s sticky, wet fingers inside. He groans as they slide slick against his tongue, pressing down and down, as Eddie makes him taste himself, as Eddie makes him go easy, belly-up.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, voice a low, pleased hum of sound, two fingers feeding past Billy’s lips, eyes dazed on Billy’s mouth. “Gorgeous. Knew you would be.”

Their bodies flush, Eddie rocks them in time with the idle pump of his fingers. Real slow and steady, his other hand coming to tangle in Billy’s hair again, rubbing over his scalp as he pins Billy in place and fingers his mouth.

“Now close,” Eddie coaxes, and Billy does, absolutely helpless to stop his body from just responding when Eddie speaks.

His lips close around Eddie’s long fingers, and he feels the clack of rings against his teeth, the press of metal against his skin. When he breathes in, the taste of himself, of Eddie, is strong, musky, overpowering in his head. Billy can’t help it when his eyes close, too, overwhelmed with all of it, heart still pounding in his chest as Eddie fucks his fingers into Billy’s mouth slowly, so slowly.

And Eddie’s so close. So warm and heavy– smothering– moving just as slow. A restless, lazy rut of his hips, friction like fire licking up Billy’s spine.

“Think you can take another, sunshine?” Eddie asks, fucking his fingers deep, enough that Billy chokes for a moment.

And Billy’s never met a challenge he didn’t face head on. He nods, lips still parted around Eddie’s fingers, throat swallowing.

He feels caught in this moment, trapped in a lazy—but hot—post-orgasm haze.

Eddie groans quietly, withdrawing his fingers so that he can feed in a third with them. Pressing past the spread of Billy’s lips, watching the way Billy takes it, fingers moving slow– slower– like he’s just content to watch.

It makes Billy’s head swim, makes him go soft and easy beneath Eddie’s bulk. Eddie fucks his fingers into Billy’s mouth until they’re both breathing a little steadier, until the heat under their skin has dropped to a simmer.

Eddie kisses his cheek. Kisses the corner of his mouth as he withdraws his fingers. Catches his lips, licking the taste of their combined pleasure from Billy’s tongue.

Threatens to drown him in easy, hazy contentment.

When he finally pulls back again, clean hand smoothing Billy’s curls back from his face, his grin is crooked and his gaze is so warm. “You still with me, California?”

In whatever stupor Eddie just fucked him into, Billy just nods. It takes him a moment to realize that his hands are on Eddie’s skin, one on his waist and another circling around his arm. Two solid, warm points of contact.

Billy doesn’t think he’s ever felt so relaxed after fucking, before. Normally he’s out the door before he even has time to fully zip up his jeans. Now, Eddie’s got him fucked-out and lazy, incapable of doing anything but clinging.

When Billy licks his lips, he tastes Eddie. Head full of him, body claimed.

“Yeah,” Billy breathes out. “Yeah, still with you.”

He grins—he can’t help it. Dopey and pleased. Unable to stop the expression from sitting there on his face.

“Good,” Eddie mutters, fingers still playing in his hair, grin going just as sweet and satisfied. “You gonna fall asleep on me– or can I get us cleaned up so we can enjoy the rest of the storm?”

It’s raining, Billy realizes. At some point, during the height of their coupling, the sky finally broke open. It pounds, now, in a clattering rattle against the roof of the trailer.

Eddie rolls off of him so that Billy can push himself up onto his elbows and look around the room, at the window where everything outside has gone black with the clouds and the rain.

“Guess I’m not going anywhere,” Billy says.

He doesn’t really want to. Finds that he wants to stay.

As he moves, he frowns at the way his drying spunk pulls at the hair on his torso. Eddie chuckles when his nose scrunches, sitting up after him and pausing to press a kiss to Billy’s shoulder.

“Chill out, surfer boy,” he says, big hand smoothing up his spine.

And then he’s swinging his legs around the edge of the bed. Pushing to his feet and making his way across his messy room, out the door, and into the restroom in the hall.

Billy is still sitting there, dazed by the simple intimacy, when he hears the water turn on. Still sitting there when Eddie comes back in, tucked back into his underwear but with his pants still undone and his shirt still gone, with a fucking washcloth in his hand. Still sitting there when Eddie climbs back up onto the bed and wipes at the skin of his belly.

“Are you cleaning me up?” he asks, dumbly, stupidly, before he can stop himself.

“Of course, I am,” Eddie mutters, the warm, wet cloth dragging over his abdomen. “I made you a mess. Why wouldn’t I clean you up?”

For a brief second, it feels like the question is a trick. But then Eddie’s free hand slides to Billy’s side, right at the base of his ribs, and the other hand keeps wiping Billy down, and it doesn’t feel much like a trick at all.

Billy swallows, trying to stifle the shiver that feels like it’s building up in Billy’s spine. It feels nice to be taken care of like this—and it’s just as dizzying as looking at Eddie felt earlier, when Billy wanted to eat him whole.

“Careful, Munson,” Billy says, voice low. Barely even a whisper over the sound of rain on the thin roof above their heads. “You keep treating me like that and I’ll get ideas.”

Only when Billy is clean does Eddie turn the cloth to himself, catching up the stray drips of spunk that smeared over his own belly and through the dark trail of curls that lead below the elastic of his underwear.

“Good,” Eddie says. “I want you to get ideas. I think they’ll be interesting.”

Billy kicks at him, shoving at him with a socked foot and a laugh.

Everything is complicated, but nothing quite feels it now. Here in Eddie’s bed, it all feels simple, straightforward.

“You’re something else,” Billy says.

He doesn’t know what to do with someone like Eddie, who makes him burn so hot inside but who makes him feel calm and reassured at the same time. It’s disorienting. Bewildering. So fucking new that it hurts.

And so Billy hands find Eddie’s hair again, hauling him in for another lazy, greedy kiss.

Eddie meets him head on, every time. Cradles Billy’s jaw between his hands and crowds all close on the bed. Sits the opposite direction, hip to hip and side to side, and kisses him all sweet and slow until both of their mouths are flush and swollen.

“Could say the same about you, sunshine,” Eddie tells him, drawing away from his mouth to kiss his jaw, his cheek. “I mean, all these freckles?”

And Billy– Billy blushes. Lets his hands drop to Eddie’s wrists and squeezes, like he’s just trying to hold on. Like maybe he’s trying to get him to stop, too, though he knows that would be like fighting the tide.

“Now,” Eddie sighs, tired but so satisfied, pulling back to meet his eyes. “I say we curl up, shotgun a blunt between the two of us, and talk about shit we wanna do with Steve until we’re hard again. Thoughts?”

It’s so cheeky. So fucking honest and eager and playful.

And maybe he shouldn’t stay—because maybe this can’t be as simple as Eddie is making it feel—but Billy wants to. Wants Eddie’s easy warmth and his easy touches and the easy comfort he brings.

“Hell yeah,” Billy hears himself say.

The rain is loud, near-deafening, as Billy drags him into another kiss.

chapter 10:

i know it’s been coming (for some time)

The next day, it’s still raining, the heavens bucketing down.

The ground of the trailer park is nothing but puddles, brown and muddy, and with just a bike, there’s nowhere else to escape.

At some point in the early morning, Billy had left for his own trailer. No amount of assurances from Eddie had made Billy feel fine with spending the night. Billy knows what time Wayne Munson usually comes home from his shift—everybody knows everybody’s business here. No way not to. And apparently Wayne knows about Eddie, would be fine with finding a boy in his nephew’s bed, but Billy just—can’t. Can’t take that risk.

And he can’t even watch TV. Apparently, according to the radio, a tree knocked out power to most of Hawkins sometime around 7 a.m. when Billy was sound asleep. And now the trailer is getting warm and Billy’s getting bored and restless, left with nothing to occupy his time other than think back to last night, of the feeling of Eddie’s hands on his body. How the ghost of his touch lingers.

The hiss of a hand-radio knocks Billy out of his boredom-induced stupor.

“Max, do you copy? Over.”

Max is in the bathroom. Billy knows, because the whole trailer smells like nail polish.

“Max, do you copy? Over,” the radio repeats. Dustin, Billy thinks, is on the other end.

It repeats one more time before Billy picks it up and snaps, “She’s busy. What the fuck do you want?”

There’s a hiss of static and then Dustin’s voice crackles back over the line. “Is it just the power out at your place or the phone lines too?”

Billy has no idea. He keeps the radio in his hand as he gets up and takes the few steps it takes to get to the phone. When he picks it up, there’s only quiet.

“Both,” Billy says.

A year ago, he wouldn’t have even entertained this shit. Now—well, now he knows better than to just let shit sit. But he still can’t help himself from ribbing the kid just a bit.

So he brings the radio back up to his mouth and asks, “Scared of the dark, Henderson?”

Max rips the radio out of Billy’s hand before Dustin can even reply. “Sorry about that,” Max says. “Over.”

“Watch it,” Billy hisses, frowning at the line of black nail polish she just smeared across the back of his hand; he hadn’t even heard her come out of the bathroom.

She rolls her eyes, shoving a hand in his face as Dustin’s voice comes back through.

“When the power went out, we started calling around– couldn’t get through to Eddie or Steve.” Dustin says. “El says it isn’t anything but a storm, but I figured I’d just radio and check. Over.”

Max frowns a little, but she doesn’t seem concerned, not with the assurance that El thinks it’s nothing to get worried about. Still, she exchanges a look with Billy.

“Think Eddie and Steve are fine?” she asks.

“Doesn’t Harrington have one of those little radios?” Billy asks Max, and then he peers outside the window, over at Eddie’s trailer. “And Munson’s right there.”

She nods with a little frown.

“Is Steve not answering? Over,” Max asks Dustin over the radio.

There’s another, longer pause.

Then Dustin is saying, radio blurring with static as he sighs, “He never has it on on weekends. Just says to call if there’s an emergency. But that’s not really possible right now, so–”

The rush of his voice breaks off with a high pitched whine. Max winces away from the radio.

“–could be dead, could be throwing a party! It’s impossible to know!” Dustin cuts back in, clearly worked up. “Ugh, over.”

Billy rolls his eyes. “Dramatic,” he says.

Max, at least, nods in agreement.

“If El says it’s fine, I’m sure it’s fine. Over,” Max says.

She blows on a nail. And then looks at Billy. Squints, like she’s trying to see something. And then, slowly, smiles.

“Unless you want someone to go check on him. Over.”

This time, the response is instant: “Yes!”

Max’s smile only grows. “Taken care of. Over.”

And before Dustin can get in a reply, she’s turned the volume on the radio all the way down. Turning to Billy, her mouth shrugs, brows high.

“Well?” she asks.

Billy gestures at the window.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s fucking bucketing, Maxine.” When she does nothing other than stare at him expectantly, Billy elaborates with, “And I drive a motorcycle.”

She shrugs. “I don’t think Steve would care.”

Billy levels her with a look.

“And you can pick up Eddie, too,” Max says.

“Well, since you’ve got this so well planned out.”

Max tips her head back with an annoyed sound. “Isn’t this, like– a perfect opportunity? He’s clearly home alone. And you’ve been making goo goo eyes at him for forever–”

Billy makes a face. “I do not make goo goo eyes, what the fuck, Maxine–”

“Whatever,” she says. “Go race through the rain like one of those movies!”

“Jesus Christ,” Billy says, pushing himself up from the couch. “I’m leaving, but only so that I don’t have to hear this shit for the rest of the day.”

Which is how Billy ends up at Eddie’s door not even five minutes later, pounding at the door, already almost completely soaked-through. When Eddie opens the door, Billy shoves a helmet at his chest.

“We’re going to make sure Harrington is a fucking adult who can take care of himself,” Billy says.

Eddie grins. “Let’s fucking go, then.”

The drive to Steve’s place is a wet one. A soaking fucking wet ride that leaves them both drenched because Billy takes the roads slow enough to be safe– because even if he plays a little fast and loose with his own safety, now he’s got Eddie on the back.

He’s the only thing that keeps him warm on the trip over– a blistering line of heat all along Billy’s back. He even sneaks a hand up under his shirt on the ride. Splays one of his big stupid hands right over Billy’s stomach.

So despite rolling up to Steve’s place looking like drowned rats, Billy’s plenty warm and more than a little worked up. Eddie doesn’t seem much bothered by the situation either, chasing after Billy up from the driveway to Steve’s front door, knocking with a heavy hand until someone finally comes to open it.

For a flash of a second, just before the door opens, Billy wonders what they’ll do– what excuses they’ll need to make– if Steve isn’t the one that answers.

He is, of course. It seems, as always, the only one rattling around Steve Harrington’s house is Steve.

“What the hell?” he asks, faltering at the sight of them, eyes wide and darting over them– taking in soaked cotton and jeans. “What are you guys doing here?”

“Kids were worried,” Billy says.

His bangs are dripping in his face. He doesn’t think there’s an ounce of him that’s dry, at this point. He’s not so sure why he wore jeans, other than they’re better road protection than basketball shorts.

Eddie rests an elbow on Billy’s shoulder, striking a pose like he isn’t also soaking wet and looking like a drowned rat.

“And would you believe that California here agreed to do their bidding?” Eddie says.

Billy shoves him.

Steve blinks at the pair of them, like he’s not quite sure what to make of them at all. Then, he jerks in place.

“Come in,” he says quickly, stepping aside, ushering the both of them into the dark of his house. “Jesus, you guys didn’t– let me get some towels.”

He appears instantly frazzled. All that nervous energy lighting him up in a way that stands out so starkly against the storm-dark foyer, even as he shuts the door behind him when they pile in.

“And– god, you’re dripping,” Steve sighs, all concerned, warming Billy’s chest. “Um. Strip down right here. I’ll bring some clothes too.”

“You don’t wanna stay for the show?” Eddie chirps.

Steve rolls his eyes, already heading for the stairs. “I’m afraid I don’t have any singles.”

Laughing, Eddie calls after him even as he jogs up to the second floor. “I’ll do it for free if we can break into your dad’s liquor cabinet!”

“You’re gonna do that anyway!” Steve hollers back.

Eddie turns to Billy with a beaming grin. “Your sister has the best ideas.”

“Shut up,” Billy says, shoving at him and stripping his own shirt over his head. It lands in a wet plop on the ground at his feet.

Eddie leans closer, and when Billy looks at him, he’s grinning wide and delighted.

“You wanna shut me up, big boy?” He sticks his tongue out, catching it between his teeth.

Immediately, Billy goes hot. He freezes for a second, then checks Eddie with his shoulder.

“He’s right upstairs,” Billy hisses, gesturing at the stairs.

“I know, it’s so hot, isn’t it?” Eddie asks, voice a mockery of a whisper, working his shirt up and over his head before going for his fly.

And of course, somehow, Eddie must know just how to hit Billy where he’s weak, because his words freeze Billy still as a statue, heart pounding and head going a little cloudy. Because he’s right. It is hot. It’s so fucking hot.

Billy looks at the stairs. Hears the sound of drawers opening and slamming shut. He looks back at Eddie.

And then, before he can think any better of it, he’s on Eddie in an instant, shoving him up against the back of Steve’s front door and kissing him hard.

Eddie groans, hands flying to Billy’s sides. Those damn hands, those long fingers sliding over skin cooled by the storm– but Billy can feel the fire inside of him burning him up from the inside out. Can feel the warmth of Eddie’s body too. That icy hot fire that kindles and stirs against Billy’s own.

“Fuck, sunshine,” Eddie huffs against his lips, getting one of his hands on Billy’s jaw, tipping his head over to kiss him at a different angle. “Stevie’s right upstairs.”

Billy knows. He knows.

It’s so goddamn stupid, and yet he still wants, fueled by that unquenchable desire that Eddie seems to kick up in him.

Except—except Eddie’s goading is right, even if he’s only trying to turn Billy on. He has a point. He does. Billy knows he does.

It’s harder to pull away than Billy thought it would be. He can’t help but catch Eddie’s lips in his teeth, can’t help but lean into the way Eddie cups his jaw.

Eddie chokes down a quiet moan. His other hand comes up to join his first, framing Billy’s face as he gentles the kiss down. Kisses slow and long, until Billy is sighing at his mouth, before pulling back and bumping their brows together.

“Easy, California,” Eddie mutters. “Unless you’re ready to have a real interesting conversation with a very pretty boy.”

Billy grunts, partially annoyed at Eddie and partially at himself. He shoves back a bit, leaving Eddie leaning up against the door with red lips and a dark, playful look in his eyes.

“If you would just keep your fucking mouth shut,” Billy mutters.

Like it’s Eddie’s fault Billy wants him so bad. Like he can blame this all on Eddie.

He sort of can, when Eddie’s tongue slides between the edges of his teeth.

But then there’s footsteps overhead, heading for the stairs, and Billy decides to leave well enough alone. He has some self-control.

Steve comes padding down the stairs in the next second, one arm draped in big fluffy looking towels, the other piled with clothes. Billy takes the chance to admire the length of his legs as he trots down the stairs, gym shorts a fucking gift.

“So I got you both sweats,” Steve is saying, coming to a stop at the base of the stairs. “They might be a little long, but–”

“Anything is better than drenched jeans,” Eddie says, shucking his own right on the welcome mat before he swaggers his way over to Steve, plucking up a towel, draping it uselessly over his shoulders, and then shucking off his underwear too. “Thanks, Stevie.”

Bare assed and grinning, Eddie takes a pair of sweats from Steve’s arms and hops his way right into them, damp skin and all.

“You’re a strange little creature,” Steve tells him.

Eddie laughs.

Billy pretends not to watch the whole thing like a goddamn show. He also pretends not to watch Steve watching, like maybe he might catch something—a hint of interest, a lingering gaze. But it’s not like Billy’s never seen Steve naked, hasn’t showered with him countless times in the locker room. Steve’s seen Billy, and Tommy H., and probably almost all the guys in their age bracket in Hawkins like this—so why would Eddie Munson be any different?

Billy sure feels different about it. But he kicks that thought to the side and ignores it.

Not to be outdone, Billy does the same. The sweats cling as he tugs them over his damp skin, but when he finishes Eddie whistles and winks.

Billy kicks his wet underwear at Eddie’s legs.

“Don’t forget the shirts, children,” Steve says with a teasing little shrug of his features. “Can’t let you catch a cold after coming to make sure I’m alive, can I?”

“Aw, mom, you do care,” Eddie says, taking a shirt and draping that uselessly over his shoulder too, scrubbing at his hair with the end of the towel. “Quick– tell us which one’s your favorite.”

“Dustin,” Steve answers easily, holding out the other shirt to Billy.

Billy takes the shirt, but not before Steve’s eyes catch on Billy’s neck.

Now, Billy doesn’t exactly remember Eddie giving him a hickey there. But they spent all evening in Eddie’s bed, getting hot and heavy; there’s gotta be some evidence left, beyond the way his skin burns everywhere where Eddie touched him, aching for more.

But Steve doesn’t say anything. He just hands over the shirt and turns his attention back to Eddie, who whines about fairness. Billy tugs the shirt over his head and starts trying to fluff his hair back up again.

“Tell him he’s your favorite or he’s never going to shut up,” Billy grumbles.

“But he isn’t my favorite,” Steve says, and then turns his focus on Eddie. “You’re not my favorite.”

Eddie grunts, hand going to his chest– but before he can say anything Steve is pushing him toward the interior of the house. He stumbles a bit, laughing, and Steve looks over at Billy and gestures with a swing of his head.

“C’mon, there’s light in the living room,” Steve says. “I already broke out the whiskey.”

Billy can do nothing but follow the two of them into the warm light of the living room, bare, damp feet sticking on the hardwood floors.

By the time Billy is seated on the couch in front of the fire, an expensive glass of expensive whiskey in his hand, he’s already feeling more relaxed than the last time he was here.

“Shit, this is the life,” Billy says, leaning back and shoving Eddie’s feet out of the way so that he can stretch out his own legs better. “Remind me to come here next time they’re forecasting a blizzard.”

Steve smiles as he steps around the couch with two thick glasses in hand– steaming and smelling deep and rich of cinnamon. “It’s actually pretty fun to watch the windows frost over.”

He pauses at the sight of them sprawled, fairly dried by the warmth of the fire and enjoying the hazy heat. Eyeing the couch, and the lack of space with Eddie spreading out all over the place, he purses his lips briefly, amused and trying not to show it, before dangling out one of the drinks for Eddie to take.

Eddie sits up, reaching out with grasping eager hands. Takes it between his palms and hums.

“I feel so spoiled,” he says. “Do you feel spoiled, California?”

“Little bit,” Billy says. “Could get used to this.”

The whiskey is good, smooth as it goes down and smokey at the back of his palate. It’s not Billy’s usual drink of choice, mostly because he can only ever get his hands on the shit stuff, but it’s solid. Right for a rainy day.

“Can’t believe you came here on the bike,” Steve says. And then, with a small smile, “I thought you didn’t run a taxi service.”

Billy barks out a laugh. “I don’t. Taxis get fucking paid. Munson’s a freeloader.”

“Clearly,” Steve gestures to him, one hand on his hip, gesturing at Eddie with his drink hand. “He’s taking up all the space and he didn’t even say thank you.”

“Manners this, manners that,” Eddie huffs, slumping back, still at a sprawl. “I don’t bite, Stevie.”

“No, but you might have cooties,” Steve replies, grin crooked– but then he’s sighing and eyeing the space on the couch again as he shuffles close. “Go on, budge over.”

He gestures for Eddie to scooch over, and instead of making the obvious move toward Billy so that Steve doesn’t have to bypass his legs and the coffee table in order to sit down, he wiggles his way the other direction– so that Steve has to sit between them.

Billy could kiss him for it. Maybe he will, later.

Steve moves, smacking at Eddie’s knee on his way by, and then Steve Harrington is sinking into the couch next to him. And then Steve Harrington is propping his feet up on the coffee table in those three-striped socks that always drove Billy half crazy during practice, those long legs all stretched out as he slumps deep into the cushions, crossed at the ankle. And then Steve Harrington is holding up his hot toddy toward Billy.

“Cheers,” he says.

Billy clinks his glass with Steve’s and the light, airy sound of glass on glass rings in his ears for seconds, like a chime. Next to them, the fire crackles, alive and warm, illuminating the Harrington living room in golden tones.

Billy lets himself drift like that for a while, all leaned-back and relaxed on Steve’s couch, alcohol and fire drying him out and warming him up.

Eddie talks about—something. Billy mostly tunes it out, instead just zoning out to the excited, theatrical ramble of Eddie’s voice and the wild gestures of his hands. He’s tired—he didn’t sleep all that much last night, given that Eddie kept him up until he left. But he’s so comfortable here, so… safe.

Billy doesn’t fall asleep, not exactly, but he does finish his glass and close his eyes, and is only really half aware of Eddie pausing in his story, overtaken by a quiet little gasp, and stage-whispering, “Sleeping beauty!”

Billy doesn’t give him the satisfaction of a response. He can imagine the look on Eddie’s face, can practically feel the way his eyes land on Billy.

He hears Steve huff and wonders what face he’s making when he says, “Let him sleep if he wants.”

“Don’t worry,” Eddie says, voice lowering, and Billy hears the couch groan and shift, and when he peeks from his spot tucked into the corner, eyes heavy and not open long, just long enough to catch sight of Eddie moving in close on Steve’s other side, arm draping along the back of the couch behind Steve. “I will be on my very best behavior.”

“Do you even know how to be quiet?” Steve asks, skeptical and hushed, and Billy nearly laughs because he’s been telling Eddie to watch his mouth for what seems like 24 hours.

Eddie snorts as though he might be thinking the same thing. “It’s a very difficult feat to achieve.”

“Sure it is, Dungeon Master,” Steve mutters, derisive as all hell. “Should I, like, roll some dice? Do an ability check or whatever it is?”

Eddie takes a short breath. “I could kiss you right on the mouth, Steve Harrington.”

Billy’s heart lurches into his throat– and when he peeks again, he thinks he sees a flush catch at Steve’s face and ears.

He’s laughing though, giving a little shake of his head, completely at ease between them. “I’m still not joining your little club.”

“I’m not above begging,” Eddie quips. “One game. One game, Stevie.”

Billy doesn’t think it’s jealousy he feels. Not quite, anyway. He can no longer pretend he doesn’t want Eddie Munsen, too, on top of how much he already wants Steve. It’s not something he’s ever felt before—wanting two people at the same time—but that doesn’t seem to complicate it. No more than it already is, anyway.

Because want and desire are complicated, complex things for Billy. All tangled up in anger, fear, and self-loathing. But Billy has wanted Steve for what feels like forever, and now he wants Eddie too. Not just to push them down against the bed, to get his tongue and teeth on them, but in a deeper, greedier way. Billy wants to crawl up inside them as close as can be, wants to press his face into their necks and fall asleep there, wants to keep that feeling forever, even though he doesn’t even have it, yet.

Maybe he won’t, ever—but he can hope. Can dream.

It’s real hard to dream, though, when Eddie Munson is whispering a few feet away. Goading Steve with a little, “I’ll make it worth your time, baby.”

Steve scoffs, and then he’s pausing to pull heavy from his glass– must be finishing it off because then he leans forward, folding in half, to place it on the coffee table with a faint clink. “Still not interested. There’s way too much shit to keep track of and I fight enough monsters in real life.”

“Pleeease, Stevie?” Eddie teases. “You’d make Dustin real happy.”

“That’s not gonna work.”

“I have other methods of convincing you,” Eddie replies, and then there a crinkle of plastic, the scent of weed– Eddie pulling out the baggy he must’ve fished out of his soaked jeans and waggling it around. “Think if I get you high enough I can get you to agree?”

“Being high won’t change my mind,” Steve tells him. “It’ll just make me more honest about how boring I think it is.”

But Eddie is opening up the baggy anyway. “Never hurts to try, does it?”

Billy could push himself upward, could join in on the fun, but he finds that he doesn’t want to, content in just drifting for a while with the sound of the two of them bantering along in the background. He finally does end up falling asleep like that, because before he knows it he’s blinking himself awake to the lingering haze of smoke and the sound of Eddie and Steve talking in low, easy voices.

When Billy stretches out, shirt riding up his stomach with the movement, he hears Eddie hum delightedly.

“There he is,” Eddie says, keeping his voice low. “Morning, sunshine.”

Billy grunts.

And then immediately freezes when something touches his stomach. Just the careful, gentle brush of two fingertips right over his ribs. Fleeting, but hot as a brand. Immediately, Billy feels completely and utterly awake.

“Is that a hickey?” Steve breathes out.

Eddie hums again, a little lower. “Certainly looks like it.”

“Oh,” he says, and Billy thinks it must be wishful thinking when he hears something like disappointment in his voice. “It’s a good one. His date must’ve been part vampire.”

“Must’ve been,” Eddie says, laughing low too, a little dark and a little dangerous. “You gonna keep snoozing, sunshine, or is the princess here gonna have to kiss you awake?”

Eddie really, really needs to stop talking about kissing and Steve at the same time.

“Princess?” Steve asks. “You’re calling me princess, now?”

“Well, we did come to your rescue,” Eddie replies. “Had to protect you from the lightning and thunder and the big bad storm clouds.”

Steve grunts. “My heroes.”

Billy’s head is still stuck on the idea of Steve kissing him awake. And the lingering feeling of Steve’s fingers soothing over a bruise in the shape of Eddie’s teeth.

With a grunt, Billy pushes himself back upright on the couch and peers over at the two of them. It looks like late afternoon, if the light outside is anything to go by, but everything’s been sucked up by the storm—the woods are grey and hazy compared to Steve’s living room, which is shrouded in golden light.

“Smells like you guys have been partying without me,” Billy says, leaning in.

Steve’s eyes are dark, pupils blown wide. Eddie’s too.

“You gonna share, Munson, or was it all just for the princess, here?” Billy sticks out his tongue to the swat Steve gives him and winks at Eddie, delighting in the joke, the tease.

From Steve’s other side, practically plastered against him like the opportunistic fuck he is, Eddie grins back at Billy and takes a hit from the blunt pinched between his fingers. He’s even managed to work Steve closer to Billy across the couch while he was out, Steve’s knee knocking into one of his.

“Pass it along, princess,” Eddie says, around a mouthful of smoke, reaching over to press the unlit end to Steve’s mouth.

Steve is already pulling in his own lungful, hand coming up to bat Eddie’s away as he rolls his eyes. He’s lax and lazy, slumped back under the curve of Eddie’s arm, hanging heavy over Steve’s shoulders now. It doesn’t look like this is their first round– and Billy spies a used ashtray on the coffee table.

Then, Steve is holding his breath and holding the blunt up to him expectantly.

Over his shoulder, Eddie watches with dark eyes.

Billy could, should, take the blunt in his own fingers. But Steve took it from Eddie, and Eddie’s doing nothing other than egging him on, so Billy is helpless to do anything but fold—leaning down and taking a hit as Steve holds the blunt out for him.

He keeps his eyes on Steve as he does it, watching his face go from surprised, startled, to something else. Billy breathes in deep, satisfaction curling in his lungs alongside the smoke. He holds it for a long moment and then lets the lungful go as he sits up, face splitting in a grin.

“Real kind of you,” Billy says.

Even in the harsh contrast of light and shadow, firelight flickering over their skin, Billy can see the blush staining Steve’s ears and cheeks and nose. Partially the work of the blunt he brings carefully back to his own mouth– partially whatever teasing Eddie has been doing that Billy is all too eager to join in on.

“Sure thing,” Steve mutters around another mouthful of smoke, holding it back out to Eddie–

And when Eddie leans forward, curving down to get his mouth pressed to the pinch of Steve’s fingers, he catches Steve’s hand in one of his own to hold him steady.

“Seriously?” he asks.

“Seriously,” Eddie says a moment later, through a mouthful of smoke.

Billy meets Eddie’s eyes and feels transfixed, stuck. With the fire and with sweats on, with the last vestiges of whiskey in his blood, the room suddenly feels too warm, near stifling.

That doesn’t stop Billy from inching forward, unable to escape that magnetic pull of the two of them. It’s dangerous, so fucking dangerous, but when Eddie looks at him like that, Billy’s knees go weak and his resolve buckles.

“My turn,” Billy says, fingers wrapping around Steve’s wrist to ease the blunt toward him.

“I think I liked it better when you guys didn’t get along,” Steve says, but he just watches, brow arching and blush spreading, down to the loose necked collar of a worn t-shirt. “Am I about to find out that you don’t have any personal boundaries either?”

Eddie laughs, the arm over Steve’s shoulders shifting just enough that he can tease and pull at the ends of Steve’s hair with his fingertips, rings shiny and reflecting gold. “We’re a goddamn match made in heaven.”

“Made somewhere,” Steve mutters, and Billy sees him shiver before he’s batting at Eddie’s hand. “It’s double the trouble.”

It’s a strange thought to think that even a day ago Billy would’ve been jealous—well, maybe not exactly a day ago. Approximately a day ago, Billy had Eddie’s tongue down his throat and his fingers on his dick. And while Billy still wants his hands on Steve, he wouldn’t mind them there alongside Eddie’s.

And Eddie seems more than willing to share. Other than when he’s trying to goad Billy into something, anyway.

“Hell’s more fun,” Billy says. “It’s where all the interesting people are.”

“Wow,” Steve mouths, as Billy takes ahold of his wrist again for another toke.

Eddie watches, twisted half on his side, facing the both of them with his chest butted up against Steve’s shoulder and their thighs flush on the couch. He really doesn’t have any personal boundaries, especially not when it comes to Steve Harrington, and it seems like he’s conditioned Steve to expect as much.

He doesn’t even bat an eye, after all, when Eddie reaches out to pat Steve on the knee, squeezing, and then just leaving it casually there. Steve doesn’t even squirm too much, just huffs and pulls his hand back when Billy is done dragging.

“Who doesn’t like a little trouble sometimes, anyway,” Eddie adds, grin all dopey when Steve glares at him.

“Me,” Steve insists.

“Nah,” Eddie shakes his head, nudging into him. “You just have a higher pain threshold for stupid shit– so you don’t explode until it’s finally built up enough to boil over. Then you like trouble just fine.”

Steve takes another hit– killing the last of the blunt before offering it up to Eddie for him to stamp out in the ashtray.

“Is this about the bat thing again?” Steve asks.

Eddie groans. “Yes, it’s about the bat thing.”

Billy feels a little stupid, a little slow, when he asks, “What bat thing?”

“God,” Eddie tosses his hands out, sitting forward on the couch so that he can look at Billy. “You should’ve seen this guy, California. Ripped to shit, bleeding, and just going to town on one of those demon bats. He fuckin’– he spat out blood after, it was metal as shit.”

“He’s obsessed with this,” Steve leans over a little, shoulder pressing to Billy’s. “Won’t shut up about it.”

Steve, with blood on his teeth. Steve, eyes victorious. The image sticks in Billy’s head like a thorn, a bur.

“Shit, that’s hot,” Billy breathes out.

And then, before he can even panic about his loose fucking lips, Eddie’s grinning at Steve’s other side and saying, “Hell yeah, it was.”

Steve, glancing between them, looks incredibly dubious. He’s all big, dark eyes and lazy limbs. He looks so lovely, flush from their teasing and the warmth of the fire, arms crossed over his middle as he leans back to arch a brow.

“You guys have a strange definition of hot,” he says, a little slowly.

And their only saving grace is the sudden knocking of someone at the front door.

Steve blinks rapidly and frowns. “Excuse me.”

Billy wants to call him on being polite, even now, high as a kite, but he doesn’t. Not now, not with his heart so far in his throat.

And then Steve’s using a hand to push Eddie back and out of the way, palm on his forehead. Eddie lets him, laughing as he goes sprawling back into the opposite corner of the couch. Steve is all clumsy limbs as he climbs to his feet, nearly tripping on one of Eddie’s legs, and when Eddie whistles and calls him graceful, Steve flips him off over his shoulder and rounds the corner to the foyer.

Eddie shoves at Billy with a foot, toes jabbing against the meat of Billy’s thigh. When Billy looks back at him, away from where Steve disappeared around the corner, he hisses out a quiet, “What?”

Eddie just grins.

Robin’s voice—Billy thinks—breaks through the quiet of the room.

“Soo, why is there a motorcycle in your driveway?”

“You weren’t the only one concerned for my well being,” Steve says, derisively, but even from here, Billy can hear the fondness.

As they come around, Robin tailing Steve and shaking out a jacket, she arches a brow as she spots the both of them on the couch. “Apparently not. Though, considering some of the company, maybe I should still be concerned.”

Steve stops in order to give her a look, practically scolding, and her mouth twitches into an amused little smile as she holds up both of her hands.

“We already went through all the dinner plates,” Steve says dryly, crossing his arms. “We were about to start in on the cereal bowls.”

Robin winces with a little snort, biting the inside of her lips. “Oops. Sorry.”

“Just– would it kill you to be nice?” Steve asks.

“Trouble in paradise, Harrington?” Billy asks.

He tosses a wink Robin’s way. Doesn’t hate that she dislikes him—it’s nice, knowing Steve’s got someone so feisty looking after him.

She folds her arms over her chest too, brow ticking up as she meets his stare, and Steve is already rolling his eyes. “Well, when he has you two clowns hanging around…”

Eddie lays back, arms spread, looking more than happy to play along. “That’s just mean, Rob. And after all we’ve been through.”

“A duck is a duck, a clown is a clown,” she says, like it’s fact. “Stop behaving like one and maybe we’ll talk about it.”

Billy huffs out a disbelieving laugh. “Well that’s unlikely.”

When he glances over, Steve is looking at him, his lip a puzzled little line across his face.

“What?” Billy says.

“Careful, Hargrove. For a second there, you sounded almost fond,” Steve says.

Eddie gasps, theatrical. “I told you he was going tame. Practically domesticated.”

“You can’t domesticate wild animals,” Robin warns, but even she looks a little surprised.

“Of course you can,” Steve says, gesturing to Billy with a hand. “Big ol’ teddy bear, remember?”

Robin barks out a laugh. “Yeah, I don’t know what fucking drugs you’re on–”

“Only the good ones, I promise,” Eddie chirps. “Care to partake?”

Steve groans, scrubbing his hands over his face. “I can’t get any higher. Rob, you want something to drink?”

“You got anything fruity?” Robin asks, already shuffling by with a waggle of her brows and into the living room, eyeing both Billy and Eddie before plopping herself down into one of the big wingbacks that sit on either side of the couch.

“Uh, yeah, actually,” Steve says, already wandering off toward the kitchen. “Anybody else?”

“Another of those warm things,” Eddie says, practically half hanging off the back of the couch as he watches Steve walk away. “Felt good going down.”

“Same,” Billy calls after him.

Billy wants to reach over and smack Eddie, wants to tell him that Steve’s ass isn’t going to get any more touchable the longer he stares at it, but Robin’s right there across from him, looking at him like he’s liable to snap.

“I’m no longer possessed, you know,” Billy says. “Even feeling a little less murderous, too.”

When she hums, eyes narrowed, Billy just flashes her a trademark smile—even though he knows it’ll do very little for her. Which is kind of the point. He can’t help but try and rile her up, just a little bit.

Maybe he’s more like Eddie than he’s willing to admit.

“I even drove Munson here, all out of the goodness of my heart,” Billy says.

“It was very chivalrous,” Eddie says, nodding in agreement.

Robin hums, gaze a rapid dart down over the both of them. Her eyes are bright and so very keen. Mouth pursed in contemplation.

Or just good old fashioned judgment. Scathing judgment at that.

“Right. You boys just came out here out of the goodness of your hearts,” she repeats, dubious and unapologetic about it.

“Sure did,” Billy says with about as fake a grin as he can pull off, and then he shrugs, leaning back in a comfortable sprawl. “That, and the free booze and drugs. Dunno how Munson here makes any money, giving away all his supply to the local rich kid.”

“Oh, so you’re here to mooch,” Robin says, eyes flitting to Eddie. “And you’re here to…?”

“Supply free drugs to the local rich kid,” Eddie replies, smile almost smug.

“Riiight,” Robin nods. “I’m sure that’s all, Munster.”

She says it like a taunt. Like she knows something he doesn’t– or she knows something he’s hiding and is deeply amused about it.

“Cross my heart,” Eddie says, dragging his finger over his chest in a little X. “I’ve never had an ulterior motive in my life.”

Billy raises his eyebrows at Eddie, even though Eddie’s still all eyes on Robin, grinning at her with his lips wide, teeth showing his delight. It’s a little surprising, Billy thinks—if he’s reading it right—that Eddie’s crush on Steve isn’t out in the open with Robin. Billy would’ve thought, given how up front, how obvious Eddie was about it with Billy, that Robin would know all the nitty gritty details about it, and wouldn’t be teasing him like it’s something unspoken.

Then again, maybe to Eddie, Billy was just too fucking obvious too.

Billy’s never met a wound he didn’t want to tongue at, a scab he didn’t want to pick at, though.

“Shit,” Billy says. “What’s that thing that the kids say all the time? Hm—Friends don’t lie?”

Eddie’s gaze darts to Billy’s. “Why would I ever lie about something like that, California? I’m as innocent as they come.”

“Oh, that’s some bullshit if I ever heard any,” Robin says.

“Wow, first time we agree on something,” Billy says. “Maybe you’re not half-bad, Buckley.”

“Who are you and what did you do to Billy Hargrove?” Robin says, squinting at him.

Eddie hisses out a “too soon?”

“Too soon for what? Behaving like a person that doesn’t smash perfectly good dumbasses in the head with plates?” Robin asks.

“And this is when I tell you to play nice,” Steve says as he walks back in, balancing an armful of drinks, stopping by Robin and holding out a glass in front of her face so that she blinks and frowns. “Put the claws away. Please?”

“Sorry,” Robin offers up a perfectly guileless smile as she takes the glass. “I’ll be nice.”

Exasperated, Steve meanders back over to the couch, passing two warm drinks over to Billy and Eddie and then plopping back down with a tall glass to match Robin’s cradled to his chest. It’s wine dark and smells rich and fruity and strong, whatever it is.

“How was the storm on your way over?” he asks Robin.

“Still raining buckets,” Robin says. “Slow at Family Video, until the power outage sent us home.”

Here in the Harrington living room, it’s almost impossible to say how bad it is outside. Sure, if Billy concentrated hard enough he could hear the sound of the rain on the roof, the way water’s flooding out the gutters and into long streams in the front yard toward the street. But the crackle of the fire is even louder, and the way voices fill up the room makes it hard to concentrate on the storm outside.

“And now you’re here,” Billy says, flashing her a bright, fake smile.

He doesn’t actually dislike that she’s here—she makes Steve happy, which means that she’s fine in Billy’s book. Besides, he kind of appreciates that she’s kind of a bitch. It gives him something to do, someone to snap at, even if it’s all in jest.

Besides—he can’t snap at Eddie like he did in the beginning. At least not without wanting to make it… physical.

“The more the merrier,” Eddie says.

Billy takes a long sip from his glass, peering over at Steve’s drink with interest. “So, whatcha drinking, pretty boy?”

Steve smiles, tipping it toward him. “Wanna try?”

Billy grins wide. “Course I do, princess.”

He takes the glass from Steve and takes a long, slow sip. The drink is sweet on his tongue, and surprisingly strong. Sangria, Billy thinks. Not that he’s had it all that much before.

“Careful. You’re gonna get shitfaced with that,” Billy says, as he hands it back, licking away the sweetness from the corners of his lips.

“I am fully aware of how powerful this is,” Steve says as he takes a sip. “I made it.”

Eddie is already nudging at him. Already wiggling in close at his side. Robin hides an amused snort into her glass. Obvious– but unsaid.

“You’re not gonna let me try?” he asks, and when his hand goes for the glass, Steve twists away slightly to keep it from him.

“No, because then you’ll go drink it all,” Steve mutters, hiding the drink against his chest.

Eddie pouts, his eyes going big and dark. “I thought you were supposed to be a nice host. Where are your manners, Stevie?”

“I don’t think he ever had those,” Robin says, taking a long, pointed sip of her own drink.

“I went to all my etiquette and ballroom dancing classes,” Steve replies, and Billy can’t actually tell if he’s being serious– but it certainly gets a cackle out of Robin, like it’s retread territory, Steve mocking his own upbringing. “I just forgot everything they taught me.”

“Liar,” Robin laughs. “I know you can foxtrot.”

“That is– a vicious, vicious rumor, and I just won’t have it in my house, Buckley,” Steve replies, shaking his head like he’s disappointed.

Billy tsks.

“Not gonna give us a show?” He looks at Robin and smirks, high and easy. “What kinda boyfriend is he, Buckley?”

“Gosh, you know what, you’re so right,” Robin says, sipping her drink and then beckoning Steve with a swing of her head. “Why don’t you come sit over here with me, Steve? Your very obvious girlfriend.”

“I’m so sorry, honey, you’re so right–” Steve sighs, moving to push up off of the couch, but Eddie tugs him back by the shirt. “Hey!”

“I got here first, Robin,” Eddie says. “I called dibs.”

Robin huffs, eyes bright and knowing. “You’re so popular, Steve.”

“He sure is,” Billy says.

And he wants, desperately, to put his hand next to Eddie’s to pull Steve back by the shirt too, but they’re not that close, even if Billy wants to be. So badly.

“Maybe that’s why he gets free weed,” Billy says, like he’s thinking about it.

Behind Steve’s back, Eddie smacks him in the shoulder.

“It’s my winning personality and my pretty face,” Steve says, like he’s assuring her.

Robin hums. “Yeah, I bet your face is part of it.”

“Ouch,” he says, and then he’s flopping back onto the couch with a heavy sigh, patting at Eddie’s knee. “Listen. Whatever, like– shit you brought with you, it was really good, but I’m gonna need to zone out for, like, a solid ten minutes.”

Eddie blinks, expression going a little dopey and soft. “Fair enough. Robin, are you interested in partaking? I’ve got one more rolled.”

Robin lifts her glass in a cheers. “Let’s do it.”

“Didn’t even ask me, Munson. What’s a guy to think?” Billy says, casually sipping at his drink, eyes moving from Steve to Eddie, a put-on frown passing over his face like he’s actually disappointed.

Robin’s amused gaze falls to Billy. Her brow arches and then tilts her head, squinting at him for a moment.

“Yeah, Eddie, what’s a guy to think?” Robin repeats, eyes lingering somewhere near Billy’s neck.

Eddie gets that baggy out again, from where he keeps tucking it between the seat cushions. “Alright, alright, hold your horses. Stevie, you sure you’re good?”

Steve hums around another pull from his glass, nodding slowly, hair flopping into his face as he lets his head fall back against the top edge of the sofa, the long line of his neck working as he speaks. “The room keeps spinning. I’m good.”

“Yeah, that’s gonna help,” Billy says sarcastically, eyeing the drink Steve’s sipping.

He leans over and plucks it out of Steve’s hand with clever fingers—not that Steve does all that much to stop him. And then Billy’s pushing himself up and away, putting some space between them as Steve slaps out at him, trying to get the drink back, but badly.

So, Billy chugs it. Makes a face when he’s done too, sticking out his purple tongue to Steve’s affronted, dizzy-looking face.

“That’s–” Steve scoffs, shoving at his shoulder. “That’s so fucking childish. What are we, twelve?”

Robin hisses. “You do hang out with quite a few–”

“First of all, they’re perfectly grown little teenagers. And Dustin is, like, the little brother I never had,” Steve cuts her off, pointing a finger in her direction. “And secondly, I make money off of it, so it isn’t totally lame.”

“That was three things, sweetie,” Robin says, mockingly sympathetic, laughing when that finger Steve’s got pointing at her turns into Steve flipping her the bird.

“I’m high, shut up,” and then he’s letting his head flop back against the couch again.

“Jesus, such a fucking whiner,” Billy says.

He sets his own drink down on the side table next to the couch, away from Steve’s grabby hands. And then he pushes himself up from the couch and leaves the three of them there in the living room, finding the kitchen in long strides. Behind him, Robin’s sniping something about Billy not being allowed to wander.

The glasses are in the cabinet to the left of the fridge. It takes Billy three guesses to find them. He turns on the tap to cold and fills up the glass, watching the rain outside the window above the sink.

When he comes back into the living room, Eddie’s got another blunt lit. Billy presses the glass of lukewarm water into Steve’s hand.

“Drink up, princess.”

Steve’s eyes flutter open, his head lulling over as he blinks at the glass Billy is holding out for him. His pupils are still blown out wide, but Billy can still see the brown catching in the firelight.

“Thanks, Billy,” Steve says, taking it and downing a good half before letting his head lull right back into place.

Across the living room, Robin’s brows shoot up. “Wow. Domesticated. You were right, Eddie.”

“Aw,” Billy says, tearing his eyes away from Steve to look at Robin. “You noticed.”

His head feels a little light with the alcohol. It makes him feel dizzy and off-kilter. He finds his way back to his seat, hoping that will steady him and stop his thoughts from drifting.

Because Steve’s face is already lax, body relaxed next to him as he takes his spot again. Head back, throat bared, Steve looks vulnerable. Billy wonders what it would be like to press his palm to his neck and feel him swallow.

Maybe he shouldn’t get higher, either.

“I also noticed that hickey you’re rocking, Eddie,” she says, in that smokey, wickedly pleased voice of hers, turning her focus on Eddie as he blows out smoke. “Someone got their teeth into you, didn’t they?”

“Shh,” Eddie presses a finger to his lips. “We don’t kiss and tell, Robin.”

Her eyes drift first to Steve, breathing slow and deep on the couch, water cradled to his chest. They hunt over him, eyeing his neck and arms and legs, like she’s looking for something. Then, she looks at Billy.

Billy doesn’t know what she sees.

“Uh huh,” she mutters, staring for a long moment, before looking right back at Eddie. “So are you gonna pass that thing over, or what?”

Laughing, Eddie leans way over to hold it out for her, and she meets him halfway.

It goes on like that for a while, easy and free, until the sun has long since set and the grey day turned dark. Eventually, the clouds rain themselves out and Billy is left high and more than a little drunk, in the corner of Steve’s couch feeling warm, water-logged.

Not bad, though. Just full.

And warm.

When Steve offers his guest bed just like he does for Robin, Billy just shrugs him off, more inclined to the couch, where Eddie is passed out a few feet over, long limbs sprawled everywhere and hair in his face. He feels content– so warm and calm in a way he only has after a good fight or a good fuck– and with none of the baggage that usually comes along with either.

On the way out, half awake himself, Steve pats a hand to Billy’s shoulder and squeezes. “Thanks for coming to check on me, Billy. Beds are upstairs if you change your mind.”

Billy settles back, chest swelling despite already being so full, and he realizes his mouth didn’t get him into trouble once. That he spent an entire day with Steve Harrington, and he didn’t fuck it up.

He’s not stewing in rage, not nursing his guilt– but cozy by the dwindling fire with Eddie Munson asleep across from him. Billy falls asleep there too, legs a tangle with Eddie’s in the middle, with Steve only a floor away.

chapter 11:

working double time (on the seduction line)

It becomes a pattern, falling asleep and waking up at Steve’s house. Sometimes Billy does take the guest room, surrendering to the creature comforts and expensive mattresses that the Harrington kingdom holds.

Billy sleeps better at Steve’s than in the trailer—and it seems like Munson does too, given the way he’s always hitching a ride on the back of Billy’s bike and staying until morning.

Steve works. Eddie deals. And Billy—probably should get a job, but he’s still working through the juicy government hush-money. Which means that he’s bored. Has time to kill. Can stay up late and waste the day away.

Even when Steve’s busy, Billy always finds himself occupied with Eddie. Days filled up with him. Billy’s either pounding on the door of Eddie’s trailer the second Wayne leaves for work, or Eddie’s letting himself into the Mayfield trailer, trying to bum a ride to the store, distracting Billy with kisses before they can even leave.

It feels dangerous. Addictive. But Billy can’t keep his hands off Eddie. Not even a little bit. It’s gotten hard, being around Steve when Eddie’s around.

Eddie doesn’t help, always teasing Billy, making comments, driving him up the wall.

Today’s no different. All day, Eddie’s been teasing him, taunting him, leaving Billy high and dry. Steve’s barely left the fucking room and Eddie is already on him, big hand on one of Billy’s ankles, thumb circling and circling the jut of bone there as he sneaks his way across the couch to where Billy’s got his back to one of the armrests, his feet in front of him.

They’re warm from being out back in Steve’s pool all day, hair damp but mostly dried by now. Eddie’s got some pink on his nose, and he’s in one of Steve’s old basketball shirts and his sweats because he goaded Billy into pushing him into the pool in his clothes earlier– a truly clever way to get himself in some of Steve’s clothes again. The shirt is tight in the chest and the shoulders, and Billy’s been wanting to get his fingers under the stretch of cotton since they came back inside.

Billy would stop him– should stop him– but he’s too damn caught by dark eyes and a firm grip. But Steve is upstairs and Billy can hear the shower turn on. But Eddie’s tongue is caught between his teeth, face stretched in a grin, and Billy wants.

“Watch yourself, Munson,” he says, half-hearted at best.

“Come on, sunshine,” Eddie breathes, creeping closer across the couch. “Let’s just make out a little.”

Eddie moves like a predator—but Billy isn’t prey. He watches Eddie crawl closer and closer, eyes tracking Eddie’s every movement, until he gets close enough and Billy meets him halfway. He can’t let Eddie win too easily, and that thought is what has Billy surging forward, toppling Eddie backwards to straddle him, pushing him down against the plush cushions of the couch with his hands on Eddie’s wrists.

“You’re the fucking worst,” Billy snaps. “Are you trying to get us caught?”

Eddie is easy under him, still grinning up at Billy’s frown. His wrists flex a little, in Billy’s grip, but when he finds it unyielding, he just gets his feet under him so that he can give a taunting rock of his hips up between the straddle of Billy’s thighs.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Eddie says, and he doesn’t look or sound like he’s ever been sorry for anything ever. “Just can’t help myself. Keep thinkin’ about getting you off in Steve Harrington’s living room while he’s right upstairs. It’s a terrible thought, I really should be ashamed.”

“Munson, shut up,” Billy hisses, but he can’t escape the pull of Eddie’s words—or maybe it’s the tease of his hips, because before Billy even knows it, he’s leaning down to crash their lips together in a hungry kiss.

At least it works to shut Eddie up. But it does very little to quench the fire burning in Billy’s veins, because when he goes to pull away, to escape Eddie’s stupid teasing, he’s greeted with the sight of Eddie’s dark eyes and kiss bitten lips. And that fucking smile.

Steve calls Billy trouble, but really he thinks that title goes to Eddie fucking Munson.

“Did you know I thought about waking you up with a blowjob last time we were here?” Eddie asks, moving restlessly underneath him. “Thought about you trying to be all quiet because Steve was sleeping right upstairs.”

Billy doesn’t whine, but it’s a near thing. The sound gets all choked up in his throat. His hips rock involuntarily against Eddie’s. And that doesn’t help his situation much, either.

“You wouldn’t,” Billy says, lips ghosting over Eddie’s until their hot breaths mingle together.

Billy catches Eddie’s lower lip in his teeth and tugs. Upstairs, the shower is still running.

Groaning, Eddie strains a little against Billy’s grip, his hips still moving– rolling up to meet Billy, breath coming a little short. He’s already half hard in Steve’s sweatpants, eyes as hungry as always, smile just as wicked. He seems perfectly content to let Billy pin him in place, tilting up his chin to catch at Billy’s mouth in a few brief, fleeting presses.

“Oh, sunshine, but I would,” Eddie says. “Been thinking about it since we spent that night during the storm.”

“Fuck,” Billy breathes out, thinking about it.

In the mornings, Eddie always looks soft. Sleep-ruffled and tender. Billy’s never slept next to him anywhere but Steve’s couch, but the sight of him in the morning is something else—something new and overwhelmingly intoxicating. Billy’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it: he always wants to get his hands on Eddie in the mornings. And his mouth on him, too.

It’s embarrassing how easily Eddie breaks Billy’s resolve. How quickly it snaps clean in two.

“The mouth on you,” Billy mumbles before he’s kissing Eddie again, catching him in a searing kiss.

Eddie hums, one press of their lips leading to another– leading to another– leading to another. He’s still moving, slow and restless, as Billy grinds down to meet him. He bites at Billy’s lower lip when he goes to pull away, and he pulls at his hands.

“C’mon, California,” he breathes up at him. “Let me touch you.”

“If I let you touch me,” Billy says between kisses. “I won’t fucking stop.”

Because Eddie’s hands are like magic. Big and dextrous and impossibly talented. Billy wants them on him literally all the time, every hour, every minute of the day.

Eddie grunts, giving a sharp little buck. “What if I promise to keep it above the belt?”

Billy squeezes Eddie’s wrists in warning. “You never keep it above the belt.”

Which isn’t exactly true. Eddie does, sometimes, but only when he’s teasing Billy, trying to drag it all out.

It doesn’t help that Billy doesn’t want Eddie to keep his hands above the belt. He wants to drag Eddie onto the floor of Steve Harrington’s living room and blow him until he screams.

Eddie lets out a dramatic little whine. “C’mon, sunshine. The sun brought out all your freckles and I’ve been dying to get my mouth on them.”

Billy laughs, he can’t help it. “You sound like a bad chick flick.”

But something about the sentiment has his stomach twisting in more than just heat. So before he can think better of it, Billy loosens his grip on Eddie’s wrists and puts his own in the air in surrender.

“You’re free. Happy now?”

“You’ve no idea,” Eddie tells him, and then his hands are on Billy’s thighs as he lays back and tracks the path of his own fingers with his eyes.

Up Billy’s legs. Squeezing at his hips. Sneaking up under the cotton of Billy’s tank– a shirt that Billy cut the arms out of a long time ago– and teasing at the lines of Billy’s abdomen.

“Pretty Billy Hargrove,” Eddie sighs, all dreamy, sitting up first to catch Billy’s mouth and second to kiss at a smattering of freckles on Billy’s shoulder. “So good for me, huh?”

The shower’s probably still running. Billy thinks it is.

He doesn’t do much to stifle the quiet groan that escapes at the first press of Eddie’s hands. He’s never slept with someone like Eddie before—someone so attentive and invested, someone who seems to know just how to touch him to drive him crazy. It leaves him frazzled, head spinning and thoughts a mess.

“Shut up,” Billy says in a low rumble.

Billy’s hands find Eddie’s hair like they always do. Fingers tangling in and gripping tight. He grinds his hips down, cock aching– seeking friction, seeking relief.

One of Eddie’s hands just rucks higher up under his shirt– until it’s dragging up his back and belly, until he can get his fingers teasing at one of Billy’s nipples. The other sneaks around to his lower back, pressing and pushing, hips flexing up to meet him. He’s breathing hot and heavy at Billy’s neck, peppering short little presses of his mouth up the line of his throat until Billy pulls at his hair hard enough to draw him away.

Until Billy draws his face up so that he can kiss him again.

“Fuck,” Eddie sighs against his lips, moving a little faster under him, the hand at his lower back sliding lower to try and sneak his fingers beneath the waistband of his pants. “So fucking hot, sunshine.”

Billy’s head swims a little when Eddie uses that clever mouth to catch Billy’s at the perfect angle, licking past the part of his lips to fuck his tongue lazily against Billy’s own. He knows he means Billy is hot, which is flattering and delightful and knots him up inside. But he also knows that doing this– and doing this here– is what Eddie thinks is hot.

Because Eddie Munson is absolutely filthy. As bad as, if not worse, than Billy.

Billy groans again, louder than before. The sound gets lost, eaten up by Eddie’s mouth, before Billy can even worry about it.

He should probably bat Eddie’s hand away—but instead, Billy’s hand is joining him, reaching down to grab at the waistband of Eddie’s pants, to shove it out of the way to get his fingers around Eddie’s cock. It’s not graceful, all desperate movements and wild energy, but Billy doesn’t think anyone’s ever made him as frantic as Eddie does.

“You’re so fucking hard,” Billy says, voice rough and raw. “That for me?”

Eddie strangles down a sound, laughing breathless and strained as he throbs under Billy’s touch. “Yeah– yeah, it is, sweetheart. You gonna take care of it for me?”

And his fingers are creeping, sneaking, working their way down the back of Billy’s pants. He palms at his ass, getting a good handful before squeezing. Cranes his head up to quiet Billy’s moan when the tips of those clever fingers tease where Billy wants them most in this moment. Just presses and works the tips of two of his fingers at Billy’s rim until Billy flinches and bucks.

The hand at his chest slides up, palm easing over his throat, and then gripping Billy’s jaw to keep Billy from pulling back too far, Billy’s shirt rucked up under his arms and caught on Eddie’s wrist.

Billy feels like putty in Eddie’s hands. It’s unfair, he thinks, how easily Eddie gets under his skin, how easily Eddie can take him apart.

Billy would be mad about it, if it didn’t feel so fucking good.

The sound Billy makes as Eddie’s fingers push dry against his rim is embarrassing, a half-choked off and absolutely desperate groan. He hates when Eddie does this—teases him but doesn’t let him get away. It makes Billy feel like he’s on fire, like there’s nothing left of him to burn.

He thinks the shower’s probably still on. It’s gotta be.

“Fuck,” Billy moans. “Eddie. Fuck—please.”

He can barely concentrate on getting Eddie off, hand working over Eddie’s cock in clumsy, desperate jerks. There’s sweat on Eddie’s brow, his eyes heavy, his mouth open as he pants up at Billy. He’s grinning.

“You want it that bad, sweetheart?” Eddie taunts, nudging at Billy’s nose with his own, using that grip on his jaw to make Billy hold his eyes.

The fingers at his rim press, press, press– and then ease off, never quite pressing in, just driving Billy to edge of all reason. They’re hot and thick and rough, and Billy knows exactly how good they feel. He whines.

“Don’t even have any lube, sunshine,” Eddie nips at Billy’s lower lip, fucking up into Billy’s fist, rubbing over the twitch of Billy’s entrance. “But you want my fingers anyway, don’t you?”

Of course they don’t have any lube, they’re at Steve fucking Harrington’s house, and—the thought catches Billy even more aflame, knocking another choked-off moan straight out of him. Eddie’s right: it’s hot, so fucking hot. That Steve is just upstairs, oblivious, and they’re down here, and—

He’s so warm. Billy struggles out of his shirt in a violent movement, tossing it to the side. Eddie catches his jaw again immediately.

His eyes are so dark. Impossible to look away from.

“Eddie,” Billy gets out, unable or unwilling to actually say.

They both know what Billy’s answer is: that lube doesn’t matter, that he’d let Eddie fuck him right here, right now, if only Eddie would let him take it.

“Love how dark your eyes get when you’re desperate for it,” Eddie tells him, pulling his hand free of Billy’s pants so that he can reach around and undo his fly, so that he can shove his pants down his hips, so that he can take Billy’s sloppily stroking hand and guide it to gripping them both as their cocks rut together with the flex of Eddie’s hips. “Faster, sweetheart.”

And then, while Billy is clumsily stroking over them both as they rock together, Eddie uses that grip on his jaw to draw him down into a kiss while he goes back to pressing and working his fingers at Billy’s rim. Pressing and working ever so slightly in.

Billy chokes, a little shocked that Eddie actually did it. Is doing it. Fingering Billy in Steve’s living room. He thinks his eyes go a little crosseyed and all the air punches straight out of his lungs. He should probably try and be quieter, but he can’t help but groan into Eddie’s mouth.

Through the sheer force of willpower, he keeps his hand working over their dicks, greedy for it and desperate in turns.

Eddie doesn’t press very deep. Keeps it shallow and teasing. But the combination of everything else is enough. The friction of his own hand on their lengths, the hot line of Eddie’s cock dragging against his own. The tight burn, the blissful stretch, of Eddie’s fingers inside him. Getting each other off in Steve’s living room, with him so close by.

“C’mon,” Eddie pants, hand slipping down to his throat, huge and hot and squeezing. “C’mon, sunshine. M’so close– need to see you cum, sweetheart.”

And really, how is Billy supposed to hang on after that?

He’s bucking forward– fucking forward– against Eddie’s cock and into his own desperate grip, his other hand dropping to join it. He rocks helplessly back, wanting deeper, more, now–

But the fire in his belly is too hot and too bright. Eddie’s tongue is in his mouth and his hand is on his throat and Billy is choking on his own pleasure, boiling over, spilling out–

He cums in messy stripes across Eddie’s prick, across the cotton of his shirt– Steve’s shirt– with a shuddering jerk. The sound he makes is long and low and thankfully swallowed down by Eddie’s eager, hungry mouth.

Eddie is quick to finish after him, rutting up between his legs with a ragged groan, just doubling the mess they’ve made.

“Fuck,” Eddie breathes, drawing from his mouth to pant up at Billy’s dazed, slackened face. “Fuck, that was perfect, sunshine.”

It was. It was so fucking good that Billy’s fingertips are sort of tingling, his ears ringing, and the hand at his throat goes for his hair, gentling Billy back down from his blissed high with long, slow kisses.

When Billy can finally string a sentence together, he pulls from the hot temptation of Eddie’s lips in order to look down at their laps. Eddie is already grabbing Billy’s discarded shirt, dragging it over to try and clean up what he can.

“Jesus,” Billy breathes out hard, head still hot, limbs loose. “Jesus, what a fucking mess–”

The groan of the floorboards have him freezing– feet shifting, stepping slowly away. He doesn’t hear the shower.

His stomach drops, heart lodging itself in his throat as he turns to find Steve Harrington standing in the doorway staring.

Steve Harrington, with a fresh pair of clothes worn and loose on his frame, flush from his shower. Steve Harrington, with hair dripping and a towel clutched in front of himself. Steve Harrington, with an unreadable expression, eyes stuck on the tangle of Eddie and Billy on his couch.

“Um,” he says, faltering in place, ears going red. “I– uhh. I’m gonna–”

He gestures over his shoulder with a thumb. Shuffles back a step.

Billy’s half certain his heart stopped beating.

Eddie hisses under him, hands going for his hips, trying to urge him up and off as he says, “Shit, Stevie, look–”

“The shower’s free,” Steve says sharply, abruptly, so still as he stands there.

And then he’s turning around and rushing out of the room. He doesn’t run, but he beats a hot retreat away from them. Billy is still frozen, still stuck, even as he hears his feet on the stairs.

“Fuck,” Eddie spits, finally coaxing Billy off of him, wiping them up sloppily, hands shaking a little– just as fucking scared as Billy is, though probably not for all the same reasons. “Goddamn it, I’m– sorry, Billy, I shouldn’t have– fuck, he shouldn’t have found out like that–”

For what feels like stretching minutes, Billy can’t move. His body just—refusing. Until it doesn’t. Until all that motion suddenly catches up with him and has him off the couch like a shot. He scrambles for it, up and off of Eddie, landing first on his knees, burning them against the carpet, before he’s up, standing there and backing up—like if he can put enough space between himself and Eddie he can actually walk backward through time.

“I told you, I fucking told you,” Billy says, and he wants to sound angry, because he is, he is, but the fear is worse—insurmountable—and it coats his words like tar, has him shaking and petrified.

He can’t even put his shirt back on, he realizes. Because it’s in Eddie’s hand, covered in both of their spend.

“Hey–” Eddie is looking at him, is shoving himself back in his sweats– fucking Steve’s sweats– and then he’s standing up and shuffling a little closer. “Hey, Billy, it’s– look at me, okay?”

It’s one thing to pine after Steve. To want him with every ounce of his being. But Billy always knew, back at the back of his mind, that it couldn’t happen, wouldn’t happen. And still, that didn’t make it easier seeing that expression on Steve’s face, didn’t make it easier watching Steve turn away from him. Billy feels like he just tanked a fantasy that had been keeping him afloat for years, now—the only good thing in Hawkins—a dream.

Billy looks at Eddie. At his sides, Billy’s hands are shaking. From fear, but also from the too-recent endorphin rush of orgasm. Inside, Billy feels hollow, gutted. Eddie doesn’t look all that peachy, either.

“Fuck,” Billy says, with feeling. “Fuck.”

But he doesn’t run. Can’t, when Eddie’s got him stuck there with just his gaze. Pinned.

“I know,” Eddie breathes, voice a balm against frayed nerves, eyes still dark but a little frantic. “I know, it’s– but it’s gonna be fine, okay? I promise.”

An absolutely disbelieving noise rips itself straight out of Billy’s chest.

“You don’t know that,” he says, even though he wants so desperately to believe it, to cling to those words of comfort.

He wants, kind of, with a dizzying amount of fervency, to cling to Eddie too.

“Sunshine, I–” Eddie cuts himself off, wetting his lips with a rapid dart of his tongue, hands out like he’s waiting to see if it’s okay to touch Billy again. “Billy, sweetheart, think– what did he say? Did he say to leave?”

Billy barks out a laugh. But he doesn’t move. Just—stands there as Eddie inches forward. Hands outstretched like Billy’s gonna spook.

He tells himself he doesn’t flinch when Eddie’s hands meet his arms. But he does.

It doesn’t deter Eddie, though, who just looks at him with big, kind eyes.

“He didn’t say that,” Billy says, finally. It sounds like his heart’s caught right in his throat. “But—fuck.”

Billy wonders if Eddie’s ever been caught like this before. Because Billy has. And sure, Steve didn’t yell, didn’t scream, didn’t lash out—and sure that’s not who Steve is, but Billy can’t help but anticipate the pain. Gear himself up for it.

Eddie huffs, laughing a little, and it’s bitter but it’s relieved– and his hands are big and warm and gentle, smoothing up and down his arms until Billy feels less like he’s going to crawl out of his own skin. Or like he’s going to bolt.

“Fuck is right,” Eddie says, nodding, shuffling closer– breathing steadier, like calming Billy down is calming him down. “It’s– ten kinds of fuck. But he wasn’t mad. Okay? I’ve seen him mad– I bet you’ve seen him mad– and that little deer in the headlights look wasn’t mad, okay, sunshine?”

And—Eddie is right. He is. Steve didn’t look mad. Billy isn’t exactly sure how he looked, but—not mad.

Billy takes in a breath and tries not to focus on how wet it feels, how ragged.

“Do we just—I mean,” Billy says, feeling himself lean into Eddie’s touch, pressing forward against those steady hands. “What the fuck are we supposed to say?”

Billy’s breath hitches as he laughs, a little desperate, a little crazed.

“Sorry—sorry for fucking in your living room?” he asks, derisive and a little hysteric too.

“Might be a good start, actually,” Eddie replies, grin small and tight, squeezing at Billy’s shoulders. “Can’t say it’s exactly polite.”

It’s so far from polite it isn’t even funny. It was depraved and hot and so fucking stupid–

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says, even though it isn’t even all his fault, Billy was a fully consenting participant. “I’ll go explain things. That way if he does get mad, he just has me to yell at.”

Billy reaches out, hands moving of their own accord, and grasps Eddie by the arms. Pulling him closer.

“No,” Billy says, throat tight but vehement. “Fuck, it’s not your fault.”

His fingers tighten around Eddie’s arms. He feels less shaky now, less jittery. Even though the pit in his stomach still feels just as hollow.

“I’m coming with you,” Billy says. “You don’t have to—alone.”

Billy’s always done everything alone, and he’s fucking tired of it. Eddie shouldn’t have to do anything alone, either.

“You sure?” Eddie asks, hands smoothing up to frame Billy’s jaw. “I promise I can handle whatever Stevie throws my way.”

But Billy is sure. Fucking petrified, but he’s absolutely positive he doesn’t want to let Eddie shoulder this alone.

So he nods, and then Eddie is taking him by the wrist and pulling him along. Out of the living room, up the stairs, down the long, wide hallway that leads to the bedrooms. When they come to Steve’s door, it is shut, but there’s light underneath and Billy thinks he can hear Steve pacing over the pounding of his own heart.

Eddie hesitates for a second, but then he’s knocking his knuckles against the wood– and inside something clatters.

“Stevie?” Eddie calls out. “Stevie, can we talk for a second–?”

“Did you shower?” Steve asks, abruptly, and Billy strains to hear, but Steve must be holding completely still.

Deer in the headlights, Billy thinks.

Eddie glances over at him, brow pinching a little. “Uhh, no, not yet. Listen, can we–”

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Steve cuts in again, a little wobble in his voice. “But I don’t know if I can talk to you guys while you’re covered in spunk.”

It isn’t disgust that catches in Steve’s voice. If anything, Steve sounds a little hysteric himself–

And suddenly Billy can picture him with perfect clarity. The wide eyes. The fidgeting hands. The embarrassed blush.

He almost wants to laugh.

“I, uh…” Steve clears his throat. “Didn’t mean to interrupt, but it– it was kind of my living room, so…”

Billy thinks about Steve sitting in his bedroom, toweling off from a shower, hearing sounds from downstairs and going to investigate. Billy knows he wasn’t as quiet as he should’ve been. Knows that his moans must’ve echoed up the stairs, punched-out and gut-wrenching.

He wonders what exactly Steve heard. How long he was standing there.

Did he see their cocks rutting together in Billy’s fist? Did he see Eddie’s hands under Billy’s sweats? Did he know what Eddie was doing to him?

Billy feels warm all over.

“Don’t—don’t go anywhere,” Billy says.

Steve makes a desperate, disbelieving sound from behind the closed door. “Where would I go?” he says, and it sounds almost like he’s talking to himself.

And then Billy grabs Eddie by the wrist and drags him to the bathroom.

On the counter, next to the sink, is a small stack of fresh towels and a considerate change of clothes for the both of them, leaning a little haphazardly– like it was placed there in a rush. Eddie’s eyes stall on it.

“Fuck, he’s so cute,” Eddie hisses in a strangled little whisper, rolling his eyes and huffing out a disbelieving laugh.

Billy closes the door behind them and leans against it—or rather, falls against it in an undignified slump. His knees feel weak and his breath is coming in short, and he feels like maybe he was just holding himself together by a thin and fraying string.

Steve didn’t yell. Didn’t turn them away in disgust. But it’s far from an ideal scenario and Billy’s energy is—shot. Completely and utterly depleted.

“You wanna go first?” Billy asks, nodding at the shower, feeling somewhere between strangled and relieved.

Eddie looks at him, then. His face is pale, but his expression goes easy at the sight of Billy. He shuffles in close, hands coming up to curve over Billy’s jaw. A thumb strokes soft over one of his cheeks, and Billy feels deflated– emptied out from inside– so tired. He presses into Eddie’s touch.

“Join me?” he asks, and he sounds a little last-thread himself. “Just– wanna clean you up.”

It’s too easy to say yes. To let Eddie strip the pants off him and tug him into the shower. The water, when Eddie turns it on, is already warmed from Steve’s shower and hot on Billy’s skin. He lets himself be led, and be moved wherever Eddie deems right.

Before Eddie can even grab the soap, though, Billy’s pressing himself closer, catching Eddie around the back of the neck and hauling him into a kiss. It’s lazy and messy and urgent in a strange, unfamiliar way, but it feels like Billy’s heart quits pounding quite so loudly the second their lips are pressed together.

Eddie catches him easily and readily around the middle, hands big at his lower back and between his shoulder blades, palms warm and fingers splayed. He meets the frenetic, almost frantic, press of Billy’s mouth with slow kisses of his own. Keeps himself steady and solid, holding Billy against him.

“Easy, sunshine,” he breathes, tilting his head, gentling Billy’s mouth with his own. “I got you.”

Billy doesn’t feel hot, doesn’t feel the usual desire burning through his blood. Comfort is a strange reason to want to kiss someone, something foreign and brand new, like new, tender skin healing over an open wound.

“This is so,” Billy says, words bracketed by kisses, “so fucked up. I can’t believe—”

He pulls away from the kiss and presses his forehead against Eddie’s shoulder, letting himself go a little bit loose. He hauls in a deep, stuttering breath—holds it—and then lets it go.

And then he laughs. A hiccuped little thing.

“That’s not how I wanted that to go,” Billy says.

“Me either,” Eddie tells him, hand cupping the base of Billy’s skull, like he wants to keep Billy there for a second, mouth pressing to Billy’s temple. “Me either, not even a little. But hey– so far the world hasn’t ended, right?”

The sound Billy makes isn’t quite a laugh, nor is it really a whine. It’s just air, forced out from the very pit of his lungs.

“Guess it hasn’t,” Billy says.

Another lungful of air brings in humid moisture into his lungs. The spray of water against his back is hot and comforting—and so are Eddie’s arms as they snake around him, pulling him into a hug. And no one really hugs Billy Hargrove. Hasn’t, for a long time. Billy’s muscles go a little lax and he finally lets his eyes close.

“Is it too much to hope that maybe he—” Billy mumbles against damp skin, but he can’t even bring himself to finish the thought.

It’s too tender, too fragile.

“I wish I could tell you for sure,” Eddie sighs, rubbing at his scalp, tightening his arms around him and kissing the top of his head. “He’s definitely worked up. Just don’t know if it’s in a fun way. He probably would’ve kicked us out if he suddenly hated us, though.”

Billy nods, a jerky little movement. He’s so close to Eddie, their bodies pressed right up against each other in the small space of the shower, but he doesn’t feel trapped in the intimacy like he thought he might. Instead, it’s just nice. He lets himself have it for a few more heartbeats.

“Fuck,” Billy breathes out before straightening himself up into something approximating upright. “We should—”

He gestures at all of the soaps and shampoos and shit, knowing full well all of it smells like Steve.

Eddie nods, pausing to draw Billy’s mouth against his one more time. Then, he’s pulling back, getting the soap, and making quick work of cleaning them up.

It isn’t rushed, but Eddie doesn’t take as much time as he might’ve if they weren’t already wrung so dry. Eddie takes care of Billy first– because he always seems to want to– and then Billy helps get him clean in return.

The bathroom has steamed up by the time they’re done, drying off with absurdly soft towels and shoving limbs into clothes.

“You look like a fucking dork,” Billy says, plucking at the fabric of Eddie’s shirt.

It’s too preppy for him, too bright. Still, he manages to make it look good—because Eddie always looks good, so confident and assured all the time. Like Billy tries to be.

He can’t help but be nervous, carding his fingers through his own wet curls. Trying to—clean himself up, make himself presentable for whatever conversation they’re about to have with Steve. Eddie plucks at one of his curls, grin crooked, and then he gestures to the door with a little nod of his head.

They step out together into the quiet hallway of a near empty house. Just across the way, Steve’s door is still shut and there’s still light under his door, but there’s the faint sound of music. And under that, quiet enough that he knows Eddie can’t hear it, Steve’s voice muttering along absently to the lyrics.

Billy feels his chest go tight. Feels his eyes burn. Had been at least half convinced that Steve would just take off while they were occupied, despite knowing how illogical and ridiculous it is. Despite Steve practically saying he had nowhere else to run to– nowhere else to hide.

The relief is just a little overwhelming, is all.

Eddie knocks at the door, shifting on his feet, restless with the door still between them and Steve. “We’re squeaky clean,” he calls.

Inside, Billy can hear Steve suck in a sharp breath. The music stops. Something groans– wood shifting, like a bed or a chair– and then Steve is clearing his throat.

“You can come in,” Steve calls back. “The door’s not locked.”

Billy is the one who reaches for the handle. Who turns it and pushes the door open. Eddie touches his back, just a fleeting little gesture of two fingers pressed to his spine, as Billy walks through the door and Eddie follows. It’s grounding, nice. Eddie doesn’t keep touching him, though, and Billy thinks that’s good, too. They stand close, but not too close, after they crowd into the room.

Steve is sitting across the room, on top of the desk he’s got pressed up under one of his windows. It’s open, blinds drawn up, afternoon sun pouring in, and Billy blinks at the lit joint Steve’s got held just over the windowsill.

“You shouldn’t have seen that,” Billy says. And then, very quickly afterward, “Sorry.”

Steve looks caught in place by Billy’s abrupt apology. Or perhaps just at the sight of the two of them standing there, when the last time he saw them they were all over each other.

“Um,” Steve says, eyes a little wide and a little wild, brows up as he gives little nod. “Okay. You’re– you’re forgiven? I don’t, uhh… it’s not– not the first time I’ve caught someone having– um.”

Eddie chokes a little at Billy’s side as Steve’s mouth presses thin, as Steve winces when just mentioning it brings a flood of color to his face– like he knows how obvious his embarrassment is, painted across his skin. Like he’d been trying to fight it back.

“It’s– I’m just trying to say it’s not the worst thing that’s probably happened on that couch,” Steve says, words coming a little quicker. “Well, maybe not that couch, my mom just replaced all the furniture–”

Billy wants to say that it’s probably the first time Steve’s caught two men fucking on that couch, but he leaves that one be.

“Steve,” Billy says, and then mentally kicks himself for the name, when he thinks that’s maybe the first fucking time— “Even still. I’m sorry. We’re sorry. Jesus—we should’ve been more—careful.”

Eddie’s hand lands on Billy’s shoulder. Gives it an affirming squeeze. “What California here is trying to say is that that’s not exactly how we wanted to come out.”

“Oh,” Steve says, blinking a few times. “That’s… good to know? I’m not– I’m not upset– I just–”

He stops, wetting his lips with a little huff. He shrugs a little, wincing like he’s worried he’s about to put his foot in his mouth.

“I just didn’t know you guys liked… guys,” Steve says, a little slow, looking a bit like he’d like to shrink in on himself. “Or– Or, I guess that you– liked each other?”

Billy laughs, just a little bit, because that’s only part of the equation. Only a fraction of the more complicated whole.

“Yeah, that’s—uh. He’s fine, I guess,” Billy says, but it’s with fondness in his voice. Something he has only really just accepted for Eddie.

Eddie flicks Billy in the ear. “I’m more than fine, sunshine, but that’s ringing praise, coming from you.”

“Oh,” Steve says again, eyes darting between them, and then he’s finally unfreezing– drawing his hand back from the window and pressing the joint between his lips. “That’s… good?”

The thing is, Eddie and Billy haven’t really—talked. About any of it. They fuck and they get high and if they talk, they talk about Steve.

“But we’re not, like—” Billy says, and immediately puts his foot in his mouth, eyebrows drawing together.

Because he doesn’t know what they are. He wishes he had a word for it, wishes that they had gone into this conversation… prepared. Not because Steve caught them fucking on his mom’s brand new couch.

“Careful, California,” Eddie says, cheeky, but the nudge of his shoulder is gentle and pressing. “You’re a few words away from breaking my heart.”

Billy’s eyes flit to him and something twists in his gut. But he doesn’t even have a chance to respond before—

“I mean– I mean, you guys look good together,” Steve says, words stumbling, and when Eddie’s brows shoot up, his face burns as he rushes to add, “Like as a couple! It’s– you look like it… makes sense?”

Eddie makes a noise at the back of his throat and Billy feels exactly the same way. It’s inarticulable but excruciating.

“We haven’t talked about it,” Billy says, quick, before he can think better of it. “It’s complicated.”

Because it is. It is complicated. Because they work together, they fit—but there’s a ghost in the shape of Steve Harrington between them.

“Right,” Steve says, nodding like he understands. “Right. Yeah, of course.”

Next to him, Eddie snorts and then covers his mouth as he clears his throat, like he knows he’s maybe not supposed to be laughing right now. Billy elbows him when Steve arches a brow.

“Sorry,” Eddie mutters. “It’s just– you’re taking this exceptionally well, considering…”

“Considering you guys were getting off on my mom’s 3,000 dollar couch?” Steve asks, and some of that glassy shock seems to have been shed from his eyes, a touch of that familiar dry resignation returning.

“It was stupid,” Billy says.

But it was so, so hot.

Not that it really feels hot right now, now that he’s suffering the consequences of his actions. So—mostly stupid. “Thanks for not, like—”

“Being an asshole,” Eddie finishes for him, when it’s clear that Billy is floundering.

Steve’s brows furrow, and he works at the corner of his lower lip with his teeth as he glances between them again. “You thought I was gonna be an asshole about it?”

“Well,” Eddie sighs. “You never know.”

“Oh,” Steve says, and this time he sounds a little sad.

Like he’s sad for them.

“You get punched one too many times,” Billy says, trailing off.

Next to him, Eddie flinches. “Not helping,” he says.

Billy shrugs. “What, I’m saying it’s refreshing.”

And it is. It feels like a goddamn relief, like jumping into the waters of Lover’s Lake on a hot summer day.

A nervous little laugh bubbles up out of Steve’s mouth. He looks like he’s not quite sure what to do with himself, shifting restlessly on the desk, crossing his feet under himself as he rests back against the edge of the window pane.

Then, after taking another hit from the joint pinched between his fingers, he gestures to the room.

“You guys wanna stop hovering?” he asks.

Eddie lurches into movement like he’d just been waiting for permission. Padding over, Eddie grabs the desk chair sitting in front of Steve, turning it to face him so he can straddle it with his arms resting along the back edge. He holds out a hand, smile expectant.

“You gonna share?” Eddie asks.

Steve eyes him for a second, and then holds the joint out for Eddie to take. “It’s not your supply.”

“So it’s shit, is what you’re saying,” Eddie says.

As Eddie’s taking the joint, putting his lips on it, Billy crosses the space to join them. Except there’s nowhere else to sit but the floor. Or Steve’s bed. And Steve didn’t seem all that angry. Or disgusted. Just—something else. Restless. Embarrassed, maybe. But nothing awful.

Besides, Billy showered. He’s squeaky clean and already wearing Steve’s clothes.

So, in lieu of sitting on the floor, Billy sits on Steve’s bed, letting himself lean back up against the headboard in a bit of a sprawl. Making himself comfortable but also making himself look comfortable, too.

Steve glances over at him, gaze furtive and quick, but then he’s looking back down at Eddie, watching his mouth shrug, expression brightening and impressed. The only hint that Steve is any kind of uncomfortable is the fact that he’s fidgeting with the bottom hem of his basketball shorts, fingers plucking at a loose thread, a little quiet even as offers Eddie a grin.

“Argyle gave that to me,” Steve says.

“That guy’s gonna put me out of business,” Eddie says, blowing out dank, heavy smoke with a slow nod.

Then, he tips back, arm stretched overhead, offering out to Billy.

“Try this,” he says.

Steve’s smile loosens a little.

When Billy does try it, reaching out to take the joint and take a hit, it feels like the rest of the tension in the room fades away along with his lungful of smoke.

chapter 12:

i see trouble (on the way)

By the time the summer fair rolls into town, Steve has stopped being so skittish. Billy thinks it’s two weeks– maybe two and a half– of Steve fumbling over his words around them until Eddie teased him into snarking and sniping back.

So when he drives up on a sunny Sunday afternoon, two days after the fair’s opening– Billy had already been with Max once, hopeful as hell, but Steve hadn’t been there with the other kids– it is a relief when he rolls up to Eddie’s to park, rolls down the window, and kills the engine so that he can turn and look at Billy the same way he had when he’d come to cash in that motorcycle ride.

Arms on the windowsill, chin on his arms, sunglasses tucked up into his hair as he grins. “Hey there, trouble. Where’s your louder half?”

Which is funny. No one ever called Billy quiet when he rolled into Hawkins, as Billy was always posturing, always loud-mouthed and boisterous. But monsters do weird shit to you. So does a realization that the world’s bigger than you think.

Billy’s drinking a coke. The day’s hot but the drink is still ice-cool in his hand, fresh from the fridge. Sweat’s already beading on Billy’s brow, sticking his hair to his skin—but it’s a nice kind of heat. The kind that reminds him that he’s alive, warm and his own person.

“Sleeping,” Billy says, gesturing toward Eddie’s trailer with his soda. “Probably. I’m not his secretary.”

“You certainly don’t look like any secretary I’ve ever seen,” Steve replies, tipping his sunglasses down onto his nose so that he can peer over the top edge at him. “Think he’ll wake up if I lay on the horn?”

“What, you saying I’m not pretty enough to be a secretary?” Billy says, putting on a pout just for Steve. “I’m hurt, King Steve.”

He takes a long sip of his coke, makes a face when Steve laughs.

“What do you need him for?” he asks, nodding toward Eddie’s trailer.

“Robin is working the closing shift tonight,” Steve says, reaching for something in his back pocket, and then he’s pulling out three tickets and holding them out the window. “And I want to go to the fair.”

Well shit. Dreams do come true.

“You asking us to be your dates to the fair, Harrington?” Billy asks, lips curving up into one of his more flirtatious smiles.

“No,” Steve insists, face coloring, but he’s rolling his eyes and shaking his head with an exasperated grin. “I just need someone to win me all the prizes at the booths. I figure if I can’t count on you, Eddie will find a way to cheat.”

“He won’t have to cheat,” Billy says, quick as a shot. “Have more faith in me, pretty boy. I’m gonna win you all the prizes.”

And then Billy’s pushing himself up from his chair, downing the rest of his coke, and heading toward Eddie’s trailer. He doesn’t bother knocking, just lets himself in, slipping past a sleeping Wayne on the couch and heading down the narrow hall to Eddie’s room.

He finds Eddie on the bed, sprawled out and sleeping with his mouth open. Stalled in his tracks for a hot second, Billy just—watches him. Can’t help himself. He’s devilishly attractive, but soft too. All long lines and sharp angles.

His shirt has rucked up in sleep. Billy wakes him with a hand brushing over the sliver of skin exposed.

“Hey, Munson.”

Eddie smacks his lips, grunting as Billy’s fingers skirt against his lower belly. “Mm?”

And Billy wants. In the way that he seems to always want Eddie, deep and overwhelming. Like a gravity well. But Steve’s outside and they don’t have time. It’s fine—they’ll have time later.

“Wake up. Steve’s here and he wants to go to the fair.”

Billy doesn’t say how much he’s been dreaming about this. Eddie already probably knows.

Eddie’s face scrunches. He groans a little, stretching out slow as he blinks his eyes open to squint up at Billy.

“Stevie wants to go to the fair?” Eddie asks with a small, sleepy frown.

Billy spreads his palm out over Eddie’s sleep-warm skin, just touching. Rucking his shirt up a little. Unable to keep his hands off. It’s nice to be able to casually touch him so freely, just because he wants to.

“Steve wants to go to the fair,” Billy repeats. “You gonna wake up for me?”

Eddie’s frown deepens for a moment, and he stops mid-stretch. Gets his elbows under him to prop himself up, blinking awareness into his eyes as Billy smoothes his hand over his abdomen.

“Stevie wants to go to the fair,” Eddie repeats back, slow, head tilting as his brows draw up. “With us?”

Billy drags his fingertips, then his nails, over Eddie’s hip bone. “Says it’s not a date.”

But Billy can fucking dream.

Eddie seems to be on the same wavelength because his eyes get brighter and brighter as his grin goes wide. Craning up, he catches Billy’s mouth, and then he’s wiggling his way out of bed eagerly picking around his room for something to wear.

“What was he wearing?” Eddie asks, hopping into a pair of jeans over to his window, fingering the blinds open and pearing to the left– like he might be able to catch sight of Steve waiting for them in his car. “Was it lake casual or something with a collar?”

“Didn’t notice,” Billy says.

Which means he was too busy staring at Steve’s face, at his smile.

Eddie picks up a shirt and Billy promptly plucks it out of his hands. Digs around in Eddie’s drawers and then hands him another one.

And look, it’s fine that Billy has a favorite shirt that Eddie wears—it’s just that it looks real good on him, cut perfectly and worn soft.

Eddie takes it with a raised brow, pulling it over his head, grin going cocky. “You think we can sneak away to make out in the corn maze?”

Billy laughs, even though the thought strikes a momentary flash of fear inside him. The idea of getting caught, out in Hawkins, isn’t as fun as the idea of Steve catching them.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. Who says I’m gonna put out today?”

“We’re gonna be following your favorite pretty boy around all afternoon at the fair,” Eddie says, tugging on a pair of unlaced boots before pacing over to poke Billy in the side. “Playing games, going on rides, watching him eat funnel cake– and you don’t think you’re gonna want to put out?”

“Shove it, Munson,” Billy says, knowing full well that Eddie’s right.

And then he’s stripping off his own shirt, a worn wifebeater—batting Eddie’s hands away—and stealing one from Eddie’s drawers. It’s a little tight on Billy, stretching over his muscles in a way that he knows looks good.

“How do I look?” Billy asks.

Eddie lets out a low, quiet noise. “That’s gotta be rhetorical.”

And it sort of is.

Billy doesn’t need an answer, not when it’s written all over Eddie’s face. Not when his pupils blow out and his jaw flexes like that as he gives Billy one long look.

Billy feels something pull taut in his belly.

Outside, Steve finally gets impatient enough to start honking. Eddie clicks his tongue, eyes lingering over Billy’s chest.

“Damn,” Eddie says. “I think our not-date is getting impatient.”

“I think I should blow you,” Billy says, “just to make him wait.”

He’s kidding, even though the idea is tempting as all hell.

“Hot, but no,” Eddie says, and then he’s grabbing Billy by the wrist to pull him toward the door. “I don’t want to risk the clock striking midnight and our princess scampering off.”

He pulls Billy all the way through the trailer and out the front door, only letting go as they step out so he can jump down off of the small landing and swagger over to where Steve is hanging out the window of his BMW. Eddie braces a hand on the roof, leaning down, grin dimpling one of his cheeks.

Steve sits there, brow arched behind his Ray Bans.

“What’s this about a fair?” Eddie asks.

Steve smiles. “Hop in and find out.”

The fair is crowded, warm, and fun. One of the only fun things that Hawkins has to offer, if Billy’s being truthful. It reminds him of the boardwalks he spent his childhood growing up on, full of rides and games and food. Food that reminds him of crashing waves, California sun, and sea air filling up his lungs.

“Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone eat so much funnel cake in one sitting,” Eddie says.

Eddie tries to steal a piece, but isn’t fast enough. On Billy’s other side, Steve’s pouting.

“I thought you were going to share,” Steve mutters, and then, after a moment, he runs a hand through his hair and smiles. “Hey, Billy, can I please have a piece of funnel cake?”

Billy’s fucking weak.

Billy makes direct eye contact with Eddie, tears off a piece of funnel cake, and hands it to Steve. And when Eddie scoffs, Billy just smiles and says, “He asked nice.”

Steve bites in with a smug little hum, powdered sugar already clinging to his fingers, and as he’s chewing he leans over to meet Eddie’s eyes, covering his mouth as he says, “I think he wants you to say please.”

Eddie makes a face, brows up, voice low with implication. “Oh, does he?”

Steve goes red in the face as he frowns, swallowing before he adds, “Not what I meant. For someone who is rude as shit, Billy is shockingly receptive to manners.”

Manners– or Steve Harrington saying please.

It would be different, Eddie saying please, Billy thinks. Not the same as Steve’s mouth going all pretty and a little smug when he tosses a please onto a request.

“Am I?” Billy says. “Maybe I just don’t wanna share my funnel cake with Munson.”

“Mm, sorry Munster, I don’t have any advice for that,” Steve says.

Eddie sits back against the bench, arms spread along the top edge, smile sly. “Don’t worry, Stevie. I’m fully aware of how greedy California is.”

Steve just gets a little pinker and ducks back behind Billy to escape those dark eyes, taking another bite of his piece of funnel cake.

“What’re we doing next, pretty boy?” Billy asks, handing over yet another piece of deep fried pastry—before relenting and handing one off to Eddie too. If only to stop Eddie from continuing to poke him in the side. “You want me to win you a giant bear?”

Steve laughs, squinting at him in the late afternoon sun, sunglasses tucked back up in his hair. “I was mostly joking about that.”

“Only mostly?” Eddie asks.

There’s powdered sugar at the corner of Steve’s mouth as he finishes another bite. Billy tries not to stare. Tries even harder not to imagine leaning over and kissing it right off. “I mean,” Steve shrugs. “Who doesn’t want a giant bear?”

Billy scarfs down the remainder of the funnel cake and stands, brushing the sugar off his hands and then his jeans.

“C’mon, pretty boy, let me win you a bear.”

“Didn’t offer to win me a bear,” Billy hears Eddie scoffing from behind him, though his tone is light and delighted, and he’s practically skipping with each step before they make it to the first booth with giant animals.

Billy picks one where strength is key– not that coordination is beyond him, of course, but he might as well exploit the system. Besides—he knows all the tricks, the ins and outs of these rigged games. Which means that he knows how to win, how to snag something real nice for Steve.

“My hero,” Eddie says, as Billy plays, pressing a hand to the back of his forehead in an imitation of a swoon.

Steve whistles, clapping as Billy knocks down one of the milk bottle pyramids with a single throw, the booth attendant looking a little startled. He’s beaming, laughing in surprised delight as they pull the biggest, floppiest bear from the wall and pass it over the counter to Billy. And when Billy turns and offers it to Steve, the tips of Steve’s ears go pink.

“Wow,” he says, taking it into his arms with a disbelieving little huff. “I can’t believe you actually just did that.”

“You want another?” Billy asks, and it’s stupid how full and warm his chest, his heart feels right now.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, sunshine. What if I want one?” Eddie asks.

He leans on Billy’s shoulder with one arm, not too close but affectionate all the same—if anyone were to look, it would be friendly, maybe a little teasing. Just a gesture between friends. A wave of fondness hits him with it. He appreciates it, that Eddie keeps everything… above board in public.

“You didn’t ask nicely,” Billy tells him.

He doesn’t shrug Eddie off, though. Just lets him lean there as they slowly meander to the next booth.

“I don’t think you want me to ask nicely,” Eddie says, voice pitched low enough that only the three of them could hear it.

When Billy looks, he can’t see Steve’s face over the bear’s particularly robust head, but he can see how the back of his neck has gotten a little red. He elbows at Eddie, his own face feeling a little warm.

Eddie grunts, but he doesn’t back off. Just rubs at his side with his free hand and leans in a little more.

“You’ll win a prize for me, won’t you, sunshine?” Eddie asks.

Billy huffs.

It’s a foregone conclusion, it feels like.

He gestures at all of the booths. “Fine, what do you want? You don’t exactly seem like a giant bear kinda guy.”

Eddie makes a big show of looking around. Keeps himself leaned heavy on Billy’s shoulder as they come to a slow stop as Eddie makes faces at each booth, muttering dismissively to himself until Steve is hiding a snort in the fur of his extremely oversized bear.

Only then does Eddie make a triumphant sound, snapping his fingers and pointing across the way.

It’s one of those ball throws– with little tiles that he’d have to knock down. It’s all nautical themed, so when Eddie gestures at a large, blue shark, Billy is not even a little surprised.

“So?” Steve asks, when Billy hesitates for just a second, deliberating the merits of dragging them into the corn maze, “Are you going to win him one, or not?”

“You’re worse than him,” Billy grouses.

“Who?” Steve blinks those big eyes up at him, holding the bear Billy won for him against his chest, just under his chin, perfectly guileless. “Me? I’m Hawkins’ sweetheart, I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

Billy scoffs. He knows the fire that lives right under Steve’s surface, that snark and that dry, sparking wit.

“Uh huh,” Billy says, slapping a dollar down on the plywood. “Sure you are.”

And then he proceeds to win the biggest, bluest shark for Eddie Munson that the Hawkins county fair has to offer.

Afterward, Billy gets stuck holding the shark, as Eddie tries to make headway on a caramel apple while Steve watches, transfixed and red, as Eddie’s tongue ends up doing more damage to the candy shell than his teeth.

“Wow,” Billy mouths, from behind the shark.

Eddie only winks.

They spend the rest of the afternoon chasing each other around like that– booth to booth, trying games and eating food that’s liable to give them a heart attack sooner than any monster could. They even make a run out to Steve’s car, parked in the field, when their arms become too heavy with toys and bobbles and prizes.

Though, Steve passed off the goldfish he won in the ring toss to some crying little kid. He’d kept everything else– the big wins and the little ones, most of them earned at Billy’s hand– looking so shocked and delighted all at the same time.

The sun is starting to set by the time they finally find their way to the corn maze. Steve is between them, bouncing on his toes, practically sugar high. Eddie has been keeping him in fits and bursts of laughter, so much so that Steve had complained about his face hurting. Not that Billy hadn’t gotten in a few jokes, a muttered comment or two, that had Steve quipping right back.

At the entrance to the maze, the path growing darker the deeper it went, Steve looks a bit like he wants to take off running.

“So what’s the plan?” he asks.

Corn mazes are not Billy’s thing. This is definitely small town stuff—no corn fields adjacent to the boardwalk. He turns to Eddie and raises his eyebrows.

“Little help here, Munson,” Billy says. “Actual plan, not your plan from earlier.”

“What was the plan from earlier?” Steve asks.

“Wanted to make out in the corn field, but California here vetoed it,” Eddie says, like it’s no big deal. “Spoilsport.”

Steve falters in place, one of his ankles wobbling. He shoots a dry look at Eddie, but no matter how many times they bring it up, no matter how much they tease him, he doesn’t get any better at hiding the embarrassment that blossoms under his skin.

“I could go left, you guys go right,” Steve suggests amicably with a little shrug. “Meet somewhere in the middle.”

Billy shoves at Eddie, but his touch lingers. He wishes, desperately, fingers itching, that he could touch Steve too.

“Where’s the fun in that? Either we all split up, or we all go together,” Billy says.

Eddie rocks back on his heels, shoving his hands into his pockets as he looks up at the sign hanging over the entrance. It’s getting dark enough that the generators kicka to life and the lights strung up around the maze flicker on. Eddie tilts his head, humming to himself.

He only gets the thinking look off of his face when Billy kicks at his ankle.

“You guys wanna play a game?” he asks, face a little too nonchalant for Billy’s liking.

Steve crosses his arms, equally as wary. “What kind of game?”

Waffling his head back and forth, Eddie’s gaze falls to Steve, stepping slowly closer– practically prowling, predatory enough that Steve actually takes a step back with a little flutter of his throat.

He holds Eddie’s stare, though. Works at the inside of his cheek, arms still crossed, and waits. Eddie smiles at him.

“Do you like tag, Stevie?”

“I don’t… hate it?” Steve frowns.

“What about hide and seek?”

Steve huffs. “Where exactly is this going?”

Eddie glances over at Billy, eyes dark and a little unreadable, but then he’s grinning at Steve again, pointing a finger in his face close enough to his nose that Steve goes a little crosseyed for a second. Wobbles in place and furrows his brow.

“I think that you should run,” Eddie says. “While we try to catch you. First one to get to you gets shotgun on the way home.”

Billy’s heartrate kicks up. It’s been a while since he felt like this, free and easy, with a prize dangled in front of him like a treat for a dog. It feels like the kick-up before a basketball game, where he knew he could shove Steve around on the court. Electricity coats the air.

Billy could kiss Eddie on the fucking lips. Later, he will.

“I’m in,” Billy says.

He tries not to sound too hungry.

It’s not about the prize. It’s about the chase.

“Course you are,” Eddie says. “Knew I could count on you, you’re a sure thing. Stevie?”

“You want to chase me through the maze?” Steve asks, a little confused, but Billy sees the way he shifts on his feet, sees the rapid kick of Steve’s pulse in his throat.

“Well, with those long legs…” Eddie lets his eyes trail down, down, to the length of Steve’s body, down to his feet before Steve shoves at his shoulder; Eddie stumbles back, hands in the air. “You don’t want us to try and catch you, Stevie?”

When Steve’s pupils blow out, fattening up and consuming the brown of his eyes, Billy feels something hook below his navel and pull. Feels hope unfurl and flutter in his chest.

Steve glances at him, still looking unsure–

And then, instead of answering, Steve turns on his heel and takes off into the maze– taking a sharp right before disappearing into the stalks.

A wave of adrenaline and joy crashes through Billy’s chest at the sight of Steve running— the flop of his hair, the athletic scramble of his legs.

Billy grins, waits for a moment, and then looks at Eddie, who looks just as struck as Billy. And then Billy’s reaching over, shoving Eddie playfully, and then taking off too. In pursuit.

“You snooze you lose, Munson!” Billy shouts, careening around the first corner of the maze.

Behind him, Eddie shouts. But the joy is evident in Eddie’s voice too, delighted and unencumbered.

The maze is, thankfully, sparsely populated. It’s the dusk of evening, when parents have started ushering their kids home after a day of sugar and sun, before any of the teenagers show up to take over after dark. The rows and looping layers of the maze don’t have many people for Billy to worry about rushing by, heart pounding, chasing after Steve Harrington.

The deeper they get, the fewer people they see; the longer the shadows grow, the strings of light not long enough to press into the farthest points of the maze. Billy thinks they do it on purpose– to give people a chance to sneak off into the dark after kissing on the ferris wheel.

Steve is fast through the maze– staying just out of sight– but Billy can hear him. Can hear the beat of his sneakers on dirt. Can hear the shorter and shorter breaths he’s taking, never making it easy, only resting long enough to catch his breath before bolting again when he hears Eddie call out somewhere in the maze– or when Billy knows he’s getting too close, too quiet, too quick, so he whistles long and low.

Screw swim captain. Screw basketball. Steve should’ve been on track.

It feels a little bit like cheating, that Billy can track him like this. That Billy’s stamina is better.

But it’s still a challenge. Because Steve’s good– so good.

And then Billy makes it more of a challenge for himself, feet skidding around a corner, when he catches sight of Steve. Steve startles and stops, stumbling to a halt. Billy stops too. The smell of dirt and dried corn fill up Billy’s lungs—but there’s sweat there too. The smell of adrenaline and excitement, of exertion and delight.

“Better run faster, pretty boy,” Billy shouts.

And then Steve’s off again. The sound of his footfalls tangle together with Eddie’s, further off in the maze. Billy waits a beat before running again.

“Marco!” Eddie shouts in the distance.

Billy thinks he hears Steve choke on a laugh. Definitely hears him stumble.

“Fuck off!” Steve calls back, but he sounds as delighted as they are.

Billy can imagine Eddie, just as sweaty—maybe even more so—as Steve. It lights up something in him, thinking of Eddie chasing Steve too– and also therefore chasing Billy , something that spurns him on, has him running faster through the field, dead stalks and leaves crunching beneath his feet.

It’s not too long before Billy catches up to Steve again.

Or rather, before Billy corners Steve in an empty dead-end.

“Listen,” Steve says when he turns around to face where Billy is blocking the path, his hands out like it might keep Billy from stepping forward. “We can talk about this.”

Like there’s some sort of negotiation to be had. Like he can weasel his way out of Billy catching him. His eyes dart to the corn stalks like he’s contemplating shoving right through.

They’re too thick, though. And it would slow Steve down fast enough that Billy would easily be able to catch him. But Billy’s momentary distraction is enough for Steve. While Billy’s following Steve’s eyes toward the corn stalks, Steve makes a break for the space right next to Billy, trying to get between him, the stalks, and the way out.

And Steve’s fast.

But Billy’s faster.

It’s only a moment before Billy’s got him around the waist, hauling him against the dry stalks. They jostle with the press of Steve’s body, with his struggle as Billy holds him there, trapped and caught. Steve shoves at him, but Billy catches his wrists and squeezes.

“Got you,” Billy says.

He feels the way his face splits wide in a grin.

Steve is flush from the exertion and panting. His shirt is sticking to his skin, sweat rolling down his temple. He’s smiling – even as he struggles and squirms, stumbling back into the stalks, wrists pulling at the vice of Billy’s grip, he’s smiling like he’s helpless to do anything else.

“I feel like you cheated,” Steve accuses. “I dunno how, but I feel like you did.”

Billy feels hot like fire. Like if he edged too close to the dry stalks he might catch them aflame.

“Maybe a little,” Billy says.

He doesn’t let Steve go. Can’t bring himself to. Not with the way Steve’s pulling at him but smiling, not with the way he’s letting Billy press so close.

“I guess this means you win?” Steve asks on a breath, their knees knocking, the dark around them not enough to hide the blush staining his cheeks, the work of his throat, the black of his pupils consuming his irises.

And Billy can’t help but look down at Steve’s lips. They’re pink; glistening. His teeth worry at them, just a little.

Billy leans closer. Licks his own lips. Smiles. “Guess it does.”

Under his fingertips, Steve’s pulse is rabbit-fast.

“You–” Steve blinks, swallows, shifts in place as he pulls weakly at Billy’s grip, voice barely louder than a whisper. “You can let me go, now.”

But Billy can’t. He both doesn’t want to and also just—simply can’t. Steve’s here, caught right in Billy’s hands, and for this one moment in time, he is Billy’s. The thought is exhilarating– intoxicating.

He can’t stop himself from leaning in closer, breathing in Steve’s air. Steve’s still panting, his breath hot and humid in the closing space between them.

Steve’s lips are right there. Half-parted and shiny with spit.

And then Billy’s kissing him. Leaning in and pressing his own lips to Steve’s.

They’re soft and pliant, parted on Steve’s breath and in his surprise. Steve seems to jerk in place, hands flinching, a soft sound welling up from the back of his throat.

Heart pounding in his ears, Billy moves to draw away, fear striking harsh and electric when Steve takes too long to kiss back.

His eyes are wide and dark when Billy pulls away. They dart between Billy’s own, almost frantic, Steve’s breath hitching in his chest.

“Oh,” he breathes, like something is clicking into place–

And then he’s canting his head so that he can lean in and press his mouth chastely– fleetingly– to Billy’s.

Billy kisses him back easily, automatically. Meeting Steve halfway.

It feels like perfection, like everything finally slotting into place. His hands are shaking, dropping to carefully clutch at Steve’s shirt at his sides, mouth tingling where Steve’s presses to his own. Steve’s hands are tentative, gentle at his shoulders.

In the distance, there’s the sound of the fair. Laughter and music. All Billy can really focus on is Steve’s shuddering breath.

But then Steve is ripping his mouth away. Then Steve is shoving Billy back by the shoulders, eyes wide, fingers flying to his lips.

Billy stumbles backwards. His blood runs cold and he holds his hands out. “Steve–”

“Eddie!” Steve snaps back.

Billy feels dizzy. He closes his eyes, shaking his head.

“What?” he asks.

“You’re–” Steve falters, voice dropping to a hiss. “You’re with Eddie!”

“I’m not—” Billy says, and then stumbles right over his words like he did his feet, thoughts catching up with him fast. “I mean, I am, but—we’re—”

They still haven’t exactly talked about what they are. Haven’t ever felt a need to, not when both of them orbit so infinitely around Steve too.

“You–” Steve looks so heartbreakingly confused, his brow pinched, his mouth set in a frown, but Billy can see the flush down his neck. “You can’t just– you can’t just go around kissing people–”

Steve flinches when Billy takes a step forward, so Billy halts in his tracks. He swallows, throat suddenly tight, his body going ice cold. It’s a strange sensation played against all that heat from only a moment ago. Like ice water right over his head.

Steve kissed him back, right? Billy didn’t imagine that, did he? It feels so clear, that little oh , the way that Steve’s lips had chased Billy’s own. But Billy cornered him, grabbed him by his hands and wouldn’t let go.

“I’m sorry,” Billy says. He feels like he’s always apologizing to Steve, always stepping on his own toes—tromping on them with Munson’s steel-toed boots. “I just—”

Eddie stumbles around the corner, goes a little too far, and then backtracks to them. He’s breathing hard and clearly winded.

“Why did I think I could keep up with the jocks?” he’s saying, hands on his knees, before he stops, pulls himself upwards, and furrows his brows. “I interrupt something?”

For a moment, there is only their heavy breathing. Their wide eyed stares. Eddie’s face growing more and more pinched with concern by the second.

He tilts his head, glancing between Steve and Billy, half cautious and half curious. “Guuuys–?”

“Billy kissed me,” Steve blurts, says it fast like he’s ripping off a bandaid, wincing as he glances back at Billy. “Sorry– You– Being cheated on kinda sucks–”

It isn’t—the worst thing Steve could’ve said. He didn’t shove Billy away and he didn’t run away in disgust.

“Not so loud,” Billy says.

He starts forward but then catches himself, realizing his mistake. He can’t– can’t – watch Steve flinch because of him again.

“I said I was sorry,” he says, and turns to Eddie to say the same, repeating himself once again.

Because he is sorry to Eddie—not because he cheated on him, because it’s not like they’re dating— but because Eddie wasn’t there too.

Eddie’s brows have hiked up behind his fringe. He’s biting on the inside of his cheek– and Billy actually can’t tell, for a second, if it’s because he’s upset or if it’s because he’s trying not to laugh.

But then he opens his mouth and says, “What’s there to apologize for?”

Steve seems to start, blinking rapidly. “But you guys are–”

“Did you kiss him back, Stevie?” Eddie asks, shuffling forward a few slow steps, voice pitched low– mindful of where they are, and probably also because he knows what it does to Billy and is hoping it works on Steve too.

Steve’s throat works. “I– I, uhh…”

His gaze is skittish, skirting to Billy and back again. His mouth opens– then shuts again. His face is so flush.

“Did you like kissing him, Stevie?” Eddie asks, easing a little closer.

Steve looks a bit like he wants to bolt again.

“Eddie,” Billy says.

And his own voice is barely even a whisper. He knows that he sounds desperate and he knows that he sounds scared.

“Well?” Eddie says. “Waiting on an answer, Stevie.”

Eddie takes another step toward Steve. He looks at Billy, dark eyes falling to his mouth, and then looks back.

“Hard to believe you could kiss Billy and not like it,” Eddie says, his words dragging a blush to Billy’s face.

Steve looks a bit like he wants to vibrate right out of his own skin– perfectly still, but charged. Like he would shock Billy if he reached out and touched him again. His face is twisted like he’s about half a second from begging Eddie to stop talking.

Which– Billy understands.

But he doesn’t and then Eddie is stepping closer. Is ducking to hold his gaze when Steve’s eyes try to flit over his shoulder. Is smiling, teeth white in the dim light, like he’s just about ready to swallow Steve whole.

“Did you like it when Billy kissed you, Steve?” he asks again, voice hushed, coaxing and goading and–

“Yes,” Steve says.

Quickly. Sharply. Perfectly simple.

All the air goes straight out of Billy’s chest. Like he got the wind knocked out of him. It seems like too much to even hope for, that Steve liked kissing him.

“Yeah?” Eddie says.

And then Billy watches as Eddie reaches out and cups Steve by the chin, all long fingers and big hands, with his rings catching that last bit of waning light. Steve goes quiet and still, and Eddie tips his head up—and Steve moves so willingly underneath Eddie’s touch.

Billy’s attention is caught, half on Eddie’s fingers and half on Steve’s lips, breath caught in his throat. Stuck between one lungful and the next.

He watches then, corn maze quiet and still around them, as Eddie kisses Steve.

It’s short– almost sweet– nothing like the hungry things Billy and Eddie usually exchange. But like the soft things Eddie presses to Billy’s skin when they’re done– like he’s trying to settle him.

Steve makes a small sound, choked, similar to the one he made when Billy cornered him. He steps back, drawing his mouth away, eyes so very wide.

“What–” his breath catches, chest hitching. “What is… happening, right now?”

“We both want to kiss you,” Eddie says, like it’s simple. “Obviously.”

Which—maybe it is.

Steve takes another step back, pulls from Eddie’s touch with his brows drawing together. Looks between them like they’re a puzzle he just doesn’t quite get.

“Is that–” Steve cuts himself off, clearing his throat when his voice cracks. “I don’t, uh… I’m sorry, I don’t understand. You both… want to–”

“Kiss you,” Eddie repeats, like he’s assuring him, hand a flex at his side.

“Right,” Steve clears his throat again. “I really can’t tell if you’re joking or not–”

“Why would he joke about that?” Billy asks.

He can’t help but step in, right up next to Eddie’s side, close enough that they’re knocking shoulders.

“We wouldn’t joke about that,” Billy says. He feels warm all over, skin so hot he feels like he’s going to burst. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“No, it’s–” Steve glances between them, huffing out a sharp breath. “Well, actually, yes– I mean, it’s– I’m still trying to wrap my head around apparently liking kissing boys, okay? This is– it’s a little much–”

Steve likes kissing boys. The words echo in Billy’s head, over and over, leaving him feeling part-hopeful, stomach jittery. He feels emotionally frayed, but he can’t help but hope on hope on hope that maybe they do have a chance.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Billy says, smacking at Eddie the second he opens his mouth to talk. “You can just—we don’t have to talk about it right now. If you need time.”

“Time to… think about if I want–” Steve takes a short breath. “If I want both of you to kiss me?”

“That’s kinda what we’re asking, yeah,” Eddie says. “Though we went about it a bit backwards, I think…”

He looks up like he’s thinking, fingers mapping out an invisible order of events. Billy knocks him again with his shoulder.

Steve huffs again, like he can’t quite believe it.

“You–” Steve shakes his head, his fingers trembling a little as he drags his hands through his hair. “Wow, that’s– um.”

“I think he needs time,” Eddie mutters.

Steve scoffs. “Oh, you think?”

“Let’s get out of here,” Billy says.

Here, in this little dead-end of the corn maze, he feels a little trapped. And Steve probably does too. Maybe the open air will make him feel better, will help him—think through his thoughts. Billy can hope, at least.

“Besides,” he says, gesturing with his head. “I think you were real close to the exit. Might as well see this through.”

Steve crosses his arms, like he’s trying to make himself look smaller. Shuffles his sneakers through the dust and dirt. Laughs, gaze dropping to the toes of his own shoes.

Shakes his head again like he still just can’t believe it.

“Okay,” Steve eventually says, kickstarting the slow lurch of Billy’s heart. “Okay, but I still want to ride the ferris wheel.”

A shuddering laugh shakes free from Billy’s chest. His heartbeat falls into something more sure, something more steady. “Yeah,” he says, “yeah, let’s go ride the ferris wheel.”

At this point in the day, the lines for the rides are dwindling, and it doesn’t take too much to convince the operator to let the three of them into one gondola—Billy and Eddie pressed thigh-to-thigh on one side, Steve on the other, blushing as they look at him. Their knees all knock together, the three of them too tall for a reasonable fit, but Steve doesn’t pull away.

Billy tries not to hope. The feeling gets caught in his chest like a bird, fluttering around in the cage of his lungs.

“Shit,” Billy breathes out once they reach the top.

Hawkins is dark, but the fair is bright and illuminated below them, lights glinting and haloing in the humid summer air. Off to the west is main street, where there’s a cluster of more buildings and street-lights, but little dots and pockets of light stretch out wide and far around them, fading eventually to black.

“It’s not half bad up here,” Billy says.

Steve smiles a little, gaze following Billy’s out to a dark horizon. The stars are out in droves, blotted a bit by the ambient light around them, but still spilling across the sky in clusters. It’s still brighter, more brilliant, than any California sky he’s ever seen.

The wheel comes to a stop near the apex, their carriage rocking in place. The lights from the fair cast their shadowed features in blues and pinks and yellows.

“Only thing better around here is maybe the clock tower at the library,” Steve tells him with a little shrug, and then makes a face. “Or Lookout Point.”

Eddie snorts. “That water tower hasn’t rusted out, yet?”

Steve shakes his head. “Nah, it’s still there.”

Billy knocks his knee to Steve’s, delighted. “You’ve climbed the water tower?”

“Of course, I have,” Steve says. “What else is there to do but maybe go cow tipping? I tried vandalism once– it didn’t stick.”

Eddie is grinning, arms stretching out along the back of their side, knocking his knee into Steve’s too. “And you call us trouble.”

Steve shifts in place. Like he’s a little flattered and isn’t sure if he wants to be. Like he’s not sure what to do with their attention back on him– though, Billy supposes, at least he isn’t stammering and stumbling over his words as he tries to make them make sense.

Billy wishes him luck with that.

“I wasn’t always a babysitter,” Steve shrugs.

“King Steve,” Billy breathes out with a little laugh.

When he looks at Steve, at those deep brown eyes, and smiles, Steve meets his gaze and smiles back. Eddie’s hand finds Billy’s thigh, those long fingers giving the muscle there a little squeeze.

Steve gaze darts down to the flex of his fingers, drawn by the movement, and then flit away, off toward the distant town. Too skittish to linger long.

“I keep telling you,” he says with a little sigh. “King Steve was an asshole.”

“Sure he was. But so was I,” Billy says.

Eddie’s fingers give him another squeeze. It’s comforting, just that little bit of reassurance.

Billy looks out over the town, too. His eyes sweeping over places Steve has already looked, all the places he and Eddie have touched in their lives here in Hawkins.

“But now you’re just a big ol’ teddy bear,” Eddie says, a long line of heat up against Billy’s side. “Right, Stevie?”

Steve glances back at the pair of them. The only point of contact between him and them is the touch of their knees, the long line of their calves. Even that, with Steve looking at them with soft eyes and a curious little smile, is intoxicating.

“Right,” Steve says as the carriage jerks back into movement– bringing them slowly back down to earth. “Nothing but a big ol’ teddy bear.”

chapter 13:

you know i can’t let you (slide through my hands)

Another D&D session means going over to Steve’s. It means spending another day soaking up Steve’s time and attention. It means getting Steve to himself for a while, while Eddie leads his merry band of dweebs along on some imaginary adventure.

To say Billy is looking forward to it– is nervous for it– would be an understatement. He feels like his skin is too tight, too small, like it can barely contain him. They haven’t seen Steve in more than in passing in just over a week; Steve too busy with work and probably with avoiding the weight of their eyes whenever they look at him. He seems all too aware of how they look at him now– and while he doesn’t seem to dislike it, he also doesn’t seem to know what to do with it, either.

He lets the kids into the house before looking at the two of them marching up the short flight of stairs leading up to his front door, standing there in nothing by running shorts and those stupid three-striped knee high socks– and a band shirt that might actually be one of Eddie’s. It also might be wishful thinking.

“I brought an extra character sheet,” Eddie tells him, singing his words a little, waggling his brows as he sidles up.

Hand on a hip, Steve braces against the outer edge of his open front door and arches an unimpressed brow. Inside, the kids are loud, even from all the way in the living room.

“I’m still not interested,” Steve half sings back, but Eddie’s face lights up.

“C’mon,” Eddie crowds a little close, lower lip jutting out. “Please? Pretty please?”

“No.”

“I’ll make it worth your while,” Eddie promises.

“Doubtful,” Steve chirps back, and then glances over at Billy.

His ears and the back of his neck are all red. Have been since they walked up the steps. But he’s not tucking tail and running for the hills. He’s not slamming the door in their face. He’s not even telling Eddie to back off when he shuffles a little closer–

Just eyes him, breath catching a little, expression carefully calm.

Eddie laces his fingers in front of his face, like he’s praying, face a hyperbole of desperation. “Please, please, please–”

“Does he have an off switch?” Steve asks.

Billy chokes back all of the obvious answers, giving a little shrug. His face feels a little warm.

When Steve glances at him, sees his face, his breath stalls again– pink finally chasing its way across his nose and cheeks as he looks back at Eddie.

“Please with a cherry on top,” Eddie adds. “With a whole jar of cherries–”

Hand coming off his hip, Steve reaches out and catches Eddie by the front of his shirt. Gives a little tug– has Eddie stumbling the last few steps into him– and angles his head to catch Eddie’s mouth with his own.

It’s a long but simple press of their lips. Eddie flails for half a second, has to brace a hand against the open door Steve’s still leaning against, jostling them– the other a needy flex by his thigh, like he’s fighting the urge to simply take and have.

Billy understands the desire. There’s a fire in his chest, threatening to burn him up from the inside out.

And then Steve is breaking the kiss with a little, wet smack. Pulling back, teeth catching at his own lower lip, eyes darting between the both of them. Eddie is staring at him the same way that Billy is– like he’s too afraid to move, for fear of frightening Steve off– or for fear of what he might do.

“Well,” Steve breathes, smoothing out the wrinkles he’d made in Eddie’s shirt. “That seemed to work.”

And then he’s plucking Eddie’s hand from the door to move him out of the way and stepping inside, a small but smug smile growing on his face as he leaves them standing in the threshold.

Eddie’s face gets stuck somewhere between surprise and desire, just absolute shock. It’s endearing as fuck. And also funny as fuck too.

Billy laughs.

And then he dips in to press his lips right over the spot Steve just kissed, stealing that stunned expression right off of Eddie’s face, like maybe he’ll be able to catch the lingering taste of Steve there.

“He’s right. That’s the only way to shut you up,” Billy says when he pulls back. “He figured that one out fast.”

“He figured that one out fast,” Eddie mocks back, shrugging his shoulders like he’s trying to readjust the way his skin is sitting, flustered. “Just you wait, he’s gonna pull some shit on you and then your brain will dribbling out of your ear.”

He stamps his feet. Shakes out his hands. He looks like he’s been electrocuted.

“Alright, c’mon, I have a– fuck, a fucking campaign to lead these little brats through,” Eddie grunts, hooking a finger into one of Billy’s belt loops, turning, and then tugging Billy along after him. “We’re gonna hit the sugar hard and fast, plow through as quick as the dice will roll.”

Billy manages to shut the door behind him as he stumbles along after Eddie, only batting his hand away as they near the corner that rounds into the living room. He knows he’s grinning, a little too pleased, when Max raises her eyebrow at him from her spot on the floor around the coffee table.

Steve is passing around bottles of cola, holding one out to Eddie as he comes brushing by, blushing when Eddie lingers close as he says thank you. Then, he’s looking at Billy, two bottles still in one of his hands, backing up toward the sliding glass door with a swing of his head.

“C’mon,” Steve says. “I still owe you that rematch.”

Billy doesn’t envy Eddie having to try and run a game right now. Billy is pretty sure his own thoughts have stalled out like a car just watching Steve’s lips press to Eddie’s, so he’s not even sure how Eddie is still functioning. It’s impressive.

But Billy’s the one who gets to spend the next few hours with Steve. Alone.

“Have fun,” Billy says, as he’s following Steve toward the door.

He even tosses Eddie a wink.

“I still don’t understand why he’s even here,” Mike mutters under his breath.

The last thing Billy hears before he closes the door behind him is the sound of someone smacking him in the arm—probably Max.

“You gonna play me again this time, pretty boy?” Billy asks, following in Steve’s footsteps on the way to the poolhouse.

The afternoon isn’t as stifling as it has been. The sun is high but mild, and a gentle breeze rustles through the treeline of Steve’s backyard. It’s a nice day, a good day to open up all the windows, relax with a beer, and beat Steve Harrington at pool.

Steve glances over his shoulder at him, that dusting of pink still clinging to his nose. “I guess that depends on how gullible you are.”

He steps into the pool house, leaving the doors behind him open to catch some of the summer breeze, setting both bottles of coke down on the edge of the billiards table. He places the setting rack on the green felt, giving Billy an expectant little look, and then moves to grab them both pool cues off of their hold on the wall.

“If you’re still feeling sour about last time, though,” Steve says, turning to face him. “We can make another bet.”

Billy takes a cue from Steve’s outstretched hand.

“I’m not feeling sour,” Billy says, though there’s not much bite to his words.

He just—feels bad about it, still. That whole evening had rubbed him wrong, and he had been left feeling somewhere between humiliated and sad. But now everything has changed.

So he grins wide and says, “But I’m not against another bet.”

“Okay,” Steve says, smile slow but pleased, setting his pool cue against the table as he goes about racking the balls. “If I win, I want you to teach me to drive the motorcycle.”

Well, that’s easy. “If I win, I want a kiss.”

The balls clatter together on the table as Steve falters. Billy gets the quiet joy of watching Steve recalibrate– blinking a few times, throat working, head giving the littlest of shakes. His blush has come back in full force.

Billy wonders if he could keep Steve flush like that for the rest of the day.

“Deal,” Steve says, not looking at Billy, too flustered, as he finishes setting up. “Do you want to open?”

Despite the fact that Billy has already kissed Steve, it’s not the same. Steve kissed Eddie all of his own volition—and now Billy wants that too.

“I only think it’s fair,” Billy says with a little shrug. “You kissed Munson.”

He leans his hip against the table and watches Steve work.

“You open. I want to play this for real.”

“I’m still gonna beat you,” Steve says, glancing up at him from where he’s leaned over the table. “Just so you know. And when I do…”

Steve says it like it’s an inevitability. So fucking sure of himself.

“When I do, I’ll kiss you anyway,” Steve says definitively, even if there’s a little uncertain wobble to it, shrugging a shoulder when Billy blinks at him. “I was mostly just waiting for you to ask because I’m still kind of freaking out about kissing Eddie.”

It’s still kind of baffling, hearing Steve talk about this. Having this conversation with him. It makes Billy feel light, head airy. The floor feels unsteady underneath his feet, but all he does is lean on the table and grin over at Steve, delighted as hell.

“It was hot,” Billy says.

Billy wants to tell Steve that he doesn’t have to freak out about it, that it’s fine —but they both know that’d be a lie. Billy’s spent enough time in his past freaking out about the exact same thing that he knows just how to trip and stumble down that familiar pavement. He knows the path well.

“Sounds like I win either way,” Billy continues. “Doesn’t matter, though, because I’m gonna beat you.”

Steve scoffs out a laugh despite the warm glow of his features. “You’re absolutely not. Do you know how many family holidays I’ve spent hiding out here from my relatives? Like, so many.”

“Do you know how many dive bars I’ve hustled at?” Billy says.

And sure, maybe it doesn’t compare to having access to a pool table in his own goddamn house, but Billy can only hope that it gives him enough of a leg up that he can pull his pride back out of the gutter.

“I guess I better get started trouncing you, then,” Steve replies.

And then he makes good headway in doing just that.

He opens and gets stripes this time, but he only sinks two before missing the third. Billy makes pretty efficient work of sinking his own first two billiards before scratching on the third. Steve gets that cocky little grin when he lines up again– and while he doesn’t manage to sink anything, he certainly manages to fuck up Billy’s next move.

They’re honestly pretty evenly matched– though Steve has better technical form, Billy knows more dirty tricks. Spends his time teasing Steve when he’s lining up for a shot and knocks his billiards further away from any easy wins. Keeps the game drawn out until Billy is sitting with two billiards left– and Steve’s got three.

“You sure you’re gonna win, pretty boy?” Billy asks, eyes lingering on the way Steve’s fingers curl around the cue. “You could just call it now, give up and give me my prize.”

“Can’t just give in now,” Steve sighs with a solemn little shake of his head. “Now you’ve gotta earn it.”

There’s something fantastic about seeing how sure of himself Steve is. How the confidence makes him stand at his full height, how sharp his eyes are when they look at the table, trying to figure out the next best move.

He sinks two of his three. Grins over the table at Billy, still bent, already lining up for the next.

The last time Billy saw him here, this confident, he trounced Billy to oblivion. It doesn’t even feel like all that long ago, but so much has changed.

And yeah, sure, Billy wants to win, but he can’t help but sit back and just admire Steve as he is right now—in his element and handsome as sin. Billy was infatuated with him before, but he didn’t really know Steve. Wouldn’t have appreciated him like he does now. It feels almost impossible that he’s at this point, that Steve even smiles at him—let alone is thinking about kissing him.

He thinks if Steve wins, it wouldn’t be all that bad.

“I wanted you to like me so fucking bad,” Billy says, before he can stop himself. “Last time we played.”

Steve chips off of the cue ball, sending it spinning, and then he’s straightening out with his eyes still on Billy. Stands there, quiet for a long second, working at the inside of his cheek as he looks him over.

Then, nervous fingers reach for one of the chalk cubes. Uses it on the end of his pool cue, mostly to keep his hands busy, Billy thinks. Like he needs to move to think.

“I didn’t hustle you to make you feel bad,” Steve says, even though Billy knows that now. “You’re just… Other than having a pretty shitty temper, you’re just, like, really good at– at basically everything. Going against you is like running headfirst into a brick wall.”

Steve shifts on his feet. Finally looks away, at his own hands as he finishes chalking up his cue.

“And you’re always going on about King Steve. So I thought, if I beat you– like, really beat you, then maybe you’d–” Steve huffs, shrugging. “Maybe you’d think I was cool. Or something.”

Billy laughs. He’s helpless to stave it off—it’s funny.

He knows Steve wasn’t trying to make him feel bad—now, anyway. But then, in that one horrid moment, they had been playing at cross-purposes to each other so exquisitely. And to have that all laid out so transparently feels refreshing.

And a little fucking funny.

“You were the first good thing about Hawkins,” Billy tells him.

Steve’s eyes dart to his again. Big and dark. That deer caught in the headlights look, like he can’t quite believe what’s happening or what’s being said to him.

“You–” Steve’s brows pinch, head cocking a little. “But you were so mean?”

Another chuckle. “Yeah, well. You were the perfect, pretty straight boy. And you wouldn’t even look in my direction. Of course I was mean.”

Billy moves to round the table, Steve watching him the whole time, a brow climbing his forehead as Billy takes his place bent over the table to take his next shot. He sinks it and grins, standing up straight and looking over at where Steve is standing there, practically gaping at his profile.

“You were–” Steve blinks a few times, shaking his head, expression twisting into something that’s almost offended, but his face has gone red again. “You were tugging my pigtails?”

Billy furrows his brow and huffs. “I wouldn’t say that.”

But it’s true, isn’t it? He was doing anything possible to get Steve’s attention, and Steve didn’t ever even give him the time of day. And then—monsters. And everything getting laughably and impossibly complicated after that.

The next shot is a relatively easy one. Simple. Billy lines up all perfect, shoulders relaxed and breathing deep, absolutely assured he’s going to sink it in one—and he flubs it. Sends the ball just a hair to the left, but it’s enough to ruin the shot. To toss the turn over to Steve again.

Steve is already moving, glancing between the table and Billy, already setting up for an easy pocket shot. “Jesus, I thought I had done something to, like, piss you off or something. You got all in my face with Tommy H. on Halloween.”

He sinks the shot. Stands up, bracing against his pool cue, his other hand parking on his hip.

“But you’re telling me that you never hated me,” Steve says, like he’s clarifying, like he’s straightening out the facts. “And, in fact, thought I was a perfect, pretty straight boy?”

Billy shrugs a little. Because it’s true, but it’s not the whole truth.

The moment feels too tender, too important, for Billy to omit anything.

“I did hate you, a little bit,” Billy says for full disclosure. “But because I thought you had everything. And I couldn’t even have you.”

Steve’s lashes flutter, like he’s shocked but he’s afraid to blink. His face slackens some– softens– and he looks at Billy a bit like maybe he’s breaking his heart by just standing there.

“That’s awful,” Steve says, throat working. “I’m sorry you had to feel like that. I– I can’t, uh… Wanting something that you think you can’t have… it sucks.”

Billy laughs lightly and leans on the table. “I didn’t tell you that so you’d feel sorry for me, pretty boy. I’m used to wanting things I can’t have.”

Billy nods at the final balls remaining on the table.

“Aren’t you going to take your last shot and beat me?”

All Steve has to do is sink the eight-ball and it’ll be his game. It’s a pretty clean shot; Steve’s not likely to miss it.

Billy finds that he’s fine with that. Maybe even wants it a little bit.

“You gonna call me a little bitch again if I beat you?” Steve asks, but he’s already lining up, the barb barely sharp enough to stick.

“Only if you don’t kiss me,” Billy says.

He feels stupidly warm. Stupidly fond, as he watches Steve sink the shot. Clean and easy.

There’s no disappointment, no anger. Just the swell of hope within him and the satisfaction of a game well played. And, of course, the pleasure of watching Steve in his element, confident and so sure of himself—he’s hot. Billy can’t tear his eyes away.

“I still haven’t figured out if I want you both kissing me, by the way,” Steve tells him, like he’s not sucking the air right out of his lungs, as he straightens out and rests his pool cue against the edge of the table– wincing a bit as the flush begins to grow across his face. “And– And by that I mean– I mean, I want to kiss both of you– but I… I don’t know how I feel about wanting to kiss you?”

A small jolt of panic shoots through Billy, though he does his best to quash it down, to stamp it out like a cigarette butt. Steve’s words aren’t bad , they’re to be expected. And Billy doesn’t want to fuck this up.

“You,” Billy says slowly, carefully, “don’t have to kiss us, you know. Just because we want to kiss you.” He swallows around his own emotions, his own fears. “And you don’t have to know how you feel. This shit is—it’s hard.”

“Yeah,” Steve sighs, rounding the table so that he can lean his hip against the edge next to Billy, arms crossing over his chest– and it’s sort of cute, watching Steve Harrington flounder over realizing he might like kissing boys. “It’s– so stupid? Because, like, okay– kissing is great. Who doesn’t like kissing? Kissing… boys is a little different, but it was still– But then everytime I think about kissing one of you again I feel kinda like I’m gonna have a heart attack and that’s…”

Steve trails off, like he doesn’t have the word for it. Looks at Billy like maybe he’ll have it for him.

Billy raises his eyebrows. “Kinda how I feel around you all the time.”

And it sounds like a line, he knows, but it’s also true. Ever since Billy rolled into Hawkins, deposited here by his asshole of a father, Steve was the only bright spot. Now it’s not just him providing that light, that hope, for Billy—but for a long time, he was.

And seeing Steve, being around him, always made Billy feel a little bit like he was on the verge of total collapse. Too many emotions shoved into one place, everything haphazard and hopeless and raw.

“Look,” Billy says. “I want to kiss you, but I’m not going anywhere. Neither is Munson. You don’t need to figure it out right now.”

Even though Billy aches for a chance to kiss Steve, for Steve to sidle up to him like he did to Eddie earlier. He wants Steve to want to kiss him. To throw himself into it with no hang ups or regrets.

For a long moment, Steve just looks at him. Holds his gaze, eyes darting between Billy’s, staring like he’s trying to see if Billy’s being honest.

When he finally looks away, it’s to follow the path of his own hand– arms uncrossing, palm bracing against the edge of the table, fingers a restless tap against the felt of a bumper. All that nervous energy, close enough for Billy to touch.

He doesn’t. But he wants to.

“If I didn’t want to,” Steve mutters. “I wouldn’t have agreed to it in the first place. I think I’m just…”

He hesitates, laughing to himself. His eyes dart up again, lashes long and cheeks flush, and he worries at the corner of his lower lip.

“Robin would tell you the world is ending,” he adds. “But I think I’m just overthinking it.”

And then, he’s reaching out with his other hand, the tips of his fingers catching in the hem of Billy’s shirt. Plucks at it, and then pulls a little, until Billy has stumbled forward a step, caught on the way Steve Harrington is looking at his mouth. Steve shuffles in too, edges closer as he tugs at Billy, like he needs Billy to meet him halfway.

They’re so close. All Billy can hear is the hushed shudder of Steve’s breath. All he can feel is the heat radiating from Steve’s body into his as they brush close, Billy nearly quivering. All he can see are Steve’s eyes, dark with something that Billy prays is want, and the little gold flecks he sees around his pupils.

“Can I…?” Steve hesitates, standing there, pressed close, like a live wire ready to spark.

Billy doesn’t dare move a muscle. Doesn’t want to spook Steve in any way.

“Yeah,” Billy breathes, eyes flitting between Steve’s pretty pink mouth and those gorgeous brown eyes. “You can do anything, baby.”

Steve shudders. Billy can feel it– Steve’s body, shivering against his.

And then Steve is tilting his head, eyes going heavy, breath hot at Billy’s mouth–

And then Steve Harrington is kissing him.

It’s a long, lingering press. It’s dizzying. Steve’s fingers curled into the bottom hem of his shirt, the other hand clutching at the edge of the table like it might anchor him. Steve’s body pressed close enough to just touch. The sound Steve makes, quiet and needy.

All of it makes Billy’s head swim.

His hands itch to reach out and touch, to pull Steve closer and deepen the kiss. But he doesn’t, not yet.

He hadn’t felt this kind of hesitation with Eddie, but Eddie had been all sharp looks and desirous eyes. He had been a wall that Billy could shove up against and know it wouldn’t move—but Steve? Billy can’t help but want to treat his trepidation tenderly, can’t help but want to be gentle—which is a dizzying impulse, in and of itself.

He kisses Steve back softly, meeting the press of his lips with an exhale. And when Steve pulls back, eyes dark and lips even pinker, Billy finds himself even dizzier, still.

“Hi,” Billy says.

Breathless.

Steve huffs out a little laugh. “Hi?”

Billy feels just as dazed as Eddie looked. He finds it a little funny that Steve so easily short-circuits them both.

“You are so—” Billy says.

He trails off, because the possibilities for him finishing that sentence are pretty endless. Steve is everything, all at once: Billy’s dreams put together into one single, realized truth.

“I wanna kiss you again,” he says, before he can stop himself.

Steve breath catches, eyes going a little wider– but then he’s clearing his throat, nodding his head, blinking and practically trying to look casual.

“Oh,” he says, shifting on his feet, but he’s still clutching at Billy’s shirt. “O– Okay. That’s– yeah, that’s fine.”

“Really not trying to push you, pretty boy,” Billy says.

His control breaks, just a little bit, and he allows himself to reach up, to cup Steve’s cheek in one of his hands. He brushes his thumb over the swell of Steve’s lower lip, softly. Gently.

“I do have some self control,” Billy says. “Despite what the rumors say.”

“What if–” Steve falters, skin warm under Billy’s fingers, lips parted slightly from the drag of Billy’s touch, chest hitching against Billy’s they’re pressed so close. “What if I said that I want you to kiss me again too?”

God, being near Steve is like fighting gravity. Billy can feel the pull in his navel– the heavy fog of want in his head.

Still, he wants Steve to say it. He wants to know for sure.

“Do you want me to kiss you again, pretty boy?” he asks, voice low, thumb tracing the bottom bow of Steve’s lips.

“I–” Steve shivers, eyes caught with Billy’s, so flush that he looks like he might burst into flame. “Yeah. Yes.”

“Good,” Billy says, “because I wanna kiss you. So fucking bad.”

And then Billy’s leaning forward and slotting his lips to Steve’s, following up that warm, brief press with another—just as soft, just as gentle.

Because while Billy does want to kiss Steve to hell and back, he also doesn’t want to spook him. As much as Billy wants to jump in, he wants to do this at Steve’s pace. It’s what Steve deserves.

So he kisses Steve nice and slow. Meets Steve where he set the pace earlier. He savors the moment of unprecedented warmth—and then pulls back.

Steve’s eyes are half closed when he looks. His mouth chases, just barely, after Billy’s before he blinks and jerks back again.

“Is that it?” he asks, almost like he’s disappointed.

Billy huffs out a laugh.

“Baby, you’re making this real hard,” he says, pulling back even further to run a hand through his hair. “You kinda seemed like you wanted some time. To think about this. About me and Munson kissing you.”

Steve makes a face, slumping back against the edge of the pool table. “Can’t we ignore that I even brought it up? I mean– I’m just not sure I know how this all– how I’m supposed to– ugh, can we just go back to kissing? It’s way less complicated.”

Billy does want to go back to kissing. He wants to lean into it and forget all that shit Steve said, all his concerns. But he wants to do this shit right.

“If it helps, I think you never know how you’re supposed to do anything with someone new,” Billy says, “how all your shit fits with theirs. The fact that I have a dick is obviously, yeah, new for you. But this shit is always terrifying.”

Steve lets out a small, frustrated little noise, arms crossing as he gives Billy an elevator look– before glancing over his shoulder to the doors that lead back out to the backyard– to the house across the pool. “Yeah, but I’m trying to figure out how I’m supposed to fit with both of you. So, you know, two whole dicks more than I’m used to dealing with.”

His eyes dart back to Billy’s. He offers up one of those guileless smiles that makes him look like the boy next door.

“And I’m not even talking about the fact that you guys actually have dicks,” he adds.

Billy snorts. “Remind me why I like you, again?”

“Um, I think you said perfect, pretty, and…” Steve ticks off on two fingers, frowning in a playful mockery of thought. “There was a third one, but I don’t know how true that is, uh, anymore.”

Billy laughs. He can’t help it.

He reaches out and touches Steve on the remaining knuckle before grabbing his hand, folding his own over it. “Guess you’re not so straight, are you?”

“No,” Steve breathes, eyes on where Billy’s hand covers his own, his brow pinching, his fingers twitching under his touch. “I think I like the kissing part a little too much to be straight.”

Billy repositions their hands so he’s less so holding Steve’s fist and more so holding Steve’s hand. He uses that grip to pull Steve in a little bit closer, giving him just a little tug until Steve’s stumbling forward and there’s barely any space between them at all.

“Tell me how much you liked kissing me,” Billy says.

“What, like on a scale of one to ten?” Steve says, the tips of his ears going pink, his hand flinching tighter around Billy’s, the toes of his sneakers knocking into Billy’s boots. “What if I give you a low score?”

Billy squeezes Steve’s hand. He leans in and grins, getting close enough that their lips are only a few inches apart. He can feel Steve’s breath. Is sure Steve can feel his too.

“I don’t think you will.”

“No?” Steve asks, voice a breathless little thing, leaning in just a little more, bumping at Billy’s nose with his own, almost swaying into him. “You that sure of yourself, trouble?”

“Munson assures me that I’m a good kisser,” Billy tells him. “Just can’t get enough.”

And while Eddie hasn’t exactly said that, he’s definitely extolled a great deal of praise over other things Billy does with his mouth.

“What about you, pretty boy? You agree with him, yeah? No one’s given me a low score yet.”

“I think I need more, like, data,” Steve says, grinning a little around a huff of a laugh, and Billy can feel how he shudders with amusement and revels in the fact that he can make Steve smile like that, all soft and fond like he does when the kids are doing something he finds endearing. “Another example.”

“Yeah?” Billy asks.

He leans in, just a little bit more, allowing his lips to ghost over Steve’s. Not quite a kiss, but a tease.

A taunt.

“You gonna take what you want, baby?” Billy asks.

“I’m thinking about it,” Steve mutters.

But he’s already leaning the rest of the way in– what little amount of space that is– so that he can press his lips to Billy’s. Hums at first contact, fingers twitching tight around Billy’s, and he uses his other hand to hook at Billy’s belt loop, fingers tugging so that Billy doesn’t pull back so soon.

Kissing Steve is like laying in the sun– so warm, so summer sweet. Billy feels the heat deep within his veins, a slow kind of warmth that seeps through him and leaves him feeling content, if not hungry.

Billy lets his touch wander this time, moving a hand to Steve’s hip to inch him a little bit closer. Slotting their bodies together so Billy can get even more of that warmth. Greedy. His other hand reaches back up to Steve’s jaw. Holding it, letting the feeling of Steve’s skin against his own become familiar.

He always thought Steve’s mouth looked soft. Sweet enough to fantasize about on long, lonely Indiana nights. It warms his blood to know it’s true– to know, finally, how pliant Steve’s lips are against his own.

Steve makes a quiet sound when Billy’s mouth draws from his, his other hand curling into Billy’s shirt much like it had done Eddie’s earlier, and tugging. Tips his head to change the angle, to shuffle closer, like the warmth of Billy’s touch is just as intoxicating to him as Steve’s lips are to Billy. Steve kisses him– then kisses him again– then kisses him again–

Hot little presses of his mouth. Needy, wanting things that have fireworks going off in Billy’s skull.

“A seven,” Steve eventually tells him, eyes dark and face flush, but his smile is crooked and teasing against Billy’s lips. “I thought you’d be a little more aggressive, honestly–”

“Who knew you were so rude,” Billy says with an exaggerated pout. “And here I was, gonna give you a solid ten.”

Billy feels gutted. He can’t help it. For years, Steve has been all he’s ever wanted. And now that fantasy, that desperate and wanting hope, has been realized.

And it feels so good, so perfect, so absolutely dizzying. He could give Steve a playfully lower rating, but he finds that doesn’t have space left in him for anything other than sincerity.

Steve laughs again, “Kiss me better and I’ll raise it higher.”

He juts his chin forward to catch at Billy’s mouth. A wet, fleeting little smack– and then he’s arching a brow.

“I always kinda thought you’d like to use more tongue,” he teases.

Billy flounders for a second– who knew Harrington had so much sass?– but then he’s obviously and fully folding to the way Steve is goading him, crumpling like a house of cards in an absolute instant.

It’s easy to move Steve with the way Billy’s positioned. To rotate the two of them so that Billy’s caging Steve in against the pool table, pressing him close. Billy catches Steve’s lips with his own and kisses him better this time. More at Billy’s own pace– hungry and greedy. He kisses Steve hard, letting his own want– enough of it, at least– slip in between the cracks, fueling the fervor with which their lips meet.

His fingers clutch at Steve’s hip, and his hand snakes into Steve’s hair. And Billy only kisses him harder, letting his tongue dip into Steve’s mouth, messy and wanton.

And, god, Steve’s mouth is impossibly hot against his own– wet and open, tongue nearly as clever as Billy’s own as Steve lets himself be pinned in against the edge of the pool table. He feels Steve breathe in sharp– feels the hum of his moan when Billy only kisses him deeper. Hands grope at his sides, Steve’s fingers clutching, pulling, tugging at Billy’s shirt like he wants him impossibly closer.

“Eight,” he gasps at his mouth, groaning when he just makes Billy tighten his grip– at his hip and in his hair– flush all over and choking back another sound, like he’s embarrassed by what Billy earned from him already–

“Wooww,” Billy hears from the side– but the voice is familiar enough that he doesn’t even flinch– just Eddie, drawing out the word long and slow; theatrical and playful. “How badly do I have to lose to get kissed like that?”

The fact that Billy knows Eddie well enough now to not even startle, that he trusts Eddie enough to stay where he is, speaks volumes. As it is, Billy doesn’t move– just keeps pressing Steve against the pool table, trapping him in with his body.

“Why, you want me to kiss you like this?” Billy says, after a quick glance to make sure Eddie’s well and truly alone. “Because he didn’t lose at all. Harrington here beat me, fair and square.”

Eddie kisses at his teeth, giving a little shake of his head, grin wide and white as he looks at them. Though, perhaps looks is too gentle a word– leers or ogles or consumes might be better.

Eddie Munson looks like he wants to swallow them both whole.

“Well, forgive me for interrupting such a rousing victory celebration, then,” Eddie says, waving a lazy hand toward them, like he’s telling them to proceed. “Do let the show continue.”

Steve is burning red– Billy thinks he can feel his body temperature physically go up a few notches– but his mouth is tender and swollen and Billy did that. Looses his hand from Steve’s hair just so he can touch the pad of his thumb to the wet pink of his lower lip, fingers curling under his chin.

Panting a little, Steve’s eyes dart to where Eddie is standing and watching, before rushing right back to Billy’s. It is clear that he’s even more flustered by the addition of Eddie– though he’d certainly been worked up enough by Billy alone– and he cannot continue to hide his blush in between the presses of their lips.

“Um,” he breathes, fingers a spasm in Billy’s shirt. “Hi.”

Eddie’s lewd little grin softens some. “Hey there, Stevie.”

And Billy knows better. Steve was already a little hesitant to start this, which Billy understands, he does– but Eddie’s presence does something to him too. He can’t help it.

Eddie is like a match, striking Billy’s flint. Catching him aflame, just like that.

Billy’s hand moves to grip Steve by the jaw. Gentle, but firm. Tilts his face a little bit one way, and then the other– and then towards Eddie. Like he’s offering Steve up.

Which he is.

“You want a try?” Billy asks, eyes on Eddie, gaze gone molten.

Steve makes a strangled, desperate little sound. It’s such a fucking pretty noise– a breathy, breathless whine, whisper soft and barely audible– practically punched out of him by the suggestion, leaving him winded and wide eyed.

Eddie eyes them, pupils blown and chest rising so carefully as he takes a breath and slowly– slowly– steps forward.

“Sunshine, you’re too good to me,” Eddie tells him, pacing forward, only coming to a stop once he’s hovering at their sides. “What do you think, Stevie? Do I get a proper taste?”

“I–” Steve’s throat works, but he’s just standing there, letting Billy hold him in place, breathing shallow. “Yeah– yes? Yes. That’s– yeah.”

It’s so hot having Steve underneath his hand, gone all easy and pliant. It’s even hotter still, watching Eddie close that last little bit of distance between the two of them with a kiss.

Billy feels the way Steve reacts underneath his touch. Feels him shudder, feels him go all statue-still.

Eddie, in contrast, is all fluid movement. Kissing Steve lazily, easily, but getting his hands on Billy too. Touching his hip, his ribs, pressing in close– and pressing Billy closer to Steve while he does it. An object in constant, perpetual motion.

Eddie doesn’t have any compunction in kissing Steve hard, in licking into Steve’s mouth deep enough that Billy feels the way Steve’s jaw opens, the way Steve stutters out a breathy gasp.

It is so, so fucking hot. Scorching.

Eddie only pulls back when Steve makes another one of those kiss-drunk sounds– woozy and breathless– lips open and wet when he breaks away. Eddie catches some of that wetness on his thumb and then pops it right into his own mouth.

Hums like Steve’s one of the best things he’s ever put his mouth on.

And then he looks at Billy. Jerks his head a little, like he’s telling Steve to watch with his heavy lidded eyes as he leans in to catch Billy’s chin on the hook of a finger– drawing Billy to his mouth.

Something inside of his stomach swoops, like taking a sudden drop on one of the boardwalk coasters. Eddie’s lips are unyielding, his tongue hot and fast, and he kisses Billy just as hard and heavy as he kissed Steve.

The noise Steve makes, gutted and raw, doesn’t help the weightless feeling in Billy’s gut. And it doesn’t help at all when Eddie hums, pleased, into Billy’s mouth, like he’s done something good . And then kisses him even harder, still. Adds some teeth in there for good measure.

Eddie Munson’s gonna be the death of him.

Billy’s fingers must press in a little harder against Steve’s jaw, because he makes another sound and Eddie pulls back, leaving Billy breathless.

“Sorry, Stevie, but Billy’s so easy. I sometimes can’t help myself,” Eddie says.

Like he’s proving it, he takes Billy by the chin and gives his head a little wiggle.

Billy bites down a shudder. Makes an affronted sound, pulling his chin out of Eddie’s grasp. “Screw off, Munson.”

His face feels red.

“What, you don’t want me to spend the rest of my break out here with you two?” Eddie asks, smile keen and playful.

Steve clears his throat, and when they look at him, his pupils are fat with arousal, swollen from watching the two of them. “Um. I don’t– I don’t mind him staying.”

Eddie scoffs out a laugh, tipping his head over to catch the corner of Steve’s mouth. “You’re as sweet as you taste.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but he shifts like he wants to squirm and he just won’t let himself. “Okay, now I’m with Billy.”

Billy laughs. Can’t help it.

“See what I fucking mean? The worst.”

Eddie Munson is incorrigible. And he proves it too, by leaning in close and pressing a kiss so wet it’s practically just an excuse to slobber, right next to Billy’s ear.

“You want me to stay, sunshine.”

And the thing is, obviously Billy does. But it’s almost unsteadying to realize just how much he wants Eddie to stay. To be a part of what he’s always wanted with Steve.

It’s so– easy. Effortlessly so.

Billy doesn’t even have to admit it. Eddie rocks back on his heels, so smug that Billy knows he knows that Billy wants him there, grin wide and dimpling his cheek.

“So princess,” Eddie drawls, eyes following the path of his fingers as, with a hand still pressed at Billy’s lower back, he traces slowly down Steve’s side with a feather light touch; Billy has to clench his teeth when he feels the heavy way Steve shudders all against him. “Has California been showing you a good time? Treating you right?”

Steve grunts, eyes darting between them. “Didn’t it look like he was?”

Humming, Eddie tilts his head. “I dunno. Might have to see it again. Sunshine?”

An electric shiver slides itself right down Billy’s black, liquid gold.

He doesn’t have to be told twice. Just bites down the noise that threatens to bubble up from his throat and dives right back in, slotting his lips to Steve’s, stealing another kiss.

He lets himself be greedy this time, lets himself be controlled by that ravenous hunger. It’s easier, looser. Steve’s mouth opens in a little gasp and Billy licks his way inside– only slowing once one of Eddie’s hands ends up on the back of his neck, giving him a little squeeze. Scruffing him like a cat.

“It’s not a race,” Eddie whispers, voice in Billy’s ear.

Billy wants to argue that Eddie was going just as hard– but still, he slows. Goes easy under Eddie’s touch.

“That’s it,” Eddie breathes, thumb stroking at the soft skin just behind his ear. “Enjoy it, sunshine. Stevie certainly is.”

Steve practically warbles. Chokes on his own embarrassment and his own desire, panting at Billy’s mouth as Billy slowly plunders past lips and teeth and tongue. His hands have fluttered up from clutching at Billy’s sides to bracing at his chest, going weak back against the billiards table as Billy shuffles impossibly closer.

Eddie is a brand along his side, fingers teasing up his scalp and into his curls. Working at the base of his skull. He’s breathing a little heavy, just watching for a moment, as Billy loses himself in the wet heat of Steve’s mouth, in the breathy little sighs he makes, in the way he goes all soft.

Then, Eddie is grabbing the hand Billy has at Steve’s hip, fingers tapping up the tendons as his grip shifts and then lacing through Billy’s own. Palm flat to the back of his hand, Eddie uses Billy’s touch to tease up under the cotton of Steve’s shirt– so that when Steve’s whimpers, muscles jumping and winding tight under the sinfully soft skin of his lower belly, Billy gets to feel it under his own fingers.

“So fucking good,” Eddie mutters, nails dragging at Billy’s scalp.

The sound that escapes from Billy is awful. Breathy and gutted, but it fits so easily against Steve’s lips. Billy could melt, blood hotter than hell in his veins. He wonders how long before it burns right through his skin, bubbling over like a pot of boiling water.

The weight of Eddie’s hand is heavy as it guides Billy’s touch over Steve’s skin. And Billy wouldn’t let anyone else do this to him, take this for him– but it’s different with Eddie. It’s all different.

“Stevie, baby, you’re so warm,” Eddie says, and Billy jerks when he hears Eddie calling Steve that, like he’s speaking for Billy, as he pushes Billy’s hand up, up, splaying their fingers over Steve’s ribs, laughing in Billy’s ear as Steve spasms under their combined touch. “He’s responsive, isn’t he, sunshine?”

And Eddie is right– Steve is incredibly responsive. Like he’s touch-starved, his skin jumps and shudders each time they move to a new spot, and he arches against Billy like a needy cat when Billy gets his other hand smoothing down Steve’s spine.

Eddie crowds at Billy’s back, pressing a kiss to his shoulder– his throat. His other hand drops from the back of Billy’s neck to ghost down his side, palming at Billy’s hip and giving a firm squeeze. He feels the toe of a boot tap at the back of his heel.

“Go on, sweetheart,” Eddie coaxes, nudging Billy’s thigh forward with a press of his knee until he’s slowly sliding it between Steve’s own. “Let’s see what he does with this one, huh?”

What Steve does is make the sweetest little keen, high from the back of his throat, scrambling at the collar of Billy’s shirt as he goes up onto his toes like that might get him away from the pressure. What Steve does is buck against the hard line of Billy’s thigh, halfway to fully aroused and already squirming as Billy fucks his tongue lazily against Steve’s own.

Billy wants to crawl inside of him. He’s quivering, whining at Billy’s mouth, hands half pulling and half pushing at Billy. Steve is a livewire, just like Billy always knew he would be, reacting to every little touch. Steve’s practically vibrating.

But Eddie is using Billy’s fingers to tease at one of Steve’s nipples and Billy is pressing at his lower back. Their hips are flush, Eddie hard against the curve of his ass, Billy aching in his jeans, and Steve–

Steve rips his mouth away from Billy’s with a ragged gasp, pushing clumsily at his shoulders, a wrecked moan dragging up from his chest when Eddie nudges Billy’s thigh higher. “Wai– haa, wait– I’m–”

He’s hard. Tenting his shorts and pressing against Billy’s leg.

Eddie grunts, keeping Billy caged in against Steve as he reaches from Billy’s hip to Steve’s– petting gently as he hushes him, using Billy’s hand to sooth down Steve’s side as he shudders. “Too much, Stevie?”

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, shivering, eyes squeezing shut. “Yeah, just– just gimme–”

“Fuck,” Billy breathes out, dipping back in to press one last fleeting kiss to Steve’s lips, gentle and soft.

Sure, Steve looks close to losing it, but Billy feels that way too. Feels like he can’t quite catch his breath.

Without noticing it, Billy realizes that he’s leaning on Eddie, heavy. Using Eddie to support himself.

“Aren’t you on a break?” Billy asks, grumbling. “Starting shit.”

Eddie hums, mouth pressed to Billy’s shoulder through his shirt. “Couldn’t help myself, sunshine.”

He never can. Not that Billy has the most stellar record for self control.

In front of them, Steve has already calmed some. His breath is still short and a little tacky, sticking in his throat every time one of them moves, but the overwhelmed twist of his features has eased. One of his hands falls to the edge of the table behind him, like a brace, like he’s grounding himself so that he’ll stop twitching and shuddering.

Eddie finally lets go of Billy’s hand so that he can reach up and cup Steve’s jaw. Steve leans into it blindly, eyes still hidden from them behind the tight press of his eyelids. Like he might block everything out just enough that he can put himself together again.

It’s beautiful. Billy feels struck by it, absolutely floored to the point of ruin.

“I think I hate you, Munson,” Billy says.

But Eddie takes the words exactly how Billy means them. He leans up against Billy, just a little extra press, and grins.

“I know you do, sunshine.” He seals the words with a kiss to Steve’s lips, then Billy’s. “Unfortunately, I’ve got places to be, characters to kill off. You think you two can play nice while I’m gone?”

Steve laughs, crooked grin half hidden against Eddie’s palm. One of Steve’s hands is still curled into Billy’s shirt, keeping him close, eyes still closed like he’s content to stay there with them like that for however long they wish.

“I think we were getting along fine before you got here,” he mutters, breathing out long and slow, giving a mindless little tug to the cotton caught in his hand. “We were getting along, weren’t we, Billy?”

Eddie hums like he’s dubious when Billy nods. His thumb strokes at the high line of Steve’s cheek. Around his waist, Billy feels Eddie’s arm snake tight as he shuffles in against them.

He doesn’t want to leave. Billy doesn’t really want him to leave either. If he asked, he’d bet Steve would say the same.

But there are teenie boppers inside that need tending to. Annoying kids who will start to snoop if Eddie is late.

“Don’t do anything too fun without me,” Eddie says.

And then he’s withdrawing, backing away from them and fanning himself with a hand as he goes. It’s cheeky– playful– but Billy can see how dark his eyes are as he heads for the door.

“I wouldn’t object to finding you both getting along when I got back, though.”

He dips out the door with a laugh when Billy glares at him, beating a hot retreat out of the pool house.

When Billy turns back to Steve, he finds him leaned lazily against the edge of the table, legs still a tangle with Billy’s. He’s blushing and worrying at a kiss-red lower lip, still swollen from Billy and Eddie’s desire. He’s still got a hand keeping Billy from pulling away. His eyes are so warm as he looks at Billy.

He didn’t think Steve would ever look at him like that.

“That was a solid ten, if you were wondering,” Steve says.

Billy can’t help but laugh. It’s not like he needed the validation, but it feels good all the same.

“Well, shit,” Billy says. “If I had known Munson was the key to my success, I would’ve dragged him out here a long time ago.”

Billy can’t keep his hands off Steve. Gets one hand up under Steve’s shirt to splay out over his lower back. His skin is so warm, so soft. There are goosebumps underneath Billy’s fingertips.

“Clearly I need a little practice on my own,” Billy says, dipping in to graze his lips over Steve’s. Such a light touch, and Steve still shivers. “What do you say to us practicing until he gets back?”

“I think I’m gonna have to take, like, a really cold shower later,” Steve mutters, going a little crosseyed as he stares at Billy’s mouth.

But then he’s hooking an arm around Billy’s neck and drawing him in, kissing him soundly– and Billy is helpless to do anything but kiss him back.

chapter 14:

like a heartbeat (drives you mad)

The three of them have taken to spending Steve’s free days lazing around Steve’s pool deck, exchanging kisses under the daze of the summer sun until the heat becomes too blinding, too pressing, and Steve calls it quits to jump into the pool.

It’s not a bad way to spend the time. Not much different than what they were doing before – just with more blood rushing through Billy’s veins. And maybe, somehow, even more sexual frustration.

Because every time things start to ramp up, Steve inevitably backs off, turning red and flustered, and calls it quits. Which is fine. Billy is happy to give him the time and the space. He knows Eddie is content to wait it out. But now that it’s the three of them, Billy and Eddie haven’t had much – or any – time alone to temper that heat, that frustration.

Billy’s dick might fall off.

This morning, Eddie asked him if anyone’s ever died of blue balls before. Billy told him he hoped he was the first.

And all of it is fine, but Billy can’t say he’s thinking at his clearest. He looks at Steve and he wants. He looks at Eddie and his brain starts to sizzle.

Today’s rainy. Drizzly and damp. Instead of finding themselves by Steve’s pool, they sprawl out in his room, taking turns slowly smoking a joint.

“Hi?” Steve says, after he’s passed the joint to Eddie.

Billy’s already climbing into his lap. Straddling him where he sits on the floor, back against his bed.

“Hi, yourself,” Billy says. “Lemme kiss you.”

Because Billy just can’t get enough.

Steve smiles up at him, crooked and flattered the way he always seems to look when either of them corner him for a kiss. He tilts his chin up, offering his mouth, eyes going heavy as his gaze falls to the hungry dart of Billy’s tongue. Billy feels the tentative touch of Steve’s fingers at one of his knees.

Next to them, leaned back against Steve’s nightstand, Eddie sits with his legs sprawled out long in front of him. He’s watching with dark eyes, dragging on the joint with a slow pull, gaze like a weight as he takes in the sight of them. Of Billy straddling Steve’s lap as Steve eagerly leans up to meet him.

“Chapstick,” Steve mumbles, even as Billy dips down enough to tease his lips against Steve’s. “I should invest in chapstick.”

“Think he’d lick it off of you before it did anything,” Eddie says.

He doesn’t pass the joint when he’s done, but he does move himself, leaning over to offer the joint to Billy first, then Steve. Letting them each take a hit from his hand.

For whatever reason, that always makes Billy’s stomach flip. Turning over on itself like he’s dropping from a great height.

“You’re part of the problem,” Billy huffs, but he’s already leaning in and tasting the smoke on Steve’s lips in a slow kiss.

And it’s so good, the heat that curls up in his belly when he kisses Steve. The comforting way he’s just resolved himself to burn, slowly, like flickering coals. A long, steady immolation.

He savors the way the heat turns over low in his stomach, when Steve’s teeth nip at his lower lip, like kindling catching flame. He shuffles in closer on his knees, hands going for Steve’s face to hold him steady so that he can properly press their mouth together. Steve sighs, dreamy and pleased, at his lips as he presses up into his touch to meet him.

“Well,” Eddie drawls. “I suppose you’re probably right.”

And Billy can’t see him, too busy teasing at Steve’s tongue with his own, practically feeding off of the little, breathy moan Steve makes. He can feel Steve’s fingers curl in over his thighs, is distracted by the heat of them enough that he doesn’t notice Eddie creeping closer and reaching up to push Billy’s curls back from his face– so that he can watch Billy lick his way into Steve’s mouth.

“Guess I’ll have to find other ways to occupy myself,” Eddie mutters, taking the one last pull from the joint before setting it in the ashtray sitting on the nightstand.

He turns, sinking his fingers into Billy’s hair and giving a gentle tug– coaxing his lips from Steve’s so that he can catch Billy’s instead, breathing a lungful of smoke into Billy’s mouth. His tongue slides, slick and warm, along Billy’s. Fucks deep and lazy before drawing back.

Then, he uses that grip in his hair to turn Billy’s attention right back to Steve, smoke still lingering in the cage of his ribs and the back of his tongue.

Billy wants to lose himself in a moan, in that moment, but he can’t – not with a lungful of smoke that Eddie wants him to share. And Billy’s kind of a sucker for Eddie’s directions. Why wouldn’t he be? Eddie has good fucking ideas.

Like this. Like how Eddie eases Billy’s lips back against Steve’s like two puzzle pieces, like how he says, “Open up, Stevie,” in such a way that Billy can feel Steve shudder underneath him. But Steve’s mouth opens easy and then he’s breathing in Billy’s air, taking that smoke into his chest, while Billy chases the taste of his lips, greedy to continue the kiss.

“Good,” Eddie tells them, after he eases Billy back by the hair so that Steve can exhale. “Who needs a dirty mag when I could watch you two all day?”

Beneath him, Steve makes a strangled little sound.

Steve is a little breathless, dazed eyes blinking rapidly up at them, blush slowly climbing up into his face. He looks right on the cusp of ravaged– lips already swollen and slick, hair a mess and flopping into his face, pupils blown.

Billy knows he’s not much better. Feels his face grow warm as Eddie tightens his grip ever so slightly.

“You wanna keep kissing Stevie, sunshine?” Eddie asks.

Billy nods, helpless to deny it. Of course he wants to keep kissing Steve. He always does, until Steve bows out. But it’s like an addiction, an itch he can’t quite scratch.

The nod of his head pulls against Eddie’s grip. Billy ghosts his lips over Steve’s and tastes smoke.

Eddie’s fingers tug, sharp, keeping Billy from properly closing the distance. Billy groans. Beneath him, Steve makes a hitching little sound, eyes so dark as they dart between Billy’s own.

“Not on the mouth, Billy,” Eddie tells him, like an order, his other hand coming up to catch under Steve’s chin– fingers pressing at the line of his jaw until Steve is looking at Eddie, throat a nervous flutter just by whatever hunger he sees there– his profile and the long line of his neck bared just for Billy. “Taste him here.”

Billy doesn’t have to be told twice. Like he’s drawn by gravity, Billy’s lips find the spot right where Eddie’s fingers pressed, leaning in to try and catch the taste of him there, just like the smoke.

It’s easy to kiss Steve’s neck like this. With Eddie keeping Steve’s neck bared, all of his tender bits are exposed to Billy’s mouth. And Steve goes so easy for it. Just tilts his head over, with barely even the slightest encouragement. It’s enough to have Billy scraping his teeth against Steve’s skin, hungry.

“Ah, ah,” Eddie says with a little tsk. He punctuates himself by tugging again at Billy’s hair. “I said kiss, not bite, you animal.”

Chastened, Billy gentles. Like he is some kind of animal and he’s under Eddie’s control. He keeps his teeth to himself and instead lets his tongue roll against Steve’s skin. Hot, wet.

Underneath Billy’s lips, Steve’s pulse beats rabbit-fast.

“You’ll have to forgive him,” Eddie tells Steve, and Billy can hear Eddie’s grin, can feel the vibration of Steve’s curious little sound under his tongue. “He’s always half starved for you.”

Humiliation is a sharp twist in his stomach– but Steve is choking out another sound, is dragging blunt nails over the denim covering his thighs. He shifts under him, squirming where he’s pinned beneath the weight of Billy’s body.

“Ah,” Eddie breathes, grip shifting in Billy’s hair so that he can place that big hand on the back of his neck, squeezing as he leans in to mutter in Steve’s opposing ear, keeping Steve in place with a firm grip on his jaw. “Do you like hearing how much he wants you, baby? Do you wanna hear more?”

Steve shudders violently underneath him.

“Eddie,” Steve breathes, pulse faster under Billy’s lips– and when Billy sucks, pulling blood to the surface of that pale skin, he jerks in place and moans. “Oh– fuck, Billy–”

Eddie cuts him off with a slow kiss. Hums when Steve whines, and squeezes at Billy’s neck again.

Straddling Steve, it’s impossible to miss how hard he’s gotten. How his hips jerk up in little aborted motions to try and meet Billy’s weight.

It’s thrilling to know that he’s part of the reason for Steve’s desire. Almost thrilling enough to override the shame when Eddie pulls back from the kiss, leans in close and tells Steve, “You know he likes it when I talk about you in bed. Always gets him off lightning fast. He could probably come in his pants, just from me talking about you.”

Billy wants to throttle Eddie.

But when Eddie tightens the grip on the back of Billy’s neck and says, “Isn’t that right?” all Billy can do is groan.

And kiss Steve’s neck harder.

“Wouldn’t that be embarrassing?” Eddie says.

Steve grunts, straining a little as his squirming and shifting becomes less restless and more desperate. “I– We gotta–”

“Getting a little worked up, Stevie?” Eddie asks, and he’s already petting down Billy’s spine so that he can tease his fingers up under the back of Billy’s shirt– palm pressing flat and then pressing– coaxing Billy’s hips down to meet Steve’s. “Need to cool off already?”

Steve’s hips seize up in a helpless little buck as the weight of Billy rocks into him. “Nn– No,” Steve huffs, hands clutching at Billy’s thighs. “No, I’m– I’m okay. I can– just a little longer.”

Eddie’s quiet, dark groan is enough to set fire to Billy’s insides. “Yeah? You like Billy’s mouth on you that much, baby?”

Steve quakes. He nods, just a little, just the small bit that Eddie’s grip allows– and Billy wants to bite.

“Hear that, sunshine?” Eddie asks, kissing at Billy’s shoulder, pressing at his lower back until Steve strangles out a little sound and bucks again. “Stevie likes your mouth.”

And maybe, maybe Billy’s self control isn’t that great. Maybe he’s never been quite as good as Eddie tells him he is. Because Billy just can’t help the way he gets his teeth on Steve’s skin, scraping them over his thrumming pulse, tasting sweat on his breath as he bites down.

Steve groans. Loud and pretty. He bucks up, meeting Billy’s hips in the perfect grind.

Eddie yanks Billy’s hair hard enough that Billy can’t help but pull up, teeth torn away from Steve’s neck, lips wet with spit, and hips coming up and away from Steve’s.

“You’re supposed to be good, sweetheart,” Eddie chides.

He barely sounds mad. Instead, he just sounds knowing. Like he knew Billy wouldn’t be able to control himself.

Mouth still hanging a little loose, Billy pants, a shudder rippling down through him. His insides feel molten. He feels like, if Eddie wasn’t there to temper him, he might try and melt right into Steve Harrington’s body– might try and breathe the heat trapped in his lungs right into Steve’s mouth until he suffocates.

Eddie’s eyes are so dark. He’s smiling, brow arched, taking in just how debauched Billy has made the pair of them in the heat of his desire.

“Look, Stevie,” Eddie says, using the grip he refuses to release on Steve’s jaw to turn Steve’s head so that he can look up at Billy’s flush face. “He’s gorgeous, isn’t he? Just makes you wanna let him get away with everything.”

Steve breathes out in slow, shuddering breaths– expression twisted up in something like yearning, a pained pinched to it, as Eddie makes him stare up. His palms sooth over Billy’s thighs, like he can’t help himself either.

Eddie catches it, though, his smile going sharp. “You’ve no idea, the things he would do to you if you let him.”

Steve shakes in place, throat working around a needy little noise.

Screw melting up. Billy thinks that if Eddie weren’t here, maybe Billy would just eat Steve whole.

His mouth waters for another taste of Steve’s skin, to lick that sound up straight off of his lips – but when Billy leans forward again to try, Eddie holds him fast.

“Look what you do to him, Stevie. Can you feel how hard he is? How much he wants you?” Eddie leans in real close, lips brushing over the apple of Steve’s cheek. “Go on. Reach down. Feel it with your hand, baby. Palm him through his jeans.”

Steve’s chest hitches and hitches, and Billy bets his face is warm under Eddie’s mouth. His blush is a divine little thing, high on his features, wonderfully red.

Billy’s caught by it– stuck on the sight of Steve blushing so pretty for them– so when one of Steve’s hands starts to ease up, up his thigh, Billy startles in place. Chokes on a grunt, breath coming faster, and his own hands go to Steve’s shoulders to clutch at his shirt.

“That’s it,” Eddie breathes, cheek nuzzling up against Steve’s as he watches the slow creep of Steve’s fingers, gripping Billy’s hair tight to keep him still. “You can touch him. He wants you to. Get him worked up for me, huh, baby?”

Steve’s eyes flutter, a little wild and a little wide, his palm easing over the bulge of Billy’s cock in his pants– mouth falling open on a sharp breath as he stares intently up at him, Eddie’s hand not even holding him in place anymore.

This territory is new, foreign to Steve. And yet, even though there’s some hesitation in Steve’s touch, he’s doing it with ease, palming over Billy’s cock, only a layer of soft denim in between them.

Billy whines. He can’t help it. But when he twitches, shifting his hips, trying desperately to press up and into that touch, Eddie gives his hair a cursory yank. A warning.

“Stay still, sweetheart,” Eddie says. And then, like Billy’s just a prop, he turns to Steve and asks, “Doesn’t he feel nice, Stevie?”

Steve is breathing so heavy now. Rubbing over the crotch of Billy’s pants, palm a perfect weight, just the right amount of friction. It’s agony.

“Yeah,” Steve says, voice rough, and he swallows, lashes fluttering, choking back a little sound as Eddie kisses at his cheek like a reward.

“You wanna get him in your hand, Stevie?”

“I don’t– I don’t think–” Steve’s breath hitches almost worryingly, but Eddie is kissing at his jaw, the hand that isn’t in Billy’s hair already creeping down along Steve’s arm, fingers wrapping loose around his wrist. “God, I–”

“Shh,” Eddie kisses at the side of his throat, pulling Steve’s hand away, easing it back to Billy’s thigh. “That’s okay, baby. You wanna let me do it?”

Steve chokes on a little whine.

Steve might be moments from combusting, but Billy feels like he is too.

Somehow the idea of Steve getting his hand on Billy’s cock isn’t nearly as gut-wrenching as the idea of Steve watching Eddie do it. Just sitting pretty, eyes on Billy, and –

“Eddie,” Billy hisses through his teeth, breath tight, and when Eddie just offers him a little hum, walking his fingers up Billy’s leg, Billy says, “Stop dicking around and fucking touch me.”

“Impatient thing,” Eddie chides, shifting so that he can get up onto his knees, fingers teasing at Billy’s thigh. “Stay right there for me, won’t you, Stevie?”

Steve lets out a punched-out sound, but he nods. He nods.

And then Eddie is working Billy’s fly open, reaching into his pants, and pulling the length of his cock out– aching and hot, twitching in the cool air. He gives it a gentle squeeze, humming as the weight of him settles in Eddie’s palm. He gets himself flush against the back of Billy’s left shoulder, his own arousal pressing into Billy’s ass, shifting his grip in his hair so that he can angle Billy’s head over and peer down at Steve with him.

“Oh,” he says, lips smacking at Billy’s ear as he squeezes at his cock again. “No wonder you’re so squirrelly.”

Because he gets to see the way Steve is looking at Billy like he might die if he looks away.

Billy can’t do anything other than hold still. And watch Steve watching Eddie’s hand on his cock. It’s a dizzying thing, having to see Steve like this. Almost torture.

“Doesn’t he have a nice cock?” Eddie’s asking, his voice joining the swirl of thoughts in Billy’s head, that miasma of chaos and gut-wrenching, red-hot desire. “This is all for you, Stevie.”

Eddie’s fingers stroke him over, slow, like he’s showing Billy off. His touch is dry and not nearly hard enough, but it doesn’t matter – it still makes Billy whine.

Steve looks like he wants to as well, throat working and working as his eyes flutter, long lashes hiding the darkest parts of his gaze as he stares down at Billy’s lap. He shudders, hands shifting to clutch tight at the tops of Billy’s knees, and Billy sees the dart of his tongue over his lips when Eddie’s fingers catch some of the wetness dribbling from Billy’s cock.

Billy sees his chest rise and fall faster as Eddie teases over Billy’s length.

“You wanna watch him cum, Stevie?” Eddie asks, chest firm at Billy’s back, mouth still pressed to his ear so that the low thrum of his voice leaves Billy shivering.

Steve looks up sharply.

He looks a little like he’s scared and a little like he wants nothing more. Lust is a gorgeous expression on Steve’s face, softened by the genuine yearning that Billy can see there.

Steve nods.

Behind him, thumb teasing at the head of Billy’s cock, spreading the slick of Billy’s own arousal, Eddie clicks his tongue. “I wanna hear you say it, Stevie.”

“I–” Steve makes a breathy, needy sound, shifting restlessly, pressing himself back against the edge of his bed like a little distance might help. “Can– can I watch? Please?”

Billy feels Eddie take a careful, heavy breath, going dangerously still at Billy’s back. His own brain feels like it’s cooking– and it doesn’t help when Eddie grins against the shell of his ear.

“Pretty boy wants to watch, sunshine,” Eddie tells him, low and taunting. “You wanna let him see how gorgeous you are when you fall apart for me?”

Billy’s breath hitches, feeling too big for his own lungs. His whole body feels electrified, all his nerves firing all at once. He groans. Low and loud. He wants that so fucking bad he feels like he’s going to burst with it

And he squirms. Eddie’s hand is on his dick and Steve’s looking at him, and he can’t help it. He shifts with a gasp and rocks into Eddie’s hand.

“I’m gonna need you to stay still if you’re going to put on a show for Stevie here,” Eddie kisses the spot right below his ear. “Hey, princess. You wanna help me out and hold Billy steady for me?”

Steve’s brows pinch. “Where– where should I…?”

His hands are shaking when he finally pulls them from Billy’s knees, hovering like he doesn’t know what to do with them or with himself.

Eddie shuffles them in closer, urges Billy’s hips over Steve’s. Steve seizes a bit, his arousal trapped beneath the weight of Billy’s body, and Eddie hums when Steve’s hands fly to Billy’s hips.

“There you go,” Eddie says, untangling his hand from Billy’s curls so that he can splay it out over Billy’s chest and tug him back– Billy’s balance completely toppled, his body going easy back against Eddie, his hands going for the tops of Eddie’s thighs to try and brace himself. “Hold him just like that, Stevie.”

Leaned back, hips held forward, Billy is left on display. The hand around his cock squeezes when he twitches and then draws up, hovering in front of Billy’s mouth.

“Lick,” Eddie says.

Billy heaves in a shuddering breath and wonders when all the oxygen left the room. He wonders when he started shaking too. Trembling up against Eddie’s chest and underneath Steve’s hands.

Head spinning, all Billy can do is open up his mouth and lick Eddie’s hand like Eddie says. His palm smells like Billy, which only adds to the swirl in Billy’s head. He’s messy with it as he licks Eddie’s palm. Uncoordinated. Desperate.

“Fuck, please,” Billy says, as soon as Eddie’s hand gives him space to talk. To breathe.

He feels strung tight like a bow. On the edge already and Eddie’s hand isn’t even back on him.

It’s a good thing Steve is holding him, though, because when Eddie’s now spit-slick hand finds him again, fingers wrapping around tight – Billy jolts. Body coiling tight, muscles tense.

“Eddie,” Billy whimpers; thinks it barely even sounds like him.

“It’s hot, isn’t it, sunshine?” Eddie asks, squeezing and then starts pumping his fist slow– so slow– over Billy’s cock. “You’re burning up. You wanna cum for Stevie that bad?”

Steve huffs out sharply, catching his lower lip in his teeth, trembling as he tries to hold still– fingers tight at Billy’s hips, trying to keep Billy from bucking and rocking against him. He looks like he’s swallowing down each sound he wants to make, biting them back, eyes dark and enraptured by the sight of Eddie touching Billy.

Billy isn’t sure how he’s supposed to hold himself together. How he’s supposed to have even an ounce of stamina like this. With Eddie. With Steve.

Maybe he’s not.

His head swims with pleasure, thoughts all muddied and hot. Billy nods, desperate, and feels the solid line of Eddie’s body behind him. The press of him every time Billy fills his lungs with a shuddering gasp.

“Show him, then,” Eddie tells him. His pace is so steady, but it’s perfect. It’s perfect. “Show him how pretty you are when you cum for me.”

The pleasure rises up to meet him and drags him under before Billy can brace himself. It knocks his feet out from underneath him, sets his nerves alight, and has his vision going white.

The last thing he saw was Steve’s eyes. So dark they were almost black.

He must make a noise, but he doesn’t hear it, ears filled up with static, head filled up with smoke.

When he comes back to himself, head still swimming, Eddie’s murmuring soft words in his ear and working his come-slick hand over Billy’s cock all slow. Teasing. It leaves Billy jolting, shivering against him.

Steve’s hands are iron-tight on Billy’s knees.

Billy’s pulse is heavy and thick in his skull. Temples pounding as his head rests back against Eddie’s shoulder, the intensity of it all leaving him loose and floating.

Eddie is busy soothing him down, is muttering sweet little words of praise– so good, so good for us– with his face turned toward Billy, mouth hot at his ear, so he doesn’t notice it when Steve’s trembling takes on a worrisome edge. Billy only half notices because Steve’s hands are pushing at him– clumsily shoving at his knees.

But then Steve’s voice cracks through the quiet. Jarring. Wobbling. Wet.

“Can you–” Steve chokes on a sound, and Billy’s ears are ringing with the strained little whine of it, like Steve might be trying not to cry as his voice tumbles into a hysteric little rush. “Can– can you get off? Please– please, get off of me–”

Behind him, Eddie’s gone tense. “Stevie–?”

“Get off of me,” he insists, and his hands aren’t on Billy’s legs anymore, his head ducking as presses his face into his palms. “Please, just–”

Panic jolts in Billy’s chest, cold and icy. His stomach feels like it drops out from underneath him, twisting in the process.

Billy’s limbs don’t even feel like his own. They’re simultaneously too heavy and too light as he tries to scramble his way off Steve, away from Eddie, but he’s clumsy in the process. Feels useless as he scrambles to try and get his pants back on right, fly left hanging open, eyes caught on Steve.

Who looks – not good.

Billy feels cold. It doesn’t help that he has the lingering feeling of Steve’s hands pushing at him leaving cold spots in their wake.

“Steve?” Billy says, and shit does his voice sound rough. Warbled.

He wants to get closer, but knows better. Clearly, he shouldn’t. He feels stuck to the spot anyway.

“Talk to me, Stevie,” Eddie says from somewhere to Billy’s side.

He sounds kinda far away, but Billy can’t look, can’t take his eyes off Steve.

Steve, who drew both knees up as soon as Billy was out of his lap. Who is sitting there, shuddering in violent, intermittent little shakes. Who has his face hidden from them in hands, shoulders hiking to ears.

They’re red.

Eddie is breathing heavy, hovering on his knees between them– Billy having drawn himself the furthest away on Steve’s bedroom floor– but he’s got one of his hands stretched out to him even as he reaches carefully toward Steve. Ready to try and catch both of them, if he has to.

“Stevie, baby, come on–”

“I’m fine,” Steve says, into the press of his own palms, voice thick and wet. “I’m sorry, it was– that was–”

“Maybe a little too much?” Eddie questions.

It sounds like admitting an easy truth. One they both should have known earlier, maybe.

Billy can’t help but wonder if somehow they fucked this up forever. He itches, in that moment, to just get up and leave. If only his legs didn’t feel like lead.

“What can I do?” Eddie asks.

“I just–” Steve sighs, slumping in on himself, and Billy hears him breathe a choked little fuck into his hands. “Just give me– I need a minute.”

Eddie makes a low, quiet sound, glancing over at Billy. He must catch the fear– or maybe the cusp of devastation– because he clicks his tongue and gives a little shake of his head.

“We can do that,” Eddie says, turning his gaze back on Steve. “But I need you to look at me for a second, Stevie. You gotta let us make sure you’re okay. Can you do that for me?”

Steve’s shoulders hunch a little higher. He looks like he wants to curl up, body a physical barrier between Steve and them.

“C’mon, Stevie,” Eddie coaxes, leaning forward enough to touch his fingers to the top of one of Steve’s feet; Steve flinches, startled, but he doesn’t do much else. “Show me those pretty Bambi eyes, huh?”

And then Steve is sniffling, barking out a short laugh. “Fuck you.”

It’s too soon for relief. It’s still nice to hear Steve laugh.

“Please, Stevie?” Eddie presses, fingers carefully creeping to loop around one of Steve’s ankles, and when he doesn’t wince or move, Eddie lets out a breath and holds his other hand palm up for Billy. “You don’t wanna make Billy think you didn’t like it, do you–?”

Steve grunts, a punched-out sound, the ball of his body growing tighter as he breathes out a quiet, “I liked it.”

Billy doesn’t move. Can’t move. Not until those words come out of Steve’s mouth. And even then, he just crawls a little bit closer to Eddie, wary. And dizzy too.

“Good boy,” Eddie says to Steve, but it’s still good to hear that comfort being offered to Steve when something clearly, clearly upset him.

There are tears in those Bambi eyes when he finally looks up. And Billy doesn’t know what to do about that.

“C’mere, sunshine,” Eddie tells him.

This time it’s easier. Even though it feels like crossing a gulf.

He ends up next to him, thigh up against Eddie’s. That heat a nice grounding element when Billy feels liable to float away.

Eddie loops his arm around him. Smooths his palm up Billy’s spine, soothing him even more. It helps even more when Steve offers him a wobbly little half grin.

But then he’s looking at his own knees, grin a grimace and face burning red. Despite the wet cling at his lashes, like he’d been on the verge of fully crying, he doesn’t look sad.

It’s not anger. It’s not disgust. It’s not even exactly panic, although Billy thinks there’s probably enough of that to go around.

He lets himself lean into Eddie as he thinks that Steve looks mortified.

“Can you guys give me a second, now?” he asks quietly.

“Of course, baby,” Eddie says.

He gives Steve’s ankle one last squeeze and then he’s standing, ushering Billy out of the room, down the hallway, and into Steve’s bathroom.

Billy’s blinking into the bright, flickering light of the bathroom before he even really registers being moved there on shaky legs, Eddie’s hands a steady guide to get him there. He feels totally and completely wiped. Gutted, like someone just scraped him out and cleaned him like a fish.

“You good, sweetheart?” Eddie asks, brushing the hair out of Billy’s face.

When Billy huffs out some sound that he feels is close enough to an affirmative, Eddie almost laughs.

“Okay, okay, dumb question,” Eddie says. He leans forward and presses his lips to Billy’s, and then something inside Billy begins to settle. “Not the best timing, that freak out. But that’s what it is – just a freak out, yeah? He just needs some space.”

Billy wants to argue, to say that Eddie can’t possibly know that, but it’s what Billy wants to believe. And it’s so much better than any worst case scenario Billy can come up with.

“Let me clean you up? We got you all dirty.” It sounds almost like a plea.

Billy nods and lets Eddie usher him into the shower. Lets him get Billy lathered up and rinsed off. Rubs at his scalp until Billy is slumping against him, mouth pressed to Eddie’s shoulder, clinging at wet skin until he feels a little more human again.

Eddie’s happy to hold him through the parts Billy can’t hold himself up for. Gets an arm around him and keeps it there as they finish up. Ends up tipping Billy’s head back by the chin, peppering his face with little kisses as he lets the warm water run across them.

When they’re clean and dried off and changed, when Billy feels a little less like he’s been crammed into his own skin at a wrong angle, Eddie leads them back to Steve room, the steam from their shower chasing at his heels. Steve’s door is cracked open when they get to it– and Eddie doesn’t even need to look at him before he’s catching Billy’s hand so that he can thread their fingers together. Eddie pushes the door the rest of the way open with two fingers, angling his body over to try and see Steve faster.

He’s sitting on the edge of his bed, when they finally do spot him, clothes changed and face pinched in thought. He’s got his hands braced down at his sides, clutching at the comforter he’s sitting on, stare long and distant enough that Steve seems far away.

Eddie squeezes at Billy’s hand.

“Don’t you clean up nice?” he asks.

Neither of them expect the way Steve looks up, startled at the sight of them, like he’d been so far gone in his own head that he hadn’t even realized they’d come back. Nor do they expect the way he goes instantly red as he looks away again.

“I think it’s getting kinda late,” Steve mutters, and the dark sky outside rumbles with a quiet, far-off thunder.

Billy’s heart sinks. Stomach dropping clean out of him. He thinks he might even stumble, forgetting to plant his fucking feet around Steve Harrington anymore.

But Eddie is there, holding Billy by the hand. It keeps Billy from bolting straight out the door.

“I know it feels real easy to kick us out, Stevie,” Eddie says. “But before you go breaking any hearts tonight, let’s talk. So we’re all on the same page.”

His hand gives Billy’s another little squeeze.

Steve scoffs a little, like he thinks what Eddie’s saying isn’t anything more than a line– no weight or sincerity to be found, without even looking– giving a small shake of his head. It’s more to himself than to them, but when he finally glances back over, the agitated edge to his face crumbles a bit.

He hunches in on himself like he’s guilty. Like he thinks he’s done something wrong.

“Okay,” Steve finally says, clearing his throat. “What, um. What do you need from me?”

Echoing Eddie from earlier– when he’d been reaching out to Steve to make sure he was alright– even if it comes out a little wobbly and unsure.

“I realize we probably pushed you a little too hard earlier. That was a lot. For you, and also for us.” Eddie looks at Billy like he understands him, the way he’s feeling right now, which is baffling, because Billy would appreciate any insights.

He just feels a little empty, a little numb.

“And I’m sorry for that,” Eddie continues. “But I don’t feel very comfortable heading off home with California before we talk about it.”

“That wasn’t–” Steve cuts himself off with a heavy sigh, tipping his face up and scrubbing his hands over it before looking back at them. “It wasn’t too hard or too much– I mean, it was, but it. It isn’t– you don’t have to say sorry.”

Eddie is frowning, head cocked. “What was it then, Stevie? Cuz I’m sorry, but I missed it.”

Steve gaze darts to Billy, neck red. “You were kinda busy. Don’t worry about it.”

The noise Eddie makes is concerned, puzzled. His eyes dart over Steve, assessing and keen, like he’s looking for something. Billy doesn’t know what.

But then Eddie makes a little sound, just at the back of his throat. Like the one he makes when he’s trying to work out a plot for a game or trying to work out the mystery in a thriller.

“Baby, can I come sit next to you for a second?” Eddie asks.

When Steve nods, a jerky little movement, Eddie squeezes Billy’s hand, says, “one sec,” and moves to sit on the bed next to Steve. Leaving Billy to linger, afraid to come closer.

So Billy is left to watch as Eddie leans in close to Steve, so careful and kind, and whispers in Steve’s ear. Billy doesn’t catch it. It’s too quiet, too hushed. He just hears “did you,” and then Eddie’s words are only for Steve.

But Steve’s response isn’t as secret. Billy watches as Steve’s face goes impossibly redder, as he shoves kind of helplessly at Eddie and flounders

“I didn’t–” Steve says, and then trails off, choking on the rest of his words. “I mean, I– Eddie, don’t laugh at me.”

But Eddie isn’t laughing. He just looks fond, so fond, a gentle smile stretching out his mouth.

“Baby, I would never laugh at you,” Eddie says. “Can I touch you?”

Steve looks at him, almost suspicious. But then he’s glancing at where Billy is standing, hovering, and his mouth presses thin as he nods.

Eddie hums, quietly pleased, taking one of Steve’s hands between his own. Billy watches as he flips Steve’s hand over– sees the little tremble of Steve’s fingers– before Eddie is working at his palm with a deft touch. Rubbing in soothing little circles with his thumbs.

Then, as some of the tension bleeds out of Steve, Eddie gestures over at Billy.

“He’s worried, you know,” Eddie tells Steve, smiling when Steve glances furtively at Billy again, fingers twitching, blush a steady constant. “Thinks you didn’t like it. Thinks you might shove us right out the door.”

“I wouldn’t–” Steve falters, choking down a quiet moan as Eddie presses harder. “That wasn’t what I was doing.”

“I know,” Eddie tells him, grinning wide and still so fond. “You wanna tell him that?”

Steve grunts, expression pinching, but he’s looking over at Billy like he’s sorry. There’s an apology written all over his face– the guilty frown, the pinch between his brows– and for a moment, Billy is held in suspension, breath caught in his lungs.

Then, Steve says, “I’m not gonna kick you guys out because I ruined the mood. I’m just– I did ruin it, so…”

“You didn’t,” Eddie assures, and then grins at Steve’s hand spasms under his touch, muttering low. “Might’ve ruined some other things–”

Steve uses his free hand to smack at Eddie. Eddie laughs.

“Come sit with us, sunshine,” Eddie says, something so sure in his shoulders and his eyes.

His expression, his tone, both make the tension in Billy go loose. Starting to drain right out of him.

It’s as Billy sits on Steve’s bed, next to Eddie and not next to Steve – just in case – that the puzzle pieces click together. Like his brain had just been churning along in the background.

“Wait,” Billy says, head snapping up to look at Steve, “Holy shit, did you–”

Steve jolts. Flushes and balks. Eddie’s hand quickly slaps over Billy’s mouth.

“Zip it sunshine, he’s embarrassed,” Eddie says.

“That’s hot,” Billy says, but the words are mumbled and broken behind Eddie’s hand. So Billy pries it off of his mouth, with some difficulty, Eddie making the job very frustrating, but he manages it – getting out an audible, “that’s hot,” before Eddie covers his mouth again.

And it is. The thought of Steve creaming his pants at the sight of them? Feels impossibly hot.

Steve is red. Up to his hair and down his throat. He goes to pull his hand away, but Eddie laces their fingers tight so that he can’t shy off.

“He’s right,” Eddie says.

Steve sputters. “It’s embarrassing.”

Which is all the confirmation Billy needs that Steve thoroughly enjoyed watching him fall apart.

“It’s hot,” Billy repeats, pulling Eddie’s hand away. “I thought you were gonna – I don’t know. Yeah, kick us out or whatever?”

Break up with us, Billy thinks. Even though it’s not like they’re dating. It’s not like any one of them has ever put a name on anything they are, other than Steve thinking that Billy was cheating on Eddie when he kissed Steve.

Break my heart, Billy thinks, a little more succinctly.

“But, like the adults we are, we talked it out,” Eddie says, clapping his hand onto Billy’s thigh and giving it a squeeze. Like that’s that. Like it’s easy. “Now. Who wants to get high and listen to Metallica?”

Steve snorts, still looking like he’d prefer the earth open up and swallow him whole, but he’s got a small, disbelieving smile on his face. “We’re not listening to Metallica.”

Eddie slumps into his side, pouting. “Iron Maiden? Slayer?”

“Something that isn’t gonna get the cops called when you start blasting it,” Steve tells him, and then, staring at where Eddie’s got his hand trapped, quietly says, “I’m sorry for making you guys worry for something so… ridiculous.”

“It’s fine,” Billy says, even though the relief he feels over it all feels like a drug.

Next to him, Eddie makes a dubious sound in his throat. “Next time, let’s chat. See if we can avoid some of that heartache, no?”

“Oh, yeah, that’ll be fun,” Steve mutters, voice dry, grinning crooked even as he cringes, tone taking on a mocking, self-deprecating little lilt. “Hey, guys, sorry to pull the plug, but I just came in my pants like I was a freshman again. Rain check while I freak out? That’ll go real well. Definitely won’t be humiliating at all.”

“Maybe we can skip the freaking out part and go straight to the telling you it’s hot part,” Eddie says. “More fun for everyone involved.”

“Agreed,” Billy says, finally letting himself flop backwards on Steve’s bed.

He lets out a long breath, staring at Steve’s ceiling, hands behind his head. Eddie pats him on the stomach. A little touch, but it’s enough to get Billy to huff out a breath and smile.

He thinks that Steve really ought to stop trying to give him a heart attack. And then he thinks that maybe he might also need to stop expecting the other shoe to drop.

Every time he’s expected Steve to behave a certain way, to react to something with anger or violence or disgust, he’s found himself winded by the unexpected. Humor and embarrassment and curiosity. Kindness.

“You guys have a strange definition of hot,” Steve huffs.

Eddie laughs, low and easy. “What, you don’t think it would be? One of us, so fucking eager, just from watching you?”

Steve seems to think about it, face growing warmer as he glances over his shoulder at Billy– and then he’s clearing his throat and wetting his lips with a little shrug. “Yeah, okay, I kinda get what you’re saying.”

It shouldn’t be attractive, how flustered Steve gets. It still is. Even after the last half an hour.

But Billy is wiped. Exhausted. Even though Steve’s flush is as attractive as sin, Billy can’t muster up the energy to do anything more than just leer.

“Pick something else to listen to, pretty boy,” Billy says. “If you think our music is so bad.”

Steve has enough of their music on tapes, is the thing. Picks it up for them so that they’ll have it at his. In retrospect, it speaks volumes.

Steve rolls his eyes, but he’s pushing up from the bed to make his way over to the cassette player on his desk. “I never said it was bad. It’s just loud.”

“Loud, he says,” Eddie groans, flopping back into the bed next to Billy with a little bounce, grinning over at him and tapping his knuckles lightly against the ladder of Billy’s rips– always so easily and casually affectionate. “You hearing this, California? We’ve caught ourselves an old man.”

“I will actually put on Madonna if you aren’t nice to me,” Steve says, without looking back, sorting through a stack of tapes.

Eddie gasps. “Stevie, you wouldn’t.”

“I won’t,” Steve assures, popping a tape out of one of its cases and sliding into the cassette deck, clicking it shut. “But I could always change my mind.”

For now, though, Billy hears the dreamy, slow beat of some 70’s band. He thinks it’s Fleetwood Mac.

Acceptable, Billy thinks. Eddie moves around on the bed and uses Billy’s stomach as a pillow, already pulling out a blunt from his pockets to light up.

It’s even more acceptable when Steve sits down on Billy’s other side and hesitantly puts a hand down on Billy’s stomach. Tentative. Almost gentle.

“Looks comfortable,” Steve says. “Got space for one more?”

Billy takes a slow breath.

Half the time, he doesn’t know what to do with Steve because he’s so afraid of breaking him. Billy doesn’t have hands meant for softness.

But when Steve touches him like that, timid fingers splaying over cotton, Billy finds that he wants to meet that kindness halfway. Wonders if it would teach him to be gentle.

“Yeah, pretty boy,” Billy says, stretching out a bit more, one of his hands coming down to pat the spot adjacent Eddie’s head. “Make yourself right at home.”

Steve laughs a little, but he twists so that he can rest half on his side, cheek smooshed against Billy’s abdomen. Settles there as Eddie passes Billy the blunt, watching him draw deep and slow. And when Billy offers the blunt to Steve from the pinch of his fingers, Steve tilts his head up and meets the press of them to his lips.

Meeting Billy halfway too.

chapter 15:

might be your man (i don’t know)

The problem with not putting labels on things is that it leaves everything terribly up in the air. It leaves them treading in unknown waters, uncertain and unsure.

Eddie, it seems, is content to leave it in Billy’s hands. Steve is too busy navigating the deeper waters of a brand new attraction. And Billy– Billy is just too chickenshit to ask.

He’d thought about it when he’d been laying on Steve’s bed, both men with their heads pillowed on his stomach. He’d thought about sinking his fingers into Steve’s hair, asking if he would be his– but then he’d felt Eddie pat at his thigh and he thought Steve should be theirs. He didn’t know how to ask Steve that.

He’d thought about it again when he’d been making out with Eddie two nights later, pinned to his couch. After Billy had tugged him down, so easy, after a restless night alone in his trailer– Steve’s parents in town for the weekend– and Eddie had finally come and coaxed him over once Wayne left that morning for work. After Eddie had settled so perfectly over him, a grounding weight, as he kissed away all of the shadows lingering. He hadn’t, but he’d definitely given it some thought.

Then when he’d had Steve pressed to the side of his car, after his parents left again, feeding him kiss after kiss when Steve rolled up in the middle of the night just to see them, he’d thought about it again. Never got the chance to work up the gumption, not when Eddie joined them and distracted him. Not when Steve left, kissing them both goodbye, looking tired but more settled to have seen them. Billy hadn’t wanted to ruin the moment.

He thinks about it now, sitting in the sun at the edge of Lover’s Lake on a late afternoon, watching Steve swim the radio out to the floating dock and Eddie laying out at his side.

“The others won’t join us until sundown,” Eddie tells him, dark hair tied up in a mess today, already wet and down to his underwear from tackling Steve into the water, eyes closed and face tipped up to the sun. “So we’ve got a while with the princess to ourselves.”

He smells like sunscreen and summer. Billy wants to press his face to Eddie’s throat and breathe deep.

Out on the dock, Steve is hauling himself out of the water in red swim trunks that cling just right. He’s laying out, a lazy sprawl that Billy can see even from here, radio near his head playing some plunky, poppy rock song loud enough that they can hear it from across the water.

Billy doesn’t even know if there’s a word for what they are. Or – what he wants them to be.

It’s nice to be by the water, but it’s too early in the day for Billy to give into the desire to push Eddie down into the sand, to claim him with his teeth. Before, when Billy had flattened Eddie to the rough surface of the dock, the sun had been setting and the cover of night had been a comfort.

With the sun high in the sky, Billy feels exposed. The light makes Billy feel see-through, transparent. Anyone could see him. And so could Eddie. So could Steve.

“Remind me again why we’re not by Harrington’s pool?”

Billy’s got a beer in his hand, condensation already dripping on his leg.

He thinks about swimming out to the dock. Thinks about blowing Steve while he sits there, legs over the edge, Billy still hidden in the safety of the water. Not that Steve wants that, yet– but Billy can dream.

Eddie sighs a little, shifting on the blanket next to Billy, throwing an arm over his eyes so that Billy can see the ink of a ghoulish puppetmaster across the soft skin of his inner arm. Billy feels flush with the urge to sink his teeth in.

“Probably nightmares,” Eddie mutters.

When all Billy does is blink down at him, silent for a moment, Eddie squints up at him– then he shoves himself up into his elbows, face a bit grim.

“When Steve has a rough night, he likes to check on the gate,” Eddie tells him, eyes darting out to the water. “I don’t imagine the dark circles under his eyes were from working the late shift at Family Video.”

Billy looks over at Steve again. At the dangle of his feet in the water. At the lax way he’s laying, like maybe he’s fallen asleep out there, in the sun, floating in the lake that used to house a portal to something like hell.

He thinks about how he only ever felt comfortable sleeping with his back to his own bedroom door after his old man went on a bender– so he could hear it, feel it, before anything could happen. Even if he closed his eyes, he would still see Neil Hargrove coming.

“That, and Nancy Wheeler refuses to go to his house,” Eddie adds, nose scrunching up. “So anytime Steve is looking to feel particularly social, it’s a bonfire at the lake.”

He doesn’t need to ask how Eddie knows all of that. Knows that he missed a lot– and knows that Eddie watches everything.

He’s as obsessed as Billy is, he just has no compunction against crossing boundaries to get what he wants. It’s how he wormed his way into Steve’s much more particular social circle, and how he dragged Billy in with him.

Still, he asks, “You think he dragged us out here so he can see Wheeler?”

Eddie snorts, twisting over so he can pat him on the thigh. “He likes to check on everyone. Guarantee he already checked in on all the kids this morning.”

Eddie is right, Billy knows. Remembers hearing Steve voice crackle to life from the walkie in Max’s room– a tired “sound off, shitheads”– and then he’d heard each kid actually check in. He wonders if he’s missed Steve do that before.

It feels like he’s missed a lot about Steve Harrington.

All while Eddie was keeping watch.

The sky today is so blue it makes Billy’s eyes hurt. It looks nothing like the sky in California, except for how it looks exactly the same – same clouds, same sun, same heat beating down on him and heating up his insides. He feels too warm, too hollow. Too – something, today.

Uneasy and ready to tip right over. It doesn’t help that the sand moves so easily under his weight every time he shifts. Or breathes. Or thinks.

Billy shrugs off Eddie’s hand from his thigh and pulls out a cigarette to fill up the space in his lungs.

“Please tell me you’re not jealous over Nancy Wheeler,” Eddie says.

In his peripheral vision, Billy can see him squinting at Billy now. Billy doesn’t look back. He looks out over the lake, past Steve and clear to the other side. Letting his eyes go unfocused. He’s not jealous of Nancy Wheeler. It’s – more complicated than that.

Because Billy doesn’t say anything other than give a quiet, annoyed huff in return, Eddie keeps talking. Because he’s never met a silence he didn’t think he could defeat with his words.

“You aren’t contractually obligated to come to every little thing if you aren’t feeling it. Please tell me you know that, California.”

The thing is, Billy doesn’t not want to be here. He can’t think of any place he’d rather be – or people he’d rather be with. But Eddie and Steve are currently occupying too much real estate in Billy’s head. And it’s making his skin feel too tight, too constricting. It’s making him think too much.

When he’s not with them, he’s thinking about them. When he’s not thinking about them, he’s with them.

And now he’s thinking about them while he’s with them. It’s the worst.

“Sunshine,” Eddie sighs, and Billy hears him sit up without looking at him, feels the impossible heat of Eddie’s hand smooth carefully up his back. “Steve Harrington is a worrywart with his heart on his sleeve. Occasionally catching him making sad eyes at his ex is a price I’m generally willing to pay, if only to spend more time with him. You don’t have to, if you don’t want to. We all see plenty of each other anyway.”

Billy wishes he could just say it’s not about Nancy fucking Wheeler. But that would lead to questions and even more shit Billy doesn’t want to talk about, doesn’t know how to talk about.

“Shut up, Munson,” he says, instead.

Whatever. Let Eddie think he’s jealous.

Eddie groans, slumping forward, forehead thunking into the meat of Billy’s shoulder. “C’mon. If you’re gonna be stubborn about it, that’s fine. But there’s a perfectly good pretty boy that we can show a good time, if you wanna do that instead of talk about it.”

“It’s the middle of the day,” Billy says.

Eddie’s forehead feels so warm, so sticky against his skin.

Billy thinks about shrugging him off. Thinks about it enough that he does it, just a little flinch and then Eddie’s head is no longer against him and that’s somehow worse.

“You wanna go make out with Harrington, be my guest,” Billy says.

Eddie gives a little sigh. Billy still doesn’t look at him.

“You can just tell me that you want a minute alone, sweetheart,” Eddie says, not quite softly, but with enough kindness that it feels that way. “But you can join us when you’re ready.”

And then Eddie is pushing up from the blanket, getting his feet under him, dusting off sand even as he starts to head for the shoreline.

Billy watches him go because he can’t not. He hates, a little bit, the way his eyes get stuck so easily to Eddie.

Billy was so ready to hate Eddie Munson not too long ago. Now he still kinda hates him, only because he can’t seem to get enough of him.

Once Eddie is in the water, Billy powers through his beer, tosses the bottle to the side, and then lets himself fall backward onto the blanket. Like that, chest tight with annoyance and the fading vision of Eddie swimming out to Steve, he falls asleep.

He doesn’t dream. Not this time. But Eddie was right, all those weeks ago – it’s much easier to sleep in the sun.

Billy wakes some time later, groggy and a little disoriented, to Steve going, “Eddie said you were moping.”

“I was sleeping,” Billy slurs. It’s so bright.

“I see that,” Steve replies, settling down next to him on the blanket and leaning over, blocking a good chunk of the sun and dripping water; it’s cold when it hits Billy’s skin. “Were you moping before you were sleeping?”

Everything about Billy feels like it’s moving slow. His limbs, his mouth, his brain.

He lazily turns, curling half into Steve’s space until a chunk of his arm is pressed up against Steve’s cool thigh. Not too much contact, not enough for anyone to even notice, just – enough. Enough for Billy.

From the dock, the radio is going. Switched to something harder. Which means Eddie fiddled with it after Steve left.

“What’s with the twenty questions, pretty boy?” Billy mumbles out.

“Well,” Steve huffs, and then Billy feels tentative fingers in his hair– mostly just smoothing it back from his brow, damp fingers like a cool press of relief. “If you’re sad, I wanna make you happy. Or try to, anyway.”

Billy huffs. “Munson worries too much. I’m fine.”

He leans into Steve’s touch, though. Can’t help himself. He just wants Steve, all the time. Any part of him that Steve is willing to give.

“So you… don’t want me to try and make you happy?” Steve asks, but Billy can hear the tease in his voice, feels the little pull of him toying with his curls. “I mean, it’s your decision, but… I dunno, seems kinda lame.”

It takes Billy a sleepy second to process that. To realize that Steve Harrington is calling him lame.

“Should I stop touching you?” Steve asks, still gently prodding at him, fingers sinking deeper into his hair. “Since you’re definitely not moping and you definitely don’t need cheering up?”

It feels so nice. And Billy is sleepy enough still that the touch doesn’t feel too dangerous, here at midday on the lake. Besides – Steve and Eddie touch all the time. And Billy doesn’t hear anyone else around. Just the radio and the gentle lapping of the water against the shore from the wind.

“I’m miserable,” Billy says, “feels fatal. Keep touching me or I could die.”

Steve makes a small sound. Billy thinks it might be a strangled little laugh, but it mostly just sounds like a hiccup.

He doesn’t stop touching him. Just keeps rubbing over his scalp, gentle and easy, until Billy thinks he might fall back to sleep again.

“You can’t die,” Steve insists. “How would I handle Eddie without you?”

Billy hates that he feels better. Probably some combination of the sleep and Steve’s touch, but all his unsteadiness has faded to the background. All of his unanswered questions feel less important now. Less pressing.

“Better keep touching me, then, pretty boy.”

Steve huffs, but he doesn’t stop touching him.

Cards his fingers through his hair. Untangles a knot or two, with slow hands and a deft touch. Drags his thumb against Billy’s brow, humming as Billy presses into his palm.

“You’re really…” Steve trails off, pausing long enough to take a slow breath, fingers pushing more of Billy’s hair back from his face. “Can I call you pretty? Or is that just for me?’

Billy freezes, going still underneath Steve’s hand. Doesn’t even realize he’s holding his breath until his lungs start to burn, just a little.

He’s not sure how Steve managed to gut him so easily, but it feels like Steve’s hands just reached into Billy’s chest and scooped out all his insides, cleared him clean and left him hollow.

Because it’s not that Billy doesn’t know he’s hot – he does. He’s attractive as hell and he cultivates it. But no one – no one’s ever called him pretty before. And he thought he’d hate it, kind of does for a split second, but then it doesn’t feel anything other than good.

And maybe a little deadly, too.

It makes him feel vulnerable, but everything about Steve makes him feel a little raw already. It also makes him feel like he needs to patch himself back together. To salvage what remains of his composure.

Billy cracks an eye open and makes himself look up at Steve, even though he’s just a silhouette against the bright sky. It makes Billy’s eyes burn.

He smiles, wide and easy, “You can call me anything you want, baby.”

Steve lets out a little hum. Keeps his fingers in Billy’s hair.

Billy can’t see his face, but he wonders if Steve is blushing.

“You’re beautiful,” Steve tells him, all quiet and earnest. “And I really wanna kiss you, but I don’t think I’m allowed to.”

“Right here, or in general?” Billy asks. He flashes Steve a smile, bright and big. “Because in general, I’m all yours.”

Billy leaves the rest unspoken.

He doesn’t tell Steve how he kissed Eddie here at the lake, how it was stupid and impulsive. How anyone could have seen.

“In general,” Steve admits without much fanfare. “You’re kind of distracting. But here– I kind of wanted to kiss you awake. If that’s not too cheesy to say.”

It’s cheesy as fuck. And yet it makes Billy’s chest ache in a foreign, absolutely wretched way.

“Shit, there’s that Harrington charm all the ladies talk about,” Billy says.

It feels kind of strange to admit he’s struck by it, but Billy’s been stupid for Steve for so long now.

“Look,” Billy says, playing with fire and ready to get his hands burned. “If you were absolutely fucking certain there was no one else around…”

“I wouldn’t ask if there was anybody but Eddie,” Steve tells him.

And then he’s moving. Shifting on the blanket, sliding down a bit, laying himself out next to Billy and turning on his side to look at him.

Without the sun directly haloing him, he’s easier to make out. Less blurry and distant. He’s wet, an arm tucked under his head, and when he reaches out again it’s to catch at the medallion around Billy’s neck, thumbing over the lines of St. Christopher with a curious little hum.

“But I’m not gonna do it if it makes you uncomfortable,” he says. “Just wanted you to know that I want to.”

“Hard to kiss me awake when I’m already there,” Billy says.

It’s something else, laying down next to Steve like this. Like they just woke up in bed together. Like this is easy, normal. Like they’re just – together.

Billy swallows around the thoughts that keep bubbling up within him. The ones he can’t seem to fight off. “You can. If you want to. If it’s just Munson.”

Billy even closes his eyes.

“See? Sound asleep.”

He hears Steve huff out a little laugh. Hears the way he pauses before he’s letting Billy’s necklace go so that he can touch the tips of his fingers to Billy’s jaw. Feels the way Steve traces the line of it, up to his ear, and shifts closer on the blanket.

Feels the heat of his breath before the press of his mouth.

Billy’s heart catches in his throat. His lungs feel so tight and Steve’s lips feel so fucking soft. Billy suddenly wants nothing more than to lean in, to throw himself into the kiss and drown in it. Instead, he just lets Steve kiss him gently until he pulls away, their breath left to mingle in the small canyon between them.

“Well, I’m definitely awake now,” Billy says.

Steve laughs again, just a small little thing, but Billy still takes pride in it, every single time.

“What can I say?” Steve teases. “I’m prince charming.”

“You sure fucking are.”

Billy can’t resist the allure of stealing another kiss from him, closing the space between them as he presses his lips to Steve’s.

Steve meets him with a little hum. Cups Billy’s jaw in his palm. Kisses back with slow, lingering presses. This close, Billy can hear how his breath has shallowed– like he’s trying not to make too much noise. Like he’s trying to hold his breath and make the moment last.

It feels like a dream. Steve Harrington, kissing him at Lover’s Lake. It sounds like a joke.

But when Billy pulls away, Steve makes a quiet sound like he’s disappointed.

Billy doesn’t know what to do with that. Not in the slightest. All he wants to do is trap Steve in his arms, pull him close, and kiss him for hours. But they can’t, here. And it fucking hurts.

“Careful, pretty boy. Or I won’t stop wanting to kiss you.”

Steve lets out a little sigh, rolling to flop out on his back with a soft groan. His nose and cheeks are pink– from sun and from kissing– and Billy wants to smile at the sight.

He never thought he would make Steve Harrington flustered like this.

“It’s probably too late to cancel the bonfire and go home,” Steve mutters, practically to himself, like he’s actually laying there trying to work out how he can kiss Billy more.

“Pretty sure Steve Harrington’s word is law,” Billy says, stretching out. He watches the way that Steve’s eyes track his movement, the way they catch on the flex of Billy’s muscles. He tries not to feel hungry. “Just saying.”

The radio is still playing rock in the distance, so Billy really isn’t expecting a wet hand to sprawl out flat over his stomach. For Eddie to suddenly crowd in next to Billy on his knees. All damp hair and easy smiles.

“Did you manage to cheer him up?” Eddie asks of Steve. “Regent of mope-city over here.”

Sleep- and kiss-warmed and lazy, Billy shoves at him.

“Shut up, Munson.”

Eddie makes a kissy face down at him, leaning in– laughing when Billy shoves him again with a clumsy push. Steve rolls back onto his side to watch them, propping his head on a hand.

“I think he’s a little less prickly,” Steve says, eyes on the way Eddie’s hand goes back to Billy’s stomach the second he can, fingers splayed over scars and skin. “Are you less grumpy yet, Billy?”

“I wasn’t grumpy,” Billy huffs, though he very much knows he was.

Knows Eddie walked away at a good time to allow Billy to cool down and claw his way away from his circling thoughts.

“Kissing him helped,” Steve says.

“Oh, shit,” Eddie says. His blunt fingernails scratch a little along the line of Billy’s briefs. Billy does everything he can to not arch his back into the touch. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

Steve is grinning, lopsided and a little pleased. “I just have better ideas than you.”

Eddie’s brows go up, and he looks down at Billy. “Can you believe this? He’s so full of himself.”

“No,” Steve chirps, and then he’s using his free hand to reach out, tracing the line of one of the scars along Billy’s ribs. “I’m just a really good kisser.”

“Maybe he’s better than you,” Billy says.

Because he can. Because they’re both touching him and it’s rendering him really fucking stupid.

Eddie gasps, all dramatic. He smacks his hand down on the plane of Billy’s abs and Billy tenses and tries not to gasp.

“You take that back, Billy Hargrove. I’ll have you know that my stats for kissing are through the roof.”

Eddie follows his words by doing exactly what Billy wanted: leaning down to prove his point. Kissing Billy fully and thoroughly, even going so far as to slipping his hand under Billy’s neck to cradle it and squeeze in that way that makes Billy’s legs go weak.

He’s lucky he’s already laying down.

He doesn’t draw it out the way he usually might. Doesn’t fuck his tongue deep. Doesn’t try and kiss Billy until he’s breathless and stupid. But he does lick past his teeth, teasing at the heat of his mouth before he withdraws, letting himself lean over where Billy is laid out, elbow tucked under him to keep his hand at Billy’s nape, walking the fingers of his other hand down to taunt at the waistband of his briefs.

“I’d give that a solid eight,” Steve says, casual as can be, blinking when they both look at him. “Just visually, I mean. You guys look good together. I’ve said this before.”

Eddie huffs, but he’s grinning. “Thoughts, sunshine?”

Billy can’t help but feel a little breathless between the two of them. Anyone would be. Even laying down, he feels like the ground’s gone out from underneath him.

“Six,” Billy says, staring Eddie dead in the eye.

“You brat,” Eddie says, and kisses him again.

There’s wet hair dripping in Billy’s face, but he barely pays attention to that, because in an instant, Eddie’s licking into his mouth and stealing the remainder of his breath away.

It’s just as passionate a kiss as earlier, but more intimate. More involved. Or maybe that’s just the way Eddie’s fingers slip underneath the waistband of Billy’s shorts, fingernails digging in until Billy jolts, gasps, and Eddie pulls back. Grinning a mile wide.

Steve, though, is frowning from his spot watching them. “I may need to go hop back in the lake.”

The pink of his nose and cheeks has spread down to his throat. His eyes feel like a weight, like a physical touch as it drags along, noting everywhere that Eddie is touching Billy. Flustered just from watching them.

Eddie hums, pleased and low. Then, he’s jerking his chin up as he traces down to Billy’s hipbone, underwear starting to pull where Eddie’s fingers are creeping.

“C’mere, Stevie,” he says. “Give me a rank of your own, huh?”

And then, hovering above Billy, Steve leans in and presses his mouth to Eddie’s. Doesn’t even hesitate when he’s asked, more than happy to angle his lips against Eddie’s, making a small sound at the first hint of teeth and tongue.

It’s slow and lazy– just like how Eddie kissed him– but Eddie’s hands never leave Billy’s skin. Squeezes at the back of his neck; sinks further down his briefs to tease at the sensitive skin above his cock with slow, circling touches.

Steve has a hand balanced at Billy’s chest, thumb an idle drag along the line of one of his ribs, and he moans when Billy sees Eddie’s tongue work its way deeper into Steve’s mouth.

Billy feels sunburned, baked. He feels like he’s going to burn up just watching the two of them, heart pounding so loudly in his chest.

Underneath their hands, he feels contained. Simultaneously steadied and trapped. All in one breath.

It feels impossible to tear his eyes away. But he can’t help it, looking away and then closing his eyes when that doesn’t help at all.

“Anyone–” Billy says, and then clears his throat, voice hoarse. “Anyone could see you. Us.”

And if Eddie keeps doing that with his fingers, dipping his touch lower and lower, Billy’s going to be hard. And it’s going to be impossible to miss.

Eddie breathes out hard when he draws from Steve’s mouth. Steve, hovering in place for a moment, lets out a softer one. At the back of his neck, Eddie’s fingers give a reassuring squeeze, his other hand drawing carefully back to rest at Billy’s lower belly.

“Sorry, sunshine,” Eddie says, and he sounds like he might actually mean it. “Got a little carried away. The both of you kind of fry my brain.”

Billy gets to see the way Steve’s face colors before he’s burying it against the blanket next to Billy. Sees that he’s just as worked up by the both of them as Billy is by Eddie and Steve. Hears the little groan he muffles against the ground.

Billy thinks that it’s incredibly unfair that Steve gets as flustered as he does. Doesn’t he know how much he tips everything of Billy’s right onto its side?

“It’s fine,” Billy says, because he can’t stand the way Eddie actually looks sorry. The way he cares so much when no one has ever given any shits about Billy before.

It carries a weight with it that Billy doesn’t know how to balance.

Steve says something muffled that neither of them can hear. Eddie frowns, a touch quizzical, down at him and then at Billy.

“Stevie?” he asks, glancing back over, brow raised, hands still on Billy.

Steve heaves a great sigh. It’s a little comical, watching him try to smother himself. The pink of his ears assures them that he’s not too upset about things.

Then, after Eddie reaches over Billy to nudge him, Steve’s head finally pops back up.

“It’s stupid,” is the first thing he says, shaking his head around a dry laugh. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Nope,” Billy says, shoving Steve a little bit with his elbow, rocking him just like Eddie did. “What is it, pretty boy?”

Steve huffs. “I was just saying that I hate it. That I can’t– it’s dumb, but I want to be able to kiss you whenever I want. You know? It’s not– I’m not complaining, but–”

“But it would be nice, yeah,” Eddie says.

Billy’s throat feels tight. His mouth feels dry.

“Yeah,” Billy says after a beat.

Eddie’s hand finds Billy’s arm and gives it a little squeeze. Reassuring. Kind.

Steve hasn’t lived this. Doesn’t know the pain of it like Billy does. Like Eddie does, Billy can only assume. But it hurts to hear it out of Steve’s mouth anyway. Because in another world, a different reality, Steve wouldn’t know the way this feels. The wanting, the frustration, the fear.

It kind of breaks Billy’s heart.

And, selfishly, makes him feel a little bad for being all caught up on labels, of all things.

“It’s not–” Steve sighs a little, smiling a little lopsided when he glances over at them. “It’s not a big deal. I just. Want to.”

Eddie hums, nodding a little. “It takes some getting used to. And we aren’t exactly the poster children for restraint ourselves.”

“Yeah,” Steve sighs again, resting his cheek on the blanket so he can just look at them. “It’s just annoying because I kind of wanna kiss you guys, like, all the time.”

“Keep feeding our egos, pretty boy,” Billy purrs out.

And he does look pretty like this. Even prettier when he admits that he wants to kiss Billy and Eddie like that, so easily, so fucking freely.

Steve’s crooked little grin grows a bit. Seems a bit more real and less like something meant to soothe them.

“Do I need to?” Steve asks, and even though he blushes as he says it, he adds, “I mean. I already creamed my pants mostly from just watching.”

Billy groans. He wants to bury his head in the towel just like Steve’s been doing. Hide from his own immediate arousal.

“Don’t fucking remind me.”

Eddie barks out a laugh. “But it’s so fun to wind you up, sunshine.”

His fingers drift over Billy’s arm, smoothing over sun-warmed skin. But then Eddie’s leaning close, pressing lips to the spot right next to Billy’s ear. Smiling wide enough that Billy can hear it in his voice.

“Be good, sweetheart. You think you can make it to tonight, after the bonfire? If Stevie here is nice enough to stop teasing you?” Eddie asks.

Billy grunts something like an affirmative.

It’s not that long until everyone else gets there. Not that long until the fire starts and the alcohol comes out. And then, not that long until Eddie, Steve, and Billy are all alone again.

The night is dark but the sky is clear. There’s an entire galaxy of stars out tonight, and after it had gotten dark enough, Steve had begged off from the warmth of the fire in order to head out and check the water.

When Billy’d bothered to ask why he waits to go until night, ignoring the way Robin had been watching them like a hawk since she’d shown up, the answer had been: it’s easier to spot in the dark.

“They glow,” Nancy Wheeler had said.

“If you’re worried, you can always go check on him,” Robin said.

“Gosh,” Eddie had played it up, all wide eyed and shuddering. “You’re so right. It’s so dark and Steve is out there all alone.”

But Eddie was actually climbing to his feet, smacking at Billy’s shoulder, eyes still on Robin.

“Someone should go check,” Eddie said, shuffling back in the sand, already shucking the clothes he put on after he’d dried out onto the shore as he went. “Race you, California.”

It had been the perfect excuse. Everyone knew Billy was probably one of the most competitive people around– so he’d ignored Robin Buckley’s arched brow, focusing on Argyle’s little whoop of encouragement as Eddie took off with Billy hot on his heels.

They probably shouldn’t have been swimming, probably more than a bit tipsy between the two of them. But they’d made it to the floating dock just fine– and even though Billy absolutely smoked Eddie once they hit the deeper water, Eddie still shouted “I won!” back toward the shore.

There were a few cheers and a small round of applause. Eddie had grinned at him, face blue in the moonlight, and he’d reached for Billy under the water, breathless and delighted.

“Can’t see us out here,” he’d said, waggling his brows and pecking him on the cheek, and then he’d hauled himself up and out of the lake, pacing over to the other side and cupping his hands over his mouth. “Stevie!”

Which was how Steve found them both out there, flashlight catching on them in the dark, waiting for him at the dock. Which was how, even with a group of people not fifty feet away, Billy found himself alone with Steve and Eddie once more.

“What are you guys doing out here?” Steve asks, frowning up at them as he comes to the edge of the dock, flashlight a glow in the water when he finally stops trying to blind them.

“Wanted to make sure our princess was doing okay,” Eddie says.

He reaches down and offers Steve a hand to help haul him up and out of the water.

Billy watches the two of them, both waterlogged and sodden, as they fall all over each other.

“What he said,” Billy says, eyes on them.

On the way Eddie traps Steve there on top of him, how he refuses to let him up, despite the way Steve struggles.

He can see them well enough, this close, but he knows that the specks of people on the shore can only see the dark float of the dock, blue shapes moving in the night. But Billy can see the way Eddie gets his arms around Steve– the way he smiles like he smiled at Billy– wide and bright and happy.

He can’t tell if Steve’s blushing, but he bets he is. Floundering a bit, laughing as the flashlight goes rolling across the dock, trying to brace himself against the wood to pull away from Eddie’s octopus grip, Steve looks pretty happy too.

His hair is wet and in his face when he looks over at Billy, a hand shoving at Eddie’s face even as Eddie hooks one of his ankles behind Steve’s calf to tangle them up more. “A little help here?” he asks.

Billy only hums. He grabs the flashlight, switches it off, and slots it between two planks to keep it from rolling away. Without its glow, Eddie and Steve are even more obscured by shadow, but it feels safer.

“What, and cut the show short?” Billy says, as he watches Eddie flip Steve, pin him to the dock.

Steve makes a strangled, surprised sound—like all the air got knocked out of him at once—and Eddie growls triumphantly. Something swoops in Billy’s chest, like he just fell from a rollercoaster, like he just dropped from an incredible height. His body goes warm, molten and hungry.

And then Steve goes a little still. Frozen, underneath Eddie’s weight. From what it looks like, Eddie’s teeth find Steve’s neck.

They’re plastered together in front of him, all wet, pale skin in the night. Eddie has wedged himself between Steve’s knees, body holding Steve down, hands catching at Steve’s fumbling ones when the attention Eddie is giving Steve’s throat makes him moan. Billy watches as Eddie pins Steve’s arms down by his head, as he mouths up Steve’s jaw, as he rocks–

“Weren’t–” Steve’s breath hitches and stalls, body squirming a bit. “Weren’t we gonna, like, wait? I thought–”

“California, do you think they can see us?” Eddie asks, voice low. His words get a little fuzzy, a little soft, all spread out over Steve’s skin.

Billy can barely even see them. Can more so hear the scrabbling of Steve’s legs against the dock, the hitching of his breath. The firelight from the shore gives him a bit of an advantage, but to anyone on the shore, the three of them are backed up against the darkness of the lake, of the pitch black nothingness behind them.

It’s risky, because anything and everything is risky. But Billy’s hungry. He itches for that connection, that closeness no one will put a name on, something to fill up that yearning inside of him like a balm. And he’s waited for so long.

“Nope,” Billy says carefully. “Could probably hear us, though. Better stay quiet, pretty boy.”

He can’t help but shuffle over, getting closer to the two of them. Eddie’s got Steve pinned, but that doesn’t stop Billy from sprawling out next to Steve, lying down tantalizingly close, and then getting a hand in Steve’s hair. Helping to hold him down.

Steve makes a strangled little sound, even as Eddie hides a breathy, dark laugh just below his ear. Steve’s head tilts, so easily, when Billy pulls. In the moonlight, Billy can see his eyes, dark and fluttering– and the part of his lips when he gasps as Eddie rocks again.

“Fuu–” Steve jerks slightly, shuddering as Eddie smothers a low groan of his own at Steve’s throat, rending Steve’s voice breathless and practically dizzy when Billy spies the flash of Eddie’s teeth again. “I– That’s– oh.”

Eddie hums. Draws up just enough to meet Billy’s eyes.

“You wanna try, sunshine?” Eddie asks, because he’s always trying to drag Billy in with him, because he knows– knows what a fucking wet dream it is to pin a soaking wet Steve Harrington beneath him on a dark, summer night. “He’s already hard.”

Steve jerks again. “Eddie–”

And Billy does. He’s desperate for it. But he’s also afraid of spooking Steve, whose boundaries always feel intangible, unknown. Who always seems to shy away when Billy gets too heated.

But Steve seems to like this. And who wouldn’t love being pinned by Eddie Munson, who is steady and smart and stronger than he looks? And Steve spooks less when he’s being held. When he feels safe and covered. And is usually pretty clothed.

“Hold him still for me, Munson,” Billy says.

Eddie does, chuckling as he moves a little bit out of the way to give Billy access to Steve’s neck.

Billy crowds in. Gets all up close and personal, nosing along the wet line of Steve’s throat. He breathes in the smell of sweat, of lake water, of Steve himself—and then he laps his tongue along the length of Steve’s jugular, right over where Eddie was just sinking his teeth in.

Steve’s skin is fire hot.

Billy can hear the breathy sigh Steve makes. Can feel it, warm against his ear. Can feel the way he sort of arches– pressing up, but caught, trapped beneath the two of them.

It’s all skin. Billy can feel the rapid thud of Steve’s pulse under his tongue, the heavy beat of it, matching his own.

“Billy,” Steve says, soft and needy, and Billy feels the thrum of his moan when Eddie hums and shifts– a big hand releasing one of Steve’s wrists to catch at the back of Billy’s neck with a squeeze, rolling their hips together again. “Ah, fuck– fuck, I–”

“Feeling good already, Stevie?” Eddie asks. “I think he likes it, sunshine. Getting felt up with his friends right there.”

And Billy wouldn’t believe it, couldn’t— but Steve makes another strangled sound.

Steve’s enjoyment of it is enough to push out any lingering doubts from Billy’s mind. It’s dark, everyone on shore is already drunk or high or both, and it’s not like anyone can tell what they’re doing. And Steve likes it.

And he’s not running. Not shoving either of them away.

Billy grabs the wrist Eddie let go of and holds it tight in his own hand, keeping Steve’s arm pinned to the dock. He bites down and feels the way Steve’s breath goes straight out of him, the way his flesh slides under Billy’s teeth.

He uses his other hand to palm himself through his wet boxers, uncaring.

“Do you see what you’re doing to him, princess?” Eddie says. His voice sounds so rough, so low. “He’s panting for it. Just like you.”

There’s something about being in the dark like this. Something about the hushed way Steve whines– like he’s trying not to– and the way Eddie laughs in reply.

“Yeah, it’s hot, isn’t it?” Eddie said, and then leans in to press his mouth at Billy’s ear, hand smoothing down his spine to the cradle of Billy’s lower back, and urging him closer. “Wanna feel how much he likes it, sweetheart?”

Billy wants nothing fucking more.

He lets Eddie pull him closer. Lets that touch slot his crotch up against Steve’s hip, which grinds his hard cock against Steve. Steve gasps when he feels it, which feels nice, feels good, but Billy needs more—and Eddie offered him just that.

When he reaches out, Eddie’s moved slightly. Enough that he’s no longer grinding up against Steve, enough that Billy can reach out and—palm right over Steve’s erection, hot and hard and straining against his own wet shorts.

“Fuck,” Billy breathes out, the word almost trapped against Steve’s neck. “Shit, baby. Munson’s got you all worked up.”

Steve makes a punched out sound, hips lurching up, bucking into Billy’s palm and grinding up against him. The friction is divine.

“Fuck– fuck, Billy–” Steve gasps, straining as he’s weighed down by the both of them, and straining in the wet cling of his swim trunks. “I’m– haa, this is–”

But Eddie is practically purring at Billy’s ear, voice a low and satisfied rumble. “He wants it so bad, doesn’t he? Practically begging for you to touch his cock.”

It’s loud enough that Steve hears. Loud enough that he moans and bucks again.

The feeling of Steve grinding up against his palm is heady, exhilarating. Even with the layer of cloth between them, it feels like there’s nothing there, nothing keeping Steve’s cock from him. Billy doesn’t think he’s ever felt a rush quite like it before.

“So hard it must hurt,” Billy murmurs, biting over Steve’s neck again. “Isn’t that right, baby?”

He feels egged on by Eddie, pushed past his own reticence and drowned in desire. He grinds hard against Steve’s hip, shivering at the feeling of Eddie’s lips against his ear, the tickle of his breath.

Billy sinks a hand back into Steve’s hair, grips it tighter, pulling at it until Steve groans.

He can hear the click of Steve’s throat when he swallows. Can feel the hot twitch of Steve’s length under his hand. Can taste the salt of sweat on Steve’s skin.

Fingers scramble at his shoulder. He feels Eddie’s mouth, warm and open, against his bare shoulder. The hand Eddie has at his lower back presses and presses– keeping him rutting against Steve’s hip. He feels like he’s on fire.

And then Steve is moaning his name.

“Billy– fuck, Billy–” Steve’s nails are blunt at his back, but they feel good– grounding– and he knows Steve would use both hands, but Eddie’s got him pinned down on the other side as he moves with them, against them– and that’s just as good and heady and hot. “Please– please, Billy.”

At his shoulder, Eddie groans.

“Hear that, sunshine?” Eddie breathes. “I think Stevie wants you to touch him proper.”

Billy shudders at the thought. His gut goes all twisted, head spinning.

“You want that?” Billy asks. He mouths a wet kiss over Steve’s pulse-point. “You want my hand on you, baby?”

Steve’s throat works around a sound that’s almost disgruntled– Steve shivering and shifting restlessly. His hips give a little lurch up, and Billy feels the blunt bite of Steve’s nails digging in at his shoulder blade.

“I– yeah. Yes.” Steve breathes, voice a hushed rush of need. “Please. Please, Billy, just–”

“Look at that,” Eddie mutters, mouth pressed back to Billy’s ear, the shudder of his breath the only tell, his hand still coaxing Billy into that sloppy rut. “He’s already begging all pretty for you, sunshine. Aren’t you gonna reward him?”

Steve whines.

There’s nothing, nothing in the world that could stop Billy from giving Steve what he wants. What he begged for. Not a single force that could stop him.

It’s so easy to slide his hand underneath the waistband of Steve’s pants, to get his fingers on him. Steve’s skin is soft and damp under Billy’s touch, and so hot it could burn. With a muffled groan, Steve bucks into Billy’s hand.

“Good boy,” Eddie murmurs in Billy’s ear.

The praise shoots through him like lightning, leaving him moaning against Steve’s neck, cutting off the sound by biting down on warm skin. He grinds against Steve’s hip, needy, and works his hand in time with the way Steve’s hips are jerking up and off the dock, seeking friction.

That’s all Steve seems really capable of doing, panting fast and trying to fuck up into Billy’s hand. He clings, choking off and cutting short all of the sweet little sounds he makes as Billy’s hand works over him. It’s deliriously good.

It’s even better when Eddie shifts, hand at Billy’s lower back moving to sneak and creep down the back of his underwear. Teasing and stroking, fingers always knowing just where to touch to get Billy like putty.

“Does he feel good in your hand, sunshine?” Eddie asks, dark and low. “All hard and hot, just for you?”

Billy nods, clumsy and desperate, against the skin of Steve’s neck. Steve feels so good, so thick and big in his hand. And it’s made better, so much better—and also worse—by the way Eddie’s fingers start to tease.

“Fuck, Eddie—” Billy gasps out.

A warning, a plea. It’s not fair if Eddie touches him like that, because it makes Billy lose his cool, his composure, his mind.

He can’t help but jerk Steve harder, though his pace becomes trash—erratic and distracted. A little frantic, too.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” Eddie asks, and Billy can hear his grin, feels the press of his fingers at his rim, just rubbing and pressing– “You want something?”

Billy’s throat works. His fingers flinch a little tighter– in Steve’s hair and around Steve’s cock. The static in his brain only blurring more when Steve lets out a soft keen of his name.

“Stevie just asked all nice for what he wanted,” Eddie adds, his own hips a flex at Steve’s other thigh, their legs a messy tangle, bodies overlapping and twining together as he keeps Steve down and in place while driving Billy half out of his mind. “Aren’t you gonna ask me nice, sunshine?”

Billy groans again. Tries to muffle it and can’t even tell if he gets it right. His head is spinning and he feels close already, hovering right on the edge of desperate.

He knows what Eddie wants. What he wants Billy to say, to beg for. But the problem is—Billy’s greedy. He just wants more. He feels hollow and hungry, ravenous for it like a starving animal.

“Fuck,” he pants out, hips grinding against the thick line of Steve’s thigh. Pressing back against the tease of Eddie’s fingers. “Want you to fuck me, you asshole.”

Which isn’t something Billy can have right now. And Eddie fucking knows it.

“Good boy,” Eddie tells him, loud enough that Steve can hear.

“Ohfuck– fuck, that’s–” Steve’s hips give a stuttering little jilt up, cock throbbing in Billy’s hand, groaning when Billy pumps over him faster– messier. “I– fuck, I can’t–”

And then he’s tensing. Pulling taut underneath them as he spills out against Billy’s palm, into his fingers, against his own stomach.

Feeling the jerk of Steve’s cock as he cums, feeling the twitch of him underneath Billy’s fingertips, is an unparalleled rush. A heady fucking thing.

And so is the knowledge that Steve orgasmed to the thought of Eddie fucking Billy—or maybe just Billy begging for it. Which is—worse, Billy thinks. So much more embarrassing in a way that makes his head spin, the world go a little sideways.

He strokes Steve through it, letting his hand get slick and messy, thumbing over the wet head of him as he trembles. All while grinding hard against Steve’s hip.

But it’s not enough. Billy needs a hand on him. He needs—

“Eddie,” he gets out, his voice a low, desperate whisper.

Eddie doesn’t deny him much longer. Slips that hand around to dip into the front of Billy’s underwear, arm around him as Billy lifts his hips just enough–

Eddie’s hand is warm, rough, perfect. His touch is scalding. Just tight enough.

And Steve is keening– soft and breathless and oversensitive– as Billy works him over. Arching, gorgeous in the blue light as he quivers and squirms, throat working around these lovely little sounds and half formed words.

Eddie’s mouth presses to his ear, deft fingers pulling Billy free and pumping as he breathes heavy. “C’mon, sunshine. Cum for me. Wanna see you mark him up.”

And that’s all that Billy needs. Eddie’s hand, his voice, and Steve making such pretty sounds all for him. All it takes is a few more rough strokes before Billy is coming, painting his shorts and Eddie’s fingers and Steve’s stomach with his release.

He muffles a choked-off moan against the skin of Steve’s neck. Bites down, feeling his teeth sink into skin. He hears—and feels—the way that Steve gasps, the way it reverberates and vibrates against his tongue.

It’s a quick scramble, after that. Billy’s head is still spinning, little aftershocks of pleasure still coursing through him, as he pushes Eddie down to the dock with a shaking, desperate touch. Gets his hands on Eddie’s hips and shoves his wet shorts down. And then gets his mouth around Eddie’s cock.

Billy needs it.

“Ah, shit,” Eddie groans, and Billy feels fingers in his hair gripping tight, feels the long, hot line of Eddie’s cock on his tongue. “Fuck, sunshine– so good, sweetheart, jesus–”

It’s comforting, knowing Eddie is just as spun up as them. That his thread of control is just as thin– just as quick to snap– as Eddie’s hips lurch up off the dock as Billy moans and tries to get more.

That he finishes, spilling out thick and hot into Billy’s mouth, just as fast.

Billy swallows him down, relishing that rush of satisfaction as the taste of Eddie hits the back of his throat.

Eddie’s fingers grip hard, and then they gentle, beginning to stroke lazily through Billy’s hair as Billy laps at him with a greedy tongue, licking up anything that remains from Eddie’s release.

When Billy finally pulls back and rests his head on Eddie’s hip, feeling dizzy and fucked out, Steve is right there looking at him. It’s almost too difficult to see him, but even in the darkness it’s easy to tell that Steve’s gaze looks intrigued.

“Enjoy the show, princess?” Billy asks. “Next time we can really make it a performance.”

Propped on his elbows and breathing heavy, Steve’s eyes drag down over the tangle of them, hungry in the night. There’s still cum on his stomach.

“Hopefully a longer one,” Eddie grunts.

Steve huffs out something like a laugh, flopping back onto dock, rocking it in the water. From the shore, Billy hears music. Laughter.

It’s nice, realizing that no one was paying attention to them. Just simply continuing on with their night.

“That was–” Steve huffs. “That was really intense.”

Billy presses a kiss to Eddie’s hip. Open-mouthed and messy, but a kiss all the same. And then he moves over, crawling a little bit until he can lean over and lick up the remainder of the cum on Steve’s belly.

Steve jerks, yelping out, loud and echoing.

“Billy–” he gasps, a hand flying for his hair.

Eddie is already laughing, rolling over to get closer. “Careful. He’ll eat you whole.”

Billy bites down on Steve’s hip. “Shut up, they’ll hear you.”

Because Steve’s yelps are louder than his moans.

But Billy isn’t really concerned about that. Not now, anyway. Not yet.

He just wants to clean Steve up with his mouth. To taste him. To feel the way he squirms underneath Billy’s lips.

Steve’s skin flinches and jumps under Billy’s mouth, but he’s laughing breathlessly, tugging clumsily at Billy’s hair as he shivers. “Oh, that’s–”

His breath hitches and stalls as Billy drags the flat of his tongue up to the ladder of his ribs. He shudders, hand giving a little pull again, fingers curled in the mess of Billy’s hair.

Eddie laughs, low and satisfied, leaning in next to Steve and smacking a wet kiss to Steve’s bare shoulder. “I think he’s always wanted to get his mouth on you.”

Steve huffs, but Billy feels the little tremble under his skin. “That’s gotta be an exaggeration, Munster.”

Billy just hums. He tastes sweat on Steve’s skin. Sun. Spunk. And lakewater, too. It’s heady, musty. Leaves Billy’s head feeling light.

“It’s not,” Eddie says, and Billy doesn’t even have the heart to argue with him, because it’s true.

He’s always wanted to get his mouth on Steve Harrington.

But there’s a part of Billy that wants to just drop his head on Steve’s belly, to let his cheek rest against the heat of Steve’s skin, to feel the rise and fall of Steve’s chest with every breath he takes. But somehow that feels more intimate. Closer. So Billy just sets his bony chin down against Steve’s hip and looks at him, all coy.

“What’s it to you, pretty boy? You not like my mouth or something?” Billy asks.

Steve snorts– and now that Billy is done licking him, his fingers have gone loose and lax in his hair, just petting through like he can’t help himself. “I actually don’t get to say this often, but that’s a really stupid question.”

Eddie laughs too, nudging at Billy’s side with a knee as he tucks himself against Steve. “It should come with a fucking warning label.”

“You’re just put out because you couldn’t last,” Billy says. He reaches over Steve and shoves at Eddie while Steve grunts, trapped in between them.

“There’s nothing wrong with popping off quick,” Eddie says, and Billy can hear the leer in his voice before he spots Eddie’s hand smoothing over the shudder of Steve’s belly. “Just means someone’s doing their job well. Isn’t that right, Stevie?”

Steve shivers again. Billy knows– knows without being able to see– just how red in the face Steve must be.

“Don’t make fun of me, or I’ll never let either of you touch my dick again,” Steve warns, but it’s weak with something breathless and vaguely amused.

“I’d never,” Eddie insists.

Billy snorts. “Eddie hasn’t touched your dick, yet,” he murmurs, biting down against Steve’s skin one more time before sitting up. Sorting himself out.

Eddie smacks at him. Gets a fist in Billy’s hair and gives it a little yank—a little scold. Not hard enough that it has Billy moaning, but just enough that his breath catches. And a little shiver rolls down his spine, but his eyes catch on the shore and something in his gut turns a little sour.

Billy shakes Eddie off, batting his hands away with a little guilt. “Keep your hands to yourself, Munson. That was already stupid enough, they could’ve heard. Harrington wasn’t exactly quiet.”

He was quiet enough, though. Billy knows that. But he can’t help but be a little bit afraid, anyway. A little cautious.

Steve frowns as he tucks himself away and sits up, legs sprawled out in front of him, long enough that he can give Billy a little nudge with his toes. “Harrington?”

Eddie huffs, leaning over, smacking a kiss to Steve’s cheek. “Don’t take it personal, Stevie.”

“I won’t take it personal,” Steve says, giving a casual little shrug. “I just don’t sleep with people who call me by last name.”

Billy rolls his eyes. “I call you Harrington all the time, you’ve never had a problem with it before.”

He also calls Steve princess, and baby, and pretty boy. Just not — always.

And besides, he calls Eddie by his last name, too.

“Okaay,” Steve says, a little slowly, head giving a little nod as he thinks that over. “Well. I’m telling you now.”

Eddie pulls back a bit, staring at Steve’s profile, but Steve is still looking at Billy. Arching a brow, Eddie turns to him too, something curious and maybe a little expectant there.

It feels like the seconds are inching by, Billy’s heart pounding so loudly, so achingly slowly he feels like he could trip over it.

He doesn’t know how Steve’s words make him feel, other than a little lost. A little flayed-open. Like Steve’s asking too much.

“Fine,” Billy says. “Steve.”

Like it’s easy. Like it doesn’t make Billy feel so seen that he aches.

Steve rewards him, though, with a smile. It’s small– maybe a bit tight– but he nods his head again and glances away. Next to him, Eddie has cocked his head over as he glances between them, eyes shrewd even in the dark.

“Thanks, Billy,” Steve says, and then he’s leaning over to snag the flashlight up and scooching himself toward the edge of the dock. “I guess we’re done out here?”

Eddie doesn’t move. “I mean, no one’s screaming like they think we killed you, yet. But we should probably head back.”

“Right,” Steve says, facing the shore. “I’ll, uh. I’ll meet you guys over there?”

Eddie makes a face Billy can’t interpret, not shadowed in midnight blue, eyes like black glass as he stares at the back of Steve’s head.

“Yeah, Stevie,” Eddie says. “We’re right behind you.”

Steve nods again, doesn’t say anything else, and then he’s slipping into the water with a splash– leaving Billy and Eddie rocking on the dock behind him.

Billy’s hands ball into fists. He’s grinding his knuckles into the rough wood of the dock before he even realizes he’s doing it, staring at the ripples of the water until Steve surfaces again, so far away.

“What the fuck,” Billy says.

His voice is—rougher than he figured it would be.

Eddie makes another face, mouth shrugging. “I think you hurt his feelings a little.”

“It’s his name,” Billy mutters.

His knuckles grind down until it stings. If he hurt Steve’s feelings, then why does his own chest ache? He wonders if the gentle rocking of the dock is what’s making him feel a little sea-sick.

“I call you by your last name and you don’t get pissy about it,” Billy says.

“That’s because I don’t mind. And I know how to get you to say my first name when I wanna hear you say it,” Eddie tells him, grinning and shuffling closer on the dock, until he’s close but not quite touching. “I mean, would you like it if Stevie had called you Hargrove just now? Seems kinda cold to me.”

Billy goes a little stiff. He watches as Steve makes it to the shore and walks out of the water toward the fire. A tall silhouette.

“I wouldn’t give a shit,” Billy says.

He can almost believe it too. But not quite.

He lets himself lean a little bit to the side. Until he’s up against Eddie, pressed shoulder-to-shoulder with Eddie’s skin– his body heat.

Now that they aren’t all over one another, Billy feels cold. He tries to tell himself it doesn’t have anything to do with watching the distant shore, where Steve has retreated and is being bundled up in a towel by one of the girls. From here, he can’t make out who, but he imagines it’s Robin.

“Sunshine,” Eddie chides, voice soft, leaning in to press his mouth to Billy’s temple. “You’re a shit liar. You got prickly– Stevie’s feelings got hurt– but it’ll be fine.”

Everything in Billy wants to pull away. Instead, he grinds his knuckles down against the instinct and lets himself stay. Lets himself lean more into Eddie’s warmth.

“I don’t fucking understand him,” Billy says, finally.

The strange thing is, he kind of wants to crawl on top of Eddie. Not to fuck him. Just – press his face into Eddie’s neck and just breathe him in for a while. Luxuriate in that easy comfort.

Because everything about Eddie is so easy. And everything about Steve is so goddamn difficult.

He feels Eddie’s hand at the center of his back. Feels it fan out and then smooth up his spine, until Eddie has him by the back of the neck, warm and firm as he squeezes.

“He’s not too different from you,” Eddie tells him. “He’s just a little more honest about how he’s feeling– and I don’t think you know what to do with that.”

“Screw you,” Billy says, but there’s no force behind it. There’s nothing behind it, other than a little bit of resignation.

Because Billy knows that Eddie’s right. That Billy and emotions don’t exactly go hand in hand.

Eddie clicks his tongue, jostling himself into Billy with a gentle, teasing nudge. “Promises, promises, sunshine.”

Billy snorts. He lets himself be shaken. Lets it warm him up, just a little bit.

“Not here, obviously. We probably should go back, right? Har-” Billy swallows. Takes a breath. “Steve’ll get pissy, otherwise.”

“You’re so fucking good, California,” Eddie says, kissing his cheek, pulling back with a wide grin. “Race you back to shore?”

It’s a silly question. The distraction is good– the exertion, even better. By the time they’re walking up on shore, sand clinging at wet feet and legs, Billy feels a little less like he’s going to vibrate right out of his skin. His knuckles ache, and his chest aches a bit more, but the agitation and the frustration have bled away a bit.

They head for the fire, spotting three warm bodies hovered around the flame. Jonathan Byers has his head between his knees, Argyle patting him on the back. Across from them, Robin Buckley is sitting there with her legs crossed, a knee bouncing wildly, face a tight wince as she glances over at them.

Eddie comes to a stop, grabbing a towel off the blanket and tossing one over at Billy. “Uh oh. Someone got weed chills?”

Argyle glances up, giving a solemn shake of his head. “Nah, man. Way worse than that.”

Billy glances around the fire. Counts the heads and comes up missing two. He barely dries himself off, just shoves on his clothes over his damp body—same as Eddie—and slings the towel over his neck. He crosses his arms.

“What’s worse than that?” he asks. “Where’s Steve, and where’s Byers’ girlfriend?”

“We’re talkin’ about a broken heart, man,” Argyle says.

Jonathan’s head jerks up. In the firelight, Billy can spot a solid red mark on his cheek, the disgruntled look on his face, the bloodshot of his eyes.

“Could you not?” Jonathan asks, voice strained. “It’s not– she didn’t– She’s just mad, okay?”

“Uh oh,” Eddie says again, but it sounds a little less playful– a little more worried. “And I don’t imagine your princess ran off by herself, did she?”

Jonathan winces and presses his face back between his knees. “Shut up, man.”

Robin bites the insides of her lips, glancing up at where they’re standing, drying in the firelight. “They, uh. Went towards the cars.”

Something in Billy’s stomach drops. There’s a prickle– a cold sweat– flesh raising as that ache in his chest starts to get too hard to ignore. His ears are ringing.

Billy grabs Eddie by the wrist, wrapping his fingers around cooling, damp skin, and tugs. Eddie doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t drag his feet, but he does seem surprised, clumsy as he lets Billy drag him away from the fire on bare feet.

“You really shouldn’t—” someone’s saying behind them, but Billy cuts that thought off easily with a quick, “I don’t give a fuck.”

Because he doesn’t. He cares about the pit in his stomach, about the hollow bitterness hanging in the air.

“Steve,” Billy barks out, as they get closer to the cars.

He can hear talking. It doesn’t stop him from tromping closer, pulling Eddie with him.

As they draw nearer, near enough for Billy to make out words in the murmuring mess of Steve and Nancy Wheeler talking together, near enough that he can hear that she’s crying and that Steve is trying to figure out what’s wrong, something balls up and knots in his chest.

“– he’s a liar,” Wheeler is saying– blubbering– words definitely slurring. “He’s– He’s been lying for months, Steve–”

“About what?” Steve asks, voice pitched low with concern. “You’re rambling a lot and not telling me what’s wrong.”

“He– He lied,” Wheeler repeats, belligerent in her intoxication. “I said that– that we were bullshit. That you and me were bullshit, but– but maybe we weren’t. Maybe– Maybe Jonathan was–”

Steve sighs. “Nance.”

He can see them when it happens. Spots Steve leaning against his car door with his jeans on and a towel over his shoulders. Spots Nancy Wheeler standing way too close to him, and from this angle, can see the dart of her big, teary eyes as she looks up at Steve.

Tries to drag Eddie just a little faster, feels Steve’s name catch in his throat.

“Maybe we weren’t bullshit,” Nancy whispers, but Billy can hear it with perfect clarity.

When she kisses him, Billy thinks he might stop breathing.

Billy stops in his tracks. Everything feels so suddenly sharp underneath his bare feet when he hadn’t even noticed it before. The world around him spins, goes dark, and then narrows to one impossible point: Nancy Wheeler’s lips on Steve’s.

Billy doesn’t realize he’s frozen still as a statue until Eddie’s suddenly in front of him, whole face taking up Billy’s view of Nancy and Steve. His hands are on Billy’s shoulders and he’s urging him backward.

“Come on, sunshine,” Eddie’s saying, voice barely even a low whisper.

But Billy won’t have it. He isn’t going to back down. He isn’t going to let Nancy Wheeler just walk back into Steve’s life to step on his heart again. And he sure as hell isn’t going to allow her to take Steve away from him.

“Hey, what the fuck,” Billy says.

Shouts, even.

He shoves his way around Eddie, who tries to grab onto his arm to haul him back, but all it does is haul Eddie forward with him. Toward the two of them and the cars.

Nancy Wheeler stumbles when she pulls back, eyes wide and hands wiping at them, and Steve reaches out to catch her arm, just long enough to steady her. The rage and envy is instant, and it lingers even when Steve’s touch doesn’t.

“What the hell?” Wheeler asks, blinking at the pair of them. “What are you guys even–?”

“Nancy,” Steve says, and when Billy rounds the car, finally catching sight of Steve’s profile, it’s to find a grimace. “Why don’t you go back over to the fire. Have Robin drive you home.”

Wheeler blinks up at Steve now. “What?”

“Go home. Get some rest.” Steve reaches out again, tucking a curl behind her ear, smile sad when he offers it. “Historically, your drunk decisions don’t work out for me. Sleep it off, Nance.”

Wheeler jerks back like maybe Steve slapped her. Huffs out a short breath, a fresh well of tears in those big eyes– but then she’s glaring over at Billy and Eddie, crossing her arms as she rushes off toward the fire.

It takes Billy more than a second to realize that Eddie’s hand is on his shoulder, squeezing tight as Billy watches Nancy run off, tail between her legs in retreat. Like he’s holding Billy back. Keeping his leash taut and secure.

Billy watches her go. Feels Eddie’s fingers dig into the meat of his shoulder.

And the thing is—Billy can’t blame her. He’s been stupid about Steve for as long as he knew Steve existed. And he’s been even stupider now that he’s gotten to know Steve, know how good he is. If he somehow fucked things up with Steve—which he feels like he’s doing constantly—he knows he’d give anything for a second chance.

“That looked intense,” Eddie says, before Billy can get a word in edgewise.

It’s a smart thing, maybe. Because Billy’s tongue feels heavy and his gut is churning. He’s not so sure he’d be nice.

Steve sighs, slumping back against his BMW, rubbing a tired hand over his face. “Yeah, that’s a word for it.”

“Got another one for me?” Eddie chirps, giving Billy’s shoulder another quick squeeze. “Or do you want a minute?”

Steve barks out a laugh. It’s too bitter to offer any kind of relief.

“What I want is to go home,” Steve sighs again, but then he’s turning to face them, shoulder bracing against the driver’s side door. “I don’t suppose I can convince you guys to call it a night?”

“Sure,” Billy says, before he’s even aware he’s talking. Folding so quickly, like he’d do anything and everything for Steve. “Let’s go.”

“I’m down,” Eddie says, giving Billy’s shoulder another little squeeze. “You wanna ride on the back of California’s bike? I could drive the Beemer back to yours.”

Steve seems to hesitate for a second. Glances between them, his arms half crossed as he scrubs the towel around his shoulders at his hair with a hand.

Then, he gives a little nod of his head.

“Yeah, sure,” Steve says, digging into pocket and tossing his keys over, huffing when Eddie catches them and spins them around one of his fingers. “Don’t crash my car, Munster.”

Eddie gives a little bow. “I will try my very hardest.”

Billy’s heart beats fast and heavy in his chest. So loudly in his ears.

He grabs one of the helmets. Gets it in his hands.

“Steve,” Billy says. He feels caught when Steve looks up, those dark eyes focused solely and intently on him. “Catch.”

He tosses the helmet at Steve’s chest. Steve catches it easily.

chapter 16:

way down inside (i’m gonna give ya my love)

Steve’s got heavy, thick curtains. The kind that block out all the sun, until whenever Steve wants, room kept dim even well past dawn. Billy’s always liked them, but he likes them even more this morning, keeping Steve lax and soft in sleep.

His internal clock has always been a sharp one. Something he learned to do– waking up with the day, rising with the sun– when he was younger, before it became a point of contention with his old man. Now, it feels hardwired, waking up at 7AM and then laying in bed with nothing to do.

Here, at least, he has Steve tucked under the heavy drape of his arm. Here, he has Steve pressed close and held fast, Billy’s fingers long since snuck under the cotton of the shirt Steve had thrown on last night, after they’d all rinsed off lake water but before they’d fallen into bed. They’d been too tired to talk– all of them– and Steve had happily let Eddie pull him between his own sheets without a word. Hadn’t complained a peep, not even when Billy began gradually wrapping himself around and into Steve.

Like he was afraid he might disappear. Like he was worried he’d run off or something, back to Nancy Wheeler, in the middle of the night.

On the far side of the bed, Eddie is flopped over on his belly, cheek smooshed against a pillow, snoring lightly. He’s got the fingers of one of his hands tangled loosely with Steve’s. Billy can feel one of his feet, hooked over Billy’s calf where his legs are tangled up with Steve’s under the sheets.

The degree of comfort that Billy feels with both of them right there is unparalleled.

In the early morning light, Billy lets himself revel in the moment, in the way the two of them look while they’re asleep. So soft, so relaxed.

Steve’s skin is so goddamn warm underneath Billy’s palm. He can’t help but touch, letting his fingers curl through the hair on Steve’s chest, over the bit of sweat that lingers there because of the closeness of their bodies and the way that Steve runs hot when he sleeps.

Lazy, indulgent, Billy presses a kiss to the back of Steve’s neck, over the bumpy terrain of Steve’s spine. He lets himself be gentle. And unhurried. Just enjoying the quiet moment he has all to himself. Untouched by anyone’s gaze.

He stays like that for a while, nose tucked behind Steve’s ear, breathing slow. Letting himself savor it, the bone deep calm of it, thumb dragging idly back and forth over one of the scars near Steve’s belly.

It isn’t too much longer until Steve is stirring. Waking slowly– a gradual stretch and curl of his toes, body pressing back into Billy with a great, sleepy sigh– before letting out a disgruntled little grunt and turning his head to press his face against his pillow.

“Time?” Steve mumbles, voice half lost in cotton.

“No idea.” Billy’s voice is a low rumble, full of sleep and slowness. Even to his own ears, it sounds softer than usual. It kind of feels it, too.

He can taste the remnants of alcohol and smoke lingering in his mouth—the bitter aftertaste of a whole day spent at the beach and then coming home and collapsing hard.

His fingers splay over the plane of Steve’s abdomen. Tracing the lines of it, the scars, and combing through the hair of Steve’s happy trail. Idle, but gentle.

“You can go back to sleep,” Billy murmurs with a press of his lips to Steve’s neck. “‘S still early.”

Steve grunts again. Lays there like that, so quiet and still and soft, for so long that Billy thinks he might’ve dozed back off.

But then he feels Steve’s fingers curl loose around his forearm, giving a tired squeeze.

“Morning,” he mumbles, barely awake at all.

“Morning,” Billy whispers, lips ghosting over Steve’s skin. The heat of his own breath is warm against his lips.

He can’t help but think of yesterday. How he’d started it off surly and prickly and unsure, and how he’d ended it pretty much the same, unable to stop thinking about Nancy’s lips on Steve’s—and before that, the hurt in Steve’s eyes before he’d jumped off the dock and into the lakewater. He’d gone to sleep thinking about it, and now that he’s awake, it’s creeping back in.

Billy doesn’t want to lose another day to his own inability to get over his own shit. He should be able to just—enjoy this. Whatever it is.

With a slow release of his breath, Billy pulls Steve a little closer to him. Holds him a little tighter.

“Steve,” he murmurs, testing the name on his lips, barely even a whisper, and feels the way Steve shudders in his arms. Like a little echo.

It’s enough to have Steve stirring a bit more. Has him turning from the pillow, shifting a bit, weight rolling until one of his shoulders is pressing into Billy’s chest as Steve twists to blink sleepy eyes at him.

“Good morning,” Steve says again.

“Morning, baby,” Billy says, holding him even tighter.

When he moves his hand, sliding it up and over Steve’s pectoral, he can feel Steve’s heartbeat underneath his fingertips, the steady thrum of it. The warmth. The easy rhythm.

“Sleep okay?” Billy asks.

Steve gives a drowsy little nod, shivering as Billy touches him, fingers shifting on Billy’s arm to curl loose around his wrist.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes. “Always sleep better like this.”

Billy hums. He lets his fingers wander over Steve’s flesh, occasionally moving them to drag his blunt fingernails over the path his fingers just took.

“Me too,” he admits.

It feels a little bit like a relief, sharing that. Eddie had guessed at it, but Eddie’s guessed at a lot of things about Billy. He always just seems to know, to understand. With Steve, Billy somehow always feels like he’s walking on eggshells. Trying to be too careful with his words and invariably messing them up anyway.

Steve makes a little sound in reply, and then he’s clumsily shifting over, twisting around to face Billy and then pressing in close. His skin is still sleep warm. His fingers find Billy’s side, tracing up slow.

“No nightmares?” Steve asks quietly.

“Nope,” Billy says. “You?”

Steve’s body is flush against him, slotted in like a puzzle piece. Billy moves to tangle their legs together, to complicate the knot. He shivers, as Steve’s fingertips reach a spot on his ribs where his nerves have fully healed around scar tissue, a little more sensitive than the rest of him.

Steve seems to catch the response– because he does it again, fingers tracing over raised skin. Billy feels one of Steve’s feet skirt up his calf. He doesn’t even bother trying to stop the shudder, the way he leans into the sensation.

“None,” Steve mumbles, clearly distracted as he ducks his head a little, mouth pressing to one of the angry lines on his chest.

It isn’t hungry. There’s no tongue or teeth. Just the simple press of Steve’s lips, like he’s saying sorry for something he didn’t even do.

It makes Billy’s heart ache. But Billy’s heart always feels like it’s aching, just a little bit, when it comes to Steve Harrington.

“C’mere,” Billy says, after a long moment, after Steve’s lips have traveled far enough that Billy’s skin feels like it’s covered in goosebumps. “Wanna kiss you.”

He wants to kiss Steve until the image of Nancy kissing him is burned away, forgotten.

Steve huffs a little, amused, but still too caught by sleep to actually laugh as Billy coaxes him up. Their noses bump.

“What if I have, like, really bad morning breath?” Steve asks.

Billy rolls his eyes. “I don’t give a shit.”

And then he’s kissing Steve, slotting their lips together in a sleepy, gentle kiss. He doesn’t feel hurried, but he does feel hungry. Like maybe if he doesn’t kiss Steve right now, doesn’t lick into his mouth, he might die.

With a hand on Steve’s lower back, Billy urges him closer—if that’s even possible—finding it just as necessary to get their bodies as close as can be, no space left between them. Just heat. Just skin.

Steve’s shirt is rucked up, baring his belly, caught on Billy’s arm as he smooths his hand up Steve’s back. He can feel the slow way that he arches, the curve of his spine, chest flush up against Billy’s as he takes a shuddering breath. There are fingertips slipping along the line of his jaw, the arm Steve’s got pinned under him coming up so that Steve can curve his hand against his cheek. A palm splays over his ribs.

Steve hums at his lips. Presses in when Billy licks a little deeper, tongues a lazy slide.

Billy will never get over how good Steve is at kissing. Or how much Steve seems to like it, how it calms him and steadies him, while also driving him closer to desire. Billy’s kisses are almost always just hungry things, a means to an end—but kissing Steve reminds him to savor it, to enjoy it.

Not that that stops him from rocking against Steve, just a little bit. Pressing their lower halves together as he licks into Steve’s mouth.

Steve pulls from his mouth with a breath of a laugh, just long enough to say, “I thought you just wanted to kiss me.”

He’s teasing him, Billy knows, because Steve tilts his head and kisses him again. Sighs against his lips, all dreamy and pleased, shifting closer on the bed, under the sheets, as his hand slips around to Billy’s back, splaying between his shoulder blades.

Never in a million years did Billy think Steve would hold him like this. Soft and tender and close. Never in a million years did he think that Steve would touch him so gently.

“Could just kiss you,” Billy says, words mumbled up against Steve’s lips. “If that’s what you want.”

Next to them, Eddie is still dozing. Snoring lightly.

“Could kiss you for fucking hours,” Billy says.

Steve makes one of those quiet little noises Billy doesn’t know the name of yet– but he goes buttery soft, melting up against Billy’s chest and kissing him with parted lips. Inviting and sweet and so warm.

“You should try that,” Steve tells him, breathing in deep and slow as their mouths meet again.

Billy huffs out a little laugh into the kiss. He drags his nails over the soft skin at the small of Steve’s back and feels the way Steve’s entire body trembles, the way he leans into Billy, and the touch, at the same time.

“Gonna—drive me insane,” Billy mutters against Steve’s lips.

“I’m not trying to,” Steve insists, eyes heavy and on Billy’s mouth when he pulls back to change the angle, to wiggle a little closer.

Billy doesn’t think he believes him. Not when Steve hums against his mouth again, like kissing Billy is something that Steve just can’t get enough of.

For a while, Billy loses himself in it. In the indulgent feeling of sliding his tongue against Steve’s, of Steve’s body rocking against his. He kisses Steve until he feels dizzy with it, out of breath and totally strung-out. And hungry. Desperately hungry.

After long enough, Billy can’t stop himself from groaning into Steve’s mouth. Just a little sound—but desperate. Undeniably so.

Billy’s fingers dig in a little bit against the meat of Steve’s hip, urging him closer. Into a little rocking motion.

It earns him a quiet moan. Billy can feel the hot press of Steve’s arousal against his own when their hips roll flush together. He can feel the way that Steve rocks to meet him, the hand at Billy’s jaw slipping back, fingers sinking into Billy’s hair. He can feel Steve’s touch drag, slow but so needy, at his back.

“Think you’re gonna drive me crazy too,” Steve mumbles, chest hitching when Billy tugs his hips forward again, breathless and blushing as they grind lazily together. “Billy.”

There’s something so deeply hot about grinding his own cock against Steve’s—feeling his answering interest, just as hard as Billy, just as turned on.

“Fuck,” Billy breathes out, catching his teeth on Steve’s lower lip. “I wanna get my mouth on you.” And then, because he doesn’t want—doesn’t want to spook Steve, even though he’s drooling for it, practically gagging, says, “You don’t have to say yes. I just want—fuck—want you to know I’m thinking about it.”

Steve shudders all against him. Takes another hitching breath. Chases Billy’s mouth to kiss him for a moment longer before pulling back.

“I mean,” he wets his lips, throat working, eyes big and dark and hungry. “You kinda got your mouth on me last night. So it wouldn’t be exactly new.”

Billy leans back in, hums against Steve’s mouth as he steals another kiss.

“Not like that,” Billy says. “Wanna get my mouth on your cock. Wanna feel you cum down my throat.”

He gets to feel all of the air rush out of Steve. Gets to feel him shudder again, heavier this time, fingers digging in at Billy’s back.

“Do you need a written invitation?” Steve asks, teasing but weak– the heat of his skin burning a little brighter under Billy’s hands, arousal leaving him shifting restlessly in Billy’s hold.

Billy feels feverish, sluggish with want. With the way Steve is twisting in his arms, cock grinding up against Billy’s.

“No,” Billy says, pressing a kiss to the corner of Steve’s mouth with a smile, a grin, “but a pretty please would sure sound nice.”

Steve tilts his head to catch at Billy’s mouth blindly, eyes fluttering shut, pressing up against him like he’s trying to crawl into him. Kisses him with a bit of urgency, in a way that makes Billy a little giddy, heart rabbiting in his chest.

But then he’s pulling back, big eyes blinking at Billy, pupils blown wide.

“Pretty please?” Steve asks, all soft and sweet.

Billy’s gut twists in a delightful way, going hot and molten at Steve’s words. Even more so, when he catches the look in Steve’s eyes, the blatant and overwhelming desire.

Billy’s eyes dart over to Eddie, who is still snoring and conked out, dead to the world. His fingers tighten around Steve’s hip.

“You think he’d care?”

It feels silly, almost, to ask. But Billy suddenly can’t get past the worry, the concern.

Steve glances over his shoulder, the space between them flooding with cool air as they pull apart just enough to consider Eddie’s sleeping form. Steve stares at him for a long moment, and then looks back at Billy with his brows pinched.

“I… think he’d think it was hot?” Steve says, almost uncertain, nose scrunching up a bit. “I don’t why I think that, but I do.”

Billy groans. He can practically picture it: Eddie waking up to sounds of Steve getting off. Opening his eyes to the sight of his pleasure, of his hands gripping hard at Billy’s hair. He imagines Eddie reaching over, getting a hand in Billy’s hair, too—dragging Billy over to blow Eddie, mouth still full of Steve’s cum.

“Fuck, you’re right.”

And then Billy is scrambling down Steve’s body, shoving the covers part-way down as he goes, and tugging Steve’s sleep-pants down over his hips. Steve’s cock—just as beautiful and thick and huge as Billy remembers it—springs free. Hot and hard in the morning light.

Billy hums. Steadies it with one hand around the base. And then licks a lazy stripe up it, savoring the taste. The smooth, soft skin against his tongue.

Steve’s hips give a sharp lurch up, his breath stalling, and Billy spies him pressing a hand over his mouth to muffle a shuddering little groan.

“Jeesus, Billy,” Steve hisses from behind his own fingers, his other hand clutching at one of Billy’s shoulders with a scrambling touch.

“I got you, baby,” Billy says, tonguing over the head of Steve’s cock to catch the drop of precum beading there. He hums, lets out a huff of air, and says, “Steve.”

And then he swallows Steve down. All in one go. Lets the meat of him fill up Billy’s mouth, such a pleasant, perfect weight on his tongue.

Steve’s laugh is breathless and quiet, catching around a moan as his head thumps back against the bed. He squirms, legs caught up in his pants– under Billy’s weight– and then sinks his fingers into Billy’s hair and gives a faint pull.

“Now I feel like you’re just saying my name to be mean,” Steve tells him, but he hardly sounds hurt when he’s stifling a gasp.

Billy just hums around Steve’s cock instead of coming up with some snappy retort. To be fair, he probably gets more mileage out of that than anything else, given the way that Steve tips his head back even more and moans, fingers tightening their grip in Billy’s hair. The movement drags another sound out of Billy—less purposeful this time, louder.

It’s kind of nice, not to have to worry about being too loud. To just let himself moan and want to make Steve moan, too.

Billy works up a rhythm with his mouth, taking Steve deeper and deeper until he’s gone as far as he can easily go without trying, without slowing down and easing himself through it. Still, he lets Steve’s cock hit the back of his throat before pulling back again, bobbing his head as Steve’s fingers grip tight in his hair.

“Jesus, fuck–” Steve is panting, and Billy can feel the tremble of his fingers, the quiver of body as the pleasure Billy offers with his mouth is received by sensitive, flush skin. “Fuck, Billy– you’re– fuck, your mouth.”

It’s so good, is the thing.

Billy’s had an oral fixation for his entire goddamn life, but he’s not sure anything’s ever been as good as getting his mouth on Steve’s dick, especially since he’s been dreaming of it for so long.

Steve’s cock is thick and hot, just the perfect size to stretch out Billy’s lips wide, to fill up his mouth just enough to make his head spin. With Steve as far inside of him as Billy can get easily, it’s a little hard to breathe—and Billy loves that. Can’t get enough of it, working his head down to make it worse, to make it more.

He steadies Steve with his hands on Steve’s hips, keeping him from bucking up, keeping his trembling body steady. It’s a heady thing, having Steve under him like this, going so easy underneath Billy’s touch. Letting Billy hold him down and work his mouth over Steve’s cock like he just can’t get enough.

“God,” Steve gasps out, and Billy can feel him quake, can feel the throbbing pulse of his cock against his tongue. “Warning label. Ah, ahh, shit– your mouth really should come with a fucking warning label oh my god–”

His fingers are clumsy in Billy’s curls, tugging like he’s afraid to pull too hard– or like he doesn’t really want to change much of anything about what Billy is currently doing to him. Billy catches a guttural groan when he hollows his cheeks, sucking sloppy and wet at the length of him, and he can taste the salt of Steve’s precum at the back of his mouth. Can taste his pleasure, musky and warm, on his tongue.

“Told you so,” Billy can hear the drowsy, pleased rumble of Eddie’s voice, can feel the slight shift of the bed. “You do this all for lil ol’ me, sunshine?”

And then there’s another hand in his hair, blunt nails dragging over his scalp. Scratching gentle, like he’s rewarding him for good behavior.

Billy feels his whole body go hot, like white lightning just shot straight through all of his veins, electric, thanks to Eddie’s touch. He can’t help but groan, too loud, too hungry, around Steve’s cock. Because—this is what he wanted, yeah, but it’s better now, with Eddie’s heat starting to seep in through all of their points of contact.

So, Billy nods around Steve’s cock, swallowing until his throat clicks, until Steve moans at the pressure.

He hears Eddie huff out a laugh. Feels him pull at his hair, sharp, and then smooth his fingers over the sting.

“Liar,” Eddie accuses. “I know you’re just greedy.”

Billy moans. Embarrassingly loud. Because he knows it’s true and so does Eddie.

Eddie chuckles.

“Is that as much as you can take?” he asks, voice just a little bit condescending. “I think you can do better than that, sunshine.”

Billy’s head spins.

Steve’s legs twitch and kick a bit, moan coming high and desperate. Billy can feel the strain of his hips under his hands.

At his side, Eddie chuckles again. Billy hears the wet smack of a kiss, sees Eddie lean in, mouth pressing to Steve’s cheek– and then feels the bed rock and shift as Eddie sits up, hand still in Billy’s hair as he presses his other over the middle of Steve’s chest. As he presses Steve down, helps pin him in place, and gets a better grip in Billy’s curls.

“So hungry for it,” Eddie mutters, pulling until Billy comes up and off of Steve’s cock, humming as he watches him with dark eyes. “You want more, don’t you, sweetheart?”

There’s something about Eddie holding Steve down and Billy up at the same time that makes Billy feel feral. Makes his whole head spin.

He wants to whine, to complain that Eddie made him stop, but instead Billy finds himself nodding. Looking at Steve with his blown-out pupils in the morning light, and then at Eddie. With his steadfast everything. His control.

“Please,” Billy moans, licking his lips.

He feels like he’s drooling. Messy.

Eddie tilts his head as he looks at him, smile small and so very satisfied. “Gonna swallow him down for me, sweetheart?”

Beneath their hands, Steve gives a little jerk, voice cracking around a half strangled sound. He’s flush down to his chest, squirming, his cock twitching and weeping– slick with Billy’s spit.

“Fuck– Eddie,” Steve says, spun up and barely contained, all that energy held in place so easily by the two of them. “God, why are you always trying to make me pop off, like, as fast as physically possible.”

His complaint falls on deaf ears– mostly because Steve barely sounds like he means it. Especially not when he lets out a punched out mewl of a sound when Eddie presses him down more.

“Now,” Eddie says, “you’re going to stay real still for us, Stevie.”

And Billy watches as Eddie’s fingers splay out wide over Steve’s skin. He watches the way Steve shudders, feeling exactly the same way.

“You want Billy to swallow you down, right?” Eddie asks.

Steve nods, jerkily.

“So you’re going to be good. Can you do that for us?”

Steve’s throat works, shivering, shifting restlessly. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.”

“Good boy,” Eddie says, and Billy gets to feel the way the praise leaves Steve going soft and breathless as he makes a needy little sound, gets to see how dark Eddie’s eyes get as he looks down at them. “You gonna be good for me too, sunshine?”

His fingers are so firm in Billy’s hair. Billy wants to lean into it—and to pull away at the same time, just to feel that electric tug, that little bite of pain.

Instead, he just nods. Licks his lips.

And then Eddie’s smiling wide at him, saying “good,” and easing Billy back down to Steve’s cock.

“Slow and steady, baby,” Eddie says.

Billy opens his mouth and lets Steve inside. So slow, letting the weight of Steve press down on his tongue and Eddie helps him lowers his head, feeding Steve’s cock into his mouth.

Steve’s stomach is a flinching quiver. His hands fall to the sheets, fingers twisting tight, hips giving these aborted little jerks– and what Steve can’t hold steady himself, Billy and Eddie’s weight hold down for him.

He can feel the steady dribble and leak of Steve’s cock– precum smearing salty over his tongue as Eddie urges him down, down, down–

Steve’s cock presses at the back of his throat. Big and thick and perfect.

“Fuck,” Steve gasps, shaking a bit, sweat shiny on his skin. “Fuckfuckfuck– Billy– God, Billy, don’t stop–”

“His mouth is fantastic, isn’t it?” Eddie asks.

The noise Steve makes in return, in combination with Eddie’s easy praise, makes heat flare in Billy’s gut. He takes a breath, wills his muscles to relax, and gives in to the gentle pressure of Eddie’s hands, easing himself forward, taking more of Steve’s cock. He swallows around Steve, shivering with the way Steve curses more, with how Eddie clearly has to hold Steve down even harder to keep him from bucking into Billy’s throat.

It’s so good, being filled up with Steve like this. It makes tears form in the corner of his eyes, the dull pain of the stretch in his throat almost all-encompassing.

He feels so full. It makes his head spin.

Billy takes more and more, until he swallows again and his nose is bumping up against Steve’s skin. Until Eddie is slowly easing him off—only to bring Billy’s head forward once more, coaxing him into a slow rhythm.

His head goes a little hazy. The world, a little sideways. He moans, sound muffled and wet, as Eddie helps him work over Steve’s cock. As Eddie urges Billy to take Steve deep, as deep as he can, each time he presses– leaving Billy swallowing and swallowing, drool a mess down his chin, Steve’s cock hot and twitching in his throat and mouth.

“I can’t,” Steve is gasping, almost thrashing, plumping up as Billy sucks him down. “Oh, fuck, I– I can’t, I can’t, I’m gonna–”

The hand on Steve’s chest moves. Slips down, over the quiver of Steve’s belly, down further to slip thick fingers around the base of his cock, just under Billy’s lips as he feeds Steve’s length past the obscene stretch of Billy’s mouth.

Steve grunts. Almost pained. Flinches up a bit– only to flop back down when Eddie gives him a dark look.

“I’m not done, baby,” Eddie tells him. “You can wait, can’t you?”

Steve lets out a sound that’s so strangled that it sounds disgruntled. “Oh, fuuck.”

It would be funny if it wasn’t so fucking hot.

Steve gets louder, after that. And Billy gets quieter—partially because he wants to hear every sound that falls out of Steve’s lips, and partially because when his head gets all foggy, all cloudy and cottony, he tends to lose himself a little. His own pleasure falls to the wayside and his focus centers in on Steve—and Eddie, too.

Billy lets Eddie guide him with the grip he has on Billy’s hair. It’s so easy, to just let it happen, to let his tongue loll and lap, and to swallow down when he needs to.

Underneath him, Steve is a mess. All flinches and twitches and a maelstrom of pent-up desire.

It isn’t long until he’s reaching down to clutch at Eddie’s arm– at Billy’s shoulder– blunt nails sharp on skin as he strains and whimpers. Does it again when Eddie keeps Billy moving, clawing at them as he is dragged through overwhelming pleasure by wicked hands and a filthy mouth. His grip hurts—aches—but in the best way.

“Please,” Steve gasps, shaking all over, legs a constant squirm under Billy’s weight. “Pleaseplease, just–”

“Want him to cum down your throat, sunshine?” Eddie asks, urging him a little faster– just enough to have Steve’s voice breaking on a sob of a sound.

Billy groans out an affirmative, his own plea. He can’t even nod, not with the way Steve’s cock is splitting his throat open, but he wants. So badly that it burns.

“Don’t make a mess,” Eddie warns, but it’s breathless and just as hungry as Billy feels, mouth watering as Steve’s cock pulses needily on his tongue.

And then he’s letting Steve go. Pinning him in place with a hand on his lower belly. Moaning as Steve falls to pieces, like just watching is enough to bring him pleasure.

And Steve does fall to pieces. Cries out, hips trying to buck, body trembling almost violently as he spills out, flooding Billy’s mouth.

Billy swallows him down, head kept steady by Eddie’s fingers in his hair. He can feel the way Steve’s cock twitches, the way his body shakes. And while Eddie does hold him down, he can’t entirely stop the way Steve’s hips buck up into Billy’s mouth, cock thrusting in Billy’s throat. Billy swallows and swallows and swallows.

By the end of it, Billy’s head is spinning.

And when Eddie slowly eases Billy off of Steve’s cock, Billy hears himself gasping in deep, shuddering breaths. He lets his head fall against Steve’s heaving stomach, his head rising and falling with each one of Steve’s gasps, echoing them in kind.

Eddie’s fingers pull over Billy’s hair, fingertips scratching lightly at his scalp. He’s saying something, but the words are lost on Billy—all that matters is the touch, the way he can lean into Eddie’s hand and press closer to Steve’s body, all at once.

Eddie’s hands are everywhere. Stroking over his hair, down the back of his neck, over his spine. Billy’s trembling a bit himself, he realizes, world a blur.

“So fucking good, Billy,” Eddie is telling him, kissing at his crown. “You were beautiful, sweetheart. Took it so well.”

Billy thinks he feels Steve’s fingers card clumsily through his hair, but he’s just about as nonverbal as Billy, panting and shivering under him. And Billy loves it when Eddie touches him like this—he always finds it so calming, so nice—but there’s something about Steve’s clumsy hands doing it that’s cute in an endearing way. Enough that it brings up the corners of Billy’s mouth up in a lazy smile.

It doesn’t take too much longer for Billy’s breathing to settle, for the world around him to solidify into something more tangible. Once it does, he can’t help but push himself off of Steve’s chest, crawl over him, and get to Eddie.

“C’mon,” Billy says, and fuck, his voice is wrecked. “Lemme.”

His fingers are useless as they paw at Eddie’s shorts, but Eddie takes pity and helps with a chuckle.

“So eager. You see how much he likes this, Stevie?” Eddie says.

Steve grunts. He’s still breathing heavy, chest rising and falling and flush.

Still, he watches from where he’s laying, head lulled over and eyes dark.

“Didn’t realize,” he mumbles, watching as Eddie gets a hand back into Billy’s hair, gripping snug and keeping Billy from going straight for his cock the moment it’s free.

Eddie hums, eyes on Billy’s, pulling at his hair until it hurts just right– Billy’s head forced up and back as Eddie gets his other hand on Billy’s jaw. As Eddie presses a thumb at his lower lip, smearing spit over tender skin. As Eddie feeds it into his mouth when Billy licks at it and pins Billy’s tongue in place with a press.

“I think he’d get on his knees and suck cock all day, if he could,” Eddie says idly. “Isn’t that right, sunshine?”

Billy shudders. Full-bodied and brutal enough that he feels it in his teeth.

Eddie’s thumb is rough against his tongue, pushing it down, sliding against spit-slick muscle. Eddie’s fingers curl underneath his chin, easing it up just slightly, like he’s trying to show Billy off.

Billy thinks about it. About the idea of keeping his mouth on Eddie and Steve all goddamn day. Right now, the thought is heady enough to make him dizzy, warm. He nods. He watches, with half-lidded eyes, as Eddie smiles, all big and wide.

“Good boy,” Eddie says.

And Billy—groans.

“You wanna put on a show, sunshine?” Eddie asks, because it’s not like Billy needs Eddie to guide him– he knows how to use his mouth and use it well. “Or do you want me to use you?”

Billy’s face goes hot.

No—his whole body goes hot.

“Eddie,” he groans, as Eddie slides his thumb out and smears it over Billy’s lips. A mixture of spit and spunk.

“You want me to fuck your face, sweetheart?” Eddie asks.

And Billy– Billy can’t do anything but nod, feverish and dizzy. Next to them, Steve groans, loud and a little desperate.

Eddie makes a small sound, head tilting over and back, like he’s trying to see if Billy is eager enough. Holds Billy in place by the jaw, his own tongue a drag over his lower lip as he considers him.

“Open up, sweetheart,” Eddie says, and Billy’s lips are already parted, but he lets his jaw go loose, lets the hint of his tongue hang out, lets himself shudder as the hand in his hair shifts to grip at the back of his head better, Eddie gripping the base of his own cock as he starts to lower Billy down.

Eddie’s dick is thick. Not as long as Steve’s. But heavy and heady as it feeds into Billy’s waiting mouth, already hard and leaking.

Eddie moans.

“That’s it, sunshine,” he says, gesturing for Steve with a little swing of his head. “C’mere, Stevie. Come watch.”

The bed shifts. Steve sits up, kicking his pants the rest of the way off, moving over on the bed to hover at Eddie’s shoulder. All eyes on Billy.

Eddie’s grip on Billy changes. He holds him tighter, firmer. Doesn’t let Billy move an inch.

And then, after Steve is settled in next to him, gaze as heavy as a touch, Eddie begins to move. He holds Billy’s head steady and arches his hips upward, fucking into Billy’s open, waiting mouth.

Billy’s eyes drift close. He lets himself fall into the easy movement of Eddie’s hips. Of his cock sliding over Billy’s tongue and filling up his mouth.

It’s hot. Dizzying. Billy’s mouth already feels worn out from Steve, stretched wide and loose. Eddie takes full advantage, already easing Billy deep, the head of his cock bumping up against the back of Billy’s throat.

He doesn’t make Billy take it immediately– spends a moment just fucking his mouth, breath heavy and voice low and satisfied when he groans. But then he feels the fingers in his hair press at the back of his head, coax him down, down– bullying the girth of his cock slowly into the tight spasm of Billy’s throat. It makes him swallow convulsively. Makes everything inside him go hot and soft.

Eddie is panting by the time he’s got his cock fully sheathed past the spread of Billy’s lips. His grip is tight enough in his hair that it stings. He holds Billy there, buried to the hilt, and then he gestures for Steve again.

“Gimme your hand, baby,” Eddie says, using his free grip to guide Steve’s hand down– under Billy’s jaw, to his throat, to the bulge of Eddie’s cock there– Steve’s breath catching and stalling as his fingers are dragged over it.

With Eddie’s hands on the side of his face and his hair, and Steve’s hand on his neck, Billy feels overwhelmed. Smothered, but in a good way.

Like all he can think about is the way that Eddie’s cock presses down against his tongue, the way it fills up his throat.

Billy loses himself to it completely, to the rhythm of Eddie slowly fucking in and out of his mouth, his throat. To the way fingernails scrape against his scalp and the way that fingers twitch over the skin at his throat, so sensitive and vulnerable.

His head swims, sensation the only thing he can focus on. When his eyes flutter open, they’re heavy, lashes wet.

Eddie moans, thumbing under one of his eyes. “Oh, sweetheart. Look at you, huh? So fucking good for us. Right, Stevie?”

Fingers still at Billy’s throat, hovering close and watching with dark eyes, giving a little nod. “So pretty.”

“Hear that, sunshine? Pretty boy thinks you’re pretty,” Eddie tells him, using his grip to work Billy over his cock, and Billy can feel him beginning to plump up on his tongue, can hear how breathless he’s gotten. “You gonna let me paint your face?”

Billy can’t nod. Can barely even groan, but he clearly manages to get some sound out, because Eddie’s humming and saying, “good boy,” even though the words are fuzzy in his own ears. It must be that, because the tone’s right, and it makes something in Billy’s core go hot.

He uses Billy’s mouth for a few more thrusts—which feels like a lifetime—and then Eddie’s pulling back.

“Close your eyes, baby,” he says, and then he’s getting his fist on his own dick to give it a few long pulls.

Just as Billy’s eyes close, Eddie is cumming, thick, warm ropes of semen streaking over Billy’s face. Painting the back of his eyelids, falling across his lips and his cheeks.

“Fuck,” Billy hears, and it’s Steve’s voice.

He sounds so strung out, even more breathless than Billy, who’s heaving in deep, shaking breaths.

Eddie is panting too, holding Billy in place, and even without seeing, Billy knows how dark Eddie’s eyes have gone. How hungry he probably looks, even when he’s already spent.

And then Eddie says, “You wanna clean him up for me, Stevie?”

Billy wonders when his lazy morning turned into Eddie trying to kill him.

“I–” he hears Steve falter, but Eddie is coaxing Billy up and over– manhandling him between the spread of Eddie’s legs, a big hand finding his chest as Eddie tugs him back against him, blind and fucked out and messy. “Yeah. Yes.”

And then there’s weight over Billy’s thighs. Skin on skin. He feels Eddie use a shirt– maybe Steve’s, maybe his own– to get at Billy’s eyes. Fingers carefully cradle Billy’s face as a mouth presses to his own.

Feels the tentative slide of Steve’s tongue, catching Eddie’s cum on Billy’s lower lip.

For what it is, it feels almost impossibly tender.

Billy groans into it, body going loose and lax against Eddie’s chest. He’s so hard that it hurts, yeah, but it feels like a secondary thing, an ache long since forgotten.

Steve cleans him up with his tongue, though Billy’s pretty sure that, after a certain point, Steve’s forgotten about the cleaning part and has focused far more on kissing, because Billy can barely breathe with the way Steve’s tongue slides over his own. With the way Steve keeps stealing little sounds right out from Billy’s lips, eating them up before they can ever be truly formed.

Once Eddie has stopped wiping at his face, catching all the stray spend that Steve’s mouth didn’t get, Eddie’s fingers are back in his hair. Carding through it, pulling ever so slightly.

“Do you think he’s been good for us, Stevie?” Eddie asks.

“So good,” Steve says, half muttered against Billy’s lips.

Eddie hums, giving Billy a squeeze. “You wanna reward him?”

And then Eddie is palming him through his boxers. Grinding the heel of his hand down, pressure making Billy buck.

Steve takes a shuddering breath. “Please?”

“Touch him, baby,” Eddie tells him, pulling Billy free from his underwear, hand hot enough that it makes Billy hiss. “He’s been dreaming about you touching him for as long as you’ve known him.”

Steve’s fingers are much more tentative when they curl around Billy’s length with Eddie’s. His grip, lighter. His touch, slow.

But Billy doesn’t need much.

Just having Steve’s hand on him feels overwhelming. Like something Billy didn’t think he’d ever be able to have. He groans out, loud and desperate, tipping his head back against Eddie’s chest. Letting Eddie support him.

“Good,” Eddie is saying, and Billy’s eyes are closed but he bets that Eddie’s eyes are on Steve, gaze heavy.

Billy hadn’t been paying much attention to his own arousal—but now he’s so hard that it hurts, so hard that every tentative stroke of Steve’s hand leaves him whimpering, twitching, hips bucking up to meet that touch.

Steve doesn’t startle or shy away. Just tightens his grip a little, Billy’s cock wet from the mess of his own arousal, dragging that slick over warm, sensitive skin with steady strokes. Moans when it makes Billy buck again.

“You gonna cum for him, sweetheart?” Eddie asks, mouth at his ear, voice low and warm and so inviting. “His hand feel that good? Makes you wonder what the rest will be like.”

The implication leaves Billy’s stomach dropping, desire hooking and yanking low below his navel.

It doesn’t take long for his own pleasure to crest, Steve’s hand easily bringing him off with a few more quick strokes. He feels almost detached from it, from his own sensation. One second he feels coiled tight, and the next he’s groaning, nearly shouting, and it feels like everything in him comes loose.

“Well shit, sweetheart,” Eddie says, dragging his fingers through the mess Billy made on his chest.

And then Eddie’s pressing those fingers to Billy’s mouth, telling him to open wide.

Billy does, tongue lolling out in a lazy pant. And then he’s tasting himself on his own tongue.

And in his lap, hand still on his dick, Steve gasps out a strained, “Jesus fucking christ.”

“Enjoy yourself, Stevie?” Eddie asks around a chuckle, fingers fucking idly into Billy’s mouth, a sweet kiss being pressed to Billy’s temple. “Billy certainly did.”

Steve makes a choked noise, and when Billy opens his eyes, Steve’s gaze is on Billy’s mouth, a little wide and almost startled.

Billy smiles lazily, messily, around Eddie’s fingers. Fucked stupid.

Eddie plays with his mouth a little bit more, sliding his fingers over Billy’s tongue and his teeth. Until Billy’s cleaned his fingers up, until Billy starts to get a little sloppy with it.

When he withdraws his fingers, he presses another kiss to Billy’s forehead. “So good for us,” Eddie says.

Billy hums.

“Fuck,” he manages. “Gonna have to take a fucking nap.”

His voice is wrecked.

Steve huffs out a soft breath, slumping a bit as he offers up a crooked smile. He withdraws some– gets his hands off of Billy and onto the used shirt that had been discarded– so that he can clean himself off a bit. He huffs again, half laughing, with a little shake of his head.

It’s something like disbelief. Happy and more than satisfied, but still looking at the two of them like they’re some kind of puzzle he can’t piece together right.

“Can I interest you in a shower first?” Steve asks. “Maybe, like– I dunno, a lozenge?”

Mouth at his brow, Billy can feel it when Eddie smiles. “I think Stevie wants to play nurse.”

“I don’t– that’s not–” Steve huffs for a third time, flush finding its way to his cheeks. “That was just… a lot.”

“It was,” Billy says in agreement, barely even thinking about it as he tips his head up. Eddie presses his lips to Billy’s forehead. “But it was fucking good.”

“It was very good,” Eddie says. “Did you enjoy yourself, Stevie?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Robin always says that there aren’t any stupid questions, but–”

Eddie laughs, reaching out to smack at Steve, jostling Billy in the process. “You made that joke last night. Be honest, Stevie.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, flinching back, batting Eddie’s hand away with another of those crooked little grins. “Yeah, I did. Did– Did you?”

Leaning back against the headboard, and bringing Billy with him, Eddie lets out a long, slow breath. Presses a pleased sound to Billy’s temple.

“Best way to wake up,” Eddie mutters.

“I told you he’d think it was hot,” Steve says to Billy.

Billy feels himself flush. He doesn’t know why—normally, he’d laugh that up, but somehow the idea that he was thinking about Eddie, talking about Eddie, is enough to color his cheeks. Get him to look away in what feels an awful lot like embarrassment. But it can’t be, right?

And it’s too much to ask that Eddie doesn’t catch the look on his face, because of course it is. And of course Eddie notices, grinning and pressing a wet kiss to Billy’s cheek.

“Aw, sunshine, were you thinking about me?”

“Fuck off, Munson,” Billy says, shoving an elbow back at Eddie’s chest.

Eddie grunts, rubbing over the spot with a little wince and a little laugh. “Don’t be like that, Cali. I’ll treat you right.”

He makes to lean in and kiss Billy again. He ends up kissing at the air as Billy leans over, warding Eddie’s attention off with a hand on his jaw. Eddie laughs as Billy turns his face away.

“I don’t think he likes me, Stevie,” Eddie says with a pout, clinging to Billy with both arms, face pushed away, hair caught against his cheek under Billy’s hand.

Steve lets his weight rest back a bit, settling over the lower half of Billy’s thighs, watching them with a little smile. “I think he likes you a lot, actually.”

Billy feels himself go hot. A different kind than before—fueled by panic instead of desire.

And Billy would push away, would shove his way into freedom, but Steve is on his legs, holding him down, looking at him with such a pleasant, perfect little smile. It makes the whole thing feel worse, like his legs just got kicked out from underneath him. His orgasm already left him gutted—now he feels flayed alive.

Because the truth is just that: Billy does like Eddie a lot, actually. And Steve, too. And he doesn’t know what to do with that. And it makes him feel too vulnerable, too raw.

“Shut up,” Billy says, shoving at Eddie again, even though it doesn’t do him much good.

Because Eddie keeps clinging and Steve just keeps sitting on him and smiling. And it makes Billy’s heart do something funny in his chest.

Thankfully, Steve takes pity on him. Glances away, so Billy doesn’t feel so trapped under a gaze that looks so knowing, and clears his throat.

“I was, uh…” Steve says, dragging a hand through his hair, something he does when he’s feeling nervous or restless or both. “I was thinking about getting breakfast started, before noon rolls around.”

A brief look at the analogue clock on Steve’s nightstand shows how late in the morning it is. His heavy curtains have blocked out most of the sun, but Billy thinks he might hear the drizzle of a light rain on the roof.

“You guys want something specific?” Steve asks.

Eddie grunts, giving up on his attempt to lay another kiss anywhere he can reach on Billy’s face, blinking over at Steve with a little leer of a grin. Billy can’t see it, not easily, but he can hear it in Eddie’s voice when he says, “I can think of a few things.”

“Bacon,” Billy says, before Eddie can get any bright ideas. Or before he can persuade Steve into any of them. “Eggs. Protein.”

He’s pretty sure if he tried to stand for too long right now, his knees would collapse right underneath him.

“Spoilsport,” Eddie says, but he’s laughing.

And then he ends up smacking a wet one on Billy once his guard has fallen, once Billy is already trying to push himself up on shaky arms.

Steve snorts, but he’s crawling out of Billy’s lap and onto his own two feet, letting them all untangle. Although Eddie keeps his hands touching at both of them, dragging over Billy’s spine as they both climb to the edge of the bed, palming at one of Steve’s bare hips as he stands there.

“You want pancakes, Munster?” Steve asks. “I’ll even add blueberries.”

Eddie hums, rocking his shoulder into Billy’s. “He spoils us.”

“He sure fucking does,” Billy says.

He leans heavy into Eddie, takes a breath, and then pushes himself up to follow Steve.

After a shower, Billy feels more human. And, after sitting down on Steve’s kitchen counter and filling himself up with coffee and orange juice while Steve putters at the stove, the smell of cooking bacon in the air, Billy feels even more so.

Eddie’s on the counter too, tucked up next to Billy like it would be a crime to leave his side. And Billy would argue, but it feels nice to have Eddie hover, to occasionally bump his shoulder into Billy’s, to occasionally lean over and press a warm, wet kiss to his temple for no reason other than just because.

“So, what’s on the docket for today?” Eddie asks.

Steve shrugs.

Billy reaches over and snags a steaming pancake off the top of the stack.

“Could teach Steve how to ride my bike.” He looks at Steve, who’s suddenly all wide eyes on him. “If you want.”

“What, are you kidding?” Steve asks. “Yeah. Yes. Why are we wasting time with bacon?”

Eddie laughs, leaning himself into Billy’s side. “Food, first. Fun, later.”

Steve huffs, eyeing the two of them a moment before rolling his eyes and turning back to the stove. “It’s not like the bacon is going anywhere.”

“Noo,” Eddie drawls, scooching himself off the counter so he can sidle up behind Steve, hooking his chin on Steve’s shoulder and gripping his hips– and Billy sees him startle and go red in the ears. “But it’ll get cold. And I’m pretty sure it’s wet out.”

Steve lets out a sigh, probably heavier than what is called for. He shrugs a bit in Eddie’s hold– like it doesn’t quite sit right or something– only settling a bit when Eddie smacks a kiss to his cheek.

“You’re gonna make me burn it,” Steve mumbles.

“If you burn that bacon,” Billy says, “I’m not teaching you.”

He feels exhausted, all of his limbs a little too light, his head a little too foggy. It’s not bad, necessarily, but the need for food, for something to ground him, feels important. Like maybe it’ll pull Billy’s drifting thoughts back to earth.

Steve huffs out another breath, fully shrugging Eddie off of him before nudging him back toward Billy with an elbow.

“I won’t as long as no one distracts me,” Steve says.

Eddie is all but pouting at his back. “What, so I’m not allowed to touch you while you’re cooking?”

“Bother your boyfriend,” Steve tells him, without looking back.

Billy freezes, eyes caught on the two of them. The kitchen feels dead silent other than the sizzle of bacon on the stove. It feels like someone just dumped a bucket of ice water right over him, goosebumps and all.

Billy can’t move, can’t find his tongue, but Eddie doesn’t seem to have the same compunction.

“He’s as much my boyfriend as you are,” Eddie says, easy as pie.

Like it’s simple.

Steve doesn’t seem to think it’s that simple, either. He frowns over his shoulder at Eddie and rolls his eyes again.

“Don’t joke,” he says.

Billy watches as all of the joking demeanor just slides right off Eddie, how he goes all still and serious.

“I’m not joking,” Eddie says. And he’s not reaching out to touch Steve, but he isn’t backing off, either. “Billy and I both want you. Isn’t that right, California?”

Billy wonders if maybe Steve’s kitchen counter might open up, swallow him whole. Right back to the Upside Down. Maybe that would be better than having to sit through this nightmare.

Eddie frowns again, looking over at him. “Billy?”

He says it like he’s expecting a response, but Billy doesn’t know what to say. Just sits there, horrified and humiliated, by the dawning look of understanding that spreads over Eddie’s face.

“Oh, you’re kidding,” he breathes, dark eyes on his face, and Billy doesn’t know if he’s gone pale or if he’s gone red. “Sweetheart, you should’ve said something.”

Steve has killed the stove to face them. Has his arms crossed, as he glances between the two of them.

“Do you both need a minute?” he asks.

Like he’s happy to just step out of his own kitchen to give them space. Like he’s separate from them.

Billy wants nothing less.

“No,” Billy says, before either of them can say or do anything more. “No, I—fuck.” He takes a deep breath, grips the edge of the counter tight, and continues. “I want you. Obviously. That’s not even a question.”

Steve tilts his head. “Yeah, no, the wanting part is already factored in. I don’t imagine this morning would’ve happened if it wasn’t–”

“Do you think Billy and I are dating?” Eddie cuts him off. “Like, do you think you’re just an accessory we decided to add?”

Steve falters. “Aren’t I?”

When Billy swallows, it feels like there’s glass in his throat. Barbed wire constricting tight around his lungs.

“We aren’t dating,” he says. Because they aren’t. They’ve never fucking talked about it, no matter how many times Steve’s brought it up. “But that’s not—it doesn’t fucking matter. You’re not some afterthought or an addition or whatever.”

He swallows again and it hurts just as much.

“I want you both the same.”

Steve blinks at him. “Oh.”

Standing there between them, Eddie sighs. “Jesus christ, I’m dating two idiots.”

Steve blinks at him too, going pink in the face. “How was I supposed to know?”

“But we’re not dating,” Billy says, feeling dizzy. That’s the whole goddamn point. “Are we dating?”

Eddie looks at him, fixes him with a heavy gaze. “Do you want to be dating us?”

Both of their eyes are on Billy, expectant. It makes Billy feel even dizzier than before. And it’s not like they don’t know. Like Billy’s obsession with them isn’t glaring from miles away—and embarrassing, too.

“Fucking—obviously,” Billy says, looking away.

“No, not– not obviously,” Steve says, voice pitched a bit high, face growing a bit more red. “I thought– I mean, apparently I was wrong, but I thought you two were… together.”

Eddie groans, dragging a hand over his face. “So, what, you thought we were hanging out with you to spice things up?”

Steve tosses out his hands. “I don’t know! It’s not like either of you explained it. You just said you both wanted to kiss me!”

“Oh, yeah, because we’ve been doing a lot of just kissing,” Eddie says, earning a dirty look from a very flustered Steve.

“To be fair,” Billy says, feeling a little bit less warm, less dizzy, “I did think it was fucking obvious.”

“That’s how California and I actually started getting along,” Eddie says. “We found some common ground: you.”

“You– what?” Steve falters again, looking a bit like the wind has been taken right out of his sails.

“Stevie,” Eddie says, voice just a touch chiding. “The reason we started getting along was because we realized we both wanted you.”

“But–” Steve wets his lips, eyes darting between them, and Billy is starting to feel a little silly, in retrospect, as Steve struggles to understand what they are, too. “Even before that, you guys were– I mean, I walked in on you on my couch–”

“Well, first of all, have you seen this guy?” Eddie strides over the few paces to catch Billy by the jaw, pressing a kiss to his cheek and waggling Billy’s head for Steve to see. “And then he won me over with that five star personality.”

Billy shouldn’t let Eddie manhandle him around like a dog—but he does. It makes him feel a little warm, a little wanted. Which feels new– and addictive, too.

“We started hooking up after we both talked about wanting you,” Billy says, and then he shrugs, leaning into the way Eddie’s right there at his side.

“Well,” Eddie says. “About wanting you, but also liking you, too.”

Billy flushes, red-hot. He doesn’t know why that part’s so embarrassing, but it is.

Steve isn’t faring much better, but he seems more settled by the sight of Billy doing about as much emotional and mental gymnastics as he’s sure Steve is. He crosses his arms, shoulders hiking up a bit, shifting his weight on his feet.

“So we’re all dating?” he asks.

“Well,” Eddie shrugs. “Considering you turned Nancy Wheeler away last night, I’d like to think so.”

Steve’s lips press thin– but he looks more embarrassed than anything else. “She was just drunk.”

“She was,” Eddie says, “but you seemed pretty uninterested. But it’s up to you, Stevie—do you want to be dating us?”

“I–” Steve’s throat works, big eyes darting between them again. “Yeah. Yes, I’d– I’d really like that.”

Something in Billy’s heart jumps. Goes a little funny. It feels—too good to be true.

“Yeah?” Billy asks.

He slides himself off the counter, bare feet hitting the cold kitchen floor. By the time he crosses the distance between him and Steve, Eddie’s arms are already around Steve’s middle and his lips are at Steve’s neck. It’s such an easy thing, to kiss Steve Harrington, to squeeze Steve between Eddie and himself. It feels so fucking good.

Steve startles and makes a muffled sound against Billy’s lips. His hands scramble for Billy’s shoulder, for Eddie’s forearm, and grip tight. Billy gets the satisfaction of licking a quiet moan from Steve’s mouth as Eddie hums against his throat. Gets to feel the way he shudders and clings when Eddie snags Billy’s shirt to tug him closer.

The kiss doesn’t last too long—just long enough to warm Billy up. But then he’s pulling away, shoving his face against the other side of Steve’s neck and pulling him into a hug so tight that Billy squeezes a little huff out of Steve. He feels, for a moment, like he just can’t get close enough.

“I think you made his day,” he hears Eddie say, chuckling.

Steve huffs again, a bit in disbelief, but his arms wind themselves around Billy. Around his waist, a hand curling into the cotton of his shirt at his lower back. Over his shoulder, tentative fingers sinking into his hair.

They rock in place a bit as Eddie nudges up against Steve’s back. Billy feels him palm at one of his hips, giving a little squeeze.

“I’ve never even had one boyfriend,” Steve mutters. “And now I have two? Robin’s never gonna let this go.”

Billy can feel the way Eddie laughs, the way it reverberates through Steve’s body with both of them holding him.

“Tough titties,” Billy says against Steve’s neck. “She can get over it.”

“She’ll have to, because we’re here to stay,” Eddie says. And then he’s pulling back, ruffling both Steve’s and Billy’s hair. “Okay. Food time. Stevie made us this whole breakfast. The polite thing to do is eat it.”

Steve laughs, a little hesitant to disentangle as he holds onto Billy for a second longer, and he’s blushing when he finally does let go to shuffle back a step. “Yeah, because you’re usually so incredibly polite.”

“I am incredibly well-behaved, Stevie, you’re hurting my feelings.”

“I think you’ll get over it,” Steve laughs, glancing at Billy with a crooked little smile. “You wanna help me finish up while Munster sets the table?”

Eddie makes a sound akin to a squawk. “You’re just gonna let him steal all the bacon?”

“Well, you were so insistent on being polite,” Steve says with a little shrug. “Wouldn’t setting the table be the polite thing to do?”

Billy is already shoving a piece of bacon, greasy and crispy, into his face. “Yeah, Munson, why don’t you set the table?”

Eddie throws his arms up in the air with another indignant sound. “I cannot believe my boyfriends are the worst.”

Billy catches Eddie by the shirt and smacks a greasy kiss to his cheek. “You like us.”

Eddie gets a hand on his jaw before he can pull back too far, catching his mouth for lingering press.

“Of course I do, sunshine,” Eddie says, so easily, thumb dragging over his cheek as he grins wide and teasing. “Why would I put up with all of this drama otherwise?”

“The dick is good,” Billy says easily, but then Eddie’s kissing him again, humming into his mouth before pulling back.

“Not that good, sunshine. Guess you’ll just have to accept my undying care and affection.”

Billy rolls his eyes. “Shut up. Go set the table, Munson.”

Eddie lets Billy shove him along, laughing as he scoops up the plates and silverware laid out on the counter, heading toward the archway that leads to the dining room. “Don’t have too much fun without me,” he says.

“Will you get jealous?” Steve asks, half teasing and half curious.

Eddie clicks his tongue, stopping just a moment before fully stepping out. “Not at all. But a man can only resist temptation for so long.”

It earns him a blush and a roll of Steve’s eyes, which is probably exactly what Eddie wanted, because he kisses at the air toward them and takes his leave.

“Now,” Billy says, nabbing another piece of bacon for himself as he surveys the half-made breakfast in front of him. “Put me to use, baby. How can I help?”

chapter 17:

you don’t need to read my mind (to know what i have in mind)

Eddie is having nightmares and Steve’s parents are back in town.

Those are the only two facts Billy can think on, sitting out on a humid summer night, watching fireflies buzz over the lot of sparse grass butting up to the woods sprawled behind the trailer park. He’s chain smoking, sitting strung tight, waiting for Wayne to leave for the night shift. He knows he would be allowed in, knows Wayne wouldn’t bat an eye, seeing Billy creep his way into his nephew’s room, but he still waits.

It almost feels like a courtesy. Wayne even raises his thermos at him on his way out the door, ducking sleepily into his pick-up before taking off down the dirt road. Billy’s on his feet and striding across the way in big steps before Wayne’s even turned all the way out onto the main street.

Wayne leaves the door unlocked for him.

Eddie’s nightmares are quiet things. He doesn’t scream, doesn’t shout, but the pained mewls and moans that Billy can hear make his chest ache.

When he gets in the trailer, when he gets down the hall, when he gets to Eddie’s door, he feels like his heart might burst right out. When he gets Eddie’s door open and he sees him, lying in bed, sheets twisted up in his hands, sweat sticking his dark hair to his forehead, he feels like it might stop altogether.

Billy isn’t a gentle person. No one’s ever accused him of that.

His mother used to be, though. Back when she was alive. As gentle and kind and as loving as anyone Billy has ever met.

He tries to channel that gentleness as he slides into bed next to Eddie, as he touches him lightly to bring Eddie into his arms.

Eddie’s nightmares aren’t like Billy’s. When he wakes, he doesn’t come up swinging, ready for blood. Instead, he goes feverish. Whining and scared, curling into himself in a way that breaks Billy’s heart and reminds him of a child. It’s so antithetical to everything Eddie is, everything Billy’s ever seen him be, that it breaks Billy’s heart.

“Hey,” Billy whispers, gathering Eddie up and holding him tight. “Hey, babe. It’s fine, you’re safe.”

Lips to Eddie’s hair, Billy can smell the sweat on him. The fear.

Eddie stirs against him, restless and whimpering, for another long moment. Long enough that Billy squeezes him tighter, nose pressed to the top of his head. It thankfully doesn’t last much longer than that. A twitch and a sharp intake of breath and Eddie is waking against him with a little start. Is flinching, for a fraction of a second before he realizes who has him wrapped up, and then he slumps with a sleepy little groan.

“Fuuck,” he presses his face against Billy’s chest, arms going clumsily around Billy’s waist so that he can tuck close against him. “When’d you get here, sunshine?”

“Not soon enough,” Billy mumbles, words lost against the mess of Eddie’s wild hair.

Feeling Eddie go slack against him, relaxed, like he knows Billy is safe, that Billy doesn’t mean danger—always knocks Billy for a loop. The fact that Eddie trusts him like this, implicit and so deeply, is a new thing. Foreign and heavy.

It makes Billy hold him even tighter.

Eddie grunts but he doesn’t complain. Just sinks a hand up the back of Billy’s shirt to get at skin. Fans his fingers out and just breathes against him.

Billy lets his hands dig into the muscle at Eddie’s back, where it’s all coiled tight. His fingers find knots and begin working at them. He can’t help but smile, just a little bit, as Eddie wriggles and flinches.

“You wanna talk about it?” Billy asks.

Eddie sighs, nose dragging back and forth over Billy’s chest, practically nuzzling into him like a cat as he adjusts to the press of Billy’s fingers. “Same old shit, sunshine. Think it’ll get better, once I get my new ink.”

Like getting a tattoo will help him ward off bad dreams. Billy wishes he had that kind of optimism. He’s glad Eddie does.

“And when Stevie’s parents leave,” Eddie adds, grumbling, knee sneaking between Billy’s thighs as Eddie rubs up his back, hand slow and warm. “Sleep better with you two.”

“I could sleep here,” Billy says.

He usually doesn’t, even though they all easily stay over at Steve’s. He’s fallen asleep here in Eddie’s bed before, of course—but he’s never really planned on it. Never—offered.

Billy’s thumb finds a stubborn knot. Digs in hard.

Eddie lets out a long, low groan, holding Billy tighter to him as Billy works at the tension in his back. Flinches and twitches, huffing when Billy moves from working out one knot right onto digging into the next.

“I would love it if you slept here,” Eddie tells him, always so fucking honest. “But only if you wanna, sunshine.”

Billy wishes he could steal some of that honesty. It always feels like he could drown himself in it, and yet he finds it hard to drink it down as easily.

Because Billy does want to. He wants to spend every fucking waking minute with Eddie, with Steve. Wrapped up between the both of them, a life entangled. He feels crazy with it, absolutely desperate. He thought that it might become less of a wild thing, once they put a name on it, once they ironed out all of the wrinkles of ambiguity, but instead it’s gotten worse.

“Why wouldn’t I want this?” Billy says, giving Eddie another little squeeze.

“Comfort zones,” Eddie half sings up at him, head tipping back, smile tired but so very real as his other hand joins the first in rubbing up Billy’s back. “We all have ‘em. I’m not looking to force you out of yours.”

“Shut up,” Billy says. “I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t wanna.”

Sometimes, he wishes Eddie weren’t so frustratingly aware, so annoyingly composed all the time. He talks about shit like it’s easy, like everything’s so simple and straightforward in his own head.

Billy tries not to shiver as Eddie touches him, trying to focus on touching Eddie, on working from one knot to the next.

But Eddie’s hands are always a distraction. Especially when they keep smoothing over his skin, palming easily over scars, just touching him like that’s all Eddie even needs– it’s a lot. Eddie is always a lot.

“Stay with me tonight, then,” Eddie mutters, pressing in closer on the bed, pressing up so that he can kiss at Billy’s jaw. “And tomorrow night. And maybe the night after that.”

Eddie’s lips feel so goddamn soft against Billy’s skin. It’s hard to remember that only a few moments ago, Eddie was whimpering, trapped in a nightmare. Now, he’s nothing but sugary sweet.

“Fucking greedy,” Billy says, but he goes a little loose, tilting his head so that his neck goes long and open for Eddie’s mouth. “But yeah, sure.”

There’s nothing Billy wants more.

Eddie hums, mouth dropping to press at Billy’s throat. “Perfect. Part one of my evil plot, already checked off the list. Now we just gotta go kidnap Stevie.”

“If Steve’s part of this equation,” Billy says, with a little gasp, “we should be in his bed. Yours is barely big enough for the two of us.”

Though, with the way Eddie’s curled into him right now, and the way Steve clings in his sleep, Billy’s pretty sure they’d all fit. Even if it was a little sweaty.

“I like having an excuse to be all over you,” Eddie replies.

Almost to prove his point, he shifts their weight, pressing forward so that Billy’s half on his back with Eddie sprawled over him. He kisses at Billy’s throat again, mouth open this time, a little hint of tongue. A tease.

Eddie’s hands are rucking up his sides now, just petting over his ribs, body a comforting weight. It has Billy shuddering. Has him taking a long, slow breath.

Blames Eddie and his stupid fucking distracting hands for him not noticing the sound of a car rolling into the lot before there’s already a knocking at Eddie’s front door.

Billy startles. He doesn’t mean to, but he can’t help it. He lived with Neil for long enough that the instinct is always there. He goes tense underneath Eddie, under his weight, freezing before he’s pushing back, feeling caught-out, heart pounding.

Billy doesn’t remember locking the door behind him. Never does.

“Who the fuck?” Billy says.

Eddie blinks a few times, a little startled himself, but he frowns and smooths a soothing hand across Billy’s shoulders as they sit up together. “I dunno. But they’re knocking all polite like. Probably a friendly.”

He climbs over Billy and off of the bed a little clumsily, grinning when it makes Billy snort. Gets to his feet and holds out a hand.

“You wanna come with, or do you wanna leave it to me?” Eddie asks.

There’s another knock, just a little louder this time.

The worst part is that Billy doesn’t want to. It’s not like Neil Hargrove is going to be at Eddie’s door, but the fact that Billy feels suddenly wrong-footed makes it seem a little possible.

But he slides out of bed after Eddie, regardless of his little jolt of panic. Takes his hand and then ushers him to the door, following easily in his footsteps. For Eddie, Billy thinks he’d do a lot of shit he doesn’t want to do.

Eddie laces their fingers together right up until they get to the door. Only lets him go, then, so that he can answer without giving the wrong person the right impression. He didn’t have to let go at all, though, because when he opens the door, it’s Steve that’s standing there.

“Oh, hi,” Steve says, blinking at the both of them. “I was kinda hoping that Billy would be over here, since I didn’t see Wayne’s truck, but–”

But Eddie is already grabbing him by the front of the shirt to yank him inside.

Eddie’s nightmare must have left them both on edge, because the relief is overwhelming. Once Eddie’s gotten Steve inside and closed the door behind him, Billy hauls Steve in for a kiss. He hears Eddie chuckle behind him. Billy smacks at him, blind.

Steve lets out a muffled sound against his mouth, but he goes easily where Billy tugs him, hands coming to brace at Billy’s shoulders. Between the heated little presses of their mouths, Steve huffs out a laugh.

“I’m glad to see I wasn’t the only one missing someone,” Steve mutters, blinking as Billy pulls back. “Wasn’t expecting such a warm welcome, though.”

When Billy leans back, Eddie’s right there, draping himself over Billy’s back. Such a warm, perfect weight. Billy can’t help but lean into him. He also can’t help the little smile that finds its way to his lips, either.

“Can’t we be happy to see you?” Billy asks.

“You can,” Steve replies, grin a little crooked, one hand catching in Billy’s shirt before the other goes for Eddie’s. “I mean, I did sneak out to come see you guys. Out the window and everything.”

Eddie lets out a little whistle. “What would your parents say?”

“That I’m wasting my life hanging out with hooligans,” Steve says, and then winces. “Dad’s words, not mine.”

“He’s not wrong,” Billy says, leaning hard into Eddie. “Munson’s definitely a hooligan.”

He feels Eddie flick his ear and shakes his head against the little bite of pain. “You are too, sunshine.”

“No,” Billy says, reaching out to grab Steve and pull him in a little closer. “I’m picture perfect.”

Steve stumbles forward into them, laughing outright at Billy’s guileless little blink.

“It’s kinda hard to believe that I’m the best behaved here,” Steve says.

Eddie clicks his tongue. “We’re such god awful hooligans.”

Steve hiccups out another laugh, and then he’s reaching up to catch Eddie’s jaw, leaning over Billy’s shoulder to catch his mouth for a moment.

It’s weird to think that before all of this, Billy would’ve boiled over in jealousy at that sight. Now, he feels liable to boil over in—something else entierly. A warm and steady kind of desire so intertwined with fondness that it makes Billy feel overwhelmed, dizzy. He can’t stop looking at them, can’t stop staring.

When Steve pulls back from the kiss, Eddie catches Billy’s eye. He grins and then leans in to press kiss to Billy’s nose. “You look lovesick, sweetheart.”

Billy feels himself go hot.

It only abates, and even then only a bit, when a flush chases across Steve’s face and he reaches around to smack at Eddie’s side. “Like you don’t look lovesick anytime Billy climbs out of my pool?”

Eddie shrugs and shuffles in closer, sandwiching Billy between them a bit, not giving him a lick of relief for the heat under his skin. “I’m a simple man. I’ve got two hot boyfriends, why wouldn’t I stare?”

That doesn’t help, either. Billy’s still not used to hearing it– he’s barely used to thinking it– and hearing Eddie say it so easily makes him feel a little off-kilter.

Steve rolls his eyes with a little huff of a laugh. “And you certainly do like staring.”

Eddie hums, swaying a bit, jostling Billy so that he can jostle Steve. “I like watching, too.”

Billy can relate. Being able to just look without fear of repercussions, being able to look to just look—it’s so refreshing. Rewarding. Feels like a drug of its very own.

Sandwiched between the two of them, in the already steamy heat of Eddie’s trailer, Billy feels almost feverish. For once, it’s not a bad thing. It’s something he can just fall into—and he lets himself, leaning in to catch Steve’s lips in his again. He takes it slower, this time. Is greedy and indulgent with the kiss. And becomes even more so when he hears Eddie humming appreciatively right at his ear, when he feels Eddie’s hands climbing up the ladder of his ribcage, sneaking under his shirt.

Steve’s mouth is soft and sweet and against his. It opens so easy for Billy’s tongue, Steve angling his head to better meet him. Always more than happy to kiss, for as long as Billy or Eddie want to kiss him. Always shuffling in closer, like he’s afraid they’ll pull away.

Billy knows the feeling.

He feels Eddie’s lips press to the side of his neck. They’re sweet, too.

“I couldn’t interest you fellas in a perfectly acceptable bed, could I?” he asks, one hand circling around under Billy’s shirt to splay out over his belly.

Billy’s hum gets muffled against Steve’s mouth. Dampened under his tongue.

“Dunno,” Billy says, pulling back to mouth at Steve’s jaw. “How do you feel about going to bed with two hooligans, Steve?”

Billy’s lips catch on a stray bit of stubble at Steve’s jaw. He smiles and drags his teeth over the patch, delighting in the way just that little bit of pain makes Steve shiver.

“My dad would be appalled,” Steve replies, but Billy feels the hand on his arm curl tight. “I don’t mind so much.”

“Oh, goody,” Eddie grins, already shifting and tugging, shuffling then clumsily away from the front door and toward the hall leading to his room. “Gives us a chance to get you all dirty before you have to go home.”

“My parents are leaving on a 4am flight,” Steve replies, blushing at Eddie’s words and sighing blissfully when Billy’s teeth drag over his skin again– he stumbles after them, into them, clinging as Eddie tugs them along. “Said goodbye before bed. I’m all yours.”

The way to Eddie’s bedroom is rote, at this point. Billy could find it in his sleep, eyes closed. Not that it’s complicated—but it feels so familiar, so easy. So right.

“Damn right you’re all ours,” Billy says, letting Eddie pull him and pulling Steve right along with him, up until the three of them fall into Eddie’s sardine-can-sized bed and tangle up together.

Being horizontal allows Billy to kiss Steve deeper, to fall into it like breathing. It’s only Eddie, at his back, with his teeth at Billy’s ear, who keeps him from getting truly lost in it.

“Easy, tiger. Slow down; there’s no rush,” Eddie tells him.

Steve hums against his mouth, though. Wiggles closer on the bed, more than eager to kiss him fast and deep– or long and slow, as Eddie eases some of Billy’s frantic energy with a hand smoothing down his side.

He’s got Steve’s legs tangled with his. Can feel their hips go flush as Eddie presses in from behind. Can feel the way Steve’s breath catches when Eddie does it again, coaxing them both into a little rocking motion– almost idle if it weren’t so tantalizing.

“What pretty boys I have,” Eddie mutters, words hot at Billy’s ear. “All tangled up for me, like a wet dream.”

Steve lets out a breathless sound, flinching forward into Billy, skin warming under his hands.

“I think you should touch him, sweetheart. Get your hands underneath that preppy shirt of his,” Eddie says. “He came all the way out here for us, I think he deserves something for his trouble.”

It’s so desperately easy to follow Eddie’s direction. To push his hands up Steve’s shirt and start mapping back out the terrain of his ribs. It’s becoming familiar, now, the slope of Steve’s skin, the topography of it. Almost as familiar now as Eddie’s, which Billy didn’t know was a marker, but clearly is.

“Shit,” Billy breathes out, catching Steve’s lower lip between his teeth. “Steve—”

Steve’s skin is so hot, so warm and responsive underneath Billy’s hands. It beads up into gooseflesh the second Billy starts touching him, and soon Steve is shuddering against him as he rocks into Billy.

As his fingers grope and drag over Steve’s sides, up his back, feeling him twitch and shiver and gasp against his mouth.

“It’s warm,” Steve mumbles– and it is, Billy can already feel a hint of sweat under his touch.

“Easily fixed,” Eddie says, pressing a kiss to Billy’s neck. “Take his shirt off for me, would you, sweetheart?”

Billy does. Steve’s arms go up for him, easy as pie, and then Billy’s pulling his shirt off, exposing all that soft flesh for the two of them.

“Yours too,” Eddie says.

It’s gone before Billy even realizes he’s doing it. And then his hands are back on Steve, mouth kissing at Steve’s neck. He tastes like sweat, like soap, a bit like cologne, too.

Steve groans quietly, hands going for Billy’s arm and his shoulder, clutching him close as Billy drags his tongue over his pulse. He shudders again, hips rolling forward to meet his, and Billy can feel how aroused he is already.

Hears Steve sigh his name, baring his throat to him.

At his back, Eddie hums and palms at Billy’s hip. “The things I want to see you do to him… you wanna be good for me, sweetheart?”

Billy can’t help but nod against Steve’s skin, teeth scratching over Steve’s jugular as he does. He feels Steve’s breath hitch, his body shudder. Because Billy does want to be good—if only to hear Eddie tell him that he’s good. Which is just as good, sometimes, as Eddie making him be good.

But right now, with Steve easy underneath him, Billy wants to be good. Wants to let Eddie tell him he is.

“Good boy,” Eddie breathes, getting a hand in his hair, gripping it and giving it a gentle little pull– not leading him anywhere, just reminding him he’s there. “Wanna see you get your mouth on him, again.”

Steve lets out a tight moan, nails digging in at Billy’s shoulder, winding tight just from the anticipation.

And then Eddie is pushing his mouth tighter to Billy’s ear. “Nice and slow. Build it up. Maybe he’ll even let you eat him out if we string him along enough.”

Steve goes hot under Billy’s mouth. “Jesus. What–?”

The noise that Billy makes against Steve’s skin is desperate, terrible.

“Fuck, please,” Billy says, before he can stop himself, shivering and kissing along Steve’s jawline. “Please, baby.”

Steve shivers helplessly against him. “I don’t–”

He barks out a nervous laugh. Eddie reaches over and runs his hand up Steve’s side, too. Makes him shudder again.

“What does that even mean?” Steve asks, but he’s blushing and so hard against Billy through his pants.

“You wanna tell him, sweetheart?” Eddie says.

Billy thinks he gets the idea. But doesn’t mind illuminating him a little bit more. Just to make Steve blush even deeper. Just to get him to squirm a little bit more.

“Please, Steve,” Billy says, nipping at his neck. “Wanna get between your legs, spread those cheeks, and get my mouth on you.”

Billy tongues over his pulse and then bites down, a little harder than before.

“Wanna lick inside you, wanna feel you squirm over my face. Wanna open you up with my tongue, baby.”

Steve makes a sound, winded and gutted, breath going right out of him. His temperature seems to rise even higher, his fingers flinching over Billy’s skin, like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

“Billy’s real good with his tongue, baby,” Eddie tells him, and Billy gets to feel the way the desperate little sound Steve makes thrums against his tongue as he mouths down the bobbing work of his throat. “And he loves putting it to good use. Don’t you, sunshine?”

“Sure fucking do,” Billy agrees.

When he kisses at the corner of Steve’s mouth, he barely has a moment before Steve’s catching Billy in a kiss, hungry and desperate. Behind him, Eddie chuckles.

“I think that’s at least a partial vote in favor,” Eddie says. “What do you say, sweetheart, are you going to get your mouth on Steve’s cock until he’s begging for more?”

The only downside to maneuvering his way down between Steve’s legs is no longer being sandwiched between the two of them. But there’s a singular pleasure in kneeling between Steve’s legs, sliding down his pants and stripping him bare, and then wrapping his lips around Steve’s dick like his mouth belongs there.

Steve’s hips lurch off the bed a bit, but he’s easily pinned in place by Billy’s hands. Holds him down as he squirms, cock already leaking across Billy’s tongue.

“Jesus fucking christ,” Steve gasps out, fingers already going for Billy’s hair, but Eddie is catching his wrists and drawing them away, and then Steve is whining. “That’s not fair.”

“Never said anything about being fair,” Billy hears Eddie say, using a hand to press Steve’s wrists above his head before letting his other palm ghost over the quiver of Steve’s belly. “We are hooligans, after all.”

And then he’s sinking a hand into Billy’s hair, gripping just snug enough to let him know he’s there again. He kisses Steve soundly, long and heavy and deep, muffling every little moan and gasp Steve makes. Billy can only partially see it, with Eddie’s mass of hair in the way, blocking his view from between Steve’s legs, but he can hear it. The messiness of the kiss and all of the little sounds that Eddie drags out of him.

It’s more encouragement than Billy needs.

He’s real sweet with it, taking his time to work his tongue and lips over Steve. He takes Eddie’s earlier words to heart—they aren’t in a rush. He doesn’t need to get Steve in his throat as soon as possible, maybe not even at all. After all, if he plays his cards right and builds up Steve’s desire just so, maybe he’ll be able to get his mouth on other parts of Steve, too.

So, Billy teases him. Tongues slowly around the tip of his cock, playing with the sensitive underside with the tip of his tongue, before swallowing him down all wet and tight, sucking until he hears Steve whining into Eddie’s mouth.

Eddie rubs over his scalp, soothing and scratching, encouraging as he busies himself with Steve’s mouth. Only pulls away once Steve starts arching off the bed, straining under their attention.

Steve’s breath is a shuddering, short thing. He moans, hips flexing against Billy’s grip, like he’s trying to get deeper into the wet heat of Billy’s mouth.

“Fuck– fuck, that’s–” Steve twists against the sheets, sweat beading on his skin.

“Is it good, baby?” Eddie asks, low and breathless himself, and Billy glances up to see Eddie staring down at the both of them, looking so very pleased.

“Yeah– yeah, it’s–” Steve groans as Billy hums. “So good. So fucking good, Billy.”

“Hear that, sweetheart?” Eddie asks, petting through Billy’s curls, watching as Billy bobs his head a bit and Steve moans and tries to buck up. “You’re doing good. You think Stevie is being good?”

Billy hums around Steve’s cock again. Bobs his head a few more times and sucks. And then he pulls off, tongue catching all the precome beading at the head of Steve’s cock, licking it away and savoring the bitter taste.

“Being so good,” Billy says. He runs his fingers over Steve’s hips and digs them in, holds him down. “So fucking good for us.”

Steve huffs out a breathless laugh, blushing helplessly and squirming under his touch. Sitting at his side, still holding Steve’s hands in place with an easy grip over his wrists, Eddie untangles his fingers from Billy’s hair so that he can tease the tips of his fingers over the tremble of muscles under the skin of Steve’s stomach. Billy watches the way it makes Steve shudder and the way it makes his breath hitch in his chest.

Eddie catches Billy’s eyes and smiles. Traces idly over one of Steve’s scars, up the ladder of his ribs, thumbs over one of his nipples.

“So good for us,” Eddie repeats, thumb dragging over sensitive skin until it stands at a peak. “So pretty. And all ours, all night.”

Steve moans, almost mindless. “Eddie–”

But Eddie’s eyes are locked with Billy’s. “What should we do with him, huh?”

“Wreck him,” Billy says, abandoning Steve’s cock to lean down and press an uncharacteristically gentle kiss to the jut of Steve’s hip bone. “Make him scream,” Billy says, moving to Steve’s other side to mouth right under Steve’s ribs, pressing another lazy, soft kiss there.

Steve grunts, skin jumping under Billy’s mouth, flush to his ears and down to his chest. “Make me scream?” he asks, voice cracking.

His pupils are blown to shit. Like he’s taken a good hit from one of Eddie’s blunts.

“What, you don’t think we can make you scream, Stevie?” Eddie asks, clicking his tongue, rolling one of Steve’s nipples between his fingers– not quite pinching, but it’s enough to make his back bow up and his breath stall. “I don’t think he believes us, Billy.”

Billy knows that Eddie can be mean in such a gentle way, knows how overwhelming it can be. He can see it now, in the arch of Steve’s back and the tightness of his muscles, all pulled taut with desire.

“God,” Billy says, mouthing his way back down to Steve’s hip, and then back to his cock. “Now it’s a challenge.”

Billy swallows him down in one go, as far as he can go easily, mouth gentle and wet and soft around Steve’s cock.

“Fuck!” Steve gasps, and Billy feels his legs sort of kick under him, sensation instant and good because Billy makes it good, tongue working along the underside of Steve’s cock until it twitches in his mouth. “God– I promise it wasn’t a challenge–”

“Too late, baby,” Eddie tsks, still playing with him. “Unless you want us to stop?”

“No–” Steve hisses, and Billy thinks he spies Eddie dragging blunt nails lightly over the soft skin of Steve’s belly. “No, don’t stop.”

“You gonna beg for anything else?” Billy asks, pulling off after a moment to lick and kiss at the side of Steve’s cock.

Steve lets out a low sound, straining his head forward a bit to peer down at him only to groan and flop back just at the sight of Billy dragging his tongue over his length. And it’s funny– Steve only gets catty and mean when he’s embarrassed or too worked up. He’s obviously a bit of both right now.

Especially when he says, “I wasn’t even the one who was saying please earlier.”

Billy can’t help but flush warm, just a little bit. At his own desire, his over-eagerness. But knowing that Steve’s more embarrassed than him takes the edge off. Has Billy grinning after only a beat. Teasing the tip of Steve’s cock with the tip of his tongue.

“I think you want me to,” Billy says. “I think you’re curious.”

Steve’s cock leaks, precum beading at the tip as Billy laps it up. Steve twitches, hips straining under Billy’s hands.

“I just–” Steve huffs. “It’s so– weird?”

“It’s hot,” Eddie tells him, leaning down, smacking a kiss to Steve’s forehead. “And you don’t have to– but if you wanna try it, we can always stop if you hate it.”

Steve makes a small, strangled little noise before he blurts, “Of course I wanna try it– I wanna try a bunch of shit, I just don’t know how to say it.”

Billy’s gut goes hot. He feels Eddie’s hand sneak over and ruffle his hair. Like he’s just reminding Billy he’s there. Too sweet.

Always so sweet.

“So, you’re just going to be a brat about it,” Billy says. He leans down and nips at Steve’s hip. “I see how it is.”

Steve’s head pops up, and it’s almost comical how offended he looks. “I’m not a brat.”

Eddie scoffs. “You’re both brats.”

Billy makes an affronted sound, maybe as—if not more—offended as Steve. “See if I blow you later, Munson.”

Those fingers in Billy’s hair find a grip and tug, just enough to steal the breath right out of Billy’s mouth.

“Was hoping for more than just a blowjob,” Eddie says. “But see? You’re being a brat.”

“If we’re both brats, what does that make you?” Steve asks, tone pretty snide for someone who’s pinned down to a bed, the most naked of the bunch.

But Eddie smiles down at him, amused, eyes dark. “That’s easy, baby. I’m the Dungeon Master.”

Steve snorts, focus falling down to Billy. “We should start a rebellion.”

Billy nips at Steve’s skin again. Makes a big show of thinking about it. “We could. But Munson did have some good ideas…”

“Traitor,” Steve replies.

Eddie is laughing. Laughing and leaning down to catch Steve’s mouth– pressing his smile to his lips before kissing him long and slow. Long enough to leave Steve a little dazed after.

“Behave,” Eddie says.

And Billy gets to feel the lovely little tremble that shakes through Steve’s body. He’s not sure he’s ever seen something so hot.

“We can rebel after I eat you out,” Billy says, pressing his lips to the place he just nipped. “How about that?”

Steve shudders again. He’s quiet for a moment, and Billy can feel how his muscles pull a little taut under his skin as he tries to keep still.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, and then his chest hitches, like he surprised himself by saying it– but it doesn’t stop him from saying it again. “Yeah, okay.”

Eddie darts down. Presses an urgent, eager little kiss to Steve’s mouth. Pulls back grinning.

“Tell us if you wanna stop,” he says, and then he’s turning those dark eyes on Billy. “How do you want him, sunshine? I’ll let you pick.”

Billy hums, like he’s debating it. Like he doesn’t already know exactly how he wants Steve. He even gives Steve’s cock one last blow, just to get him all nice and needy before moving, before getting his arms underneath Steve’s thighs and hooking them over his shoulders.

Steve protests—squawks—as Billy hoists him up, lifting his hips up and off the bed. Steve’s flexible, so his body bends easily with it. It gives Billy easy access, or easy enough, anyway.

“Holy shit, I can’t believe you’re just gonna–” Steve sucks in a tight breath, feeling the kiss Billy presses low on the inside of one of his thighs, the touch of Billy’s hands smoothing over the backs of them. “This is–”

But he can’t finish his sentence, too busy squirming.

“Relax, baby,” Eddie tells him, and then turns his focus on Billy. “Nice and slow, sweetheart. Don’t rush him.”

Billy huffs. He presses another kiss, real slow, to Steve’s thigh, but higher up this time. Just to show Eddie that he’s being nice, not rushing Steve. Because as hungry as he is to get his mouth on Steve, he also doesn’t want to spook him. He’s done enough of that for a lifetime.

“Good,” Eddie tells him, with a little laugh. “Just like that.”

And so Billy works his way up Steve’s inner thigh, just like that. The higher he goes, the more Steve jerks and squirms, his weight pressing Billy down by the shoulders in the best possible way. Eventually he makes his way up to the crease where his ass hits his thigh, a beautiful little slope, and Billy can’t help but run his teeth over the sensitive skin there, so gentle, but a little teasing, too.

When Steve jerks and groans, Eddie flicks Billy on the ear. “Gentle.”

And Billy is gentle, as he eases his face between Steve’s cheeks, giving Steve time to protest, to push him back, to change his mind—but Steve doesn’t. He just holds his breath, going stock-still, until Billy’s very first lick with the flat of his tongue.

Steve spasms. Twitches hard, almost like a full on startle, and gasps out. Shivers so heavily that Billy feels it sing down his own spine like an echo.

When Billy licks again, the same slow drag of his tongue, Steve does it all again– but he makes the sweetest little sound, half confused and half wanting.

“Good,” he hears Eddie say, low and calm.

His hands aren’t on Billy any more, which means they’re on Steve, gentling him, easing him into a bit more calm.

Billy flattens out his tongue and laps over Steve, delighting in every shiver, every little gasp. He knows that it’s a soft but overwhelming sensation, so different from the tight constriction of your cock in someone’s mouth, so different from teeth at your throat. It always makes Billy feel exposed—and knowing Steve, and feeling the way he’s holding himself all taut, he probably feels the same way.

He has Steve squirming again in no time. Feels the twitch and pull of muscles as he shifts. Feels one of Steve’s heels dig in at his back as his breath catches and stalls. Wonders if his toes curl when Billy’s leans further into him to just press at and work over his rim. Feels the way he spasms and clenches reflexively.

“Give him a little more, sweetheart,” Eddie says, and he can hear the way Steve mewls– wonders what his face looks like, when Billy has him like this. “He can take it. Feels good, doesn’t it, Stevie?”

“Haa, I– Eddie, it’s–” Steve moans, high and breathless, jerking as Billy starts pressing in a little firmer. “Fuck, Billy, please–”

It’s so easy, to change up the pressure of his tongue, to start lapping against Steve’s hole enough that his tongue begins to dip inside. He holds Steve up with steady hands, feeling the way Steve’s shudders, the way he suddenly goes a little bit loose when Billy’s tongue slides into him, hole fluttering against Billy’s mouth.

Steve lets out a shuddering sound, thighs flinching tight in a way that makes Billy almost groan. “Oh, fuck– oh, fuck, Billy–”

“It’s so good, isn’t it, baby?” Eddie asks, and Billy hears the bed groan, feels it shift as Eddie eases himself down next to them on top of the sheets. “Makes you feel all wet, doesn’t it?”

Steve seizes, barely held in place by the two of them as he makes a wonderfully flustered noise. “Eddie–”

The rush of hearing Steve moan out Eddie’s name is un-fucking-paralleled. So is the way Steve clenches his thighs tight around Billy’s head. It makes him feel breathless.

“Billy’s so good at this, look at how well he’s taking care of you,” Eddie’s saying, as Billy licks into Steve, pointing his tongue and then pressing it in deep.

“Billy– wait, it’s so–” Steve’s thighs clamp over his ears tighter, his voice breaking, getting more frantic as Billy licks him open. “Hnn, it’s hot– I feel like I’m– fuck, like I’m gonna melt.”

If Steve feels like he’s going to melt, Billy feels molten. Steve’s pleasure is so hot, so absolutely desperate that it feels all-consuming, inescapable. Like Billy’s getting caught up in the whirlwind of it.

With single-minded focus, Billy keeps eating Steve out. With those thighs clamped around his ears, Steve’s moans are muffled, but deep. So loud that Billy can feel them in his gut.

Sometimes, Billy loses focus on his own pleasure, his own desire, too focused on getting Steve off—but not now. No, now everything is too hot, too much, and Billy aches desperately to grind against something, to reach down and palm his own cock, just for some relief.

Eddie seems to sense it. Or scent it, like blood in the water, because he’s moving down the bed to get to Billy.

“Hold tight, Stevie,” Eddie mutters, and Steve whines, long and breathless as Eddie shifts to hover at Billy’s back.

Gets his hands on him, warm from touching Steve, smoothing over his shoulders and down his sides. Gets his mouth pressing to the center of his back as he shifts down behind him, between his legs, and gets his fingers digging into his hips.

“Lift your hips, sunshine,” he says, kissing between his shoulder blades.

Billy shivers. He feels dizzy for a moment, overwhelmed—just like Steve. But Billy wants it, so fucking badly. He’s powerless to do anything other than just listen, lifting his hips just as Eddie asks.

He’s rewarded by Eddie’s long fingers working his pants open and dragging them down and off, palming over his ass, gripping hard and squeezing the cheeks apart. Billy groans against Steve’s skin, tongue fucking harder into him as Eddie’s hands spread wide.

He hears the thud of Steve’s hands scrambling for purchase on the wall Eddie’s bed is pressed up against. Hears the way Steve’s breath goes short and sharp, a continuous little shudder rippling through him as Billy works Steve loose and pliant, fucking his tongue in deep with a blind desire to feel Steve fall apart on his face.

Behind him, Eddie is still palming his ass open. Still taking his time, kneeing Billy’s legs wider, humming as Steve’s moans take on a trembling pitch, breathing Billy’s name like he might cry. Only then does Billy feel Eddie pull away and return with slick fingers.

Not even spit-slick, but lube-slick. Billy knows Eddie keeps it by the bed for easy access, but he hadn’t heard him grab it. The sound he makes is muffled against Steve’s skin, but that doesn’t make it any less embarrassing, any less desperate. Because it shouldn’t take him by surprise, but it does. It always does, the way that his body opens up for Eddie, the way Eddie touches him so easily, so greedily. The way that it feels good, every goddamn time.

He feels Eddie’s fingers tease between his cheeks. Feels them press and tease and touch– before pushing in. Two fingers, thick and perfect and so wet, work over his rim and into the heat of him as Eddie holds him open with the other hand.

Eddie isn’t gentle, doesn’t need to be when Billy is so fucking hot for it, but he’s not rough either. Takes his time working his fingers into Billy. Groans when he presses three knuckles deep, and he smooths his hand up Billy’s back to squeeze at the back of his neck as he pumps his fingers idle and deep. Overwhelming him so easily and completely.

“So fuckin’ hot, Billy,” Eddie mutters. “So needy for it– both of you. Should see Stevie’s face, sunshine. Should see how much his cock is leaking.”

Steve hiccups out a desperate noise, flinching tight.

“You like that, Stevie?” Eddie asks. “Knowing that I’m fingering him open while he’s eating you out?”

Billy shudders, but the way that Steve shakes is practically an earthquake. The sound he makes is beautiful—and so is the way that his fingers find Billy’s hair, digging in and pulling hard.

It has Billy groaning, long and low and so very pleased, the sound yanked up from the bottom of his stomach with the pull of Steve’s fingers. It has Billy’s back bowing forward, his hips pressing back, his grip shifting on Steve’s thighs to tug him closer to his mouth.

Behind him, Eddie fingers more lube into him, fingers working him over until he’s wet and soft under his deft and insistent touch. He laughs breathlessly as Billy moans.

“Such a good boy for me, Billy,” Eddie says, a third finger already starting to bully in with the rest. “Treating Stevie so well. Gonna make a mess of him for me, sweetheart?”

Steve gasps in breath after breath, pulling helplessly at Billy’s hair. Billy can feel the flinch and spasm of his body, of hot muscles squeezing tight around his tongue, can feel the tension pull the muscles in his legs trembling and taut. Billy’s head swims as he realizes how close he’s gotten him, how desperate and squirming.

Billy gasps against Steve’s skin, shuddering as that third finger stretches him wide. This used to hurt—but Billy’s found that the more they do this, the more easily his body opens up for Eddie’s perfect hands. The more easily he takes it.

It’s distracting, almost—but so is the way that Steve’s body spasms against his tongue, the way that Steve moans and whines. It draws Billy’s focus back to him, back to licking him. Fucking his tongue into Steve’s hole.

“Hnnngh, Billy–” Steve says his name like he’s barely holding on, straining like the sensation of Billy fucking him open with his tongue is too much for him to take. “Haa, fuck– fuck, Billy, please–”

Eddie groans as Billy keeps stringing Steve along, as Billy feels Steve shudder violently under his attentions, as Steve sobs out when Billy tugs him tighter to his face and fucks his tongue impossibly deeper. Eddie rewards him with the same, three fingers deep inside of him, stretching him just right, leaving him groaning all guttural and fucked out against the heat of Steve’s body.

“Should see him, sweetheart,” Eddie tells him as Steve gasps out his name, over and over, Billy Billy Billy– until his brain feels like it’s swimming between his ears. “You’ve got him so close. Think he’s gonna come apart for you, just like this.”

Steve lets out a warbling little keen that bleeds into something like a sob, fingers tugging at Billy’s hair. “I can’t. I can’t–”

“You can,” he hears Eddie assure, low and sweet, curling his fingers inside of Billy in a way that makes his legs feel like jelly. “Give him a little more, won’t you, Billy? He likes you opening him up. Wreck him for me, sunshine.”

Billy dreams about getting his fingers in Steve, just like Eddie’s doing for him right now. Wants to open him up and see him writhe across Eddie’s sheets. But Billy’s mouth is full. And the thought of pulling back, even for a second, to ask if that’s something Steve wants, isn’t something he thinks he can do.

But he can move his hand, just a little bit. And move his thumb to press right next to his hole, right where Billy’s thrusting his tongue in. Just that slightest bit of pressure, stretching him just enough that Billy can fuck his tongue in deeper, harder. Just that little tease, the kind he knows makes his own body go flush and wanting, desperate for it.

He feels Steve squirming, rocking, against his face. Feels the way he seeks out the slick pressure of Billy’s tongue and his touch. Feels how he draws tight, gasping and gasping, like Billy’s got him right on the edge.

“That’s it, baby,” Eddie says, breathless and dark and so hungry, encouraging Billy on with the thrust of his fingers. “Come on, Stevie, you’re right there. Let me see you fall apart.”

Never in Billy’s wildest dreams did he ever imagine he would get to feel Steve Harrington shudder to pieces under his mouth like this. The way he flinches and rides down against his tongue, the way he trembles so wonderfully, the way he sobs Billy’s name and spasms as he spills out. It’s one of the most heady things Billy’s ever experienced.

Billy’s vision almost goes dark, just at that. It doesn’t help that Eddie’s fucking him solidly with his fingers, distracting him as he licks Steve through it, burying his face deep between Steve’s cheeks and eating him out with every ounce of energy he has.

Steve’s still twitching through the aftershocks when Billy pulls back, as he lays Steve back down on the bed so that he can kiss at his hips—and then lap up the cum he spilled on himself.

“Oh, shit,” Eddie says through a laugh, twisting his fingers inside Billy as Billy cleans Steve up with his tongue. “Look at that, my two good boys.”

Billy shivers.

Under his lips, as he’s mouthing across Steve’s belly and panting hot against his skin, he can feel the sharp rise and fall of Steve’s chest and stomach. Can feel the quiver of his muscles and how clumsy his hands have become, gripping loosely at Billy’s hair.

And when he looks, when he finally lifts his head enough to peer down at Steve laying sprawled beneath him, he can’t help but moan at the shivering spill of him. The flush of his features, lax and almost awed, lips parted as he tries to catch his breath.

“Did so fucking good, Billy,” Eddie tells him, bending over him to kiss his shoulder, one hand on his hip to keep him at hand as he stretches him wide with his fingers. “Look at what you did.”

The damp lashes. The blown pupils. The way his body still quivers with aftershocks. Steve Harrington is a wreck.

Billy’s no artist, but he feels like one right now. Admiring his own masterpiece, his own hard work.

He touches and mouths over Steve with reverence, like he’s trying to soak him all in, eat him all up. It never, never feels like enough. Even as he gets his mouth back around Steve’s softening cock, determined to clean that up, too.

Steve flinches, jerking underneath Billy’s weight.

And then Eddie does something magical with his fingers and Billy’s world goes bright. He moans, loud and terrible, around Steve’s cock. Practically choking on it, around it. And sucks him down deep.

But before Steve can even protest, Billy’s pulling back, gasping wet against Steve’s hip, barely even able to hold himself up.

“Jesus– fuck me,” he begs.

“Yeah,” Eddie breathes, but he’s still fingering him, not even slowing down. “Yeah, I guess you’ve earned it, haven’t you? So hot for it.”

And Eddie must be pretty worked up, too. Must be playing on the edge of his own control– because he usually has no compunction for stringing him out until he’s saying please, of dragging Billy’s pleasure out to the point of agony, without giving him what he wants until he’s begging for it properly.

But right now, Eddie is as hungry as Billy. And Steve is whining as Billy pants against him, oversensitive and sprawled out like a wet dream. Like their wet dream.

So he doesn’t tease Billy much longer. Kisses between his shoulders and breathes praise there as he pulls his fingers free, as Billy hears the rustle of clothes being shoved down, the ripping of a condom wrapper, the hiss of Eddie rolling in on. Then, Billy feels Eddie lining up and pressing in.

Doesn’t give him a chance to catch his breath. Just gives him exactly what he asked for, rocking into him slowly but steadily, and he’s not as long as Steve but he’s thick enough to make Billy pant as he bottoms out.

Eddie always makes him feel so perfectly full. Stuffed and hollowed out.

Steve’s fingers find Billy’s hair again. Carding through it, fingers scratching at his scalp. All while Billy whines—and moans, desperate—against Steve’s skin.

“Shit,” Eddie’s saying, “sweetheart, you feel so good for me.”

At that, Steve moans almost as loud as Billy does. Especially when Billy’s hands scrabble at him for purchase, for some stability. As Eddie rocks his hips and fucks Billy wide open.

His head feels cottony and hot. The satisfaction of making a mess of Steve bleeding slowly into the pleasure of Eddie making a mess of Billy. He rocks forward, groaning as Eddie drives into him, splitting him open so perfectly. Feels his eyes roll back for a moment, when Steve pulls at his hair right as Eddie is filling him up.

Eddie’s fingers feel like they might bruise, locked tight over his hips, but even as he fucks Billy deep, he keeps his rhythm terribly slow.

“See, Stevie?” Eddie asks, breathless and amused, teasing them both as he says, “Billy likes getting opened up just as much as you.”

Steve shudders, breath stalling, and he shifts restless beneath Billy as Eddie drives in just a little harder, to punctuate his point.

Billy groans. He lets his teeth graze over Steve’s skin. Holds onto him tight as Eddie fucks into him, deep.

“Felt so good. Opening you up on my tongue,” Billy says. He feels feverish. “You’re so fucking hot, Steve. Wanna—wanna get my fingers in you, too.”

Draped over Steve like this, Billy feels the way Steve’s cock gives a little kick against his belly, trapped between the two of them.

“Fuck,” Billy breathes out. “You—mm—you like that, baby?”

Steve’s fingers flinch tight in his hair, breath stalling, and Billy can feel the way his shudder has his abdomen quivering and drawing taut. “I– please, I’ve– I’ve wanted it since I saw you guys on my couch, Billy, please–”

Behind him, Eddie bucks forward with a sharp curse, groaning and draping himself heavy over Billy with his forehead at the center of his back– like the thought of Steve wanting, privately and quietly for that long, is enough to have him crumbling a bit. He feels Eddie squeeze tight at his hips.

“Touch him, baby,” Eddie pants, rutting into Billy with a touch of blind desperation that heats Billy from the inside out. “Touch him for me, c’mon, Billy.”

This is as unrestrained as Billy’s ever seen Eddie. And the idea of that, the knowledge, makes Billy burn so goddamn hot.

“Lube,” Billy says, scrambling behind him, palm up in the air. “Eddie, please.”

When Eddie passes him the bottle with a laugh, Billy almost fumbles as he works to coat his fingers. It’s so much, Steve asking for this, all while Eddie’s fucking his brains out. How’s he supposed to concentrate, to keep his hands from shaking as he teases over Steve’s hole with slick fingers?

Steve flinches. Startles with a little hiss. Only settles when Billy hushes him and kisses sloppily over his stomach. Twitches as Billy rubs the pads of his fingers over a hole that’s already been licked sweet and open, sensitive under his touch as Steve’s hands clutch– at his hair and his shoulder.

Billy groans when Eddie bucks forward again. When Steve shudders helplessly as Billy teases him.

“Someday,” Eddie says, moaning as he reaches around to splay a hand over Billy’s stomach, low on his belly, driving in harder, just a little faster, and so perfectly deep. “Someday, I’m gonna fuck you while you fuck Steve, sunshine.”

Steve’s moan sounds like it’s torn from him, ripped out from somewhere deep and raw. “Eddie–”

“Maybe someday we’ll take turns,” Eddie adds, like a slow dripping venom, corroding their heads with heat and want and desire.

Someday, someday, someday.

The idea of endless somedays fills Billy with so much warmth that it’s dizzying. Addictive, like a drug.

Slowly, carefully—trying not to let his hunger get the best of him—Billy begins pushing one finger into Steve. His body is loose and pliant with orgasm, still so lax with pleasure, that it’s not too difficult. The feeling of having Steve open up around his finger—and the sound of him moaning—leaves Billy breathless.

“That okay, baby?” Billy asks.

Eddie’s luckily slowed down a bit in his movements, allowing Billy space to think, to focus on Steve, not completely annihilated by his own pleasure, his own need.

Steve’s head is a rapid little nod, his eyes a wide blink, his hands clutching. Billy can feel him twitch, adjusting to the sensation beautifully with barely even a hitch. Body already used to something at least this thick, though perhaps not this relentless. Billy presses in deep so slowly, so easily, until Steve is keening, cock already hard against his belly again.

“Don’t go nonverbal on us, yet, baby,” Eddie says, breathless at Billy’s back, rocking in slow and deep, leaving pleasure just sparking along both of their nerves, just enough to set Billy’s teeth on edge as his throat works around a low groan. “You like Billy’s fingers in you, Stevie?”

Steve grunts, twitching tight as Billy withdraws, clinging even as Billy teases at the clutch of him with the slick touch of a second finger.

“Yes,” he gasps, shivering as Billy pulls out just to rub over him again, just to feel him spasm and shift all needy beneath him. “Billy, come on–”

Steve’s body opens up so easily for him on the next push. Enough that after only a few moments, Billy is pulling back and beginning to push in two fingers. And Steve—Steve’s body lets him. Just goes loose and perfect, head tipped back in such a way that it makes his jaw cut a perfect angle from Billy’s vantage point, like a fucking painting.

“So good,” Eddie’s saying. “Just like that, sweetheart. Open him up nice and slow.”

Eddie fucks him slow, too. Bottoming out on a particularly ruthless, deep thrust. He stays sheathed there for a moment, long enough to drive Billy crazy—before dragging back out again, leaving Billy groaning as he eases his fingers inside Steve, steadying him with a kiss to his belly. Easing him through it.

Steve’s body is a flinch of pleasure– like he’s not quite sure if he should already be feeling quite so good. His knees twitch in, digging in at Billy’s ribs, body cradling him so perfectly as Eddie rocks into him from behind.

It’s dizzying. Drugging. Billy doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it.

Especially not when Steve whines and pulls at his hair, panting and shifting restlessly as Billy works him open slow.

“Is he nice and tight for you, sweetheart?” Eddie asks, just to be a dick, and just because he knows his mouth is always a good way to make Billy lose his composure.

Straight to the heart, it works in an instant. Billy can’t help but tip his head down and rest his forehead against the sweaty skin of Steve’s hip, groaning low and deep. It’s no surprise that all he can imagine is being inside Steve, feeling how tight Steve would be around his cock like he is around his fingers, right now. Such a warm and perfect pressure, so all-encompassing, so deeply, deeply distracting.

“Aw,” Eddie says, “you a little distracted, sunshine? You thinking about fucking our princess, here?”

He smooths his hands down Billy’s back, over his sweaty, slick skin. Billy feels so hot, so warm, as Eddie drives into him, fucking him deep.

“Shut up,” Billy pants, twisting his fingers inside Steve, just a little bit, working them in further.

“Haa, fuck– Billy–” Steve arches, gasping up at the ceiling of Eddie’s room, one of his hands finding the sheets and fisting tight as he trembles around Billy’s fingers. “God, that’s–”

“Feeling good, Stevie?” Eddie asks, like Steve isn’t already leaking against his belly again, grinding deep into the heat of Billy’s body as he gets his hands back on Billy’s hips to hold him steady. “Keep time with me, sunshine.”

And then he’s withdrawing, nice and steady, not too fast and not too slow– just fucking right. He fucks forward just as smooth, buries just as deep. Starts a rhythm, just like that– and squeezes at Billy’s hips when he expects him to follow.

It’s surprisingly easy, following Eddie’s pace. Billy would’ve thought it distracting, but he grabs ahold of the focus he has on Steve and clings to it, matching the thrusts of his fingers to Eddie’s movements. Following him in rhythm, pace, and depth.

And the way Steve sings out for him with it, all coiled tight and beautiful, is unparalleled.

“So hot,” Billy says, mouthing against Steve’s skin, breathing out against him all hot and wet. “You’re so fucking hot, Steve.”

And then when Eddie changes it up a little, burying himself deep and hitting that place that makes Billy sing, it’s all Billy can do to give the same thing to Steve. To twist his fingers and curl them, searching for that place that will make Steve cry out in desperation.

It doesn’t take long. Steve is so fucking senstive– so responsive– that he knows the moment he gets close, Steve’s body shuddering almost violently.

Soon, Billy is dragging his fingers deep and just right, the same way Eddie is driving into him. Has Steve rocking to meet him, has him moaning as Eddie paces them slowly and carefully toward their ruin.

“Never seen a prettier sight than the two of you like this,” Eddie pants, fingers flexing, Billy’s hips aching under his touch, rolling his hips forward in a filthy grind that has Billy breathing heavy against Steve’s skin again. “Want you a mess, underneath me, all the time.”

Steve moans. Quivers as Billy’s fingers fumble to mimic the grind of Eddie’s cock.

And it’s so good, so fucking perfect, but it doesn’t feel like enough. Billy feels kept on the edge of it, strung out so thin but held back from the finish line.

“Harder,” Billy whines, twisting his fingers up and groaning against Steve’s skin.

Eddie scoffs. “Such a brat,” he mumbles, and then fists his fingers up in Billy’s hair, giving it a sharp little pull.

Enough to distract Billy, to leave his fingers fumbling inside Steve, his breath going out all panted and raw.

“You think I should give it to him harder, Stevie? How do you want it?” Eddie sounds so sweet that Billy kinda wants to punch him, even though his traitorous cock gives a little twitch at Eddie’s teasing tone. “Since you’ll get what Billy gets.”

Steve is panting, breath heavy and threaded with these constant, soft little sounds. He already looks more than a little wrecked.

Still, he nods his head, rapid and eager. “Harder, Eddie, please.”

Behind him, Billy feels Eddie go still for a drawn moment. Hears him take a few slow breathes. Feels him palm over his hip, like he’s reassuring him since Billy can’t see him.

“Well, when you ask me all nice like that, how can I say no?” Eddie asks, and then his grip is tightening in Billy’s hair as his hips lurch back into motion, rutting in just a little faster, but driving in hard and deep with each inward stroke.

Despite knowing it was going to happen—hoping it would, anyway—it throws Billy for a loop. The first few thrusts leave him almost paralyzed with sensation, practically drooling against Steve’s hip. But Eddie gives him just a little tug to his hair and then Billy’s moving again, matching the speed of Eddie’s thrusts with his own fingers, fucking them into Steve to open him up nice and wide, twisting them on occasion and curling upward whenever Eddie drives in deep.

The sound of it all is wet and obscene. Steve takes him so well, hot and clenching around the press of his fingers, moaning and gasping out as Eddie drags them both through the heat of rapture. Billy feels like he’s going to melt– like he’s going to burn– moving between Eddie and Steve so easily it’s like he was always meant to be there, with them.

“Billy– hnng, Billy, don’t–” Steve’s hips roll to meet the thrust of his fingers, falling into rhythm like a natural as he clutches at the sheets and rides out the intensity of Eddie’s pace with sweat glistening on his skin. “Fuck, don’t stop–”

“You wanna give him a little more, sunshine?” Eddie asks, pulling Billy’s head up, forcing him to stare down at where Steve is writhing on his hand. “Wanna make him cream himself for me?”

There’s something about watching Steve like this, strung out and writhing on the sheets, all while Eddie forces him to watch, that leaves Billy breathless, cock leaking against the sheets. He feels like he could come like this, untouched but desperate, just watching. Watching and taking and giving.

Billy nods, frantic with it, and almost fumbles to press another finger against Steve’s hole. He doesn’t press in, not yet, but teases against Steve’s clenching tightness, stretching it. Testing. All while crooking his fingers up, thrusting them in—and watching Steve’s cock kick and dribble in retaliation.

“Fuck,” Billy breathes out, panting between words, “you’re so hot, baby. You gonna cum for us? Gonna—fuck, Eddie—gonna cum on my fingers?”

Steve lets out a sobbing breath. Bucks and nods his head. Moans as he spreads his legs a little wider, like an invitation.

Eddie groans, long and low, hips stuttering. “Come on, baby. Give him what he wants.”

Three fingers is a lot. But when Billy presses them in, almost fucking gentle on the first thrust, Steve’s body takes them so easily. Body parting with a broken, sobbed-out moan. And Billy knows how that feels—that stretch, that give, that pleasure.

“Fuck,” Billy says, Steve’s muscles clenched so tight and wet around him. It feels like heaven. And so does the the way Eddie’s fucking into him, hard and deep and picture perfect.

“Fuck,” Steve says, voice quivering out of him, hands scrambling. “Fuck– oh, fuuck, Billy.”

“That’s it,” Eddie says, and they’re all panting, all so desperate for it, the room so hot around them– his hips lurching into stuttering, sharp thrusts, hitting Billy so deep and just right. “C’mon, baby, cum for us. Just like this, on Billy’s fingers.”

Steve keens, long and aching, and Billy curls his fingers ever so slowly deep– and that’s all it takes. Just Billy’s fingers, spreading him wide and touching him just right, and Steve is spilling out, spend catching Billy’s chin as he makes a mess of his own stomach.

Eddie’s pace hitches faster– harder– a hand snaking around to get a fist around Billy’s cock, pumping just as fast and hard, fingers slick with sweat and lube. “Fuck– fuck, yeah. Come on, Billy, you too. C’mon, sweetheart.”

Billy doesn’t need much, not after seeing Steve lose himself so easily like that. Just the touch of Eddie’s fist, the hard thrust of his cock—and Billy’s coming. Barely touched. Shooting off on Eddie’s sheets and crumpling against Steve’s stomach, fingers still crooked inside Steve, stuck in the position of eeking out every last ounce of pleasure out of him. Distracted.

Steve is left twitching around his fingers as Eddie finishes inside of him. The condom doesn’t prevent Billy from feeling the bloom of heat, the stuttering snap of Eddie’s hips, the relentless touch of his fingers. Eddie grunts and slumps into him, weighing him down in his own mess.

They’re spent. Filthy. Completely tangled.

Billy doesn’t think he’s ever been happier in his life.

Beneath him, Steve whimpers and paws at him, hissing in a breath. “Billy.”

Billy huffs out a laugh. Presses his lips to the warm, sweaty skin of Steve’s hip.

“Sorry, baby,” Billy says.

And then, so slowly, so gently, Billy eases his fingers free of Steve. He feels the flutter of Steve around him, the clench as over-sensitivity takes hold. He kisses Steve’s stomach again once he works his fingers completely free, and breathes out another laugh as he wipes his fingers on Eddie’s already dirty sheets.

“Didn’t make you scream,” Billy says. “Clearly we didn’t try hard enough.”

Steve is a slump on the bed beneath him, chest rising and falling heavily. “Tried plenty hard.”

Nosing up Billy’s spine, Eddie chuckles, tired and low. “Think we tuckered our pretty boy out, huh?”

Billy lets himself collapse, too. Finally giving into the press of Eddie above him and the weight of his own fatigue. He feels Eddie’s lips brush over the knots of his spine, landing a final kiss between his shoulder blades before Eddie pulls back completely. Billy can’t help the annoyed huff, almost a whine, at the sudden cold that takes his place—but Eddie swats at his ass, a gentle little reprimand.

“Such a brat. Just going to clean up—someone’s got to do it,” Eddie says.

A little while later, Billy feels a warm, wet washcloth drag over his skin. He shifts slightly—at the behest of Eddie’s hands—and lets Eddie clean Steve, too.

Steve hums under his attention, going all boneless as Eddie wipes them down. Lays there and watches, smiling when Eddie coaxes Billy up the bed and offers him a little plastic shot glass of mouthwash.

“For your troubles,” Eddie says.

Steve snorts, voice worn when he speaks. “Trouble is right.”

“Worth the trouble,” Eddie hums.

Billy’s mouth tingles with mint by the time Eddie is back on the bed, stealing a kiss and crowding in next to them, making himself fit in the small, crowded space. It feels cozy, homey—and something inside Billy settles, being so close with them, practically tied up in knots on Eddie’s sheets.

“Hey,” Steve says, after a little while, after Billy has started breathing a little sleepily against his neck, all the energy fucked out of him.

He hears the jingle of metal-on-metal but doesn’t open his eyes. Just grunts. Eddie does too, just an inquisitive little sound.

“So,” Steve continues, making that little jingling sound again. “Eddie’s weird sex handcuffs. Have you ever used them, Billy?”

Billy groans.

Steve laughs, breathy and delighted. “I’ll take that as a yes?”

Eddie is sprawled against Billy’s back, one palm out over Steve’s belly, nose tucked into Billy’s hair. He laughs, sleepy and quiet, too.

“Careful, Stevie,” he mutters. “I’ll put you back in the weird sex handcuffs.”

Steve makes a little sound of outrage, but his skin feels warm with his flush. It makes Billy nestle in closer.

“I think he’d like that,” Billy mumbles, arms tightening around Steve, nose pressed right at Steve’s pulse. There’s no real threat to his words, just quiet, sleepy acknowledgement. A little bit of a tease.

Behind him, Eddie is such a long, solid line of heat. So fucking comforting, so perfect. Like earlier today, but better, because Steve’s here, taking up all the extra space.

Steve scoffs, blustering, but he’s too tired to put up much protest.

“I never said that,” he says instead, lacing his fingers with Eddie’s over his belly and giving a squeeze when all Eddie does is laugh, low and so amused, at Billy’s back. “I didn’t.”

“You don’t say a lot of things that you want,” Eddie replies, and Billy feels him wiggle a foot between Billy’s own so that he can hook it over Steve’s leg. “You still want ‘em.”

Steve huffs, but doesn’t have a rebuttal to that. Knows that he’d confessed as much, just a short while ago.

He’s quiet, instead. Quiet enough that Billy thinks that maybe he’s dozed off– spent from their attentions and easy in their arms.

But then Steve clears his throat.

“I want a tattoo,” Steve says, and then tacks on an immediate, “Maybe. Or something.”

Billy snorts.

“Or something,” he says, a little teasing. “How about you sleep on all of that something. We got plenty of time.”

“California is right: no rash decisions in my bed,” Eddie says. “Unless it’s a rash decision about waking us up in the middle of the night to get off again. In that case, be as rash as you want.”

Steve huffs again. Wiggles around a bit, until he’s better tucked against the both of them, pressing his mouth to Billy’s forehead and just humming.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he mutters. “Sleep now?”

Eddie chuckles, squeezing them close. “Sleep now.”

Billy falls asleep to the feeling of Steve’s breath evening out at his hairline and Eddie’s fingers going loose against his stomach. With the three of them all in one place, entangled and crammed in like sardines, everything feels hopeful. So almost close to perfect that Billy can barely even believe it’s true.

chapter 18:

such a lovely place (such a lovely face)

“You got it, pretty boy!” Billy shouts.

He’s not even sure Steve can hear him, but that doesn’t stop Billy from whooping and hollering as Steve toodles back and forth on Billy’s bike, a little unsure but remarkably steady.

Billy’s sitting on an overturned milk-crate, camped out in the empty, abandoned parking lot of the crumbling wreck that used to be the Starcourt Mall, which is now mostly just a hole in the ground surrounded by razorwire and warning signs. It’s not an exciting place to hang out, but the sprawling parking lot’s perfect for their purposes and deserted as fuck—one of Hawkins now untouchable tragedies.

Billy’s been teaching Steve how to ride the bike for a little while now, long enough that the peak of the summer heat has passed and the days have gotten just a little shorter and a little more temperate.

That doesn’t stop Eddie from complaining next to him, sprawled out in a patch of broken asphalt, arm slung over his face and shirt rucked up to his midriff.

“No one ever said you had to wear all black,” Billy says, dragging his fingers over the sweaty skin of Eddie’s belly.

His eyes never leave Steve, though. He’s doing a slow circle around the two of them, Billy’s bike rumbling happily between his legs. He looks more at ease, now—confident and competent.

Eddie grunts, but doesn’t come out of hiding, catching at Billy’s wrist blindly instead. Grips loose and drags Billy’s hand over his chest.

“No one said summer was gonna last this long,” Eddie grumbles.

Steve is still making lazy little loops around them, switching back around to lap the other direction after he gets bored going clockwise.

Billy is quiet for a little while, just relishing in the feeling of Eddie’s fingers over his skin. The sight of Steve having fun. The ease of the day.

“You know,” Billy says idly, as Eddie’s thumb rubs right over Billy’s pulse. “I thought summer would be fucking unbearable.”

He takes a breath and swallows, eyes tracking over Steve as he mulls over his next words. They feel like a secret, something he never even really voiced to himself, much less to anyone else.

“I thought I’d be gone by the end of it,” Billy says.

That makes Eddie squint up at him. Has him peering up from under the lazy sling of his arm, and then has him sitting up, hands bracing himself as he sits with his legs sprawled.

“Where were you gonna go?” Eddie asks.

Billy shrugs. He can see Eddie out of his peripheral vision, but he can’t look at him, suddenly. It feels too close, too personal. It’s easier to keep his eyes on Steve.

Important, too—at least, that’s what he tells himself.

“California. Where else?”

Eddie lets out a little breath– a bit like he’s winded. “You still thinkin’ about it? California?”

Billy kicks a heel back against the milk crate and it creaks underneath his weight. Broken gravel crunches underneath the toe of his boot as it scrapes against the ground. Steve’s still doing lazy circles around them, occasionally slowing down, speeding up, testing himself and the bike like Billy told him to. Doing everything right.

“Nah,” Billy says. And then, after a moment of silence like Eddie knows it’s not the full truth: “I mean, yeah. Shit, always.”

Billy finally breaks his gaze on Steve, but he doesn’t look at Eddie—he looks up at the sky. Blue and sunny, such a nice and cloudless day.

“I miss the fucking ocean,” Billy says.

Eddie shifts closer, the sound of the road dragging against denim, and then Eddie is propping his chin on the top of Billy’s knee and squinting up at him.

“Florida has some pretty nice beaches,” Eddie says, looping a hand around his ankle, like he’s worried Billy might run off. “It’s a bit closer. If you wanna make a trip of it.”

It’s sweet, even if Billy doesn’t really know what to say to that.

He doesn’t have to, though, not yet. Not when Steve finally rolls to a stop close by, wobbling a bit as he gets his feet under him.

“Um,” Steve calls over the rumble of the engine. “I still suck at getting off. Could one of you come brace me?”

Eddie snorts. “I think he’s really good at getting off.”

Billy huffs out a laugh, but doesn’t quite feel it in his chest. He hasn’t thought about California like this for a while, even though he wasn’t lying—he’s almost always thinking about it. At least a little bit.

He shoves off the crate and goes over to help Steve off the bike after turning the engine off and kicking the stand out to stabilize it. In the wake of all that rumbling, the air feels so quiet around them now, just a gentle breeze rustling the leaves of the nearby trees.

“You’re taller than me,” Billy grouches as he helps Steve off the bike. “All leg and you’re not even putting it to use.”

Steve stumbles into him as he rights himself. His smile is big and his laugh is breathless. Sweat sticks his hair to his temples as he pulls off Billy’s helmet.

“The vibration always kinda makes them go numb,” Steve confesses, one hand fisted in the cotton of Billy’s shirt.

That connection fills Billy with warmth. It wears down a few of the edges off that earlier feeling of nostalgia, has him going soft. He leans in and presses his lips to Steve’s forehead, right over the sheen of salty sweat.

“C’mon. Have a coke.”

Packed in one of Steve’s expensive little coolers is a six-pack of ice-cold cokes. Billy leads Steve back over to where Eddie’s sitting, in that little patch of broken asphalt. Even offers Steve his overturned milk crate for his shaky legs.

Steve takes it with a smile. Plops down with a tired little sigh. Blinks when Eddie slumps against his legs and laughs as Eddie pouts up at him.

“It’s hot, Stevie,” he says. “Why’re you makin’ me sit out here in the heat, when I could be watching you get half naked in your pool?”

Steve barks out another laugh. “What if I promise to get fully naked in my pool, later?”

Billy pops the top to his coke and lets the sugar course down his throat, tingling across his tongue. He plops down on the ground and sprawls out at Steve’s feet.

“You want a go, Munson?” Billy asks, letting his eyes fall on Eddie, the way he’s draping over Steve’s legs and using him as a chair. “Before you decide to lose all those clothes.”

“Only if you’re the one that drives me around, California,” Eddie says, grinning wide and giving him a little wink, and Billy knows that the subject isn’t dropped– but Eddie’s not touching it for now. “I like getting to cuddle up against your back.”

Steve laughs, kneeing at him. “You’re so needy, Munster.”

Eddie kisses his teeth, tipping his head back to peer up at Steve. “I’m just honest about it, baby.”

“What, you don’t want a go by yourself?” Billy asks.

Not that he’s not happy to drive Eddie around—he can’t lie, he also likes the way Eddie feels, arms clinging so easily, so tightly, to Billy’s waist.

Eddie shrugs. “It’s not as fun, by myself.”

Billy takes another slug from his glass bottle and shrugs. “Not complaining. But I’d rather not do figure-eights in the parking lot, then. No offense, Steve.”

Steve snorts. “None taken. I’d rather not eat shit, trying to show off.”

Eddie hums and slumps against Steve, jerking when Steve takes the cold butt of his bottle and presses it to the side of his face. Startles and practically squawks, shoving at Steve as he pushes to his feet, as Steve laughs the whole time.

Hands on his hips, Eddie glares down at him.

“I say we race the pretty boy here back to his place,” Eddie says. “Last ones there have to strip down first.”

“How is that losing?” Billy asks.

When he looks up at Eddie, he’s haloed by light. By the blue sky and the sun behind him.

It reminds Billy, just a little bit, of California. And it kind of hurts. But kind of feels good, too. Like pressing on a bruise, just to feel that distant ache.

Eddie makes a face, considering that thought. His head bobs a little and everything. Always playing around and playing it up.

“Alright, so last ones there have to suffer in their swim trunks,” Eddie says.

Steve is the one that throws a wrench in it this time, blushing even as he says, “Pants haven’t exactly stopped fun from happening before.”

“You’re both thinking way too hard about this,” Eddie replies. “I just wanna get wet and naked. The how and why doesn’t really matter all that much.”

Steve is laughing again, even as Eddie kicks at his ankle with the toe of a boot.

“It’s hot, stop being mean,” he says.

“You’re the one who decided to dress like that,” Billy gestures at him, “knowing full well you’d be sitting in a parking lot watching Steve do donuts.”

Eddie arches a brow at him, and his hand goes for the bottom hem of his shirt– dragging it up, exposing his pale belly, the dark hair leading down into his black jeans. Pulls until it’s showing his scars and the ink along his ribs.

“Alright, fine,” Eddie replies, and Billy’s eyes go a little wide when Eddie keeps pulling his shirt off– going to pull it right over his head. “You’re right. My fault for dressing like this. Guess there’s only one thing to do.”

Steve chokes, jerking as Eddie throws his shirt in his face. “You’re not stripping down here.”

Eddie grins at him, hands back on his hips, bare chested and beaming. “Try me, princess.”

Billy can’t help but admire the lines of Eddie’s stomach, the happy trail he knows he’s licked through countless times. The scars he’s traced with his fingertips at night when he can’t sleep. Sometimes, it feels like he knows the planes of Eddie’s body better than he knows the veins on the back of his own hands.

And still, Billy can’t help but lean back, sticking out his tongue to draw it over his lip, making a show of looking at Eddie.

“You’re not allowed on my bike without a shirt on,” Billy says. “What was Harrington’s taxi service motto? No shirt, no shoes, no service?”

Eddie gives him a look. “That’s never stopped you.”

Because Billy is frequently shirtless– at least in Steve’s car. Because Eddie knows he’s full of shit and is always willing to call him on it.

Steve waffles his head a bit, sipping his coke, throwing Eddie’s shirt in a drape over his shoulder as he eyes him up. “He’s got a point. But I’m definitely with Billy about the bike thing. Road burn isn’t sexy.”

Eddie pads over, stealing Steve’s bottle from him and taking a long pull, exhaling hard as he passes it back. “Was kinda sexy on you.”

“You’re so fucking full of it,” Steve replies, glancing over at Billy. “Is this what it’s like for girls when they date guys? We’re just horny and in their face all the time?”

Billy shrugs. “Feel like this is on par for guys dating guys. Wouldn’t know shit about girls.”

Because, despite all his posturing, Billy’s not exactly an expert.

“Guess you’re just going to have to get used to it, pretty boy,” Billy tells him.

He slugs back the last of his coke and then tosses the bottle with a fling to the edge of the lot, where the glass smashes and scatters. Eddie whistles and gives a little clap.

Steve rolls his eyes, but it’s so fond that it makes Billy ache. “You guys aren’t bored of my pool, yet?”

“Not during a heatwave, baby,” Eddie replies, plucking his shirt from Steve’s shoulder so that he can tug it back on and gesture toward Steve’s car with a swing of his head. “And not when you’re there. Wanna try and beat us?”

Steve is flush from the flattery and from finishing off his coke. He eyes Eddie, before letting those dark eyes dart to Billy. He doesn’t toss his bottle– just puts it back in the cooler and closes it.

“Guess that means we’re racing?” he asks.

“Guess it does,” Billy says.

Billy reaches up a hand and lets Eddie pull him to his feet. He stumbles, just a little bit. Knocks his shoulder into Eddie’s.

Steve stands, too. Pulls his keys out and passes Billy’s helmet over with a little arch of his brow. Eyes them like he’s still not sure what to make of them. Eager to be with him, constantly, and honest about it.

“Guess I’ll have to beat you there,” Steve replies. “I don’t wanna be the one stuck in his trunks.”

And then he’s darting off toward his car, half jogging with the cooler in his arms, as Eddie leans into Billy and chuckles. “Kinda wanna let him beat us, then.”

Billy leans back. Supporting Eddie’s weight and letting Eddie support his, too. Tips his head until he can feel Eddie’s curls brush against his temple.

“I think he deserves a win,” Billy says with a hum, watching him go with interest. “We could take the long way to his.”

Billy leans down and snags his other helmet off the ground, tossing it easily to Eddie.

“The scenic route is always nice, this time of the afternoon,” Eddie replies, grin getting wider, tugging his helmet on as Billy starts leading them toward his bike. “Gives me longer to get all close and cozy.”

“Hands above the belt, Munson,” Billy tells him, slinging his leg over the bike, getting comfortable as Eddie clambers on after him.

“I make absolutely zero promises,” Eddie replies, making good on his promise and pressing as close as he can against Billy’s back after he climbs on and snaps his helmet straps into place. “I might slip.”

Billy rolls his eyes, but he’s got the engine rumbling between their legs with a kick of his foot. Pulls his own helmet on, as he watches Steve’s BMW pulled out of the empty lot. Grins as he revs on the throttle.

And Eddie’s arms are already around him, so Billy doesn’t hesitate to take off. Chasing after Steve, kind of like they always are.

Billy thinks he could waste his whole life chasing Steve with Eddie.

They do take the long route, and Steve does beat them. Doesn’t even wait for them– just leaves the door unlocked– which is why they find him already swimming around in his pool, clothes long discarded by the side.

Eddie doesn’t even try to look disappointed.

“Looks like we lost, Stevie,” he says.

Steve props himself up at the edge of the pool, water spilling out around him and clinging to his skin and hair, chin resting on his arms as Eddie pads over to crouch in front of him. “Looks like you did. Guess that means you guys need trunks.”

Billy hums. Gets a great eyeful of Steve from above. So fucking hot, even distorted by the water.

“Why bother with trunks when we’re wearing boxers? Seems like a lot of work.” Billy turns to look at Eddie. “You are wearing boxers today, aren’t you?”

To be fair, Billy’s just about as likely to not wear anything as Eddie, but he still teases.

Eddie kisses up at him. “Strip me down and find out.”

But Steve is lifting himself up a bit, out of the water, reaching out and catching Eddie’s shirt. “I’ve got a better idea.”

And then he’s yanking– pulling Eddie head over ass into the water, clothes and all. Eddie’s only saving grace is that Steve has trained them to take their shoes off in the foyer.

Eddie goes with a splash. Hits the water and comes up sputtering. Wipes the mess of his hair from his face and glares as Steve laughs.

Billy can’t help but laugh, too. Loud and delighted. Because Eddie looks like a drowned rat, all deflated and soggy. He’s got so much charisma most of the time—but right now, he just looks hilarious, all immediately disgruntled and bent out of shape. And affronted by Steve and Billy’s mirth.

“Don’t look so put out, Munson. You’re dating an asshole,” Billy says.

“Two assholes,” Eddie grouses, spitting water at Steve.

Steve splashes back at him, grinning wide. “Not like you can’t borrow my sweats later.”

Eddie grumbles, stripping a sopping shirt over his head– lobbing it at Billy, but missing with a wet splat on the ground by Billy’s feet. “It’s always the ones with the pretty faces. They’re always so mean.”

Billy shucks off his own shirt, and then his jeans, all from the safety of the dry side of the pool. He plops himself down on the edge and gets his legs in, content to watch the process of Eddie trying to wriggle out of his wet, tight jeans while in the water.

“Need any help, Munson?” Billy asks, leaning back, eyes keen.

“Oh, now you wanna be helpful?” Eddie grouses, tripping under the water and barely catching himself as he finishes stripping his jeans off of his legs– holding them up a little triumphantly. “You’re lucky the weed is in a plastic baggy.”

Steve laughs, paddling over to where Billy is and propping himself against the edge on his forearms as he watches Eddie wade to where he can smack his pants down onto the flat of the hot cement. “I do keep my own stash, Munster.”

“What, you’re not just using me for free weed?” Eddie says. “I’m shocked and appalled, Stevie. But maybe more shocked and appalled that you’d smoke something not from me. Everyone else deals shit in this town.”

Billy hums. He kicks out and splashes Eddie, just a little. “Don’t get too cocky—the guy who deals out by that convenience store by the shooting range has got some good shit.”

Billy found him before Eddie. Not that he’s been back for a long while, now.

Eddie looks appalled. “I can’t believe you’d disgrace my good name like this. I always score the best shit.”

“Well, he scored the two of us,” Steve adds, tilting his head up to grin at Billy. “That’s pretty good, isn’t it?”

“That attitude today, I swear,” Eddie huffs, giving them both a splash that has Steve ducking his head and wincing with a laugh.

Now wet from the splash, Billy lets himself slide into the pool. He ducks under water and pushes off the side of the pool to launch himself at Eddie. He gets his arms around Eddie’s middle, wrestling him a little bit while Eddie thrashes.

“I think you should be happy you scored us,” Billy says, as he surfaces and Eddie shouts.

“Whatever gave you the impression that I wasn’t happy, sunshine?” Eddie asks, but he’s diving after Billy, trying to get a good grip on him to drag him under.

Billy lets him, feeling easy and free, enjoying the way that Eddie can just—take him down like that, if Billy lets him. If Billy pretends he doesn’t have some fucked-up super strength.

They grapple like that, under the water for a little bit, until Billy has to come up for air, surging through the surface. Once he gets a few gulps in, that’s it for Eddie, though—Billy hauls him up and out of the water, easy as pie, laughing as Eddie screeches like a girl, as he tries—and fails—to fight Billy’s strength.

Eddie ends up draped over Billy’s shoulder, held awful tight.

“You do that like he weighs nothing,” Steve says.

Billy turns to face him as Eddie’s legs kick. “He’s a fucking beanpole,” Billy says.

Steve frowns and tilts his head, but gives a little nod anyway. “Not much smaller than me. I don’t think I could pick him up like that.”

Billy feels Eddie’s teeth sink in somewhere near his hip. It feels almost like a reprimand.

Billy gives him a little shake, but he knows that Eddie’s silent admonition is kind of right. It doesn’t stop Billy from hoisting Eddie back into his arms and then tossing him into the water, those flailing limbs making a huge splash.

But, reasonably chastened and feeling—not quite brave, but something, Billy lazily makes his way over to the side of the pool where Steve is. He drapes himself there, right next to Steve, eyes caught on him as Eddie splashes himself upright.

“What if I told you,” Billy says with careful nonchalance, “that I came back a little different?”

Steve blinks at him. “Different?”

“Stronger,” Billy says with a shrug. “Faster at healing?”

Eddie chirps in from the side with a, “He’s Superman, baby.”

It startles a little laugh out of Steve. He stares at Billy for a long second, long enough to make him worry for a fraction of that second, but then his brows are pinching.

“Is that it?” he asks. “No, like, freaky mind powers?”

Billy chews his lip, eyes closely watching Steve. “No freaky mind powers.”

Eddie comes up behind him and drapes over Billy’s back, nosing at the spot behind his ear.

“Look at you,” Eddie says, “sharing your deep dark secrets. You must really like us.”

Billy elbows him with a grunt.

“That’s almost disappointing,” Steve replies, grinning at Billy’s instant scoff. “El can move stuff with her mind, and you can, what? Bench press me?”

Eddie’s breath is hot and tinged with amusement at his ear. “I think he thinks your superpowers are lame, sunshine.”

Billy shivers. He leans back against Eddie and grabs at his wrist, pulling him even closer.

“Guess I’ll only bench press you, Munson. Since you appreciate my trials.”

Steve balks. “I said almost disappointing. I don’t wanna pass up getting bench pressed. That sounds fun.”

Eddie is a rumble of mirth at his back, big hand sliding over Billy’s belly as he wades a little closer, shuffling them toward Steve in the water. “We’d never leave you out, princess.”

Pink runs across Steve’s cheeks and nose. “Rude.”

“I’d leave him out,” Billy says, even as he allows Eddie to move him closer to Steve, “if he’s dissing my super powers. What kind of asshole—”

Billy grumbles, but his words are cut off when Eddie gives a sharp little tug to his wet hair.

“Now you’re being rude, sweetheart. Tell Steve we’d never leave him out. Unless it was to tease him, of course.” Eddie hums, already distracted. “Now that’s an idea…”

Steve practically pouts. “That’s a terrible idea. Take it back, right now.”

Eddie shuffles them in even closer. Rubs at Billy’s scalp and smacks a kiss to his cheek.

“I think it’s a fun idea,” Eddie says. “I’ll have to add it to the list.”

Steve’s brows fly up. “There’s a list?”

“Oh, yeah,” Eddie grins against the shell of Billy’s ear, jostling him a little. “California and I have had quite the time of it, thinking of all the things we wanted to do with you. Best way to get him worked up.”

Steve’s blush only deepens. “Is that so?”

Billy knows that he’s blushing, too. He feels warm on the back of his neck, at the tips of his ears. Only Eddie Munson has ever made him feel this embarrassed.

“You’re hot. We think you’re hot, you know this,” Billy says. “And you know we bonded over how much we wanted you.”

“Huh,” Steve says, a little succinctly, but then he’s creeping a little closer– all that bare skin under the water, crowding close enough to touch. “Care to share with the class?”

And then Billy does touch. Can’t help himself. He reaches out and gets his hands on Steve’s waist, feeling the warmth of his skin under the water underneath his fingertips. He tugs him a little closer, sandwiching himself, yet again, between Eddie and Steve.

“Obviously, you in those handcuffs,” Billy says, leaning in to mouth at Steve’s jaw, pressing a kiss there right after his teeth glide over faintly-stubbled skin. “Me, kissing you while Munson fucks you open.”

Billy hums, giving Steve another kiss.

“Dunno—Munson, what else?”

Steve quakes. Leaves the water rippling around him and everything, hands shifting under the water to clutch at Billy’s arms. His skin tastes like chlorine and salt. He sighs as Billy drags his teeth up his jaw to that spot just below his ear.

Steve tips his head over for him.

“I take it back,” he says, flush and warm under Billy’s hands. “The class knows plenty.”

Eddie lets out a low sound, giving Billy a quick squeeze before letting him go, circling around in the water to help bracket Steve in. “I dunno, I was always a bit of a fan of show and tell.”

Steve starts, jerking in place, eyeing Eddie as he moves– but he doesn’t pull away, not even when Eddie presses flush against his back and shuffles in closer to Billy. “Are you planning on showing, too?”

Eddie hums. “Maybe.”

Billy loves when Eddie gets like this—all calm control, all playful teasing. And he likes when Steve gets like this too—flushed and embarrassed by his own desire, so easily overwhelmed.

And Billy can’t exactly blame him. He finds Eddie and Steve overwhelming too—and the combination of the two of them is practically lethal.

“You like that idea, baby?” Billy asks, hands working down to squeeze at Steve’s ass, pulling him a little closer.

He’s all summer warm skin against him, breath catching as he lets himself stumble into Billy’s chest. Gets his fingers splayed out on Billy’s sides as Eddie kisses along his shoulder and eyes Billy with a wicked smile.

“I like every stupid thing you guys do to me,” Steve admits with a grumble. “I just wish you wouldn’t try and cook me alive from the inside out, each time.”

Eddie hums, nosing at Steve’s cheek. “But you’re so pretty when you blush.”

Steve moves to elbow him, but Eddie gets his hands on Steve’s upper arms and gives a little squeeze. Holding him tight.

“Have you thought about it, Stevie?” Eddie asks. “All the things you wanna do?”

Steve’s face just gets redder.

“Ooh, shit,” Billy breathes out. His teeth graze over Steve’s ear. “That’s what I wanna hear. Tell us what you think about, baby.”

Up against his thigh, with nothing protecting his modesty, Steve’s cock gives a little kick. His hips, a little rut. Billy can’t help but chuckle, fingers splaying wide and giving Steve’s ass another squeeze.

Steve shudders, shifting restlessly, water sloshing between them as they press in close. Until Steve is growing hard against Billy’s thigh and hip, breath catching as they both tease at his skin with their mouths.

Eddie is already dragging his teeth over Steve’s shoulder.

“You already know that I’ve thought about you guys on the couch,” Steve huffs, trying so hard not to look like he wants to crawl right out of his own skin, pulse rabbiting quick under Billy’s lips.

“Uh huh,” Eddie mutters, kissing up to the other side of his throat, nose at his nape. “What else have you thought about, Stevie?”

“I–” Steve’s voice cracks a little, and he rolls his eyes with a little groan. “I dunno! Just… stuff.”

Billy hums. “Not good enough.”

He shifts a little, moving to Steve’s other side, to catch Eddie’s lips in a kiss when he pulls up from nosing at Steve’s neck. Eddie looks happy to oblige, if only because it makes Steve moan, caught in between them as they make out over Steve’s shoulder.

Eddie lets the kiss go on for a long moment, but too soon he’s pulling back, bumping the side of Steve’s head with his nose.

“Go on, Stevie. Be good. Tell us something you thought about,” Eddie says.

Steve makes a quiet little sound. Billy feels his cock give another lovely little kick. Sees arousal blow out his pupils.

“I’ve– thought about driving up to lookout point,” Steve mutters. “Hooking up in the back seat of my car.”

“What’s so embarrassing about that?” Billy asks with a scoff. “There’s gotta be more to it than that.”

“Don’t be rude,” Eddie chides.

He presses a kiss to Steve’s neck and then Billy follows it with his teeth. Steve lets out a little sound, not quite a moan, but close to it. He shifts between them, breath hitching a little shorter.

“C’mon, Stevie,” Eddie coaxes, kissing at his ear. “Tell us what you want and maybe we’ll give it to you.”

Steve’s throat works. Billy feels it against his lips.

“I’ve thought about– all the things we’ve already done,” Steve says, breathless as Billy’s hands roam over his skin, feeling him shiver in the water, continuing with Eddie hums in interest. “And I’ve been thinking about Eddie’s fingers– how they made Billy moan.”

Eddie’s breath catches a little. He shuffles in closer, and Steve groans at the press of him.

Billy wonders if Eddie is hard, too.

“And I’m always kinda thinking about Billy’s mouth,” Steve adds, dazed as they slowly coax fantasies from his lips. “And I really wanna blow one of you.”

The sound that Billy makes. Imagining Steve’s lips on him, while Eddie opens him up with his fingers. Because Billy knows those fingers, knows how talented and deft they are—how unrelenting, too.

“Fuck,” Billy breathes out, mouthing at Steve’s neck, pulling another soft sound from between his lips. “I don’t think you even need to say please for any of that.”

Eddie tsks. “Manners are important, sunshine.”

His voice is playful, though. Teasing.

He turns his attentions to Steve again, kissing at his temple. “You up to any of that this evening, Stevie?”

Steve snorts and then bursts into laughter that almost sounds like giggling. “I’m definitely up for it.”

And he is. Perfectly hard, achingly hot, rocking idly against Billy’s hip.

“Then what are we still doing in the pool?” Billy asks, crowding up against Steve even closer, catching him up in a hungry kiss.

Steve meets him, just as starved. Moans against his mouth and grabs at him with needy hands.

They don’t linger in the pool much longer after that.

They end up chasing each other through the house. Steve gets hauled up and over Billy’s shoulder at one point, dripping everywhere, yelping when Billy lands a swat to the curve of his ass as he dangles there. Eddie ends up distracting him in the hallway outside of Steve’s room for a solid minute, once Steve’s been set loose, pinning him in against the wall and kissing him dumb.

There’s water everywhere. Steve doesn’t really seem to care.

He’s laughing when Billy crowds him down, damp and flush, on top of his covers. Wet boxers have long since been discarded, so there’s only skin and skin and skin when Billy catches his mouth again.

Billy feels stupid. He feels a little in love. Can’t stop kissing the smile on Steve’s face.

A big hand smooths up his spine, though. Settles at the back of his neck and squeezes. Eddie, always there to ground him.

“Really could just watch you two go at it,” Eddie mutters, not discouraging Billy’s movements at all. “Like living art. Could watch you two ruin each other for hours.”

Steve’s laughter peeters out in favor of a low moan. Billy catches it against his mouth.

He kisses Steve for a long moment, deeper and hungrier than before—just a little bit slower, like he’s really trying to savor it, before pulling back, near-panting.

“I don’t think he wanted me to ruin him,” Billy says, leaning down to bite at Steve’s neck even though he’s talking to Eddie. “I think he specifically asked for your fingers, Munson.”

And Billy is more than content to watch that, to see what it looks like to watch Eddie ruin someone—and shit, maybe Eddie’s got a point about the value of art.

Eddie squeezes at Billy’s nape again, humming as he crawls up onto the bed with them. He gets a hand in Steve’s wet hair, gets his fingers tangled, tugs and angles his head over– offering Steve’s neck up for Billy’s mouth.

“And I’ll give ‘em to him,” Eddie says. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t get a show, too. He said he wanted to blow one of us, after all.”

Steve moans again, shifting restlessly under Billy’s weight, panting as Billy mouths over his pulse. “Eddie.”

“You don’t wanna get Billy’s cock in your mouth, Stevie?” Eddie asks, pulling gently at his hair, and Billy gets to feel him shudder, all heavy and overwhelmed, at the picture Eddie’s words paint. “Don’t wanna see what he tastes like?”

“That’s so unfair,” Steve groans, burning up under Billy’s mouth and hands, trying to rock up and grind his cock against Billy’s.

The feeling of Steve against him, hard and hot and ready, is enough to leave Billy panting. Groaning out, unashamed.

“Fuck, Steve,” Billy pants out. “Please.”

Steve’s skin jumps when he gets his teeth over his collar. Fingers come up to cling at his shoulders.

Steve strains to rut up again, letting out a little whimper of a noise when the friction just sparks along his nerves. Not nearly enough, not yet.

“Yeah,” he gasps, squirming across the bed with a bit of urgency. “Yeah, okay, I just– I’ve never done it, so–”

“So we’ll teach you,” Eddie says, darting down to kiss his cheek. “Everything at your pace.”

Steve huffs. “I already said yeah.”

“He’s so rude when he’s embarrassed,” Billy says.

And then he’s pulling away, leaving Steve frictionless and whining, desperate. It’s simultaneously adorable and also hot as sin. But the delicious sight isn’t enough to distract Billy, to stop him as he moves to lean up against the headboard of Steve’s bed. Legs spread out in a wide V on the comforter. He reaches down to pump his own cock, already achingly hard, and meets Eddie’s gaze.

When Eddie smirks at him, Billy just shrugs. “I want a good view as you wreck him. Is that so bad?”

“Both of you are so terribly behaved today,” Eddie says, leaning down to steal a kiss from Steve before he’s coaxing him over and up, onto his hands and knees, weight shifting on the bed as they all get in position– Steve kneeling between Billy’s legs, with Eddie right behind him. “You at least gonna be good and stay still?”

His eyes are on the drag of Billy’s hand over his own cock. So are Steve’s.

Big and a little wide and so clearly hungry.

Billy feels his blood heat.

He nods. Stuck underneath Steve and Eddie, there’s no way Billy’s going to go anywhere at all. He’s not sure a house fire could even get him to move, could get his attention off the way Steve’s looking right now, body coiled tight and gaze so desperate.

“I’ll stay nice and still for you, baby,” Billy says, stroking himself slowly, thumb playing with the sensitive skin of his own head. “Wanna feel your mouth so bad. Have been dreaming about it for forever.”

Eddie presses his mouth at Steve’s ear, voice low as he gets a hand around one of Steve’s wrists. “Just touch him, first. You know how to do that, huh?”

Steve nods, breath a little short. He lets Eddie guide him, moaning when his fingers first touch the hot, soft skin over Billy’s cock– like just touching him is enough to send pleasure skittering across his nerves.

But then he gets his fingers around him. Wraps them around him and strokes slow, matching Billy’s own pace.

Billy removes his own fingers once Steve’s are firmly around him. It feels better that way, giving into the tentative way that Steve is stroking him—unmarred by the predictability of his own touch.

“Shit,” Billy breathes out, head tipping back against the headboard. “That’s it, baby.”

“He loves it when you touch him,” Eddie’s saying. His hand drifts up from Steve’s wrist to his arm, to his shoulder, and then to his neck. “Imagine how much he’s going to love your mouth, Stevie. How good he’s going to be for you.”

Steve lets out another of those hazy, needy little noises. Billy can see Eddie’s fingers squeeze at the back of Steve’s neck. Can hear Steve’s breath hitch.

“You want him in your mouth, Stevie?” Eddie asks, all low and soft, like an insidious serpent tempting Steve toward damnation.

Steve gives a little nod. “Please.”

“Bend over, baby,” Eddie says. “Give him a taste.”

Steve is quivering as he braces a hand next to Billy’s hip. Breathing heavy and short, leaning down and gripping the base of Billy’s cock as he brings his mouth to the head. Lets his tongue dip out, dragging over the tip.

The first lick is transcendent. It makes Billy shudder, biting back a moan. He can’t tear his eyes away from the sight below him: Steve leaning over Billy’s cock, looking overwhelmed but hungry, tongue out and then licking over Billy’s cock head, catching the precum beading there. And of course: Eddie. Eddie’s hand on Steve’s neck, Eddie right there, whispering in Steve’s ear and encouraging him on.

When Steve licks up Billy’s shaft, breath hot and tongue even hotter, the sound Billy makes is broken, raw. It feels so fucking good that he has to keep his hips steady.

“God, Steve, fuck, your mouth.” Billy breathes hard and heavy, one hand fisting in the sheets while the other finds a grip in Steve’s hair.

Eddie’s hand goes for his wrist, giving it a little warning of a squeeze, like he’s telling Billy not to force it. Doesn’t make him let go, though, letting his fingers fall back down to the skin of Steve’s back, tracing down his spine as Steve places the open heat of his mouth to the shaft of Billy’s cock.

Drags his lips up slow as Eddie hums and says, “Good boy, Stevie. Take your time. Billy’s a patient guy. Aren’t you, sunshine?”

Billy groans out an unsteady “Yes,” voice already feeling moments from breaking.

Because he is patient, he can be—or he can be for Steve, anyway. Because he wants this badly, but he wants Steve to enjoy it even more.

He keeps his fingers easy, barely even gripping, just carding through Steve’s hair as Steve mouths at him, teasing him in a way that not even Eddie’s been quite able to, before.

Kissing Steve has always been better than kissing almost anybody else. Billy marked it up to it just being Steve– and maybe that’s what’s at play here, too– but watching Steve ghost soft lips against the line of his cock, Billy thinks that maybe he was wrong. That maybe it was just Steve’s mouth– perfect and tempting enough to leave him trembling as he holds steady.

“Lick, baby,” Eddie tells him, petting at the small of Steve’s back where he’s curved over and so very focused. “All the way up, nice and slow. Then try getting him in your mouth.”

Steve moans, quiet and low, but does as Eddie says. Drags the flat of his tongue, scorching hot and dripping wet, up the length of Billy’s cock– slow enough that he’s left grunting and twitching– and then Steve’s letting his jaw go a little loose as he tentatively takes the head of Billy’s cock into the heat of his mouth.

Billy isn’t sure he’s going to survive this. The terrible combination of the two of their mouths—Steve’s tongue and Eddie’s fucking words.

Because the second Steve gets his lips around Billy’s cock, Eddie’s telling him how good he is, how perfect he looks, and Billy can’t take it. He groans, body flooding with heat, and closes his eyes. Has to let go of Steve’s hair to keep himself from pulling.

Instead he fists that hand in the sheets too, and does his damndest to not buck up into the velvety, wet heat of Steve’s mouth. Keeping himself painfully still as Steve’s mouth begins exploring him, tentative but so deeply, impossibly, perfect.

He flinches when he feels Eddie’s hand first land on his thigh, but groans almost immediately after, as Eddie squeezes. “Doing pretty good yourself, sunshine. His mouth feel like heaven?”

Steve’s clumsily bobbing his head. Just letting Billy fill his mouth before withdrawing again. Making quiet, wet little noises as Billy leaks over his tongue.

He keeps pausing, but fuck, he’s trying– so eager for it, drooling down his cock and sucking sloppily, face red and eyes fluttering each time he takes Billy a little deeper. Trying to actually take him deeper.

Billy barely manages a nod, desperate and jerky. “He feels so fucking good,” he says.

His thighs are clenched so tight, trying not to move, barely even breathing. Keeping his body from squirming or thrusting up into that heat.

Because it does feel so fucking good, the way that Steve keeps taking him in in long, wet strokes, the way he pulls back and laps at the head of Billy’s cock to keep him twitching, groaning.

“Eddie,” Billy groans, “he’s so fucking—so fucking perfect. Shit, Steve, your mouth.”

Eddie palms himself, watching. Keeps a hand soothing over Steve’s back the entire time, as Steve sucks him down so slow and so perfect.

“You wanna try letting Billy take a little, Stevie?” Eddie asks, all casual, like it isn’t like a gunshot straight to the gut.

Steve pulls off panting. His lips are spit slick and swollen. His eyes are dark and far too keen, peering up at Billy and shifting his weight on his knees.

Between his legs, his cock is just as hard and leaking out over the comforter.

“Can you do it slow?” Steve asks Billy, voice a breathless thing.

Billy feels liable to choke on his own desire. It’s such a tangible thing, making his tongue feel too big, too thick for his mouth.

He thinks that Eddie and Steve are gonna kill him dead. Lay him out in this bed and just set his heart on fire.

He swallows. And then, slowly, Billy nods.

“Yeah,” he says, voice so completely breathless and broken. “Yeah, I can do it slow. Gonna be so fucking gentle with you.”

Steve barely even hesitates, trusting him with a breathless little nod and a quick “okay” before getting his mouth right back on him.

Eddie snorts when Billy’s head thuds back against the headboard for a moment. Laughs, dark and low, as Steve gets right back to driving him fucking crazy.

“Go on, baby,” Eddie tells him, petting over the quiver of Billy’s thigh. “Take what you want– nice and slow.”

Billy groans. He wants to shove Eddie off the bed. Wants to kiss him, too. The fact that he even suggested this feels impossible, like he’s giving Billy a task he can’t help but fail—but he can’t fail, can’t hurt Steve. So he feels stuck, balanced on a knife’s edge, teeth clenched and hands fisted in the sheets below.

Slowly, achingly slowly, Billy arches his hips up, thrusting into Steve’s open, waiting mouth. He keeps his lips tight and wet, and his mouth takes Billy’s length perfectly.

The pleasure is unparalleled, aching. He keeps his pace easy as he fucks up into Steve’s mouth, all his concentration on being good, going nice and slow, just like Eddie told him.

“That’s it, baby,” Eddie says, still dragging his hand over Billy’s thigh, squeezing over the flex of muscle. “Fuck, he takes you so well, doesn’t he?”

Billy definitely wants to shove him off of the bed.

But then Eddie is getting his fingers into Steve’s hair. Carding through easy at first, as Steve bobs his head a little, to meet the slow flex of Billy’s hips. Then, carefully, Eddie’s fingers wind tight– tight enough to draw Steve still, holding Steve steady as Billy rocks up.

Steve lets out a little whine– but he strains forward, trying to get more of Billy in his mouth. Shivering when Eddie holds him in place.

Eddie chuckles. “Looks like I’ve got two boys eager to please with their mouths.”

Seeing Eddie hold Steve so steadfastly, so strongly, leaves Billy shivering, head feeling light. He very nearly bucks into the heat of Steve’s mouth but catches himself and pulls back with a jerk, hands clenching those sheets hard enough to rip them.

“Eddie,” Billy hisses out through gritted teeth, “shut the fuck up.”

But it doesn’t stop Billy from fucking into Steve’s mouth, thrusts measured and impossibly slow. Taking the pleasure that Steve and Eddie are offering to him, Steve’s mouth a sweet, ruinous temptation.

Eddie clicks his tongue. Pulls at Steve’s hair, until just the tip of Billy’s cock is running over Steve’s tongue.

“You sure about that, sunshine?” Eddie asks, weight pressing in over his thigh to make his thrusts even shallower– barely touching the heat of Steve’s mouth.

Billy whines. Like a fucking dog. He can’t help it, no matter how embarrassing it is. And it doesn’t help that something about that has Steve moaning, mouth messy and wet against the head of Billy’s dick.

“Jesus, Eddie, please.”

Eddie hums.

“I think you should apologize,” he says, like it’s simple, like Billy’s head isn’t spinning, like his cock isn’t so hard it’s making him stupid. “That wasn’t very nice.”

Billy groans. He hisses, as Steve’s lips suck around the tip of his cock. With Eddie holding him like this, Billy can’t get deeper, no matter how much he wants. And god, he wants.

“Use your words, sweetheart.”

“Fuck, sorry,” Billy gets out, eyes closed and fists clenched. “Eddie, please.”

“Aw, sunshine,” Eddie practically coos, finally easing up some of the pressure– lowering Steve down to meet the desperate little thrust of Billy’s hips, letting Billy fill Steve’s mouth back up again. “Isn’t it so much better when you’re good?”

Steve groans, straining to meet him, too. His eyes are half closed, breath shaky and wet, balancing one hand on the bed and one on Billy’s hip as Billy rocks up.

He hates that Eddie is fucking right.

“Wanna try a little faster, Stevie?” Eddie asks. “Or a little deeper?”

Steve lets out a muffled sound. Billy can feel a fresh rivelet of drool run down his cock.

“Eddie,” Billy whines.

He doesn’t need to say more, because he knows that Eddie gets it, that Eddie knows—because then Eddie’s laughing, low and sweet. A familiar tone that leaves Billy’s stomach twisting with desire, his gut going white hot.

“I think you can take it, sweetheart. You’re so good for our Stevie.”

So, when Steve nods, a little desperate, around Billy’s cock, it’s all Billy can do to go faster, just a little bit, just like Eddie tells him to.

“Yeah, just like that,” Eddie’s saying.

And Billy can see him in the moments that he has his eyes open—all dark eyes and wild hair. So sturdy behind Steve, so steadfast and overwhelming in his presence.

The room feels so hot, so muggy, all of a sudden. It’s hard to get a good breath, hard to fill his lungs as he fucks up into Steve’s mouth. Harder still when Eddie leans down to coo in Steve’s ear– working him carefully lower.

Until Billy’s cock is just teasing at the back of his throat.

Steve gags a bit, but he fights it when Eddie tries to draw him up, making a muffled sound of protest around Billy. Eddie huffs, kisses his temple, and holds him steady– even when he makes a choked sound and shudders, eyes tearing up a bit at the taunt of Billy’s cock so deep in his mouth.

It’s so fucking much. Mind-numbingly pleasurable and so deeply, deeply distracting.

“Fuck, Steve,” Billy hisses out, trying desperately not to take too much, to give Steve just as much as he can take—but Eddie’s making it so hard, so awfully difficult with his meddling. “Shit—you feel so good. Your mouth.”

Looking down at him, lips stretched around Billy’s cock, tears in his eyes, and Eddie’s lips at his temple—it’s almost too much.

“Fuck,” Billy whines out, fists clenching tight enough he thinks he does hear the sheets rip. “I’m close.”

Eddie groans, dark eyes peering up at him, and then he’s reaching out and getting his hand on Billy’s cock. Straightening up, drawing Steve up and replacing the heat of his mouth with the pump of his fist. Holds Steve there, panting, as Eddie jerks him off into Steve’s face.

“C’mon, sunshine,” Eddie says, voice liquid dark, touch relentless. “You wanna make a mess of this pretty face for me, huh?”

And then Steve makes a desperate sound and opens his mouth wider.

Billy’s body doesn’t even wait a beat. Just seeing Steve like that, mouth open and tongue lolling out, covered in spit and precum, drives Billy over the edge.

Pleasure washes over him as he cums, Eddie’s fist bringing him off, jerking him until he’s painting streaks across Steve’s beautiful, perfect face. And Billy can’t do anything other than watch, attention completely rapt, as Steve’s eyelashes flutter, as Billy’s spunk hits his skin and drips down, absolutely obscene.

He shudders through it, hips jerking into the deft pump of Eddie’s fist, biting back groans as the pleasure wanes and Eddie’s hand slows.

By the time he’s spent, hips shuddering back down to the bed, Steve’s face is a mess of his release. It’s on his nose, his cheeks, his tongue. He’s still hanging there, panting with his eyes squinting carefully open, and it’s probably one of the hottest things Billy’s ever seen.

He thinks his brain might fucking melt out of his ear.

“Good boy,” Eddie tells him, leaning in to kiss the sweat from Billy’s brow, hand slowing to a stop. “That was fuckin’ perfect, sunshine.”

And then Eddie is turning his focus onto Steve. Is drawing Steve up– up off of his hands and onto his knees, balanced there between Billy’s legs. Then Eddie is getting his hand, dirty with Steve’s spit and Billy’s cum, gripping at Steve’s jaw as he tips his head over, closing Steve’s mouth, so he can lean in and drag his tongue over Steve’s cheek.

Steve shudders in place, nose wrinkling up, but Eddie is already kissing the corner of his mouth, keeping him in place with that hand at his jaw, but untangling the other from Steve’s hair so that he can smooth it over his back.

“Swallow, baby,” Eddie says. “Can you give that a try for me?”

Steve grunts– goes red in the face, under all of that mess. But Billy, still dazed, definitely sees his throat work as he obeys.

Billy moans, low and deep. He can’t look away from Steve’s throat, from his face. From the way Billy’s spunk stains his pretty eyelids, from the way Eddie leans in to kiss him again.

“Holy fucking shit,” Billy breathes out. “Fuck, that’s so hot.”

Eddie grins as he draws back, glancing over at where Billy is slumped as Steve’s hands flutter up to cling at Eddie’s wrist. In his lap, Steve’s cock is jutting up, leaking heavily.

Eddie’s not faring much better.

“Gonna clean you up,” Eddie tells Steve, but he’s looking at Billy the whole time. “Then I’m gonna get you opened up on my fingers, so Billy can watch. You wanna put on a show, pretty boy?”

Steve sags a little in his hold, letting out a low sound. “Don’t tease me too long.”

Eddie clicks his tongue. “Can’t make any promises, baby.”

And the idea of Steve, strung out and wanting, speared and begging on Eddie’s fingers, leaves Billy breathless. Because he knows just how mean Eddie can be when he’s teasing, and he also knows how pretty Steve is when he’s being teased– it’s practically an inevitability.

Billy watches as Eddie uses a washcloth to clean up Steve’s face, touch gentle but deft. He steadies Steve with a palm to the chest, just enough touch to leave Steve wanting, to remind him of what’s to come.

“You’re gonna feel so good, baby,” Billy tells him as Eddie finishes.

“How do you want to be?” Eddie asks, mouthing a kiss over the mole-dotted line of Steve’s shoulder.

Steve shudders in place, face pink, teeth catching at his lower lip. “I just want you to touch me. I don’t really care how.”

“You wanna hold him, sweetheart?” Eddie asks, looking at Billy. “Keep him still for me?”

Numbly, Billy nods. He feels so fucking warm, so hollowed out.

When he opens his arms, Steve crawls into them. It takes a little maneuvering, but soon Steve is in his lap, back pressed up against Billy’s chest, legs splayed wide by Billy’s thighs.

It feels good to have his arms around Steve after losing himself so intensely, so powerfully. Feels right. Like two puzzle pieces slotting together.

And then Eddie is joining– their perfect balance, their final piece– and he’s slipping his hands up Steve’s thighs. Steve startles, muscles jumping under his touch, and his breath shudders right out of him.

Billy watches as Eddie’s hands roam everywhere, across the pale expanse of Steve’s legs, his torso, his arms. Eventually they settle back on his thighs, spreading them even wider, like he’s trying to get a better view—and he probably is.

“You ready, baby?” Eddie asks, already slicking his fingers up with lube. “Hold him steady for me, sweetheart.”

Steve shudders so perfectly when Billy tucks his knees a little higher and wraps him up in his arms. Arches when Billy smooths his hand over Steve’s chest, pressing into his touch.

“Yeah,” he says, restless and squirming. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

Eddie laughs, low and delighted. Leans in and catches the corner of Steve’s mouth, and then he’s teasing– slick fingers dancing down between the spread of Steve’s legs. Peers down and watches– just pressing his fingers where Steve said he wanted them until Steve is whining.

And Billy can’t really see, not perfectly anyway, the press of Eddie’s fingers as they disappear into Steve’s body—but he can feel it. He can feel it in the way that Steve goes all tight against him, the muscles in his back contracting as his body yields and gives way to Eddie. He can feel it in the way that Steve holds his breath, holding it and holding it, until a moan spills from those pretty pink lips as Eddie presses deeper.

“Shit,” Eddie breathes out, his gaze focused on the way that Steve’s body swallows him up. “That feel good, baby?”

“He knows what he’s doing, huh?” Billy asks, voice right in Steve’s ear. “Those fucking hands.”

Steve moans, shying from his mouth a little, head tilting over as Billy teases him. His hips jerk a bit– thighs straining, hands anchoring in over Billy’s wrists as Eddie opens him up.

He gets two fingers into him easy. Slick and steady and smooth. Idly fucks them in, slow and deep, until Steve arches.

“Eddie,” he whines, breathless and gorgeously blissed, cock weeping against his belly.

“Just like that, baby,” Billy tells him.

He feels the way Steve shudders against him, the way his breath hitches as Eddie does something with his fingers, likely curling them up and in, judging by the way Steve’s cock gives a kick and drips something fierce.

It makes Steve’s toes curl. Makes him shiver. Makes the lines of his legs quiver, hooked over Billy’s, and Billy can feel the muscles in his stomach jump and pull tight as Eddie starts to hasten the pace. Stops the idle, casual thrust and stretch for a proper finger fuck that has Steve moaning.

“God,” Steve moans, fingers digging in at Billy’s arms, almost clawing at him as his breath grows shorter with the rhythm that Eddie has set. “Haa, it’s so– god, Eddie–”

“What is it, Stevie?” Eddie asks, leaning in to mouth over Steve’s skin, dragging his teeth against Steve’s collar until he quakes. “Is it good, baby? Is it hot?”

Steve lets out a low sound, squirming with a bit more urgency. His voice catches on a whine of Eddie’s name.

Eddie groans. “Did you know you get tighter when you’re embarrassed?”

Steve’s skin burns under Billy’s hands. He chokes, bucking sharply, sounds like he nearly cums, right then and there– but he’s clutching at one of Eddie’s shoulders and breathing ragged, shivering as Eddie seems to slow down, wordless and flush.

“I think he gets tighter when he’s turned on,” Billy says, voice right at Steve’s ear.

He’s holding him so tight, keeping him from squirming.

Which gets even harder when Billy continues and says, “And I think he gets turned on when he’s embarrassed.”

The sound that Steve makes is criminal. Hot enough to have Billy’s gut drop out, even though he’s already spent. It makes Eddie’s gaze go dark, darker than before. Billy watches as Eddie licks his lips.

Like he’s hungry. Like he’s starving.

“That right, Stevie?” Eddie asks, even though the answer is written in the tremble of his body, in the raptured pinch of his features, in the way his cock twitches and leaks so heavy. “You get all hot for it when we tease you?”

Steve groans. Flinches and claws at both of them.

“Please,” he gasps, panting hard and nearly sobbing as Eddie seems to slowly pick up the pace again– the sounds Steve’s making pulled from him with each motion. “Please– fuck, I cant. I’m so fucking– I’m so–”

“You already gonna cum for us, Stevie?” Eddie asks.

Steve whines, low and pitched with desperation, nodding helplessly.

“Shit, that’s so hot,” Billy breathes out.

Steve’s body writhes against him. Would probably be half off the bed by now if Billy weren’t holding him so tightly, keeping him nice and steady and still for Eddie.

“Maybe one day Eddie can fuck you like this,” Billy says, voice barely even a whisper. Just low, rumbling desire. “While I hold you for him.”

Steve seizes so tight when he comes apart. Strangles out a broken little sob– body trying to curl forward, like that might get him away from the intensity of Eddie pressing his fingers deep into him as he spills out. Billy keeps him held tight, feels the way his chest heaves when he sobs again, bucking through his orgasm.

“Fuck, baby,” Eddie groans, and Billy can see the flex in his arm, can see just by the hungry look in his dark eyes that he’s savoring the way Steve shatters for them– the way he’s reveling in it as he draws Steve’s pleasure out. “That’s it. So pretty when you fall apart for us.”

And he is. He’s scrambling at them with fumbling fingers. His lashes are wet again, mouth hanging open as he gasps, skin a fine flush. Head tossed back against Billy’s shoulder as he spills out, he looks like the picture of rapture.

“Jesus,” Billy says, watching as Steve comes apart so beautifully.

But it’s hard to choose between looking at Steve or Eddie—both are so fucking pretty, and both are pictures he wants to stare at for forever.

“I think you should cum on him,” Billy says, voice barely even a whisper as he looks to Eddie and then back to the streaks of cum across Steve’s stomach. “Make a mess of him.”

Eddie groans again, leaning forward to catch Billy’s mouth in a hungry, filthy kiss of a thing. Draws back breathless and grinning, already pumping over his cock, shuffling in closer– idly fingering Steve through the aftershocks.

“I kinda love your mouth, sweetheart,” Eddie tells him, but then his eyes are back on where Steve is trembling, voice catching on soft little whimpers as Eddie jerks himself off.

Steve’s face twists in an agonized bliss, still panting, but he’s already nodding dazedly as Eddie’s fist works over his own cock.

“Fuck, just like that,” Billy says. “Fuck, Eddie, you’re so hot.”

Because he is. Like—Billy’s absolutely spent, but seeing Eddie like that, jerking himself with such precision, makes his gut go hot. Twisting with desire that feels deeper than just normal run of the mill want.

It doesn’t help that Steve is still whining, still squirming. Every time the three of them get tangled up together like this, Billy always feels like his brain is going to melt. Like he’s going to cook alive– burning up just at the sight, the sound, the touch of them.

Eddie doesn’t take long. He’s strung tight, control forgotten for obscenely jacking himself off onto the mess of Steve’s skin. The sound he makes is guttural and gorgeous as he fucks his own fist and spills out.

He slumps back on his heels when he’s done, withdrawing and breathing hard, just staring at the mess of them for a long moment, nothing but the sound of their gasping in the room.

Then he croaks out a soft but vehement little “fuck” and crowds close– first kissing Steve, and then kissing Billy with a keen urgency.

Billy melts into his kiss, arms snaking around Steve and holding him tight as Eddie licks into his mouth. And when Eddie pulls back, Billy can’t help but dip in for another brief kiss—unwilling to have it fully be finished—before Billy finally lets him go.

And when Eddie leans back on his heels, he’s smiling, grinning wide.

“Shit, I’m lucky. Look at you two.” He looks down; wipes a finger through the mess on Steve’s stomach, and says, “You doing alright, Stevie?”

Steve lets out a low, tired sound, but he nods. Flops a hand out toward Eddie and tugs at him.

Eddie follows willing. Goes with a laugh. Easily complies as Steve needily pulls him close, catches his mouth, and seems to go boneless. Melts between them, humming at Eddie’s lips, one of his hands pulling at one of Billy’s arms, like he’s trying to get it tighter around him.

Billy is more than happy to oblige, though he does grouse as Eddie adds more weight on top of Steve’s.

“Neither of you are light as feathers.”

But Billy tightens his hold on Steve and gets a hand around Eddie’s upper arm. Just holding on. A little desperate for that contact in a way that feels like a drug. So good, so blissful, so needed.

Eddie chuckles but doesn’t bother moving– lets Steve get an arm around his shoulders, instead– and kisses him for a while longer before breaking away from Steve’s mouth. Shifts a little, craning his head over, and catches at Billy’s again. Like he just can’t help himself.

“My two pretty boys,” Eddie sighs, pleased and warm, rubbing a hand up Billy’s side as they all settle in around one another, messes momentarily forgotten for comfort.

“Don’t get too sappy on us, Munson,” Billy says. “You stay there long enough you’ll get glued to Steve and that won’t be pretty at all.”

But Billy’s fingers have moved to Eddie’s hair. Combing through it, unrushed. Relishing the moment.

Eddie hums, head drooping into his touch. “But cleaning up means moving, sunshine.”

Between them, Steve huffs out a little laugh of his own. “Gonna have to move eventually. But my parents have, like, a stupid big bathtub.”

Eddie pulls back, just enough to peer down at him. “Have you been holding out on us, Stevie?”

“I dunno,” Steve breathes another little laugh, shrugging, so at ease as Eddie takes to kissing slow across one of his cheeks, eyes fluttering closed. “Always seemed weird, using my parents’ stuff. But they’re hardly around to use it, so… why not?”

“I’m in,” Billy says.

“Me too,” Eddie murmurs, right up against Steve’s skin. “In a second. A minute. Once this stops being so perfect.”

Steve shivers a little and snuggles closer to him– or, rather, tugs Eddie further down against him and Billy. Billy sees him tilt his head back and over, offering his mouth up for a kiss.

Eddie takes it. Easily, smoothly. Lips meeting Steve’s like everything’s perfectly slotted into place.

And for the first time in an exceptionally long time, Billy feels like that’s true. There’s no weight of worry pressing down on him, no questioning unknowns. Just warm contentment. Just the two of them, skin against skin against skin, so close that they’re practically living inside Billy’s ribcage, right up against the quiet and steady beating of his heart.

chapter 19:

i’m a lover (and i’m a sinner)

It’s one of those quiet, late-August mornings where Billy’s up before the sun. Normally, he lazes in bed for a while, until Eddie and Steve begin to stir—but this morning Billy woke up with a need for coffee so insatiable that it drove him out of bed before Steve’s room even began to turn orange with morning light.

And that coffee turned quickly to cereal, which turned into a run around Loch Nora, his limbs itchy enough with the need to move, to get going. And Billy loves running around the tree-lined streets of Loch Nora. The oaks are tall and towering, and the roads end up nicely dappled with morning light—unlike the trailer park, which lacks any semblance of shade, invariably leaving him squinting into the sun when he does laps around the gravel roads.

He’s back from the run, pleasantly sweaty with Steve’s basketball shorts riding low on his hips, and thoroughly debating a shower, when there’s a frantic pounding on Steve’s door.

Billy wanders into the foyer—a fucking foyer, cold marble floor leeching the heat out of his bare feet—and stares at the door. It’s way too early for visitors, still.

The pounding stops for a second. Starts again.

Billy probably shouldn’t open the door to Steve’s house, shouldn’t even think about it. It’s not his responsibility. But the frantic nature of the pounding has him stepping toward the door and looking through the peep-hole.

Only to find Robin fucking Buckley, looking frazzled and off her goddamn gourd.

Billy opens the door and almost catches a fist to the face before she realizes that the door’s now open.

“Buckley,” Billy says, leaning into the open door while Robin’s face goes from panicked to confused and then—back to panicked.

“Wow, okay,” Robin says, taking in the picture of a very shirtless Billy answering Steve’s door before dawn has even finished. And Billy knows how he looks—bare chested and covered in hickeys and bruises. “I really don’t have time for—all of that,” she says, gesturing at Billy’s everything. “Is Steve in?”

“He’s sleeping,” Billy says. “Probably. How can I help?”

He grins. Wide and a little too friendly.

Part of him worries that this is…Upside Down related—but he thinks that if it was, Robin would probably just spill it. Call a code red or something. Instead of doing whatever it is that she’s doing.

Robin gives him a dirty glare, and she looks about a second away from trying to just shove past him into the house. She doesn’t, but she bounces on her feet like she’s thinking about it.

“I think I’d rather talk to Steve,” she says, smile tight. “Do you mind?”

She gestures for him to move out of the way. Looks very much like she expects him to do just that.

“Are you deaf?” Billy says, planting his feet and not budging at all. “I told you, he’s sleeping.”

“I’m sorry, do you think Steve Harrington needs his beauty sleep or something?” Robin asks, scoffing as she gives him a pretty long elevator look. “I’m pretty sure he doesn’t need to be any prettier– but maybe you know something I don’t.”

Billy hums. Like he’s considering.

“Nah, you’re right. He couldn’t be prettier. But I thought he wasn’t your type,” Billy says.

He grins. Licks his lips, running his tongue over them all slow.

“He said you didn’t like his hair,” Billy elaborates.

Robin rolls her eyes. “Well, he also said that there’s no musical artist better than Hall & Oates– sometimes Steve is full of shit.”

And then she’s getting up on her toes and craning over. Cups her hands to her mouth and shouts over his shoulder into the quiet of the house.

“Steve! Wake up! Your guard dog won’t let me in!”

And last night had really been something else. Eddie and Billy had kept Steve up for hours. Until he screamed. Until he was begging and pleading and crying. And he hadn’t slept much at all.

Which is to say: his sleep is important.

So Billy immediately shoulders Robin forward, backwards on the front step. Then he steps out with her and closes the door tight behind him.

“What the fuck is so important that you need to be here at eight fucking AM, Buckley?” Billy hisses.

Robin stumbles back, mouth falling open in blatant offense. She blinks at him like she can’t quite believe what he’s doing.

“Wow, you really are a guard dog,” she mutters and then squares up with him a bit, like he doesn’t dwarf her in height and width. “What I need is to talk to my best friend. So unless you want to paint my nails while I emotionally unload all over you, get out of the fucking way, Hargrove. Fun little love bites or not, I spent the night here before you ever did.”

Billy should probably care that Robin knows—but she’s safe. Or, as safe as anyone in Hawkins can be. So—he should care, but he doesn’t. Finds that he just can’t bring himself to.

“I’m good at painting nails,” Billy says, crossing his arms. “But if you think I’m a shitty substitute for Steve, you can wait half a fucking hour. I’m sure you woke him up with your fucking shouting, so just—give him until eight thirty. Got it?”

Robin scoffs out a laugh, arms folding over her chest as she gives him a pointed look Billy only clocks when she says, “I’m not gonna freak out over the makeout session I had with Nancy Wheeler with you. But, yeah, fine– let me in, and I’ll be as quiet as a mouse for exactly thirty minutes.”

Billy raises an eyebrow at her. Just for one second. And then he’s turning and putting his hand on the doorknob.

“Timer starts now, Buckley.”

And then he opens the door, stepping back to let her huff her way through the door and into the kitchen. She sits down at the counter like it’s a practiced thing.

Like some kind of shitty peace offering, Billy slides her a steaming cup of coffee across the marble.

“Well. You have shitty taste in women,” Billy says, topping up his own coffee, leaning against the counter to look at her.

She eyes him right back over the edge of her mug. Wrinkles her nose up at the taste– but doesn’t stop drinking it.

“And Steve apparently has shitty taste in men,” Robin replies, smile pleasant as can be.

“What, you want some whipped cream in that?” Billy only grins, maybe a little mean. Too sugary, too sweet. “I know Steve has shitty taste in men. That’s no surprise, babe.”

Robin puts on a heavy, dramatic shudder of disgust. “Don’t call me babe when you’re not wearing a shirt.”

“What, it’s not like you’re looking,” Billy says.

“It’s the principle of the thing,” Robin grouses, leaning over so far he’s half certain she’ll topple right off the counter, ducking down to snag a dish towel hanging from a handle on the cabinet below the sink, before whipping back up to throw it into Billy’s face. “I don’t want to think about a single one of the bruises on you, but they’re staring me right in the face. The least you could do is cover up a little.”

“With… a tea towel,” Billy says.

He takes the towel and holds it up by the two corners, right in front of his stomach. Dangles it there like a fucking matador, like maybe he can enrage Robin enough that she’ll leave.

She looks at him, at the towel, and makes a pained expression instead. “It’s better than nothing.”

It almost sounds like a joke.

But then Robin is scooching off the counter and making her way to Steve’s fridge. Opening it up and digging right in, like she’s done it a million times. She comes back out with a carton of milk and a triumphant little grin.

“So,” she says, pouring a messy dash into her mug before twisting the cap back on and setting it back on the shelf where she got it, kicking the fridge door shut with the heel of her boot as she twists to face him again. “How long have you been fucking around with my best friend? I mean, I can take a guess, but I’d prefer to know if I was right.”

“Weak,” Billy mumbles, nodding at her coffee.

He doesn’t mention that on his bad days, he puts a heaping spoonful of sugar in his own coffee. Maybe some half and half, if it’s in the fridge. That doesn’t count, though.

“How long do you think we’ve been ‘fucking around’?”

“Most of the summer,” Robin replies.

Which is vague as shit. Robin sips her coffee and arches a brow.

“Summer’s a long fucking season in Hawkins,” Billy says.

He leans against the counter. Looks back at her. Figures that there’s no real point to being catty.

“Only when the heatwave started,” he finally says. “Actually—nah, a few weeks after that.”

Billy started fucking around with Eddie when the heatwave started.

“Wow,” Robin says, nodding slow, leaning back against the fridge, arms lazily crossed. “That’s… wow, okay. A lot longer than I thought.”

Billy chucks the towel at her, balled up but not entirely mean, even though it hits her square in the chest.

“You’re such a bitch, Buckley.” But he’s actually kind of impressed. She’s such a devious little shit. “No wonder you and Steve are friends.”

Robin’s grin goes a little fond, even as she catches the towel and whips it over her shoulder– like Steve would. “He’s my favorite bitch.”

And of course, that’s exactly when Steve walks in, looking rumpled and worried in pajama pants and Eddie’s shirt. His hair is a mess and he barely looks awake; there’s a pillow impression on his cheek.

There’s also a livid trail of bites and hickeys lining his throat.

“I’m your favorite what?”

Robin smiles at him. “You’re a bitch. And you’re my favorite.”

Steve blinks at her for a long moment. “Is that why you’re here?”

Robin snorts, laughter catching in her throat and strangling her voice as she says, “Something like that.”

“She’s having a crisis,” Billy says. He’s already pouring a cup of coffee for Steve, fixing it just the way he likes it. “Is Munson still asleep?”

Robin makes another choked sound– but this time it’s more shocked than anything. “Munson? You’ve been fucking around with two guys all summer and didn’t tell me?”

Steve’s face is adorably pink. “Not all summer. You’re having a crisis?”

“I’m having a crisis,” Robin nods. “You’re fucking two dudes?”

Steve just gets redder, but he finally answers Billy’s question with a damning: “Eddie’s in the shower.”

When Billy tilts his head, he can hear the sound of pipes running. Can hear the rush of water through the house. It’s almost familiar now.

Padding across the kitchen, Billy offers the mug to Steve. He takes it, with a little smile, and then glances back at Robin.

“I made-out with your ex-girlfriend,” Robin blurts.

Steve goes very still. Blinks a few times, cradling his coffee between both hands, and then he blinks down at it.

With a little sigh, Steve holds it back out to Billy, shrugging a little at his arched brow.

“I’m gonna need more than coffee for this conversation,” Steve says. “You know where the whiskey is, don’t you?”

“Sure thing,” Billy says, taking the mug back.

He meanders his way out of the kitchen, leaving the two of them to awkward silence, and makes his way toward Steve’s father’s study. He’s not sure why Steve still even bothers to keep the alcohol there, given that his father seems to be entirely absent—along with his mother—but Billy’s familiar with routine. With doing things the same way out of comfort and habit, instead of the alternative.

When he comes back into the kitchen, it’s still silent, but the two of them are sitting at the counter. Billy slides Steve his now-doctored mug and then brandishes the bottle of whiskey at Robin, whose face looks a little pinched, a little terrified.

“You need any, Buckley?” Billy asks. “You look like you could use it.”

Robin eyes the bottle for a moment and heaves a great sigh and offers her half empty mug out. Steve snorts and gives her a little pat on the back as Billy tops her up.

“This sucks,” she mutters.

Steve nods, solemn if a bit amused. “Yeah. Yeah, relationships with Nancy Wheeler sometimes end up feeling like that.”

Robin makes a distressed sound. “It’s not even a relationship, it was a makeout sesh.”

“You know, one of those can sometimes precede the other,” Billy says, but then he’s grabbing his own mug, not feeling whiskey at the moment and patting Robin a little too roughly on the shoulder. “Cheer up, Buckley. You’re one step closer to getting into those ugly pants.”

He takes a sip of his coffee and then decides to pour another mug, double fisting his way to the doorway of the kitchen.

“I’ll leave you to it. I’m going to go find Munson.”

Once again, Billy leaves them in the kitchen, meandering his way upstairs. As much as he’d love to bear witness to Robin Buckley’s lesbian misadventures with his boyfriend’s ex, Billy knows when he’s not needed—or, obviously, wanted. Besides: if this were him, he’d prefer as few eyes on him as possible.

Back in Steve’s bedroom, Billy sinks down on the bed. The shower’s still running. He falls backward, slings his hands behind his head and then lets himself doze for a little while. Until Eddie’s leaning over him, hair still half-dripping, a puzzled little expression on his face.

“Where’s Stevie?”

“In the kitchen. Robin’s having a breakdown. There’s coffee on the desk for you,” Billy tells him.

Eddie’s nose scrunches right up. “There’s company?”

“She wouldn’t take no for an answer. I tried.”

When Eddie sits down next to him, Billy moves to press up against him. Hums lightly when Eddie’s hand comes to rest on his stomach. Not even teasing, just there—a solid, warm point of contact.

“Why does he always hang around, like, the most hard headed women?” Eddie commiserates, rubbing over the plane of Billy’s abdomen. “He attracts them like flies, I swear.”

And then he leans down, pressing a slow kiss to Billy’s forehead. Trails it over to Billy’s temple. Down to his cheek.

“Good morning, sunshine.”

“He’s got weird taste,” Billy says. “But I’m not complaining.”

He lets Eddie’s lips warm him. Skin tingling everywhere that Eddie touches.

“You got me thinking about the beach, sunshine,” Eddie says.

Billy’s brown furrows. He opens his eyes. Didn’t even know he had closed them.

“What about it?” Billy asks.

Eddie shrugs a shoulder, leaning his hand on the bed by Billy’s head, twisting slightly to look down at him. Gets his other hand trailing up to Billy’s stomach, to his chest, fingers plucking up the medallion he’s worn since his mother gave it to him.

Thumbs over the shiny gold of it, much like Steve did a couple weeks back, on the sand by the lake. It makes Billy shiver.

“Was just thinking that I don’t got a lot going on around here, outside of you two,” Eddie says, pecking at his cheek again. “Thought maybe we could take a trip or something.”

Billy huffs out a little laugh and flicks Eddie in the ear.

“You wanna take a trip with us, huh?” Billy teases, not quite believing it—and not quite ready for it, either.

Not quite ready to think about the beach, about California, most of all.

“Florida’s pretty much a straight shot down sixty-five south. I reckon we could do it in a couple days—maybe even a day, if we put our minds to it.”

Ah, Billy thinks. He can’t help but scrunch up his nose in distaste.

“Florida sucks,” he says. “There’s beaches up on Lake Michigan, if you want to drive to a beach.”

“You getting picky about which sandy shore I wanna take you to?” Eddie asks, but he’s grinning down at him and leaning in to steal a kiss. “Whatever you want. Just gotta make sure Stevie is on board.”

Billy gives up the kiss easy, but he pulls back to shove at Eddie, rolling his eyes.

He feels silly, wanting something like this. Having it feel so important when what he really wants is right here, inside Steve’s house.

“It doesn’t matter. We can go to Florida. A beach is a beach, right?”

“Up to you, sunshine,” Eddie replies. “Michigan works, too. Wherever, as long as I’m with you two.”

It’s heavy as fuck. It doesn’t help that Eddie flops down on top of him and kisses him slow.

“Maybe Stevie can take longer off,” Eddie mutters. “Maybe we can take a longer trip.”

“What, like, escape the awful fucking Hawkins winter?” Billy says, and it’s kind of a joke, up until the words are out of his mouth and then it’s—not.

Then, he’s thinking about renting a shitty little apartment with Steve and Eddie, close enough to the beach that he can smell the salt in the air. He thinks of California winters, so alien to anything found in Hawkins, and his heart aches. It aches so badly that he can’t help but wrap his arms around Eddie and pull him close, shoving his face into the hollow of Eddie’s neck to just—breathe him in.

Eddie lets him. Goes easily, smothering him down as he gets a hand carding through Billy’s curls. Kisses the top of his head and hums.

“I can make snow angels in the sand, can’t I?” Eddie asks, mouth hidden in the mess of his hair. “Bet Stevie would look real nice– all stretched out under a California sun?”

Billy would’ve made some comment about sand in Eddie’s asscrack, until his brain catches up with the idea of Steve, sun-warmed and tan, smiling up at Billy from behind glinting sunglasses.

“Well shit,” Billy murmurs, lips up against Eddie’s skin. “Well, now we gotta.”

He stays there for a little while, Eddie’s hands running up and down his skin, like he knows something about this struck a chord with Billy and it’s still resonating, reverberating and thrumming in his bones. Like he knows Billy needs a second to gather himself back together.

“You really mean it?” Billy asks, after a long beat of quiet. After he feels less raw.

“I generally don’t say things that I don’t mean,” Eddie replies, twisting over a bit, so he’s not fully squishing him but he’s still weighing him down, mouth pressing to his brow before he pulls back enough to look Billy in the face. “Just gotta rope a pretty boy into it– without everybody thinking that we’re kidnapping him.”

“Gonna be a hard sell,” Billy says, a little flippantly. “The kidnapping, obviously.”

And then he pauses, and thinks about trying to pry Steve away from Hawkins, from his kids, from his best friend.

“Huh. Maybe the beach, too.”

Eddie grunts. “He’s so stubborn, isn’t he?”

“He’s a pain in the dick is what he is,” Billy says.

And even though his voice is muffled against Eddie’s skin, it’s apparently still enough to have Steve chuckling, because Billy hears it—a laugh and then Steve, so loud and clear from the vicinity of the door: “Wow, love that you talk about me so fondly when I’m not here.”

“Stevie!” Eddie says, fingers carding through Billy’s hair. “I’ve got a proposition for you. Is our guest still here?”

Steve leans himself in the doorway, hands shoved into the pockets of his pajama bottoms, smile small and easy when Eddie rolls over enough for Billy to see. “She’s nursing a fresh mug downstairs. Sorry for the interruption.”

Eddie clicks his tongue. “And I was gonna blow you in the shower and everything.”

Steve’s ears go pink, but he gives Eddie an exasperatedly fond look. “What are you propositioning me for– besides the shower blowjob?”

“Greedy,” Eddie says with a click of his tongue. And then he hums. “It’s probably more of a longer discussion. All good things, don’t worry, but maybe better when company is gone.”

“She’s too nosy,” Billy says, leaning heavily on Eddie.

Steve’s nose scrunches up as he laughs. “She’s not nosy.”

Eddie gives him a flat look. “She’s incredibly nosy.”

“What, like you aren’t?” Steve asks, shoving off the door jamb to pad over, stopping at the edge of the bed to peer down at the both of them. “I could argue that the both of you are too nosy for your own good.”

“Hard not to be nosy when there are so many world-ending secrets floating around,” Eddie says, grinning up at Steve. “Seems like there’s always something afoot.”

“What he said,” Billy says.

Lazily, he kicks out at Steve. Hooks a foot around the back of his knee and gives a little tug. Not enough to drag Steve over or knock him down—just enough to be there.

Steve still stumbles forward into the mattress, though. Stays standing, but gets closer, like he’s thinking about crawling into bed with them.

But there’s a guest downstairs.

He sighs and puts his hands on his hips. “So you’re just gonna leave me hanging until Robin goes home?”

“Guess so,” Billy says.

He can’t help but feel a little nervous. Like maybe Steve will say no. Not just to staying in California for a season, but to going anywhere at all.

Not that Billy thinks Lake Michigan would be enough of a substitute for California beaches that it would be even worth going, but still. He wouldn’t want Steve to turn it down. To think it’s too much.

Even when it kind of is. They just started dating, finally sorted their shit out, untangling it from so many knots. And here Billy is, daydreaming about more. A whole summer filled with these two, packed to the brim.

“Some suspense won’t kill you,” Eddie says.

His fingers are so nice against Billy’s scalp. He can’t help but lean into them as Steve sways there above them, looking down.

“Did Buckley figure out her shit?” Billy asks.

Steve shrugs a shoulder, letting out a little sigh. “She’s not panicking, so I call that pretty good. She babbles when she panics.”

Eddie snorts. “So do you, Stevie.”

Steve isn’t even insulted. Just bobs his head, cheeks staining a nice shade of pink in the low light.

“Yeah,” Steve replies. “It’s probably why we get along so well. You guys gonna hide up here until she goes away? Or do you wanna come watch a movie with us?”

“Depends. What movie?” Billy asks.

Eddie pulls at his hair. “Be nice, sweetheart.”

Billy grunts, eyes falling closed against that prickle of pain. “Not with that fucking incentive I won’t,” he mumbles.

“You can’t fuck around in my room while Robin’s here,” Steve says, and the moment they start to protest, Eddie’s mouth falling open in something like exaggerated outrage, Steve cuts them right off. “She’s nosy, after all. I’d hate for her to come snooping and catch sight of one of your bare asses. She’d be traumatized.”

Billy huffs and pushes himself up, rolling his eyes as he goes. “She didn’t like looking at my hickeys, that’s for sure.”

“Pretty sure you’re the one to blame for those, Stevie,” Eddie says, thumbing over a spot on Billy’s neck.

Steve barks out a little laugh. “Me? Pretty sure you’re the one that likes to use teeth.”

Eddie grins, with said teeth, wide and proud as he tips himself back onto the bed. Tucks his hands behind his head, peering up at the both of them, so fucking pleased with himself.

“I like to mark my territory,” Eddie says.

Steve yanks the pillow out from under his head to smack him in the stomach with it. “You’re not a dog.”

“He’d piss on you if he could,” Billy says.

The squawk Steve makes is indignant and offended. He smacks Billy right in the face with the pillow, like that’ll take that mental image away from him. Eddie just laughs and laughs.

“He really is basically a dog, though,” Billy says, while Steve’s still fuming. “We could put a collar on him and everything.”

Eddie grabs the pillow from Steve’s hands and smacks Billy with it. And then Steve, for good measure.

“I think you’d look better in it, sweetheart.” Eddie’s eyes flick up to Steve. “You too, baby.”

The red of Steve’s face only grows. He puts his hands on his hips, like he’s drawing a line in the sand, but Billy can already see the smile growing on Eddie’s face.

“You’re not putting me in a collar,” Steve replies.

Eddie laughs. “You sure about that? I think we could convince you.”

“Stop talking about sex with my friend right downstairs,” Steve tells him, but Eddie is grabbing at his shirt to pull him stumbling forward a step. “She’s gonna come looking for me soon.”

“One kiss, baby,” Eddie says. “And then I’ll let you go—even though you won’t want me to.”

Steve rolls his eyes and relents, allowing Eddie to rope him into a kiss.

And then Billy watches as Eddie makes good on that one kiss promise. He kisses Steve hard and wet and messy, licking into his mouth as he threads his fingers into Steve’s hair, all nail. Billy hears it as Eddie eats up Steve’s surprised moan, catching him when his knees go a little weak.

And then Eddie lets him go. Pulls back and grins, even as Steve’s panting and leaning in for more.

“One kiss,” Eddie says. “Your friend is downstairs.”

He winks.

Steve’s eyes narrow as he huffs out one sharp breath and straightens back out. “Okay, fine. One kiss.”

Eddie’s expression mirrors Steve’s own, with a little more caution as he peers up at him. “Stevie?”

“One kiss, that’s all you get,” Steve replies, smile going a little sly, and he folds his arms over his chest as Eddie props himself up onto his elbows with a dubious laugh. “You said so yourself.”

“Wow,” Eddie breathes out. “What a brat. You’re going to regret that later, baby.”

“I don’t think I will,” Steve says, pleasant as can be, and then he leans down and catches Billy’s mouth for a fleeting little press. “One for you, too. I’ll see you guys downstairs when you’re done making bedroom eyes. Robin likes to marathon Hitchcock when she’s stressed.”

And then he’s rocking back, looking so pleased with himself as he glances down at them. Like he already knows who will be winning.

His smile gets a little wider.

“There’s booze and weed, too,” Steve adds. “Robin’s stash from Argyle. Just to sweeten the deal a little.”

And then he turns on his heel and heads for the door. He doesn’t even look back.

“Wow,” Billy breathes out after Steve’s footfalls hit the stairs. “What a bitch. I think I’m in love.”

He doesn’t really mean to say it out loud. Barely even means to think it. But by the time it’s off of his tongue, rolling off so easily, it’s too late. The words have already solidified themselves in his head.

“You’re only just figuring this out, sunshine?” Eddie snorts, and then rolls into him on the bed with a little groan, pressing his face to Billy’s chest, words muffled there. “It’s not fair. He can’t be this hot this early in the morning.”

Billy gets a fist in Eddie’s hair and pulls it. Gives it a little tug.

“Shut up, Munson.”

He feels a little flushed, a little off-balance from the pace of his own thoughts. Heartbeat pounding in his ears. But that doesn’t stop him from splaying his fingers out, cupping the back of Eddie’s head, just holding him there, Eddie’s warm breath against Billy’s skin. It tickles the blonde hairs on his chest, leaving him almost shivering, even though he’s so, so warm.

“We should get up,” Billy says, after a long beat of silence, where he can feel both of their heartbeats beating in tandem.

“In a minute, sweetheart” Eddie tells him.

Long arms wrap around Billy’s middle and then Eddie’s squeezing him tight. Grounding him. Making everything feel so, so simple again.

The movie’s already started by the time Eddie and Billy wander downstairs. Steve’s sprawled on the couch with Robin by his side, a soft looking blanket draped over both of their legs and fingers curled around steaming mugs—hot chocolate with some booze, by the smell of it.

“Domestic,” Billy says with a teasing little sneer, nodding at the two of them.

Eddie smacks him in the side and then drags Billy over to the couch, over to Steve’s other side, where there’s plenty of room for the two of them to slot in like puzzle pieces. Steve gives them a smile when they sit down, but Robin smacks at his side.

“If your boyfriends talk through Grace Kelly, I’ll scream,” she says.

Steve snorts. “We can just rewind it.”

“I’m going to talk through the entire movie just to spite you,” Billy says, peering around Steve to make a face at Robin.

“Be nice,” Eddie tells him.

His fingers are wrapped around Billy’s ankle and they give a little squeeze. And Billy can’t help but think about that afternoon in Eddie’s trailer, where they hadn’t yet been anything at all, both of their eyes and attentions caught up on Steve in Eddie’s handcuffs and Billy’s jacket. He thinks about the easy way Eddie touched him just like this, fingers around Billy’s ankle—how easily he breached Billy’s space in a way that didn’t make Billy bristle or recoil. He remembers how bright Eddie’s smile had been, how loud his laugh had been, and thinks that maybe that was the first time he looked at Eddie and wanted.

His heart feels fucking full, all warm and aching in his chest.

“Grace Kelly is a goddess,” Robin replies, sipping at her mug with a little hum, eyes never leaving the screen. “The two of you barely deserve to even look at her.”

Steve sighs. “Can you be nice, too? Please?”

Robin grunts. “I can try.”

“That’s asking a lot,” Billy says.

He likes Robin, is the thing. Likes the way she’s so smart and snappy, the way that she compliments Steve—not completing him, but echoing him in a way that has clearly benefited them both.

“Is it?” Steve asks. “I think you guys could get along– you both love being assholes.”

Robin elbows him hard enough that he grunts and nearly spills his drink.

“Careful,” Steve warns. “I won’t paint your toes if you’re mean to me.”

Robin huffs. “I’m always mean to you.”

“I think he secretly likes people being mean to him,” Eddie teases.

“Did you figure your shit out, Buckley?” Billy asks.

“Can you please stop talking? We’ve already missed, like, five minutes of the movie.”

“The pause button exists for a reason,” Billy says, sticking his tongue out at her and waggling it.

She gags.

Steve sighs again. Glances at Eddie like he might help, but he mostly just looks amused by the entire situation.

Billy doesn’t think he’ll find much help there.

So instead, Steve pulls out the next best thing– a baggy with three pre-rolled joints– and then leans over to look at Billy.

“Where’s your lighter?” he asks.

“Now you’re talking,” Billy says.

He fishes the lighter out of Eddie’s pocket, if only because he can—and he loves the way that it makes Robin roll her eyes—and takes one of the proffered joints. It’s rote to light it, to take a drag and let smoke into his lungs. And Steve’s right—it does shut him up, does leave him more docile.

They pass the joint around quietly as the movie plays. Billy watches as Robin relaxes as the movie goes on, as she smokes more and lets whatever making out with her best-friend’s-ex drama settle within her. She leans heavily into Steve and goes practically boneless, legs curled up underneath her, taking occasional sips of boozy cocoa.

Billy wonders, idly, if it would be bad to take Steve away from this, from her.

But it’s not forever, he reminds himself. Just for a few months—the worst of the Hawkins winter.

Billy leans up against Eddie, shoving at him until Eddie goes easy and lets Billy get comfortable against his chest with a little laugh.

They all ease into a steady new normal– relaxing as the weed takes hold. The movie plays on– some black and white thing– and as Robin grows looser, Steve does too. Which bleeds into Eddie. Which bleeds into Billy.

One movie rolls into the next– snacks are gotten, Steve offers to order pizza, drinks are refreshed– and soon enough, they’re all lazing about in a mess of limbs. Robin has wedged herself into the corner of the couch, Steve’s head resting against her lap as he paints the nails of her left hand in front of himself. His legs are draped over Eddie’s thighs, his feet in Billy’s lap– twitching and wiggling every time Billy goes to touch them.

Eddie’s got a hand on one of Steve’s knees, the other slung across the back of the couch, where Billy is tucked in against his side. Steve digs his heel into Billy’s thigh when he drags a teasing finger up the sole of his foot.

“Stop distracting me,” Steve mutters. “You’re gonna make me mess up.”

“Not my fault Buckley trusted you enough to paint her nails,” Billy says.

“What, like you’d be any better?” Steve says with a little roll of his eyes, the kind that makes Billy want to kiss him, a desire he files away for later.

Billy snorts. “Of course I would. I paint Max’s nails all the time.”

“Then make yourself busy and paint Steve’s toes for him,” Robin replies, popping a handful of popcorn into her mouth.

Steve even wiggles his feet. “Yeah, make yourself useful, you hooligan.”

Eddie laughs at him. Billy smacks him.

“Shut up, Munson, I’ll paint yours pink.”

“Please do,” Eddie says.

“Can’t believe you call your boyfriend Munson,” Robin grumbles as she tosses Billy a bottle of polish—apparently, whatever color she was going to paint Steve’s.

“Don’t worry,” Eddie says. “He calls me Eddie in bed.”

Robin gags again, unnecessarily dramatic.

“You stop, too,” Steve warns, frowning at her hand as he tries to hold it steady in front of himself, open nail polish bottle balanced carefully on his chest. “If you fuck up your own nails, I won’t try and fix them.”

Robin frowns down at him. “You’re so needy.”

“Watch your weird horror movie,” Steve mutters to her, tongue peeking out as he tries to concentrate on making the job perfect.

Painting Steve’s nails is kind of—nice. It’s been a little while since Billy did Max’s, if only because he’s been away from the trailer so much and so often these days. If he’s not sleeping at Steve’s, he’s sleeping at Eddie’s, and Max is enjoying the last of the summer with her friends. He misses her, kind of. In a way he didn’t realize he could—shit’s never been particularly familial with them, but going up against a nightmare world alongside someone else is really batting a thousand in terms of creating some lasting bonds.

After Billy finishes Steve’s nails, he moves on to Eddie’s. He does paint Eddie’s toes pink—and then does his fingers, but he does those in black, because he knows Eddie will appreciate it. And maybe a little bit because it makes his hands look hot.

“At least Buckley has good taste in movies,” Billy says, after a little while. “Opposed to her taste in women.”

“Hey,” Robin says, still blowing on her fingernails, Steve having moved to the floor to get her toes too, and he glances up to, at the insult in Nancy’s name. “She’s smart. And cute! Steve, she’s cute, right?”

“I am so not talking about if my ex is cute in front of my boyfriends,” Steve shakes his head with a little laugh.

And hearing Steve say boyfriends—acknowledging Billy and Eddie as his—it warms something in Billy. Something that leaves him feeling light and delighted, something that has him grinning down at Steve, wide enough that Eddie elbows him and makes a little kissy face at him.

“You’re so smitten,” Eddie murmurs, low. “Look at you.”

He always gets it. Somehow. Is always right there alongside Billy’s thoughts, reading him better than sometimes Billy even reads himself.

“Shut up.”

“Nah,” Eddie grins, tipping his head over to sneak a kiss to his cheek while Robin throws popcorn at Steve’s head. “You like it a little. Admit it.”

“Ugh, get off of me,” Billy says. But he doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch. Just lets his ears get all red, lets his chest get all full.

“Gross,” Robin says. “You picked the worst boyfriends, Steve. You’ve got two, the chances are slim that they would both suck, but you somehow managed it.”

Steve glances up from stuffing bits of cotton between her remaining unpainted toes, grin a little lopsided as he shrugs. “I dunno. I think they’re kinda neat.”

Robin snorts, but her smile gets big and dopey. She leans down, and even from here Billy can see the bloodshot of her eyes, fingers clumsy as she reaches out to ruffle his hair.

“You got a crush, dingus?” she asks.

Steve’s face scrunches up, but Billy can see the pink of his ears. “I’m sleeping with them, Rob.”

“You don’t have to like someone to sleep with them,” Robin says. And then she makes a face, all pursing her lips like she just bit into something sour. “But I don’t think that’s the case, here. I think you like these idiots way too much.”

“Hooligans,” Eddie says. “We’re hooligans, not idiots.”

“Well, you’re also an idiot,” Billy says.

“You’re both idiots,” Robin insists, still playing with Steve’s hair until he bats her away.

“Your fingernails are still tacky,” Steve grumbles. “Cut it out.”

Robin slumps back with a dramatic little huff. Crosses her arms and frowns down at him.

“Funsucker,” she says.

Steve doesn’t look up from her toes. “Jerk.”

“I’ll makeout with your ex-girlfriend again,” Robin threatens.

“Be my guest,” Steve replies. “She’s my ex, Rob. I’m not gonna get mad at you, so stop trying to make me.”

Robin makes an annoyed noise, and Billy wonders how many times she’s tried to get Steve to be mad at her. How many times she’s tried to get him to have any sort of emotional reaction—other than supportive.

And frankly, Billy’s a little surprised, too. While he knows that Steve likes both him and Eddie, he always thought Steve might still be nursing a small flame for Nancy Wheeler, the girl who broke his heart. The girl who got away. He wouldn’t have been surprised, or even mad about it—he just would have accepted it as fact, coming in a little bit second place. But here Steve is, shrugging Robin off with no hint of reluctance—only support.

Billy doesn’t know quite what to do with that revelation, but it’s nice. Like a weight off his shoulders.

“It makes sense,” Billy says, contemplatively. When Robin looks over at him, eyebrows raised, Billy just grins at her, all teeth. “You’re both so bitchy.”

“Billy,” Steve says.

But Robin only laughs. “You’re so right.”

Steve groans. “Don’t encourage him.”

But Robin is already twisting to face him better on the couch, Steve grousing from the floor as her foot wiggles around until she settles again. She props a lazy head on her knuckles, elbow on the back of the couch.

“And, I mean, considering the both of you are pretty bitchy yourself, I think that Steven has a type,” Robin says, popping the p and everything. “Do you go for bitchy, Steven?”

“I’m not answering that,” Steve mutters, focusing back on his task again.

Robin grunts, but then waves a hand at Eddie and Billy. “Come on, then. Agree or disagree– Steve likes ‘em bitchy.”

“He’s friends with you. And he dated Wheeler. So,” Billy says, “probably.”

“Hey,” Eddie says, swatting at him, uncaring about his own nails. “Take that back, sunshine, I’m not bitchy.”

“Eddie’s right,” Steve says. “He’s not bitchy.”

He doesn’t argue that Billy isn’t bitchy, though. And when Robin starts laughing, Steve glances up with an innocent little smile.

“Eddie is just an asshole,” he adds.

“Oh, that’s for fucking sure,” Billy says.

“It is,” Eddie says. “I’m a dick. But Stevie likes me that way. So does California, here. Isn’t that right?”

“I actually hate you,” Billy says, deadpan. “It’s pretty clear, now.”

Eddie collapses back, flopping toward Robin, both hands clapped over his heart. Makes a pained grunt, like Billy’s words have a physical impact. He even twitches a little. Like death throes.

Robin just peers down at him and snorts again.

Tipping his head over, Eddie bats his lashes at Steve. “You don’t hate me, do ya, Stevie?”

Steve makes a face. “Dunno. Hate’s kinda a strong word for it–”

“Steve, you’re killing me, here,” Eddie practically whines, and Robin shoves at him with a laugh and scrunched nose.

“Get on your side of the couch,” she says.

“And here I thought we were best pals,” Eddie says.

He clutches at his chest again, miming the pain of being hurt. And he doesn’t exactly move to his side of the couch, but he does give her a little more space as the movie continues to play out.

When the credits start rolling, they’re all mostly subdued. A little drowsy from pizza and sweets and movies all day. They’d been light on the booze, but starting early at least left Billy sleepy, soft. Relaxed. Even Robin seems more at ease, less coiled-tight like before.

They all jolt upright, startled, when Steve’s doorbell rings out through the house.

“Who the fuck?” Billy says, trying not to feel a little ashamed that he, too, was surprised by the sudden sound, kept on edge from horror movies.

“Dunno,” Steve mutters, brows drawing together over his eyes, but he pushes clumsily to his feet– moving a little more quickly when they hit the doorbell again. “Maybe one of the kids? I’ll check it out.”

Billy comes with as Steve makes his way toward the door on unsteady, tired feet. It’s not like at Eddie’s, where Billy felt anxious about whomever was at the door—now he’s just annoyed that one of the kids might be interrupting what was actually, all things considered, a nice day. Robin Buckley included.

But when Steve opens up the door, it’s not one of the kids standing there on the stoop—it’s Nancy Wheeler, looking a little frazzled and more than a little concerned.

“Is Robin here?” she asks, eyes immediately zeroing-in on Steve.

But that focus doesn’t last long, because then she spots Billy, arms crossed, standing behind Steve and a step to the left. Her brows pinch, mouth pursing up, but then she shakes her head with a rapid little blink, curls bouncing– like she’s dismissing the sight of him for later.

“Steve, it’s really important, is Robin–”

“She’s here,” Steve says, and Billy sees his fingers flex on the doorknob like he’s half a second from slamming the door shut in her face. “What’s so important that you actually showed up to my place?”

Nancy lets out something like a scoff, cheeks flushing. “It’s really none of your business, Steve–”

“Really?” Steve asks. “Because you kissed me– and then you made out with Robin– and I’m pretty sure you’re still dating Jonathan.”

Nancy winces, face just growing warmer. “It’s complicated.”

“Tell me about it,” Steve says. “Because I’m not letting you in if you’re gonna freak out and make Robin feel like shit again.”

And oh, Billy doesn’t think he’s ever seen protective Steve turned on someone else. Faced it himself, once, on a cold night so long ago.

He’s lax. At ease, with his arms lazily crossed, much the same way he was when he approached Billy, like he’s unimpressed– like he’s trying to look like he isn’t a threat– but he’s not willing to move out of the way, either. In a weird, quiet way, Billy thinks it’s kind of hot.

He also really, really pities Nancy right now. As much as he can, anyway, when she kissed his boyfriend not too long ago.

“Jonathan and I—we’re kind of on a break,” Nancy says.

“What does kind of mean?” Billy asks skeptically.

“I am not talking to you,” Nancy says. And then she turns to look at Steve, arms crossing across her chest. “I’m not talking to him.”

Like she thinks Steve’s just—going to let that slide. At least… Billy hopes he won’t, that he won’t just fold and side with his ex and not Billy.

“Okay,” Steve says, and for a brief moment, Billy can taste the sour, bitter tang of disappointment lingering in his mouth. “Bye, Nancy.”

And then he’s shutting the door in Nancy Wheeler’s face. Gently, but still. From the other side, Billy can hear Nancy let out an offended sound. Hears her call Steve’s name through the door.

Steve just sighs and stares at it, hands finding his hips. There’s a beat where they’re both staring at the door in silence, and then—a tentative little knock.

When Steve opens the door, Nancy looks a little chagrined.

“We’re taking a break,” Nancy says. “That’s not a lie. But we just—we both said we wanted to get back together, afterwards, and that’s not—it’s not exactly the case. For me. I don’t,” she says, making a little face while her shoulders are squared and set, like she’s sure of it, “I don’t want to get back together.”

“Does he?” Steve asks.

“Maybe,” Nancy says. “I don’t know. I hope not. I’m really tired of breaking people’s hearts, Steve.”

Steve softens somewhat at that– but he’s still not letting her in. “Okay. What else?”

“What else, what?” she asks, blinking when Steve folds his arms and arches a brow. “I’m– I’m sorry for kissing you? I was drunk, and– and stupid– and you had said you pictured having kids with me when–”

“Nance,” Steve cuts her off, smile a bit chagrined when he gestures over his shoulder. “I meant Billy. But apology accepted.”

Nancy blinks again. “Right. Yeah. Um, I’m sorry for being rude, Billy.”

This time, Billy’s the one blinking back. He never expected an apology from Nancy Wheeler. Nor did he even really need one. It’s not like he’s ever been nice to her.

“Sure,” Billy says with a little shrug of his shoulders. “Whatever.”

He wants, just a little bit, to say something about how she should treat Steve’s boyfriend better—but ribbing Nancy is different than ribbing Robin. Because Robin gets it. And while Nancy did kiss Robin—makeout with her, even—it doesn’t quite feel the same. Maybe it’s got something to do with Nancy kissing Steve, both in the distant past and way too recently for comfort.

“You should apologize to Robin, too,” Billy grumbles.

“I thought you didn’t like Robin,” Steve says, lips quirking into a little knowing smile.

“I don’t. She’s a bitch, but she bothered you at, like, eight AM.”

“Why do you think I’m even here?” Nancy makes a face. “Why are you here?”

“He’s here because I want him here and I invited him,” Steve says, and Nancy frowns up at him. “You wanna let me see if Robin wants to talk to you?”

“She doesn’t want to talk to me?” Nancy asks, a little wrong-footed.

Steve winces and gives a little shrug. “I dunno. She came over at eight am– pretty upset, too. Gimme a second?”

And when Nancy nods, Steve turns and heads past Billy. Pats him on the shoulder as he goes, touch lingering like he can’t help himself, a silent request to stay and wait while Steve gets Robin.

“Seriously, though, why are you here?” Nancy asks, voice lowered so Steve won’t hear.

“Nosy. Shit, you’re really cut out to be a journalist, aren’t you?” Billy breathes out with a little disbelieving laugh. He wishes he had a smoke, but his pack’s upstairs in Steve’s room. Instead, he just licks his lips, needing something to do with his tongue. “Munson and I spent the night. Not that we need to explain ourselves to you.”

Nancy crosses her arms, taking a note from Steve’s book clearly, and tips her chin up– refusing to back down. Billy supposes that all of Steve’s friends are too nosy for their own good.

“What, you guys had a little sleepover?” Nancy asks, not bothering to soften the doubt rich in her tone.

Billy hums.

“We even painted each other’s nails,” Billy says with an unfriendly grin.

Billy’s nails aren’t painted, though. He spent his time painting Steve’s toes and all of Eddie’s everything. He’s kind of jealous of Eddie’s.

Nancy scoffs out a little laugh, but she looks a little less like she wants to pick his brain apart. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

Yeah, Billy thinks with a sharp laugh, loud enough that Nancy shuffles back a step as she eyes him. I could be doing Steve and Eddie, right now.

“Steve doesn’t need you hanging around,” Nancy insists.

“What, you think I’m going to get him with dishware again?” Billy asks. “I promise you, princess—I wouldn’t hurt a hair on his head. But it’s cute that your feathers are so ruffled about it.”

“You don’t exactly have the best track record,” Nancy says, but she’s eyeing him a little, cocking a hip like she’s considering him, though it doesn’t diminish the dubious nature of her voice. “So you and Steve are best friends now?”

Billy’s grin doesn’t fade—if anything, he lets it get brighter. More shark-like.

“Best buddies,” Billy says.

“Down, boy,” Steve says from somewhere behind him.

But there’s a laugh in his voice, something incredibly, deeply fond. It makes Billy feel warm, heated up from the inside.

Steve rounds Billy with Robin trotting at his back. She got a hand fisted in the back of his shirt, and she gives Billy a dirty glare when he catches sight of it. He’d make a snide remark, but she looks pretty pale.

Pity doesn’t cost much.

“Robin,” Nancy says, expression flooding with relief when her head pops around Steve’s shoulder. “Oh, thank god, I was looking everywhere–”

“Yeah, um, hi,” Robin replies, smile more than awkward. “Um. You, uh. You wanted to– Steve said you wanted to apologize.”

Steve steps aside a little, lets Robin stumble forward, and Nancy is already nodding.

“Yeah,” she replies, looking far more awake than she had only moments before, perked up at the sight of Robin. “Yeah, can we– Can we talk?”

Robin’s throat works. “Yeah, sure. Here?”

Nancy winces, staring past her into Steve’s house with a little grimace, holding up her keys as she meets Robin’s eyes again. “In the car? I’ll let you pick the music.”

“We’re having a movie marathon,” Steve says. “If you want to join after. No pressure.”

It feels like an olive branch, but Billy doesn’t really understand why.

“Free manicures,” Billy offers.

It sounds mean, he knows—but it’s not necessarily malicious. Nancy Wheeler means something to Steve, and so does Robin. So: Billy will try. It’s the least he can do.

Robin clears her throat and lets go of Steve, stepping out of the house and joining Nancy on the stoop outside. “Yeah. I’ll come back in a bit.”

Steve nods. “I’ll leave the door unlocked– just let me know if you decide to take off.”

Robin is nodding and Nancy is fidgeting. They hesitate, looking like two preteens at their first dance, but then Nancy is leading the way to the car and Robin is following.

And then Steve is shutting the door.

Billy whistles.

“Wow,” he breathes out, leaning against the door to give Steve a once over. “You could cut that tension with a fucking knife.”

“It’s cute!” Eddie shouts from the other room, and Billy can’t help but laugh that he’s paying attention, inserting himself but too lazy to get up. “They’re still figuring their shit out!”

Steve grunts, rubbing a hand over his face and giving a little shake of his head, rueful– but there’s a smile on his face, even if it is a small one. “Yeah, they’re cute.”

“You good, pretty boy?” Billy asks. “That is your ex, after all.”

“I’m fine,” Steve says, but he sounds kind of tired, gesturing toward the living room with a swing of his head. “It’s sort of funny, actually.”

Eddie is lounged out on the couch now that it’s free when they make their way back to him. Hands behind his head, he grins at them, wiggling his painted toes in their direction.

“What’s funny?” he asks.

“My ex-girlfriend and the first girl I even had anything remotely like a crush on after said ex-girlfriend broke my heart are probably gonna makeout in my driveway,” Steve replies, padding over and then flopping down on top of Eddie, not bothering to try and get him to move and make space, words muffled against his chest. “S’kinda funny. Funnier that I don’t even care.”

Billy flops down next to them, hard enough that it jostles Eddie and makes them both grumble out a complaint—which, in turn, makes Billy laugh.

“The face your ex makes when she realizes we’re fucking is going to be even funnier,” Billy says. “She kept asking me why I was here.”

“And you didn’t tell her?” Steve asks.

Billy shrugs. “Not my secret to tell. That’s on you, baby.”

Steve lets out an irate little noise, pressing his face back to Eddie’s chest. “That sounds like a difficult conversation. Can’t I just let her stumble in on us or something?”

Eddie barks out a laugh, sinking his fingers into his hair, and when Billy feels Steve shiver all against him, he knows that he’s scratching at Steve’s scalp. Sees how quickly it makes any of the little tension tightening his shoulders disappear.

“I mean, you can if you really wanna,” Eddie tells him, shifting under them a little, like he’s adjusting to their weight, arm looping around Billy’s waist to keep him from going anywhere. “But you don’t have to tell her. Not if you don’t want to.”

Steve grunts, shivering again, and then turns his head to smoosh his cheek at Eddie’s chest so he can eye Billy, voice quiet and warm in that hazy way he gets when he’s sleepy. “I wanna tell everybody. Just don’t really think I should.”

Billy’s gut goes a little tight. A little cold.

Robin knowing is one thing. So is Nancy. Everyone is—a lot. Too much.

And too dangerous, too.

He swallows. Tries to ignore the sudden and steep pit in his stomach. Pushes himself up from the couch and heads in the direction of Steve’s fridge.

“I want a drink. Anyone else?”

He hears Eddie make a pained noise, hears the couch groan, as Steve sits up after him, draping himself across the back of the couch with a little frown when Billy glances back at the noise. His hair is floppy and everywhere– and Eddie makes another pained sound as Steve shifts.

“I’m not gonna,” Steve says, and for a moment Billy thinks maybe he said what he was thinking out loud, before he realizes that Steve’s has just been with him enough, around him enough, that he can tell when he’s said something that spooks him.

It’s sort of terrifying, thinking that Steve knows him like that already.

“I’m not gonna tell everybody,” Steve repeats. “I just want you to know that I want to. I want everyone to know that you guys are mine, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Billy says, but his throat is tight and the word is so much less nonchalant than he’d like. “Yeah, I know you wouldn’t say anything.”

Hovering in the doorway of the living room, Billy feels so far away, but it—makes it easier. A little bit. To feel a bit more detached, to not have Steve or Eddie right there, too close to his face.

“Not everyone’s so accepting,” Billy says, and he tries so hard to sound detached. “It’s not safe.”

“I know,” Steve says, nodding slow and a little sad. “I just– it doesn’t stop me from wanting it.”

“Yeah,” Billy says. “I know, Steve.”

He leans up against the door jamb and sighs, letting it take his weight. He watches as Eddie’s fingers find Steve’s hair and begin to card through it.

“In a perfect world, baby,” Eddie says. “I’d wear both of you on my arms.”

Steve makes a small sound, but he lets himself go lax as Eddie moves closer on the couch, scratching at his scalp in a way that always makes Billy turn to putty. Steve doesn’t fare much better.

Billy wants to smile when he sees how heavy and dozy Steve’s eyes get.

“But we can’t,” he grumbles.

“No,” Eddie sighs, leaning in, kissing Steve cheek. “Sorry, Stevie.”

“It’s not your fault,” Steve huffs, and Billy knows he’s included in that your.

Billy excuses himself for a moment to go to the fridge to grab some drinks. It’s hard, this life. And it’s even harder when it’s new. Steve doesn’t understand, hasn’t lived it like Billy has. Like Eddie has. And he’s right—it is unfair. And somehow that new outlook on it makes it all hurt just a little bit worse.

Maybe it’s because Billy’s never really cared about anyone like this before. Never so much, never so deeply. Steve and Eddie have grown to mean everything to him, something weightier than he’s ever had to deal with, ever had to reconcile.

He also doesn’t want to have to sneak around in the world with them, to hide them—but he knows they have to. At least for now. At least here.

Billy rests his head against the smooth surface of the fridge and takes in a breath. At least there are three of them. Three to shoulder the burden, always having two people at his side to lean on. It feels impossibly good—and he can’t help but have a strange amount of hope that they’ll be able to make it work, to plow ahead with that combined strength.

If they beat the Upside Down together, they can do this, right?

He comes back to the living room with three beers.

“Can we watch something less artsy,” Billy asks.

Steve snorts, slumped over on the couch, lazing against Eddie’s chest, sprawled between his spread legs. He looks a bit like he’s moping, but he makes a grabby hand toward Billy.

At first, he thinks it’s for the beer, but then he realizes that Steve is reaching for him– like he intends to pull Billy down into their pile, beers and all.

“You can put on whatever you want in, like, five minutes,” Steve mutters, and Billy barely has time to stop and put the drinks down on the coffee table before Steve is tugging at his shirt.

When he falls, Eddie makes a dramatically pained sound, like the combined weight of Steve and Billy might be his ruin. Or maybe Steve just elbowed his spleen.

“Hey, baby,” Billy breathes out, nosing at Steve’s temple, letting their closeness warm him up.

It helps, shaving off and numbing some of the lingering, existential hurt.

Steve hums, keeping that hand in Billy’s shirt and going easy with them both so close. Closes his eyes, like he might nap like that, and breathes out slow when Eddie pets down his spine.

Billy feels the tips of fingers pluck at a few of his tighter curls and knows that the touch belongs to Eddie.

“Can I say something and it not, like, freak either of you out?” Steve asks, peeking one eye open, more awake than his lax form implies.

Billy huffs out a little laugh. “That’s a hard promise to make, baby.”

He presses a kiss to Steve’s cheek and then makes himself comfortable on Steve’s chest, arms crossed and propping himself up, eyes on Steve.

“I promise not to let California near any plates,” Eddie says. “What’s up, Stevie?”

“I just–” Steve huffs a little, face warming in color as he shifts between them, Eddie’s nose dragging at Steve’s temple, quietly coaxing him. “I really– I really like you guys and I don’t know if– I don’t know how this works. I don’t know if I’ll get to– to keep you.”

“You get to keep us for however long you want us,” Eddie says. “I’m all yours, baby. Sweetheart, what say you?”

“Same,” Billy says, so quick that he can barely stop himself. “I’ve wanted you for so long, nothing’s gonna stop that. Unless you call it quits, I’m all yours, too.”

Steve lets out a shuddering breath, nodding as Eddie gives Billy one of those smiles. Too knowing and too teasing and too kind.

“Okay, cool,” Steve mutters. “So forever, then.”

Eddie laughs a little, jostling them both. “Forever, huh?”

“You got a problem with that, Munster?” Steve asks, tipping his head back, but Eddie is already shaking his head.

“You won’t hear a complaint outta me,” he says, and then he’s shifting a little– tugging something up and over his head. “Here.”

And then he’s pulling the chain of his necklace, guitar pick and all, over Steve’s head. Steve blinks at it, thumbs at the black plastic with a little frown.

“What’s this for?” Steve asks.

“You want proof that we’re yours, right?” Eddie asks, eyeing the way Steve holds a piece of plastic so carefully between his fingers.

Like Eddie gave Steve his heart on a string– rather than a guitar pick.

“Now you can carry a little bit of me everywhere you go,” Eddie adds.

Billy feels his heart clench inside his chest. Like someone’s fist just clenched around it. For a brief second, he feels like crying—so acutely and terribly—and then, by the time he swallows it down, he’s tugging off his own necklace. And putting that into Steve’s hands, too.

“You got both of us,” Billy says, and he knows his voice sounds wrecked and raw, knows it sounds like he’s seconds from tears—but he can’t even bring himself to care.

They look good on him. When he tugs Billy’s necklace to join Eddie’s over his head, it looks right.

Like Steve Harrington was made to wear their claim on him.

Steve’s throat works. He’s got both Billy’s medallion and Eddie’s pick cupped in one palm as he stares at them and tries to tug Billy impossible closer on top of them.

“Thank you,” he mutters, ears pink.

Billy kisses him. There’s really no other thing to do. He catches Steve’s lips in his and loses himself in it. And when he pulls back to catch a breath, Eddie’s right there, kissing Steve too. And then Billy. Rounding out the circle.

Steve laughs when Eddie breaks from Billy’s mouth, giving him a smug little look. “I thought I was only getting one kiss today.”

“For the whole day?” Eddie asks. “Is that what I was agreeing to?”

Steve snorts. “Well, you both already caved, so…”

“Guess we’re both suckers,” Billy says.

But he doesn’t feel like a sucker. He just feels love drunk. Pulled under the tide of how much he cares about Steve, how much he wants him.

“You reckon they’ll be back soon?” Eddie asks, nodding in the direction of where Steve’s front door is.

“Insatiable,” Steve says with a little roll of his eyes.

“Are you complaining?” Billy asks. “That your boyfriends want you all the time?”

Steve practically beams at him. “You want me all the time?”

“That’s a silly question,” Eddie replies, leaning down to kiss the top of Steve’s head. “Of course we do.”

“Want me to go see if they’re gone?” Steve asks, blushing and flattered, hand curled loose around both of their charms where they sit around his neck. “You can pick a movie while I’m gone.”

Eddie gasps theatrically, watching as Steve wiggles out from between them and onto his feet.

“It’s like you want them gone!” he accuses at Steve’s retreating back, as he rounds the corner and heads out of the room.

“Of course I want them gone!” Steve shouts back. “They’re my friends! I want them to get together and be happy!”

“You just wanna get laid,” Billy shouts, all mirth as Eddie pulls him in and ruffles his hair.

He hears the front door open. And then he hears it shut.

Steve comes back in with a crooked little smile.

“Mom and dad took off,” Steve says, half joking. “You guys wanna party?”

“Literally always. Come here, baby,” Billy says, hands already outstretched.

Next to him, Eddie laughs.

chapter 20:

without my pride (i reach out from the inside)

“I want you to take me shopping today,” Max tells him, looking a bit like she has been working herself up all morning for this. “In the city.”

Billy blinks up at her, arching a brow. “In the city?”

“There are no good clothes shops in Hawkins,” Max insists. “And I want to bring El with me.”

Billy takes one more look at her, assessing, and then crosses his arms.

“What’s in it for me?”

It’s not that he’s opposed, exactly. But a whole day shepherding two girls around the city doesn’t exactly sound fun. The logistics are complicated, too. He’ll have to borrow Susan’s car. Or Steve’s, if Steve’s willing.

Max shifts on her feet. “I don’t exactly have an incentive. I just want to go. And I want you to bring Steve.”

Billy’s a little taken aback by the request, but the purse of Max’s lips and the pink highlighting her freckles on her face keep him from being too mean about it.

“Why am I bringing Steve?” he asks.

Max rolls her eyes. “You can bring Eddie, too. Steve just– dresses better than, like, everyone. And school is starting soon.”

“You are not going to school looking like a prep,” Billy says. “Munson would give better advice than Steve.”

And Billy would give the best advice overall, obviously. But Max won’t listen to him—or she will, but not obviously. Not overtly.

Max rolls her eyes again, arms crossing defensively. “It’s not for me. It’s for El.”

“She shouldn’t look like a prep either, I thought she wanted to look like a badass.”

Billy crosses his own arms, a mirror image of Max.

“She wants to look pretty,” Max says and then lets out a long sigh. “She’s nervous about her hair, so I figure if she’s dressed nice, maybe she’ll worry about it less. That’s all.”

“Preppy doesn’t necessarily mean pretty,” Billy says with a roll of his eyes. “But fine, I’ll bring Steve.”

He’ll probably have to, anyway. Since he’s more than likely having to borrow Steve’s car.

“And Eddie?” Her eyes are way too full of mirth.

“That’s a full car, kid. You really want to sit in the back, crammed like a sardine?”

Max shrugs. “An hour squished in the backseat won’t kill me.”

“An hour squished next to Munson might, he gets fidgety and annoying.”

“Aren’t you, like, dating him, or whatever?”

And they haven’t talked about this. Not really. But Max isn’t stupid, as much as Billy gives her shit for being dumb all the time. She’s not. She’s way too observant, actually.

“Shut your trap, Maxine,” Billy hisses.

“Who’s gonna hear me?” Max asks, glancing around the empty dirt lot of the trailer park, only sparsely populated by a few crows and a dog barking behind a chain link fence. “It’s the middle of the day– we’re, like, the only ones out here.”

Technically, Billy was the only one, until Max came jaunting out with her demands. He can hear Eddie snoring in his own trailer even from here. It would feel vaguely desolate if it weren’t for the sounds of people in their small houses.

“Please?” Max throws in. “If you don’t say yes, I’ll just radio Steve and ask him to take us. Without you.”

“Okay fine,” Billy says, folding fast.

And only because he wants to ask Steve, instead. Doesn’t want to be the one tagging along.

Max beams at him– even if it is a bit smug. “Awesome. I’ll go let El know.”

And then she’s darting off, back into the trailer, probably to radio her little superhero friend. Billy hears the screen door clatter behind her.

Pushing to his feet, Billy ambles over to Eddie’s trailer. Knocks on the door and steps back when Wayne answers it.

“Mr. Munson,” Billy greets.

Wayne barely looks awake– might actually be on his way out, fresh out of bed, if the coffee thermos clutched in his hand is anything to go by.

“He was up all night,” Wayne warns, barely even pausing as he opens the door wider for him. “Some writing tizzy. Good luck waking him up.”

Billy frowns. “Maybe I shouldn’t.”

The idea of prying Eddie up and out of bed when he needs the sleep is—unideal. Not what Billy particularly wants to do. Especially when they all know how valuable good sleep is. And Eddie’s seems decent now, no sounds of nightmares, no tossing and turning.

Wayne rolls tired eyes, gesturing Billy past him with a swing of his chin. “Go on. He’ll never let it go if I start spooking off the people who come to see him.”

Billy thinks that Wayne is maybe a saint. He sure is a savior, anyway. Eddie’s goddamn lucky to have him at his back, always looking out for him.

It makes Billy feel good, too, knowing that Wayne accepts him. That Wayne thinks he’s good for Eddie. Billy wishes he could tell him that it’s the opposite, really—how good Eddie’s been for Billy.

“Thanks, Mr. Munson,” Billy says with a nod and a wave goodbye as Wayne heads off to his car.

Not waking Eddie up is actually surprisingly easy. Billy crawls carefully into bed next to him, lying down so that Eddie can sleepily curl into him, his arms reaching out to immediately close around Billy’s middle, pulling him close.

Clingy, even in his sleep. Maybe especially so.

He’s sleep warm and snoring. Mouth half open, hair tangled up about his head, Eddie looks nothing like the sure press of his hands imply. He looks soft. Vulnerable.

It makes Billy lean in to press his mouth at Eddie’s brow. Has the fingers of one hand sinking into the dark of Eddie’s hair. Has his other hand slip down over the exposed line of Eddie’s side. The skin is always tempting, but Billy finds himself content just to touch.

Soon enough, he feels the slow twitch of Eddie stirring. The suck of breath he takes, when he realizes he isn’t alone, and the pleased hum that follows as he melts into it.

“Mm, sunshine,” he mumbles, voice low and rough, ringing into a lazy cadence as he nuzzles his nose up under Billy’s jaw. “I got sunshine, on a cloudy day~”

Barely awake and already flirting. Billy doesn’t feel too bad for waking him.

“You’re something else,” Billy murmurs, but he doesn’t even feel teasing—his heart just feels warm and full. So packed with emotion that it feels liable to explode.

Billy wonders, just a little, if that’s even possible. If these feelings might be the death of him.

“When it’s cold outside,” Eddie croons, mouth pressing to the pulse of his heart as he kisses over Billy’s throat. “Is it particularly gray, or am I just lucky?”

Billy wants to snort. The charm and the cheese, laid on thick as Eddie’s hands sneak up under the back of his shirt to pet over skin.

“You always taste like summer,” Eddie mutters, teeth teasing at the edge of his jaw.

“I think you’re still dreaming, babe,” Billy says.

But he feels warmed up like summer sunshine, too. All warm and gooey on the inside, just at how fucking sweet Eddie’s being. Because it’s not forced, because he’s half awake and just so—he just likes Billy so much, in such a real and tangible way.

And Billy never, not in a million years, thought he’d have this. Someone as good as Eddie, just touching him like this—like he loves him.

“Did you miss me, California?” Eddie asks, fingers walking up his spine, just to tug him a little closer. “Don’t usually wake up to find you in my bed if we didn’t fall asleep in it together.”

“Shut up, I wake you up often enough,” Billy says, though he also knows it’s not exactly their norm.

“Only on special occasions,” Eddie teases, finally pulling back to blink the sleep from his eyes as he grins at Billy. “Hey, there, gorgeous.”

God, Eddie Munson is the worst flirt in the world.

But Billy likes him so fucking much it’s disgusting.

“You have any interest in going to the city later?” Billy asks, pushing his hand up and under Eddie’s shirt to splay his fingers out over his abs.

“We going on a road trip?” Eddie asks, brows pinching.

“Max wants to take her friend shopping, and she apparently needs Steve there,” Billy replies with a little roll of his eyes, but Eddie is already grinning again.

“A date in the city, huh?” Eddie asks, and Billy knows he’s half joking– but he also knows that Eddie kind of means it, a place where they can simply be, without too many people gawking or watching as Hawkins’ sweetheart pals around with two of her redeemed deplorables. “Why didn’t you say so sooner? I’ll even buy you one of those fruit things from the food court.”

“Wow,” Billy says, drawing out the word. “One of those fruit things. Such a gentleman. How could I ever pass that up?”

“Maybe a pretzel, too,” Eddie replies, still grinning even as he leans in, teasing at Billy’s mouth with his own. “A slice of pizza, if you’re real good.”

“Wow,” Billy repeats again, the word barely even a whisper against Eddie’s lips. “Really caught myself a keeper with you, huh?”

He lets Eddie have the kiss, though. Or maybe Eddie lets him—it’s hard to tell, when they’re both leaning in for it, lips lazy together.

“Think Steve will let me borrow his car?” Billy asks, once Eddie has pulled back a bit, started kissing along Billy’s jaw.

“If he’s not working,” Eddie replies, distracted by the line of Billy’s throat for a moment, before he pulls back with a little waggle of his brows. “Should we call him and see?”

Eddie doesn’t wait for a reply, already shoving Billy by the chest– rolling him onto his back so that he can leverage himself up and over him. Straddles Billy’s belly as he paws over at his nightstand, for the old rotary phone he’s got there, cheek dimpling when Billy’s hands come to balance him at his hips.

Billy hears the dial tone before he starts inputting the number, phone pressed between a shoulder and his ear, eyes dark and so warm as he stares down at Billy. He hears it start ringing as Eddie shoves Billy’s shirt up under his arms just so he can idly trace the lines of his skin as he waits for Steve to pick up.

Billy knows Steve isn’t working today. Which means he picks up on the third ring—like he does almost every time without fail. Like the good kid he is.

“Harrington residence,” Billy hears—the little tinny voice of Steve Harrington recognizable even distorted across the wires.

“Tell him he’s a fucking dweeb,” Billy says.

He hears the static of a sigh, which means that Steve heard him just fine. “Hi, Eddie. Hi, Billy.”

“Hey, baby,” Eddie gets his fingers at one of Billy’s nipples, giving a little pinch and pull, like a reprimand. “You wanna go on a field trip?”

Billy stifles a gasp while Steve laughs over the line. “Where am I taking you?”

Eddie arches a brow down at Billy, holding the phone out for him so he can reply– giving his nipple another little pull when Billy opens his mouth to respond and looking far too pleased with himself.

Billy swallows down another sound and attempts to buck Eddie off of him with a roll of his eyes.

“Max wanted to go shopping,” Billy says. “In the city. Wanted me to take you because your style is better or something.”

“Oh,” Steve says, faltering for a moment, like he’s trying to process that. “Um. Okay. Yeah, that’s– That sounds fun. Today?”

“Yeah, is that—fuck, Eddie, stop it—okay?” Billy says, words broken by a particularly mean twist of Eddie’s fingers to his nipple.

“Ask me nice,” Eddie replies.

On the other end of the phone, Steve lets out a soft laugh. “Munster giving you trouble, trouble?”

But Eddie is wiggling down until he’s straddling Billy’s thighs, leaning down to press his mouth over the pink, tender skin– like an apology.

“He’s a fucking menace,” Billy breathes out, but his eyes are on Eddie, who’s all big brown innocent eyes up at him.

“I think you should ask him nice, maybe,” Steve says, just a little bit cheeky, from the other end of the line.

“Jesus fuck,” Billy says, phone pressed up against his ear as he looks down at those big, wide eyes. “Be nice, Eddie,” Billy says. “Pretty fucking please.”

The flat of Eddie’s tongue drags hot over the sensitive skin of his nipple– and Billy hisses even as Eddie relents.

“Sorry, sunshine,” Eddie says, and then gets all close so that he can talk into the receiver too. “Come over, Stevie. Billy lets me tease him more when you’re around.”

Steve dissolves into a fit of laughter. “No, I think you just have more than one person to focus on.”

“Steve,” Billy whines out, when those teeth close over his nipple, mean. “You can’t just fucking—let him—”

And then Billy’s fists clench in Eddie’s sleep-soft shirt and try and pull him off. To no avail.

“So, are you in, Stevie?” Eddie asks into the receiver, before mouthing at the line of Billy’s jaw, fingers toying with Billy’s nipple.

“Apparently, I’m being left out,” Steve mutters, almost sullen. “Who knows what you’ll get up to before I get there?”

Eddie pulls back, grinning triumphantly. “Whatever I do to Billy, he can do to you later.”

Steve laughs again. “I’m not falling for that. I’ll be there in twenty.”

Billy whines. He can’t help himself. Twenty minutes is a long fucking time. And he says so, to Steve.

Who just laughs at him, and says, “I’m hanging up, now.”

And then the dial tone is ringing in Billy’s ear. And Eddie’s laughing, pinning him to the bed. Leaning down and getting his teeth around Billy’s nipple.

“Munson, what the fuck—”

Eddie hums, sucking just hard enough to make Billy gasp. Gets his fingers tangled into Billy’s own as he presses Billy’s hands down against the sheets.

Comes up when Billy arches, lips already spit shiny, the absence of his mouth making Billy shiver.

“One day,” Eddie says, giving Billy’s hands a warning press before letting go so that he can work down the bed, fingers going for Billy’s fly. “I’m gonna make you cum just playing with your nipples. But I don’t have time for that today.”

And then he’s fishing Billy out of his pants with deft fingers. Pumping over him, until the arousal leaves his skin burning, and then dips down to get his mouth on Billy’s cock with no warning at all.

Quick. Dirty. Fucking obscene.

The noise Billy makes. It’s awful. Embarrassing.

Billy wishes he could forget it the second it escapes his throat. Eddie only hums, so pleased with himself, as he sucks Billy down.

He doesn’t tease him much. Gets a hand working over him, slick with his own spit as he bobs his head, working Billy up fast and relentless. Leaves something hot coiling tight in his stomach as Eddie’s cheeks hollow.

It’s kind of awful, how good it is. How fast Billy gets hard, how fast the pleasure rises in him.

“Eddie,” Billy groans, getting his fingers all threaded through Eddie’s hair, catching it in a fist. “Fuck, Eddie—”

Eddie’s mouth is criminal, Billy thinks. His tongue is so talented, so deft, as he licks over the head of Billy’s cock. Eddie is usually playful– likes to drag it out, until Billy or Steve are half out of their mind– but here and now Eddie seems to be determined to wreck Billy as quick as possible.

Sucks him sloppy, practically drooling on his dick, and pins the sharp buck of Billy’s hips down with a firm hand on the flat of his belly. Groans as Billy leaks out over his tongue.

Eddie blows him like he’s on the clock– like he’s got a deadline to meet and he doesn’t care how crazy it drives Billy in the process. Billy wonders, for a hot second, if he’s trying to get Billy off before Steve even gets here. And he probably is. That second-hand ticking down the moments before Steve opens up Eddie’s door and—

“Fuck, jesus, Eddie—” Billy gets out, as Eddie’s fingertips dig hard into his hips, as his head bobs deep, sucking Billy hard and determined. “Fuck, babe, I’m not gonna last—”

His fingers tangle tight in Eddie’s hair, trying to pull to stop him—but also desperate for him to keep going, too. Eddie does the latter, ruthless in his desire to bring Billy to the brink of his senses. Moaning and taking Billy deep, until his cockhead is just pressing into the tight clutch of Eddie’s throat.

Until Eddie has to brace him down to keep him from bucking, both hands on his hips, more than likely to leave a bruise. And, like, Eddie knows that gets Billy going, gets him feeling dizzy and out of sorts. Because Billy’s strong, he knows he is—and giving up that control to Eddie always makes his head spin harder than any amount of alcohol in the world.

“Eddie,” Billy groans, fists clutching tight.

He wants—tries—to buck into that tight heat of Eddie’s throat, but he can’t, he can’t. And the thought leaves him groaning, panting, whining for more.

Eddie pulls off panting, getting one of his hands on Billy’s cock and pumping over it steadily as he leans forward to kiss at his hip. “Come on, sweetheart. Don’t got all day– Stevie’ll be here any minute.”

He licks up the length of him, breath searing across his nerves, and then takes him quick and deep into his mouth again. Pins his hips back down, and seems to be content going to town until Billy loses it completely.

And Billy wants to tell him that there’s no rush. That Steve’s seen him like this a million times, strung out on Eddie’s mouth—or his fingers, or his cock—but there’s something about that impending deadline that gets Billy hot, that gets his head going all cloudy and molten, thoughts dripping straight out his ears, leaving him panting and hot.

And Billy’s mostly keeping it together until Eddie’s hands creep under him, grab onto his ass, his fingers spreading Billy’s cheeks apart and pulling—and then Billy’s groaning, almost shouting loud.

“Eddie—fuck, Eddie, nn—so fucking close—god, your fucking mouth—”

Eddie groans, long and low and hungry. Billy feels split slick fingers press and tease between his cheeks, where he aches at the very first touch, and his brain shorts out as Eddie takes him fully into his throat, swallowing and swallowing.

Billy can’t help but lose it. He doesn’t even feel embarrassed about it, how easily Eddie takes him apart, as his pleasure crests and he spills himself onto Eddie’s waiting tongue.

Billy’s still gripping the sheets with clenched fists, still choking down his own moans, when he’s begging, “Fuck me. If you don’t fuck me, I swear to fucking god—”

Eddie moans as he pulls off of him, mouth swollen and perfectly used. He crawls up Billy’s body, going with the urgent tug of Billy’s fingers as they go for his shirt. He’s still shivering through the aftershocks and he wants everything, all at once, right now.

He only gentles some when Eddie kisses him. Only when he tastes himself still lingering on Eddie’s tongue as that tongue fucks deep past the part of his lips. As Eddie shoves his boxers down around his thighs just to take himself in hand.

“You fall apart so good for me, baby,” Eddie tells him, panting against his mouth.

But Billy knows that Eddie’s cock is hard. He can feel the way that Eddie’s stroking himself, so close to Billy that he can practically feel each and every movement.

“C’mon,” Billy urges, only slightly distracted by the kiss. “Just fuck me, please.”

He knows that Eddie fucked him wide open yesterday. Knows that his body would yield to it so easily. That he would barely even need any lube—just spit, just pressure. And he can’t help but imagine it—that hint of pain, that stretch. And even satiated, he can’t help but arch up, wanting and desperate, searching for the heat of Eddie’s body above him.

“Shit,” Eddie breathes, shaking his head with a dry chuckle. “Stevie’s gonna be so mad at us.”

And then he’s tugging Billy’s pants down more, pulling back just so that he can get as close as he can, both of them frantic as they strip Billy bare. He fumbles toward the nightstand, gets it open and grabs a rubber. Barely has time to roll it on before Billy is tugging him back down and catching at his mouth again.

Eddie hooks a hand behind one of his knees. Hauls his leg up, so he can easily find a home between his thighs, lining up and just teasing.

“Fuck, look at you, sunshine,” Eddie grins, pulling back to watch himself work at Billy’s entrance. “You want it so bad, don’t you?”

“Fuck, please,” Billy breathes out. He can feel the head of Eddie’s dick pushing at him, easing him open, just pressing. “Steve can—fuck—Steve can take me after, if he’s mad, I just—”

Eddie rolls his hips and the head of his cock pushes inside, leaving Billy breathless, panting. It tears the words straight out of him, leaving his eyes rolling back, his fingers clutching in the sheets.

“God, Eddie, don’t fucking tease, just—fuck me,” Billy says, rolling his hips, trying to get more of Eddie’s cock to fill him up.

Eddie only teases him a little while longer, right up until Billy’s voice breaks on a whine. Then, he finally bares down above him, pressing in, in, in– filling Billy up, slow and steady and perfect.

It hurts—except for how it doesn’t. Because Billy’s body knows this, has opened up for Eddie so fucking often these days, letting him in so readily, that it just—happens. When Eddie thrusts, he slides in easy, pressing in deep with only a little resistance, the kind that hurts in a good way, a stretch that has Billy’s eyes closing on a moan, his hands going up to grasp at Eddie’s arms to hold on tight.

And, sure, it felt good when Billy came, but this feels like heaven—Eddie filling him up, Eddie taking what’s his.

“Fuck me,” Billy breathes out, rolling his hips up, hands urging Eddie down.

Eddie doesn’t disappoint him. Sets an easy motion– withdrawing slow and snapping in deep and fast– like they’ve suddenly got all the time in the world. Gets a hand in Billy’s hair, pressing down over him as he fills him, surrounds him, smothers him down against the mattress. Billy can’t breathe. It’s fucking heaven.

The press of his own knee to his chest, Eddie’s hand big and firm under his thigh. The drive of his hips, smooth and steady, leaving Billy jolting across the bed as he gasps and groans and makes a number of other sounds he’ll be embarrassed by later.

“Perfect,” Eddie breathes, fingers tight in his hair, tugging his head back so he can mouth against the bare line of Billy’s throat. “So fuckin’ perfect, sunshine.”

All time just kind of—blurs. Fades into the background.

It’s just sensation, pure and simple.

Billy kinda—loses himself in it, just a little bit. Knows he’s clawing at Eddie’s skin, urging him forward, closer, asking for more. Knows he’s baring his throat for Eddie’s lips, for his teeth. Knows he’s giving himself over to the pleasure of it, the fucking—need.

Because that’s what it feels like, when it all comes down to it—Billy needs Eddie to fuck him. To fill him. To make it hurt, just a little bit.

It’s hot. So hot that Billy’s skin is glistening, Eddie dripping as he ruts into him. He can’t even think, just takes it mindlessly, as Eddie grows more fervent– more desperate. Just knows that Eddie’s close, can feel it in the tremble of his muscles, and wants it bad enough to whine for it.

And then– and then Billy hears Steve’s voice saying, “You gonna cum for him, Eddie?”

Billy hears Eddie groan out a low oh fuck– and then there’s teeth at his throat, digging in hard, as Eddie snaps deep and shudders apart.

Billy barely even has time to catch his breath before there are lips on his. And the kiss tastes like Steve and not like Eddie, because Eddie’s still panting at his neck, breath warm and wet.

“God, that was so hot,” Steve’s saying, words muffled against Billy’s mouth.

“Nngh,” Billy says, fingers clawing at Steve’s shirt, trying to pull him closer. “Fuck, Steve.”

“Hey, there, trouble,” Steve mutters, kissing him again, gentling him as Eddie slumps into him, weighing him down against the bed as Steve leans over him. “Looks like I missed the fun.”

Eddie twitches. His face stays pressed to Billy’s throat.

“Fun doesn’t have to stop,” he mumbles.

Steve laughs, though. “Yeah, okay, say that again when Hopper isn’t already outside, dropping El off. Didn’t know that was part of the deal.”

Eddie lets out a disgruntled little sound.

Billy whines, fists still tight in Steve’s shirt. He still feels a little dizzy, a little out of sorts.

“So, you’re not gonna fuck me?” he asks.

Steve goes red in the face, but he laughs again. “No. No, I think Eddie already took care of that for now.”

“That’s not—I mean, you could still—” Billy says, catching Steve’s lips in a kiss.

He feels Eddie laugh at his throat. A little puff of warm air. Some teeth, scraping against Billy’s skin.

He can feel Steve smile against his mouth, but he still draws away again, pulling back from Billy’s seeking mouth. Only soothed back down by Eddie’s hands stroking over his sides.

“Raincheck,” Steve says. “Not not interested– just not interested right now. You know– with a nosy psychic right outside.”

Billy whines again. He can’t help it. Eddie’s still filling him up—and groaning when Billy clenches around him—and it would be so nice if Steve just… took the opportunity and slid right inside, in the space that Eddie hollowed out in him.

“C’mon, Steve,” Billy says, even though he knows that it’s dumb, that he just—wants.

Eddie clicks his tongue, giving a shake of his head. “You heard him, sunshine. Pretty boy said you’ll have to wait for it.”

When Billy makes to protest, Steve gets his hands over Billy’s to pull them gently from the soft cotton of his shirt. “I’ll let you guys get cleaned up– distract the big scary ex cop until you’re both presentable enough to sit through his friendly warnings about watching El. Guy is worse than most mother hens.”

“You’d know,” Eddie says, humming when Steve leans over to kiss his cheek.

Steve leans in and kisses Billy in parting, soft and deep. He leaves Billy feeling dizzy and breathless. And when Steve pulls back, he’s laughing, just a little bit.

“Alright, get cleaned up. You make it really hard to wait,” he adds, pressing one last kiss to Billy’s cheek.

Except Billy knows that Steve’s good at waiting. Could probably outlast Billy and Eddie combined.

“Tease,” Billy says.

Steve winks down at him, straightening up and withdrawing from the pair of them. “Not a tease if you already got off.”

Eddie laughs as Steve goes, pressing his face to Billy’s chest. He carefully withdraws, and Billy feels his absence so acutely until Eddie kisses up his throat and to his mouth.

“Come on, California,” Eddie mutters at his lips. “Let’s get shined up for the princess, huh?”

“Your shower’s so small,” Billy grumbles—but then he lets Eddie haul him up and shepherd him there anyway.

It’s a tight fit, but they manage it. Especially now, when Eddie’s limbs feel close enough that they’re a part of Billy, too.

Afterward, Billy could grab one of his own shirts, given that there’s enough of them littering Eddie’s room, but he borrows one instead, letting Dio stretch across his pecs, mostly because he likes the way Eddie’s eyes linger as he jumps into his own jeans.

They meet Steve outside. He’s standing next to Hopper, looking easy and comfortable—like he’s just another parent. The thought—the sheer look of him looking so happy—makes Billy smile.

Hopper has filled back out some, since Billy saw him last. Has vague memories of seeing him around the hospital, carting El over to visit Max, and Billy thinks he looks better with a bit of weight around his belly.

Still looks intimidating as fuck as he straightens out at the sight of them.

“I don’t think I need to remind anybody to be careful,” Hopper says, by way of greeting. “But I’m gonna do it anyway.”

“Yes, sir,” Billy says.

And Billy knows Hopper’s a good guy, but he’s got an imposingness to him—a sheer sense of authority built into his bones—that always gets Billy’s hackles up. He can’t help but stand up a little taller, squaring his shoulders. Going all military respect, the kind that Neil carved into him.

Next to him, Eddie doesn’t quite reach out, but he does bump his shoulder against Billy’s. Just the briefest of touches.

“No one could be more careful than us,” Eddie says, all grins. “Scout’s honor.”

Hopper arches one of his bushy brows at him, dubious, but when Steve shoves off the side of Hopper’s truck to pat his shoulder, he seems to settle before he even gets started. Steve passes them a crooked smile.

“El is in good hands, Hop,” he says. “If you can’t trust us, you can at least trust Max to kill us before anything can happen.”

Hopper sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face, and Billy doesn’t know the whole story, but he thinks he can guess. When your teenage kid has super powers, life has gotta be pretty wild.

“Back before nightfall?” Hopper says it like a question, but it’s more like a demand.

Steve nods his head anyway. “Back before nightfall.”

“Don’t know why you need an army to go back-to-school shopping,” Hopper mutters, but he’s clearly already resigned to it.

Already been talked into it, likely.

“Be safe. And don’t spend too much money,” he says—and then he’s turning and getting into his car and driving away.

“Well, then,” Steve says, watching the last of the dust kicked up by his wheels, tucking his hands into the back pockets of his jeans as he rocks back on his heels. “Guess we should head out.”

Almost like it was timed, Max chooses that moment to step out, El poking her head out right behind her. “Are we going?”

Steve nods, keys jingling as he dangles them from his fingers. “Hop on in and we’ll hit the road.”

And then, cute as can be, El says, “Shotgun!”

Billy bristles, but then just rolls his eyes. “Fine, but Maxine is sitting in the middle.”

“I am not,” Max says, crossing her arms. “Besides, don’t you want to sit next to Eddie?”

“No,” Billy says. “Because we’re both grown men, it’ll be cramped. You’re a kid, so you get the middle.”

“Eddie’s skinny,” Max says. “And he has no ass.”

Eddie practically jerks in place. “Hey!”

Steve’s face gives a little shrug. “Well, at least compared to Billy–”

“Stevie!” Eddie gasps, eyes going wide, hand slapping to his chest. “I can’t believe you’re siding with this little hellion.”

“A duck’s a duck, isn’t it?” Steve replies, grinning wide, and then he’s ushering the girls into his BMW. “C’mon, we’ve got an hour to drive.”

Max smiles, prim and smug, sliding into the back seat and sticking out her tongue at Billy. “This is why I like Steve more.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “You don’t even like me.”

“Yeah,” Max shrugs. “But I like you more than them.”

And then she shuts the door.

Eddie is plastered to Billy’s side, leaning hard against him, a long wall of heat and zero-personal-space. His head rests on Billy’s shoulder and his hand is tapping away on the top of Billy’s thigh to whatever Steve’s got on the radio.

“Can we please play something else,” Billy says. “This trash sounds like Byers made you a mixtape back in freshman year.”

Eddie pinches Billy’s thigh through his jeans, but he doesn’t argue—because Billy knows he hates The Police, too.

“Actually,” Steve replies, glancing very briefly at him, through the rearview mirror. “He made it for me just before he left for California last summer.”

In the passenger seat next to him, El chimes with a quiet, “It’s very catchy.”

“Exactly, thank you,” Steve replies. “It’s catchy as hell.”

“It’s creepy,” Billy says. “All their songs sound like stalker shit.”

“I have to side with Billy on this one,” Eddie says. “Every breath you take is pretty much a stalker anthem, Stevie.”

Steve makes a little sound, like he’s choking down a laugh. “That checks out, actually. Just a little.”

“Come on,” Max groans, slumping against the door. “Even I hate this shit.”

“Fine,” Steve sighs, gesturing a hand toward the glovebox. “El, if you would? I’m sure there’s a Scorpions one that was snuck in there somewhere.”

“Bitchin’,” El says, as she manages to lay her hands on a well-loved Scorpions cassette, something Billy snuck into Steve’s glovebox one night when he was feeling particularly lovesick.

It’s old and worn, and maybe a little too loved, but the significance is heavy—at least for Billy. Steve might not even know he’s been toting around Billy’s heart in his glovebox, letting it rattle around next to Tears for Fears and The Police.

“Now we’re talking,” Eddie says.

His head’s still resting on Billy’s shoulder, but it begins to move to the beat as El exchanges one tape for another and it starts to play.

The trip goes quickly after that. Seems to go by like a dream– Eddie whipping out an air guitar at some point, just to make Max roll her eyes and to make El laugh as she watches from the front seat. Billy catches Steve singing along with a few songs, under his breath, even when they switch over to some other cassette that Eddie must’ve slipped into his collection, too.

Billy can’t help but wonder if Steve only knows them so well because of how often he spends time around them– or if Steve listens to them when they aren’t there. Warms him up inside, just thinking about Steve laying in his room alone or driving to and from the video store with Eddie or Billy’s music to accompany him.

Soon enough, they’re pulling into a parking space at a mall ten times as big as Starcourt seemed to be and they’re climbing out of the car.

The girls migrate to one another without thought, gravitating close and then linking arms as they walk just ahead of them. Eddie lopes forward to get an arm hooked around Steve’s neck, jostling him, but Billy knows it’s just an excuse to touch. Such a casual move that it looks normal, not at all intimate.

“Where are we headed first, ladies?” Eddie asks.

Max glances over her shoulder with an arched brow, and Steve heaves a great breath.

“Head to the Macy’s,” he says, half defeated and red in the ears, like he’s embarrassed to be their apparent shopping guru.

“Original,” Billy says with a roll of his eyes, but he’s more than content to follow in their footsteps.

He’d be loathe to admit it, but it’s kind of nice doing something so normal—and watching the girls be normal, too. They look so young like this, so carefree. Just like regular teenagers.

And, just like regular teenagers, their taste in style leaves something to be desired.

Eddie makes a face similar to how Billy feels as Steve ushers them into what he deems a good place to start. But Billy doesn’t complain too vocally, just pushes a denim jacket at Max before she can allow Steve to put her in something like corduroy.

The girls mostly end up shopping for one another. One will spy something they think is cute and shove it at the other, and if approved by the discerning taste of another fifteen year old girl, shoved into Steve’s arms. Since he’s the only one willing to actually carry their stuff as they dart around.

He’s got a pretty good pile forming when he finally glances over at Eddie mockingly holding up one of the suit jackets he found to Billy’s chest and pursing his lips with a shake of his head. Steve rolls his eyes, but he does gesture toward the men’s section with a swing of his head.

“There’s actually some pretty decent leather jackets over there,” Steve says. “If you guys wanna find something.”

Billy huffs out a little laugh. “My pockets aren’t that deep, baby.”

Besides—he’s still got his old leather jacket. And now he’s got the memories of Steve falling asleep in it, that little glint of Eddie’s handcuff catching Billy’s attention.

He’s not sure any other jacket could ever beat that.

Steve huffs a little, face a bit pink. “No, I mean– If you find something you want, I want to get it for you.”

Billy blanches, eyes stuck on Steve. He can feel the way his eyebrows are about halfway up his forehead. “Wait, what, really?”

Next to him, Eddie’s grinning. “Is it all that shocking, sunshine? Stevie loves to shell out, why did you think this would be any different?”

Billy shrugs, eyes still on Steve, like somehow that might illuminate things. “Clothes are different.”

Steve’s still blushing, but he shrugs too. “It’s only if you find something you like.”

Eddie jostles into Billy’s side. “I think Stevie wants to spoil us.”

“You don’t have to,” Steve insists, just flustering a little more.

Billy hums.

“So, you wanna play dress up? Tell us what you wanna see us in and maybe we’ll put on a show like the girls,” Billy says, cocking a hip.

The store is pretty dead today. It makes Billy feel bold as he leans in, all grins and flirtatious smiles.

Steve blinks at him. “Wait, really?”

Eddie snorts, draping a lazy arm against one of Billy’s shoulders, leaning there against him. “You show your hand way too easy, Stevie.”

“Well, I’m not losing much, if it works,” Steve quips right back. “Men’s section. Go. Now. I’ll drop these off with the girls.”

And then he’s hustling off, far too eager, and Eddie grins over at Billy. Arches a brow and swings his head toward the men’s section in something like a question.

Billy leads the way, Eddie falling into step next to him as they cut a path through the racks of women’s clothing.

They find their way to a rack of jeans and jean jackets—perhaps because Billy was drawn there like a homing beacon. Because his current jeans, while buttery soft, are beginning to wear holes near the pockets, growing thin with age and wear.

“It’s all just denim on denim on denim, huh?” Eddie teases, holding up a vest with a little shrug of his mouth. “Didn’t think we’d be getting the Harrington royal treatment.”

“I think he’s just tired of being seen with hooligans,” Billy says.

But he knows Steve by now. Knows that this is how Steve shows that he cares about people. He likes giving people things, material goods or food or just—his time. It’s his love language. And Billy’s still not totally used to it yet, but the thought makes him feel warm.

Not too warm to tug on the vest in Eddie’s hands, stealing it from Eddie with a little grin.

“Look, I’m you,” Billy says.

“That looks like Eddie’s vest,” Steve says from off to the side, smile in his voice.

Billy turns to find him standing close by, hands on his hips, head cocked as he looks over the pair of them. Billy gets a funny feeling that Steve is trying to picture what they look like in pastels.

“Nah, baby,” Eddie says, voice low as he reaches out to tug Steve closer to the clothing rack with a careful pull of his shirt. “That vest is yours, now. You just haven’t taken it home.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “You wear a guy’s vest one time–”

“So do we get to pick out something for you?” Eddie cuts him off, glancing at Billy like he’s roping him in with just a look. “It’s only fair, right?”

“Definitely,” Billy says, tugging off the vest and passing it back to Eddie. “What are you thinking, Munson?”

“Whoa, whoa,” Steve shuffles back a step. “I haven’t even picked anything out for you guys, yet.”

“No, but you’re gonna, aren’t you?” Eddie trails after him, grin shark-like and sharp. “And if you’re gonna stuff me into some monkey suit, I’m gonna get you in some ripped jeans.”

Steve scoffs. “I mean, I wasn’t going to, but now I am.”

“Okay, but I think I’d pay to see Munson in a suit,” Billy says, suddenly feeling hungry.

“Fuck, not you too, California,” Eddie says, but he’s laughing, eyes bright.

“Okay, fine,” Steve says. “You pick me something, I pick you something. Deal?”

“Deal,” Eddie says.

And that how Billy ends up holding a suit he wouldn’t usually be caught dead in– some baby blue fucking thing– as Max arches a brow at him in front of the entrance to the dressing rooms. Billy’s just grateful Steve didn’t try for any ruffles.

Eddie’s not far behind him, something red draped over one of his arms.

“Not a word, Maxine,” Billy warns.

Max is barely biting back a smile. “Should I go see if the food court has any popcorn?”

“Not if you value all your worldly possessions,” Billy warns her.

“I think blue is a nice color for you,” El says, eyes darting between Billy’s face, the blue suit in his arms, and then back again.

And Billy can’t help but smile. “Thanks, kid.”

El beams, but Max is already gagging as she pulls El away.

“Gross, no, don’t pay attention to him,” Max says, guiding El away as the other girl laughs. “We’ll be waiting over here for the clown show.”

“Aren’t you going to try on clothes, too?” Billy asks, eyeing the piles they’re standing near with a raised eyebrow. “This isn’t a fucking circus.”

“If the ladies want a show, we’ll give them a show!” Eddie says with a little flourish of his arms, hindered only by the matador red suit in his grasp.

But, if anything—and probably because it’s Eddie—that flap of red just looks like a prop, a flag. Months ago, Billy would have found the constant theatrics annoying, but now it’s only quietly charming.

Billy finds himself rolling his eyes but agreeing with a shrug.

“Only if Steve plays, too,” Billy says.

Steve sidles up, his own arm draped in mostly black. “Not the first time I’ve had to dress up and show off.”

“Not for us you haven’t,” Eddie says. “I want a show.”

And then he’s pushing Steve and Billy toward the changing rooms while the girls get settled in the chairs outside, giggling as they watch Eddie sweep the two of them away.

They each take a fitting room for themselves, if only because Steve makes them, claiming surprise as the reason. Billy thinks it’s probably because he knows better than allowing Billy or Eddie in one of those spaces with him, given the amount of skin that’s going to be on display.

When Billy wanders out, clad in baby blue and still in stocking feet to where the girls are, Max whistles and El cheers.

Billy’s the first out, apparently. Which is surprising, but also not. He’s worn a suit before, because Neil was always pretty big on looking nice for special occasions. Though—this one’s nicer than anything Billy’s ever worn before, despite its ridiculous color. Billy figured he’d beat Eddie out, but not Steve.

“Munson having problems with his monkey suit?” Billy asks.

Max gives him a shrug.

He doesn’t have to sit in anticipation for very long. Eddie comes out not long after he asks, the red of his suit and the dark shirt underneath making him look like the devil come to life. When he grins, cheek dimpling at Billy’s hungry glance, Billy thinks he’s probably as tempting as the devil too.

“Looking good, Cali,” Eddie says, meandering over to pluck at his lapel. “The blue makes you look all golden.”

Billy is not exactly sure what he means. Not until he glances in the floor to ceiling mirror and catches sight of their contrast in the glass.

Billy, in baby blue, looking sun-kissed and gold under the fluorescent lights. Eddie, shoulders broadened by the suit jacket, looking like sin at his side.

“Where’s Steve? Pretty sure we’re looking like the angel and devil on his shoulders, and he’s not even here to see it,” Billy says, glancing back at the fitting rooms, if only to tear his eyes away from the way Eddie looks.

Because god, he should look dumb, but he doesn’t—because Eddie never looks dumb. He owns everything he does with the full extent of his soul. Crushing all of it underneath the heel of his boot. Or now, just like Billy, underneath the heel of his stocking foot.

“Maxine, can you go check on Steve?” Billy asks.

Max rolls her eyes. “Why should I go check on him?”

“Check on who?”

When Billy turns, it’s to find Steve adjusting the jacket Eddie had picked out over his shoulders. The jeans are dark and snug, making his already long legs go on for what seems like days, ending in his socked feet. The button up shirt– dark, dark blue and only open at the collar– stretches over his chest in a way that makes Billy’s fingers itch.

He looks good. Infinitely cooler than his khakis usually make him look.

He looks like he belongs on the back of Billy’s bike, cruising across the country. All he needs is his own helmet and a pair of good boots.

Eddie whistles. Steve rolls his eyes, but he’s blushing.

“You guys clean up nice,” Steve says.

Eddie grins. “And you dress down well.”

“These are nice jeans,” Steve argues. “It’s hardly dressing down.”

“You look like a model,” Billy says with another whistle to echo Eddie’s.

“You all look like models,” Max says with a little roll of her own eyes. “We get it.”

“I think you look good, Steve,” El says. “Very badass.”

“See?” Billy says with a little gesture at El. “Girl’s got good taste.”

Steve laughs a bit, gives himself a squint in the mirror and then shrugs.

“I mean, I just think it looks like I’m borrowing someone else’s clothes,” Steve says, with none of the innuendo Eddie might’ve made.

“You’re just too used to the bright colors,” Eddie assures him. “You look good, Stevie.”

“Okay, okay, he looks good and you guys look good—we get it,” Max says, and then she claps. “Now you have to watch us play dress up, and tell us what looks good and what doesn’t. No slacking.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Eddie says.

“We take this duty very seriously,” Steve says with a solemn little nod.

El laughs as Max pulls her along, clothes in their arms, and Billy knows that they’re going to take their sweet time with this. Knows that they’ll be sitting and watching for a while.

He can’t say he really minds.

The three of them all decamp back to their changing rooms to put their own clothes back on again. Billy and Eddie ditch the suits, but Billy makes Steve keep the pants and Eddie makes him keep the jacket and the shirt, shoving both back into his arms.

And then they get comfy in the chairs outside the fitting rooms and wait.

The girls are a parade of colors. There’s music, playing loud enough over the store’s speakers that Max starts coaxing El into loosening up a bit more– even roping Steve to his feet so that he’ll spin El around and around until she’s laughing and dizzy. Billy ends up letting El stand on his toes as they toddle around in a slow circle, and Eddie has Max near cackling when he keeps tossing accessories on her– glasses, hats, scarves. They get rambunctious enough that some of the shop clerks have taken notice, but they move along when Steve soothes any ruffled feathers, the girls grabbing their final picks when they realize it’s time to move on.

Billy even carries Max’s shopping bags for her, after they drop by the food court, as her and El skip along ahead of them with ice cream in hand.

Billy offered to buy Steve some ice cream, but he didn’t want any—which feels fair. Billy probably wouldn’t want any mall ice cream either, if he’d been in Steve’s shoes.

“Should probably start heading back soon,” Steve says, walking between him and Eddie, his own purchases hanging from his arm. “You know, to avoid the wrath of an angry Hopper.”

“Totally,” Eddie says, distracted, as his pace slows to a stop in front of an electronics store.

He teeters there for a moment, bouncing on his toes, eyes on the items in the display window. Back to School Sale, a giant red banner reads—with everything from calculators, to cameras, to clocks, to vacuums. Any excuse for a sale, Billy thinks.

“What caught your eye, Munson?” Billy asks, backtracking to stand next to Eddie, Steve in tow.

Eddie hums, patting around his jeans and then digging into his back pocket to pull out a ratty leather wallet. He smacks it to his palm, grinning crooked.

“Just an idea,” he replies, before darting into the store with a quick: “Wait right here!”

Steve stops next to Billy, brow up. “What’s he up to?”

“No fucking idea,” Billy says, brows furrowed as he watches Eddie dart between displays in the store, obscured by a large television in the window.

But soon Eddie is back out, an opaque bag tucked over his arm.

“What’s in the bag, Munson?” Billy asks.

Eddie shrugs a shoulder. “Nothing too special.”

He’s grinning, though. It’s the look he gets when he’s pleased with something– or when he’s planning something he’ll be pleased by.

“We’re keeping secrets now?” Steve teases, angling himself to try and peek in the bag over his shoulder.

Eddie leans away, clicking his tongue. “You’ll see it when we get back.”

“We have to get back,” Max says, stomping up to them with her little arms crossed.

It’s cute, Billy thinks. He can tell she doesn’t want to go, but is old enough now to appreciate Hopper’s orders, the need for following the rules to earn more leniency in the long run. He’s glad she doesn’t have to contend with Neil, who would’ve made all of that a shit storm.

“Keep your secrets,” Billy says, leaning close to pinch at Eddie’s side.

And then they’re all shepherded back to the car by Eddie, who moves them all with a flourishing sweep of his arms and El at his side. He doesn’t stop her from looking into the bag—and when she does, she grins and leans to whisper something in his ear that leaves him laughing and nodding, ruffling her hair with a fond expression.

The drive back is a mostly quiet one, all of them tuckered from their shopping trip. Eddie snoozes on Billy’s shoulder—after carefully passing his bag to El, who keeps it safe by her feet—and Steve and Max chat quietly up front. Even Billy finds himself dozing off after a little while, eyes tired and the back seat of the car warm and cozy.

They get back with an hour or two to spare– the sun still clinging at the lower half of the sky. Hopper isn’t there yet, so the girls dart off toward the Mayfield trailer as soon as Steve’s wheels stop rolling, arms filled with their haul as they go giggling.

El, at least, shouts back a sweet thank you.

“So we agree that we don’t tell Dustin,” Steve says, as they climb out of the car, eyes on Eddie even as he already nods. “I think he might cry if he finds out we went on an outing without him.”

“That kid’s got attachment issues,” Billy says with a judgmental roll of his eyes. “How’s he going to get through the rest of high school without his emotional support freak?”

Billy knocks his shoulder into Eddie’s.

“Someday soon he’ll learn to walk on his own two feet,” Eddie replies, knocking right back into him with a crooked grin. “You coming, Stevie?”

“I mean, unless my open invitation has been rescinded, yeah,” Steve says, shutting his door and trailing after them toward Eddie’s trailer. “Did you think I would say no?”

Eddie shrugs, walking backwards with a bright smile, and Billy gets it– he can’t help grinning when he looks at Steve, either.

“Well, pretty guy like you? Maybe you got plans,” Eddie winks.

Steve rolls his eyes, flush fresh on his cheeks. “Only plans I have are with two hooligans and a mystery bag.”

“What, this bag?” Eddie says, lifting up the bag to shake it a little bit in Steve’s face. “You’re wondering what’s in my mystery bag of holding? You wanna roll for it, Stevie?”

“I swear to god,” Billy says, shoving them both toward the trailer. “If you make us roll for anything, I’m going home.”

“All seven steps of a journey,” Eddie says, clearly undeterred from whatever game he’s playing.

“Fine,” Steve says, undeterred. “I’ll roll.”

Eddie gasps, looking delighted. “Marry me, Steve Harrington.”

“Do I have to roll for that, too?” Steve asks, laughing as Eddie fumbles to open the door behind him. “Need some help, Munster?”

“I’m afraid if I blink I’ll wake up from this lovely dream,” Eddie says, with an over exaggerated swoon.

Once they’re inside—thanks to some help from Billy—Eddie’s ushering them both back toward his room.

“Roll for perception check,” Eddie says once they’re in, carefully placing a little metal die in the palm of Steve’s hand. He glances at Billy and adds, “You wanna play too, sunshine?”

Billy raises his eyebrows and throws himself onto Eddie’s bed. “I think I’m going to find out anyway, aren’t I?”

“Spoilsport,” Eddie chides, but then he laughs. “It’s partially for you, but I won’t hold it against you.”

Steve huffs a little, but he’s all already letting the numbers roll around in his palm. “Is it partially for me, too?”

“Maybe,” Eddie says, gesturing for Steve to toss the die down on a clear spot on his nightstand.

Steve does as Eddie demands, letting the die tumble onto the flat surface. It rolls a bit, but comes to a stop with a neat 13 staring face up.

“Is that good or bad?” Steve asks.

“It’s not bad,” Eddie says with a little hum. “But you’re aiming for twenty.”

“Tackle him, baby,” Billy says, egging him on from the bed. “Grab the bag and see what he’s hiding.”

Steve barks out a laugh. “I played basketball, not football.”

Billy rolls his eyes. “And he played nothing. I think you’ve got the advantage.”

“Hey,” Eddie says, playfully offended and miming hurt. “Okay, fine. Fine. Thirteen’s enough, but you’re going to have to close your eyes, first. No peeking. And give me a sec.”

He ducks out of the room with his box in hand with a flourish, closing the door behind him. It does very little to hide the sounds of him rustling right on the other side of it, greedy fingers tearing at cardboard accompanied by the rustle of the plastic bag.

Steve rolls his eyes at Billy who just meets him with a grin. Eddie’s excitement, his self-contained mystery is perhaps the dorkiest thing Billy’s ever seen—and yet it’s still charming as sin. Absolutely loveable.

“C’mere, pretty boy,” Billy says. “Lay down and close your eyes with me.”

Easily, Steve obliges. He clambers up onto the bed and then slots himself in right next to Billy, using Billy’s outstretched arm as a pillow.

Eddie peeks his head in the door and grins at the sight of him.

“Perfect!” he exclaims. “Now, close your eyes!”

Obligingly, they do.

Billy peeks a bit, of course—but it doesn’t give him much of anything. Eddie’s still sneaking over to the bed with his prize hidden behind his back.

He feels the bed dip. Eddie, tucking himself in next to Steve, the three of them packed tight in Eddie’s bed like sardines. He arranges himself a little, and then—

“Okay, open your eyes!”

Billy does—and barely has time to register anything before the flash of a camera, blinding him.

“Ouch, Eddie,” Steve says, blindly swatting at Eddie’s chest. “A little warning!”

As Billy blinks away the starbursts from his eyes, Eddie’s grinning up a storm and pulling out a photo from a brand new polaroid camera. He shakes it, that little white square flashing in Billy’s vision.

“You bought a camera?” Billy asks.

“Sure did, sunshine,” Eddie says.

Steve’s still blinking the stars from his eyes as he asks. “Why in the world did you get a camera?”

“I have my reasons,” Eddie says, giving it another little waggle. “Besides, you always need a camera for a road trip.”

“Kinda missed the timing on that one,” Steve huffs.

But Billy knows that Eddie isn’t talking about the little excursion they took today. Knows he’s talking about a longer field trip that ends with gold shores and blue, blue waters.

“Not exactly,” Eddie says. And then he’s leaning close, pressing his nose to Steve’s hair, landing a kiss at his ear. “Hey, baby, remember that thing I wanted to talk about?”

The picture is starting to develop in Eddie’s hand. The three of them, pressed as close as can be, eyes up and looking at the camera—not quite smiling, but not exactly not, either. It just looks candid. A moment of intimacy in the familiarity of Eddie’s bed. Still a little blurry, but sorting itself out with every passing second.

“Yeah?” Steve says.

“Let’s chat, Stevie. I promise, it’s all good.”

chapter 21:

i’m overcome thinking ’bout it (making love in the green grass)

Leaving for California isn’t as easy as simply asking Steve if he wants to go. The eager, sweet yes, of course only tempered by the actual logistics of it.

Convincing Steve of longer than a week, longer than a few weeks, hadn’t been difficult– but it had certainly created its own sense of strain. Billy knows that all the more when he wakes up, sometime in the middle of September well after school has started again for the kids and just as autumn has started to turn the leaves, to find Eddie conked out next to him– and Steve missing.

It isn’t the first time, in the last few weeks, that Billy has woken to find Steve absent from his own bed– the sleepy heat of him so noticeably gone. He smooths a hand over the bare sheets and finds them cold. He knows that Steve is probably downstairs, maybe watching the TV quietly, maybe sitting in his dad’s office; Billy has found him both places a handful of times now.

As the weather gets colder, drifting away from the heat of the summer, Steve has a harder and harder time sleeping.

The guilt drags him out of bed each time. Steve’s told him that it’s fine– that it isn’t nightmares keeping him up, not really– but Billy can’t help but feel the weight of Steve’s tired eyes in the morning when he has a rough night.

Eddie is dead to the world as he pads quietly out of Steve’s room. Through the hall, down the stairs, past the empty study and into an equally empty living room. Steve isn’t in his usual spots, but Billy catches sight of him quick, before his heart even has a chance to lurch with the first notion of worry, sitting at the edge of the pool in the dark of the night outside.

It’s not cold, not yet, but at night it dips well into the low fifties. Billy can see the steam of the pool licking at the air, and Steve with his back to the sliding door, in Eddie’s boxers and Billy’s MTV shirt. He feels like every time he looks at Steve these days, he’s wearing one or both of their things; he can’t remember the last time he caught him in khakis outside of work.

Even now, pressing the sliding glass door open to step out as Steve glances back with those tired brown eyes, Billy feels a note of pleasure at the sight of him so wrapped up and theirs.

“Hey, baby,” Billy says, shutting the door quietly behind him. “What are you doing out here?”

“Actual nightmare this time,” Steve confesses, without a lick of shame, and Billy is warmed by that too, especially when he pads over and Steve automatically leans against his leg, shamelessly seeking comfort as well. “Didn’t wanna be inside.”

He’s got both feet stuck in the pool, kicking slow. When Billy gets his fingers in Steve’s hair, Steve butts up into the touch, letting out a tired little hum.

“You mind if I crash your party?” Billy asks.

Steve’s hair is a little sweaty, the physical remnants of his nightmare still lingering. Billy cards his fingers through those almost-damp strands and pushes stray bits away from Steve’s forehead.

Steve hums again, tipping his head back, eyes closed as he gives a little nod. “Did I wake you up?”

Billy just shrugs and then sinks down next to Steve, sticking his own bare feet into the water alongside his boyfriend’s. “Might have,” Billy says, “but when I actually woke up, you were already gone. So I figured I’d go find you. Munson’s snoring.”

He wasn’t—and yet Billy still says it. Like he has to justify the way he gravitates toward Steve. Like Steve doesn’t already know how gone Billy is for him.

Steve doesn’t call him on the lie, though. And he doesn’t hesitate to lean into Billy’s side as soon as Billy’s settled down next to him. He catches at one of Billy’s hands with his own, lacing their fingers, head tilting over to plop itself on Billy’s shoulder.

Steve’s tactile– borderline needy– when he’s out for comfort. Didn’t get enough of it when he was younger, Billy thinks, and seeks it out so readily now in the two of them. Billy certainly doesn’t mind. It’s not like Billy doesn’t feel the same way most of the time, like there’s a black hole of affection and touch inside him, unable to be fully filled.

But god, he’s still trying.

“He’s so loud, like, all the time,” Steve mutters, but it’s as fond as it is tired.

“A little quiet out here is nice,” Billy says, leaning his head against Steve’s.

And it is nice. The quiet rustling of the fall trees, leaves only just starting to turn. The distant chirping of crickets from the underbrush. The hush of the night air.

With Eddie and Steve around all the time—and sometimes all of their adoring fan club, too—Billy doesn’t often get too much quiet. It’s a rare, treasured thing. And so is having Steve’s attention all to himself—not that he ever begrudges splitting it with Eddie.

It’s just—nice. A treat. Something to be savored.

“You wanna talk about it?” Billy says after a long while, after the stillness has settled into his bones.

Steve’s fingers found Billy’s a while ago, lacing in between his in a warm, loose hold.

“Stupid shit,” Steve mutters. “Just the tunnels under Starcourt– and then the tunnels under the farm. Felt claustrophobic.”

He pulls Billy’s hand into his own lap. Gets it flipped over on his thigh, so he can idly trace the lines of Billy’s palm until his fingers twitch. Huffs out a breath of a laugh when Billy curls his fingers in to playfully catch at the tips of Steve’s. Pulls away, so that Billy has to lift his head, just so that he can catch Billy’s eyes.

“Pretty sure my night terrors don’t have much on yours or Eddie’s,” Steve says, like it’s assurance. “I’ll be fine.”

“It’s not a competition, pretty boy,” Billy says, giving Steve’s hand a little squeeze. “A nightmare’s a nightmare. It’s still fucked up.”

Steve grunts, tipping his head forward until their brows are touching. Until their noses bump. Lets his eyes flutter shut and just breathes for a second.

All this time, Billy has spent wanting to catch the rapid energy of him, the constant motion Steve seems to perpetually be in. Here and now, Steve is so very still. Settled, so completely, easing into Billy like Billy is the thing that finally made him stand still in the first place.

“Still,” Steve says, squeezing at Billy’s hand. “Your nightmares wake you up, Eddie’s nightmares wake you up– and now my nightmares are waking you up. I’m sorry.”

Billy steals himself a short, sweet kiss. Just a fleeting touch of his lips to Steve, a heartbeat of warmth.

“Don’t apologize,” Billy tells him. “I’d rather be awake to keep you company than sleep through you sitting out here alone.”

Billy leans forward and lightly bonks his head against Steve’s forehead.

“Don’t be so self-sacrificing,” Billy says. “And let me be selfish. I want to be here. With you. For you.”

Steve huffs, but he’s smiling all small and crooked. Bonks him back, and then bumps at his nose with his own in a way that makes Billy huff out a little laugh.

“That’s good,” Steve says. “I like it when you’re here.”

“Would suck if you didn’t,” Billy says. “Because I’m kinda obsessed with you.”

And he has been, for so fucking long. It feels like a familiar ache—his need to be in Steve’s shadow all the time. But it also feels so goddamn comfortable. Just sitting next to Steve in the dark of night, occasionally kicking his foot against Steve’s in the pool.

Steve is chuckling when he leans in to catch at his mouth. Another kiss– just as sweet and chaste as before– and then Steve is withdrawing to rest his chin on Billy’s shoulder. Close enough that they’re both a little crossed eyed just looking at each other.

“Obsessed is kinda a strong word,” Steve tells him, like Billy doesn’t know.

“Is it?” Billy asks after another kiss. “I thought I already explained it.”

“I don’t think you did, actually,” Steve teases, ghosting at Billy’s lips with his own. “Tell me about it.”

Billy hums.

“Pretty sure I told you how I was obsessed with you from the first moment I saw you,” Billy says. “Best thing about this awful fucking town.”

He steals another kiss and grins into it.

“I think you just like hearing about how much I like you,” Billy says.

“Maybe a little,” Steve mutters against his lips, chasing his mouth, humming as they share a few easy presses between them. “Mostly just still can’t believe it half the time.”

Billy laughs, a quiet, hearty sound.

“You can’t believe it? I’m the one who can’t fucking believe it.” He eases in, gets a hand on the back of Steve’s neck, and pulls him a hair closer. “I roped myself the heartthrob of Hawkins. Luckiest guy in the world.”

And then Billy grins, wide and proud.

“Except for Munson, who’s got you and me.”

“He really did luck out, didn’t he?” Steve asks, tilting his head over, eyes darting down to Billy’s mouth. “I mean, like, really lucked out. How’d he even swing it?”

“I think it’s the lack of personal boundaries,” Billy says. “Really gets right under the skin.”

Steve laughs, and he’s already leaning in more to catch his mouth again. “You’re not much better.”

“Mm. No, I’m so much better,” Billy says. “I’m the perfect image of manners.”

Steve pulls back a bit then, eyes narrowing on his face. “You got so in my face, like, the very first time I met you.”

“Hm. Not sure I remember that,” Billy says with a sly grin. He can feel Steve’s breath against his lips and it makes him feel so hot, so alive inside. “I think I was a perfect gentleman. I think you were smitten from that very first second.”

Billy knows it’s not true, but that doesn’t stop him from reaching out, from getting his hand on Steve’s hip. Feeling the warmth of Steve’s skin underneath the soft, worn-cotton of his shirt.

“I don’t think smitten is exactly the word I’d use for it,” Steve replies, but he’s twisting to face him, knees knocking as he braces a hand on Billy’s thigh, fingers long and touch warm as he catches a quick kiss at the corner of Billy’s mouth. “Intimidated. Annoyed. Weirdly into it.”

“Weirdly into it, huh?” Billy repeats, leaning into that kiss. Seeking it like the sun, even as Steve pulls back. “Maybe you should tell me more about that, baby.”

Steve laughs and kicks at Billy’s foot. “I think you’re the one who wants to hear about how much I like you.”

“Maybe,” Billy says, conceding that point so goddamn easily. “Why wouldn’t I? I’m the one who landed the prettiest boy in Hawkins.”

“Careful,” Steve warns. “I’m not just a pretty face. Or do I need to trounce you at pool again?”

“I mean, it was kinda hot, you absolutely demolishing me at pool, so…”

“Didn’t seem like you thought it was very hot at the time,” Steve teases, laughing as he nudges into him. “In fact, you were kind of a bitch about it.”

Billy snorts, nudging him back with his shoulder, enough that Steve rocks a little. “Fine. In retrospect it was hot. And then it was really hot when you beat me again.”

Steve, all competent and confident? Billy’s not sure there’s anything hotter.

God, and that blush– the way it spreads so easy across Steve’s cheeks and nose. It has Billy leaning in, has him pressing his lips to the warmth of it.

“Maybe I should beat you again, then,” Steve mutters, a little breathy, swaying into him as Billy lets his mouth drag across the line of his cheekbone. “Since you like it so much.”

“Maybe,” Billy says, a surge of heat flashes through his gut. He can’t help but lean closer, fingers drifting over the plane of Steve’s abs. Just touching, just feeling. “I wouldn’t say no to another game.”

Not that he thinks he could keep his hands away from Steve long enough to even break. Not with the way Steve’s skin jumps and shivers under his touch. Not with the way Steve presses in close, seeking out more.

Billy’s distracted, nosing at Steve’s ear until he shudders and shies away with a laugh. Distracted, pressing his face against Steve’s throat and just breathing, he doesn’t notice Steve reaching down– not until he’s already splashing a bit of water up at Billy with the catch of his fingers.

Jerks away with another laugh when Billy lets out a startled noise. Billy’s tank is wet; his boxers are, too.

“Come on then, trouble,” Steve says, pulling his feet from the water and scooching away before Billy can get it in his head to retaliate. “If we’re gonna be up, we might as well have fun.”

Billy makes a disgruntled, affronted noise, but the reality is that he’s delighted. Can’t hide it as he’s scrambling up and chasing after Steve, who’s making his way to the pool house by the glow of the pool lights. He looks happy now, no lingering hint of his nightmares clinging to him—just playful, teasing joy as he scrambles out of Billy’s grasp each time Billy grabs at him.

Steve ends up laughing, stumbling back against the back edge of the couch in the pool house as Billy trails after him. Has his fingers curled tight into the cotton of Billy’s shirt, keeping him close, even as Billy shuffles all the nearer all by himself. Gets his hands on Steve’s hips, to keep him from darting off when he eyes flit to the side.

“You want something to drink?” Steve asks, like Billy is pressing close enough that their bodies are nearly flush.

“Nah,” Billy says, feeling too easy already for the slide of alcohol down his throat.

It’s such a difference from before, when Billy felt like he needed to be sufficiently lubed up with booze to be able to be around Steve or Eddie. Always going for that next beer, so ready to crumple the cans in his fists and fill his fingers up with another cold one. Now—now, he doesn’t feel that need, that compulsion.

“You want anything?” Billy asks, pressing lazy lips right over the beating pulse of Steve’s heart. He smells like sleep and sweat, and a little bit like chlorine, too.

Steve shivers all against him. Hums, wiggling in place, fingers giving a little pull at Billy’s shirt– even when they’re already pressed tight to one another. Tilts his head over for him, making space for the idle drag of Billy’s mouth.

“No,” Steve mumbles, distracted by the hint of teeth Billy teases him with. “Not thirsty.”

“Do you still wanna trounce me at pool?” Billy asks slowly, dragging out the first word of it.

His hands find the jut of Steve’s hips and pull him in close. Billy doesn’t particularly want to play right now—would rather keep his hands on Steve—but he would if Steve wanted to. If Steve wanted that kind of distraction.

One of his knees slots so easily between Steve’s own as his mouth moves up slow to linger at that soft place just below Steve’s ear. He leans in, bares his weight into Steve just a bit, until Steve is shuddering and going easy as he lets himself be pinned back and held carefully in place while Billy takes his time chasing the flutter of Steve’s pulse down his throat.

“Maybe,” Steve finally replies, hands fisted at Billy’s sides. “Still thinking about it.”

“Yeah?” Billy asks, shoving his knee forward just a little bit to let it rock against Steve. Teasing. “Wanna keep thinking about it?”

He feels Steve’s fingers flinch tighter in his shirt. Feels him shudder, feels his chest hitch against Billy’s as he takes a sharp little breath. Every reaction its own reward.

“Maybe,” Steve repeats, and Billy almost wants to laugh, pressing a grin to Steve’s throat, until Steve adds a half joking, “It was kinda hot when you kept bending me over to give me pointers– just don’t think you’d have an excuse for it now.”

“All I could think about was bending you over the fucking table,” Billy says, finding no reason to lie about it, especially under the dreamy cover of night.

Because the thing is, Billy’s had this dream before. Steve, him, the empty pool house. So many times, just like this—his hands and lips on Steve, and Steve’s attention on him. It felt out of reach for so long that it still almost doesn’t feel real.

When Steve hums as Billy mouths over his jaw, teeth scraping against lazy stubble, Billy can’t help but ask, “Promise me I’m not dreaming?”

One of Steve’s hands finds the back of his neck. He gives a little squeeze, gives a little pull, tilts his head to urge him on.

“It’s not a dream,” Steve replies, voice warm and low. “You’re right here. With me.”

“Lucky me,” Billy breathes.

He crowds in somehow even closer to Steve. Kisses his skin for a second longer before moving up to kiss Steve on the lips again. And then he’s walking Steve away from the couch, coaxing the two of them over to the pool table.

It would be embarrassing, if it weren’t for the fact that Steve clings just as hard as they go shuffling back. Meets his mouth just as eagerly, lips parted and breath hot, fingers pulling at Billy even as Billy leads him back.

Uses his tongue– shockingly clever, wondrously wicked– to coax a moan out of Billy and swallows it down. Kisses him hungry and wanting until they stumble into the pool table and he pulls back with a breath of a laugh.

“Are you lucky or are you about to get lucky?” Steve asks, but he’s too busy pulling Billy’s mouth to him with both hands cradling Billy’s jaw, catching Billy’s lips again before he can answer.

“Why not both?” Billy asks. After Steve kisses him stupid, after he has a second to catch his breath.

The pool table is hard as Steve leans into him, digging into the small of his back. Billy savors it for a moment—the feeling of Steve pinning him in, so warm and solid against him—and then he turns, flipping them, so that Steve’s up against the table and Billy’s the one caging him in.

And he could leave it at that, at the breathy little sound that escapes Steve’s lips—but Billy’s greedy. And he’s strong enough that it’s easy to get his hands right under Steve’s arms to just lift him up onto the table, pressing in to catch Steve in another kiss as those long legs wrap around his middle.

Steve’s thighs squeeze at his hips, hands less clumsy and more familiar now, one slipping down to squeeze at the nape of Billy’s neck as he groans quietly against his lips. The other fists itself back in Billy’s wifebeater and gives it a sharp little tug until their chest go flush.

It feels like poetry in motion, Steve meeting his touch without hesitation in the dim light of night. Long blue shadows stretch out all around them, cool and sure, and it contrasts so deeply with the warmth, the heat he feels building between them with each passing brush, with each kiss, with each touch, that it leaves him shivering.

“I feel like you’re showing off,” Steve says, but he isn’t complaining, too busy digging a heel into the back of one of Billy’s thighs to try and bring him closer.

All of Billy feels warm. Dreamlike. It’s like being underwater, almost. The way that kissing Steve feels.

“Maybe I wanna show off for you,” Billy mumbles, feeling almost silly about it. Because it’s true. “Don’t get to manhandle you around as much as Munson.”

Eddie, who’s always pushing Billy, always roughhousing. Giving Billy an excuse to push back, to test that strength of his. And Billy appreciates it—but he doesn’t get a chance, as much, with Steve.

Steve pulls back just enough to blink at him. His eyes, always so big and dark, just look more so in the night. Hair a mess, lips already kiss swollen, in Billy’s shirt– he looks like a dream. Like a fantasy Billy thinks he’s had.

“Do you wanna manhandle me?” Steve asks, but his eyes are following his own hands across Billy’s skin as his touch drags down over Billy’s bare arms.

“Don’t ask stupid questions,” Billy says, leaning in to drag his teeth across Steve’s pulse. He feels it quicken underneath his tongue, his lips. “Obviously I wanna manhandle you.”

Billy thinks about all the times he’s tried before—before all this. Back on the court at Hawkins High, when Steve was thinking of anything other than Billy. When Billy never even stood a chance.

He crowds in close, tugging Steve by the legs to get him right to the edge of the table. Pressed up flush with Billy. As close as close can be.

He can feel Steve’s interest, already as aroused as Billy is, pressing up against his own. Can feel the way Steve’s chest hitches as he lets his fingers ease up Steve’s thighs, teasing under the edges of his boxers.

“And what’s stopping you?” Steve asks, already breathing heavy as he gets a hand in Billy’s hair, cradling him to his throat with a little moan as Billy offers more teeth.

Billy’s treated to a whine as he bites down, teeth against yielding, soft flesh.

And the thing is: Steve bruises easy. Like a peach. Not that Billy didn’t know this already—he was so aware of it even before they were dating, as Steve’s skin had been under Billy’s fists before. But it’s different now, knowing the very real mark he can leave on Steve. The mark he chooses so often to leave.

“Right now?” Billy asks. “Not much.”

He reaches down between the two of them and lets his palm drift over Steve’s crotch, over the evidence of his arousal. Teasing.

Steve groans as his head falls back, legs drawing tighter around Billy’s hips, though Billy doesn’t budge much. The long line of Steve’s throat is a temptation all its own.

“God,” Steve breathes, lashes fluttering when he meets Billy’s gaze again, one of his own hands dropping to mirror Billy’s touch. “The way you guys touch me. It’s like you always know just what to do.”

“Nah,” Billy says. “That’s just luck.”

He presses a kiss to Steve’s skin like a punctuation mark.

“I told you, I’m lucky. I touch you the way I wanna touch you, and I’m lucky that you like it.”

Which isn’t totally true. Billy pays attention to what Steve likes, what makes him make the prettiest noises.

Like now, when he palms over the strain of Steve’s hardening cock through his shorts. The way it makes Steve’s skin go warm under his mouth, when he leans in to trail his lips at Steve’s cheek. The way he moans, like Billy’s drawing it out of him.

Or the way Steve shivers when Billy noses at his ear, tilting his head over and baring his neck in an invitation to Billy’s mouth. The way he makes a low sound, when Billy gives him his teeth.

Steve’s throat will be a disaster by the time his done, but it always is. A nebula of red and blue and purple, like watercolors under Steve’s skin.

And Billy is always more than happy to leave his mark.

“I like it when you touch me the way you wanna,” Steve confesses in a hush, fingers back in Billy’s hair, nails at his scalp. “I like everything you guys do. I want everything.”

“I know you do,” Billy breathes. “So fucking greedy, I love it.”

And he does. So goddamn badly. It makes him dizzy, just how much he loves everything about Steve—from something hot or just mundane.

Over the fabric of Steve’s boxers, he gets his fingers around Steve’s hard cock. He can feel the heat of it even through the fabric, the inescapable evidence of Steve’s interest.

“Wanna get my mouth on you,” Billy says.

Steve squirms, pulling at Billy’s curls with a little groan. “Yeah. Yes. Please, yes.”

The table is too high to drop to his knees with Steve sitting on it—but it’s so, so easy to push Steve down onto his back and then crowd in on top of him, leaning in to breath hot over where his hands push up Steve’s shirt to expose his belly.

It takes very little effort to tug Steve’s boxers over his erection, exposing it to the slightly-chilled air of the room. The heat of summer is no longer clinging or cloying, no longer making Billy’s hair stick to the sweat on his forehead.

He breathes over the heat of Steve’s skin, laughing slightly as Steve’s hands find his hair, snaking in and fisting tight.

“Don’t tease when you’re the one that offered,” Steve grouses, flush and wiggling beneath him, always so bitchy when he gets embarrassed by how quick Billy or Eddie work him up.

His shirt rides up further as he moves. The skin of his belly bare and warm when Billy leans down to press his mouth to a spot above his navel. Billy grins when the muscles jump under his mouth, when Steve hisses and gives his hair another pull.

“Billy,” he says, like he’s trying to chide him, but he just sounds needy.

“Teasing was part of the offer,” Billy says.

But he moves back down anyway, conciliatory. He mouths at the base of Steve’s cock, the soft skin there that he loves feeling against his lips and tongue—arguably more of a tease in Billy’s opinion, but Steve’s moaning like he won something anyway, like some part of this is giving him much-needed relief.

One of Billy’s favorite things is dragging it out for Steve, teasing him until he’s crying. It’s topped only by making Steve scream his way through too many orgasms, so oversensitive that he’s keyed up beyond thought.

But Billy’s not thinking of any of that now—he just wants his mouth on Steve, wants to keep swimming in this dream, this fantasy that’s playing out in real time. So soft, so easy.

He mouths up Steve’s cock slowly, savoring it. Smiling as Steve lets out a low and almost-tortured moan, his hips squirming underneath the hold of Billy’s palms.

There’s something about it. Something about having Steve here, spread out under him, on the table where Steve kissed him properly for the first time. It’s heady, like a drug, like something good from Eddie’s stash. The way Steve’s hips flex under his grip as he drags his tongue up the heat of his shaft. The bitter tang of his precum, already weeping from the tip.

“Billy, please,” Steve says, and there’s something about that too.

It isn’t that Steve is willing to beg easily– not really, not until they’ve gotten him edged up enough, not until they’ve wrung him out between them on hands and lips and tongues– but that he’s always so willing to ask for what he wants.

It’s so antithetical to everything Billy is, the way he operates, that it always throws Billy for a loop. In the best way.

But Steve said please and Billy’s not in the mood to tease him or drag it out. So he runs the flat of his tongue over the tip of Steve’s cock, catching the precum beaded there—and then he gets Steve in his mouth, swallowing him down to the root in one solid, easy go.

“Oh, jesus fucking–” Steve moans out, words choked off as his hips strain in Billy’s grip, body reflexively trying to buck up into the heat of Billy’s mouth, despite being deep enough that he’s already in Billy’s throat. “Fuck, Billy–”

He whines his name. Tugs at his hair. Grunts as Billy swallows, like he’s punched the breath straight out of him.

Steve’s pulled taut, tight like a spring, but when Billy squeezes at his hips and presses– when he works his tongue against the sensitive underside of Steve’s dick– when he lets Steve pull at his curls with a low groan, but doesn’t budge an inch– when he does all of that, Steve’s body shudders into pliancy. Goes weak and clumsy, pleasure bleeding the strength right out of him as his throat catches around an agonized little moan.

And the thing is, Steve used to need Billy to be gentle with him. Eddie, too. At least a little bit—but Billy doesn’t need that now. Doesn’t need Steve to go soft. But Billy will take it. Will take whatever Steve gives him, so happily eating up whatever state he’s in.

So, once Steve is putty in his hands, fingers so tight in Billy’s hair that he’s practically holding on to keep from drifting away, Billy starts sucking him. Bobbing his head to fuck his mouth on Steve’s cock. The slide of Steve over his tongue, that perfect weight, is so easy, so good. But nothing’s quite as good as the way Steve moans, open-mouthed and unafraid, absolutely overtaken by pleasure, by the way Billy’s mouth is working him over.

It feels a little risky, for some reason. A little like he’s back out on the dock, in the dark, with people liable to hear nearby. Here and now, in the pool house with the door still open to the night, it feels a little similar. Like they’re doing something where they shouldn’t be, dirtying up Steve’s parents’ pool table.

But just like that night on the dock, Billy doesn’t want to stop, despite whatever trouble might follow.

He’s drooling on Steve’s dick. Sucking him down, steady and easy. The pace isn’t slow, but it isn’t exactly fast either. Billy’s taking his time– savoring the weight of Steve in his mouth, on his tongue, sliding into his throat with the perfect stretch and burn. Gets to feel the slow, wonderful way Steve’s pleasure ratchets higher, higher with each pass of his lips. Gets to hear the way Steve’s voice just gets tighter, his rapid breath strangling his little moans and mewls of need. Gets to enjoy the way Steve kicks at him, bare toes hitting his knee, and the way Steve clings at his hair hard enough to sting as Steve’s hips shudder and twist in his grip.

And when he sucks, wet and obscene, he gets the pleasure of hearing Steve breathe his name like a benediction. Gasping it, over and over– Billy Billy Billy– peppered with little pleas to keep going, for more. Threaded with desperate little pants of praise.

“So fuckin’ good, Billy,” Steve says, words a breathless thing, squirming restlessly. “Hnngh, fuck, I’m so–”

He’s close. Billy knows he’s close– can feel the way his cock twitches and leaks over his tongue when he withdraws enough to taste it. He’s riding that edge that Billy’s worked him to, and already itching for completion. The only question is if Billy wants to give it to him, or if he wants to keep dragging Steve along that edge until his voice starts to crack.

Both options are good. Tempting as all get out.

But in the end Billy settles on this: it’s the middle of the night and Steve just woke up from a nightmare, and is wound tight as can be. And Billy wants to drain that tension out of him. Wants to make Steve moan and then wrap him up tight in his arms and keep the bad dreams at bay.

So, Billy doesn’t ease up. He keeps bobbing his head, taking Steve deeper and sucking him harder. He lets his fingers dig into Steve’s hips in the way he knows Steve likes, hard enough to bruise, and refuses to let up.

“Fuck– oh, fuck,” Steve squirms more, when he’s close, thighs trembling tight and toes curling, a hand slapping down to clutch at the edge of the table like it will anchor him through the crests and waves of pleasure. “Billy– Billy–”

His voice pitches with warning, but Billy has already made up his mind. Is already taking him deep and swallowing him down, even as Steve cries out with a broken little quiver of a sound and spills out down Billy’s throat.

Billy swallows him down easily. Greedily. He sucks Steve through it, past the way his cock kicks on Billy’s tongue, past the point where Steve lets go of the table and scrambles at Billy’s hair, too—pulling and pulling, until Billy’s off of him, tongue lolling out, wet and sloppy. Billy grins wide at him, feeling punch-drunk, stuck in his own dream.

“That good, baby?” Billy asks.

His voice sounds wrecked. He’s not sure if that’s his own arousal, or the way it feels like Steve’s cock hollowed him clean out. Both, maybe.

He rests his chin on Steve’s hip and licks his lips. Tastes Steve’s spunk, his sweat. His mouth waters.

Steve has slumped against the table, breathing heavy, skin flush and shiny in the dim blue light of the evening. For a moment, Steve’s head remains tossed back, and all Billy gets is the treat of Steve’s jawline jutting up.

Then, propping himself clumsily up onto his elbows, Steve peers down at him with dark, dazed eyes. “I think you sucked my brain out through my dick,” he mutters.

“Good,” Billy says, smile a little lopsided in a way that he can feel on his own face. “That’s what I was trying for.”

He leans down and presses a lazy, sloppy kiss to the jut of Steve’s hip bone. The warm skin waiting for him there. He mouths over it, gentle, but with just a hint of teeth. Pulling away only after he’s left a little purple mark.

Steve shudders. As his breathing settles, he sinks a hand into Billy’s hair, touch soothing over his scalp in a way that’s almost apologetic.

“What else are you trying for?” Steve asks, already spent and still so eager, voice soft and low.

Billy hums, eyes falling closed to the touch of Steve’s fingers over his scalp. It feels so fucking nice, so comforting, even when Billy’s not the one who needed comfort tonight.

“Just want you,” Billy says, voice barely even a whisper. “Fucking always. Any way I can have you.”

For a moment, he thinks about fucking Steve over the table, but all the lube’s inside. But it’s hard to get that picture out of his head—has been, ever since they first played pool and Steve trounced him. But—

“I have an idea,” Billy breathes. “You trust me, baby?”

“Silly question,” Steve tells him, pushing his curls away from his face, a thumb dragging over his cheek. “I trust you, Billy.”

And isn’t that something? Steve Harrington, looking at him with sweet, dark eyes. Touching him with gentle hands. Telling him he trusts him– implicitly, perhaps stupidly– like it was obvious.

Billy doesn’t even have words for how much he loves Steve, for how deep that love burns within him. That trust is now so implicit, so strong, that it knocks Billy for a loop every fucking time.

He never thought he’d get this.

So, before he does anything, he leans over, practically climbing on top of the table to kiss Steve stupid. Messy and needy, kissing Steve’s mouth like he just can’t get enough.

Steve’s moan is a mildly surprised one, but certainly not displeased. He leans up to meet him, uses the fingers to Billy’s hair to keep him close, and hums against his mouth. Kisses back a little clumsy, the way he gets after an orgasm, but just as eager.

Billy lingers in that moment for a long while, just savoring it. Soaking it up. When he finally pulls back, he’s nearly panting, feeling so warm and full that he almost forgets that his cock is still hard—right up until Steve moans his name, and then Billy remembers fast enough.

“Trust me,” Billy says.

And then Billy’s arranging Steve’s body, pulling him by the legs until his ass is at the edge of the table. He then arranges Steve’s legs on one side of him, pressing them up together, so that Steve’s pretty, milky thighs are right there on display, just as tempting as his ass.

“Gonna fuck your thighs, baby,” Billy says, dragging a finger along the seam that Steve’s thighs make, palming himself at the same time.

Steve makes one of those strangled sounds. The one that tells him Steve is red in the face. The one that speaks of bewildered, embarrassed want.

Steve clutches at the edge of the pool table and stares up at him from the dark felt with those wide eyes. Lips parted, kiss swollen, he twitches and makes another little sound as Billy’s fingers trail over the warm skin between Steve’s legs.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, soft and eager. “Yeah, okay.”

And Billy doesn’t have lube. But his cock is already beading at the tip and he has plenty of spit to slick the way.

He drops his pants, letting them fall around his ankles, and fists his cock. Gives himself a couple pumps, then spits into the palm of his hand a couple times and does the same thing, again.

“You’re a pretty fucking picture, baby,” Billy says, stroking himself to the image of Steve, sprawled out on the pool table.

A real goddamn dream.

Steve watches him back, lashes fluttering, like he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing either. His breath hitches when Billy groans, and he shifts almost restlessly.

“C’mon,” Steve mutters, fingers flexing at the edge of the table. “I wanna feel you.”

Billy doesn’t tease Steve—or himself—for any longer. He spits into his hand one more time, and then lines himself up between Steve’s thighs, pressing down on them to make the fit tighter, and then feels the head of his cock tuck right between those two muscles. Sliding so perfectly—a little slick, a little dry—into that tight heat.

It’s different than fucking an ass, or a mouth. Not nearly as tight, not nearly as close—and it feels a little depraved, too. A little like Billy’s getting away with something he shouldn’t.

He hears Steve take in a breath, hears it hitch in his throat, and then Billy’s thrusting forward, fucking between Steve’s thighs until he bottoms out, until his own hips are flush against the warmth of Steve’s skin.

Steve’s body moves with the motion. Rocks in place as his breath stalls and starts again, rapid and hitching as Billy slides his cock between his thighs. Shudders in place when Billy presses flush and lets out a little groan of a sound when Billy’s hands move to pet up his flank and slip under his knees. Hooks them over his elbow, and grinds forward a little.

“Fuck, that’s–” Steve shifts again, ankles crossing, knees pressing together tighter until both of their breaths hitch at the sensation of Billy tucked up between his legs. “This is really–”

“Hot,” Billy breathes out.

Because it is. Hotter than he even imagined it being. It feels illicit, fucking in between Steve’s legs like this, the almost-uncomfortable drag of skin against skin making Billy’s nerves sing, his pleasure soar.

“You look so—” Billy says, eyes stuck on the way Steve’s spread out, the way his sweaty hair has fallen into his face, the way his eyes close with every one of Billy’s thrusts, breath punched out of him.

And then Steve presses a hand to the table near his head. Uses it to brace himself, as he presses back, trying to meet Billy’s hips with a low, needy sound. Like he wants Billy’s pleasure as much as Billy wanted Steve’s. Moans when Billy fucks forward a little harder, when Billy groans.

“What–” Steve’s breath is a tacky, catching thing, his words just as stuck, caught around the little noises Billy’s movements coax out of him. “Hahh, Billy– so, what? What do I look like?”

“Wrecked,” Billy breathes. “So wrecked, so—hnn—so fucking beautiful.”

He fucks hard against Steve’s thighs, driving in like he’s really truly fucking Steve, like’s buried inside to the hilt. His own pleasure is heady and thick, hard to breathe through, to think through. His fingers grip hard against Steve’s thighs, maybe hard enough to leave bruises, but Billy can’t bring himself to let go.

And Billy probably shouldn’t feel so close so fast, but Steve’s thighs are tight and the drag of his cock against Steve’s skin, against his own spit, feels heavenly.

And then Steve is gasping out a desperate little don’t stop as he gets his other hand around his own half hard cock. Pants heavy and hot as Billy drags him close with each thrust. As his hand works over his length, quick and just as hungry as Billy.

“So good, ” Steve groans, long and low as Billy’s fingers dig in. “You, too. You’re so– fuck, hnn, Billy– you’re so fucking gorgeous.”

And the sight of Steve, oversensitive and yet still so desirous, so needy, is enough to drive Billy right to the edge. And so are his words, so easy and free, so unencumbered by anything other than pleasure.

Billy fucks into the tight hold of Steve’s legs until his pleasure crests, until his eyes slam shut and he’s cumming all over the inside of Steve’s thighs, throat closing on a moan. Around Steve’s name.

It’s as he’s still shaking with his own pleasure that he gets his hand over Steve’s cock, jerking him with quick, efficient strokes.

“Gonna cum for me again, baby?” Billy asks, voice raw and wrecked, hips still buried tight between the wet warmth of Steve’s thighs.

“Fuck– fuck,” Steve arches, clutching at Billy’s wrist as he touches him, groaning as Billy rocks against him– rutting in the mess he’s made of Steve as he rides the aftershocks. “Yeah. God, Billy, please.”

Billy nearly goes cross-eyed with how good he feels. Those little juts of pleasure making his brain go all fuzzy, thoughts a jumble as his hand works over Steve.

“That’s it,” Billy coaxes. “Just like that, baby. I got you. Want you to cum again for me.”

Steve whines. Shudders heavy and heady as Billy keeps working him over, and Billy feels completely breathless as Steve draws taut and spills out into his fist with a sharp little cry. Thighs squeezing tight around Billy, head falling back, chest bowing up as he trembles apart.

Billy doesn’t tease him through it, just jerks Steve until he slows the pace down, until Steve’s pleasure has waned. All Billy does is thumb through the mess on the tip of his cock and bring that up to his own lips to lick that bit of spunk from his own skin, still partially panting but grinning wide.

“Shit,” Billy says, after he swallows down the taste of Steve, until it just lingers on his tongue. “Shit, you’re so hot.”

Steve lets out a laugh, low and rough, draping an arm over his eyes but smiling crooked and bright as they both breathe heavy in the quiet of dusk.

“I’m hot?” he asks, still chuckling. “Jesus, Billy.”

“Wish I had Munson’s camera,” Billy says. “I’d take a picture just to show you how hot you are.”

And then he leans forward to get his lips where he can, landing on the skin of Steve’s shoulder, tasting sweat.

“Don’t go anywhere,” Billy says, extricating himself from the mess he’s made of Steve.

He makes his way over to the bar, where he grabs a towel and wets it, returning back to Steve to clean him up. He drags the cloth over Steve’s body—getting his own come from between Steve’s legs, and then the spunk Steve painted his own stomach with.

Afterward, he helps Steve up, only laughing a little as Steve staggers off of the pool table on unsteady legs, falling into Billy with a laugh.

“Careful there, bambi,” Billy says, nodding at the couch. “Wanna lay down for a bit?”

Steve presses his face to Billy’s throat with a quiet little groan. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not,” Billy murmurs into Steve’s hair. “Maybe I just wanna lie down with you. Maybe I’m tired. I did all the work, didn’t I?”

Without waiting for a response, Billy leads them both over to the couch in their various states of undress. And sure, they probably should put on clothes, but Billy’s exhausted and Steve’s still wobbling on his long legs.

“C’mere,” Billy says, flopping down onto the couch, trying to drag Steve with him. “Come lay with me awhile and then we can go back upstairs.”

It doesn’t take much to get Steve to crawl on top of him. He flops down heavy, nosing at Billy’s collar, arms slipping around him as he tucks in close. Always gets extra grabby after they’re done, and Billy is more than content to let Steve try and nuzzle his way into Billy’s body with sleepy little sounds.

“I really love you,” Steve mutters against his skin, words muffled and absolutely heart stopping. “You and Eddie. I think I really do.”

Billy breathes through the immediate panic that flutters in his chest like a trapped bird.

His tongue feels heavy in his mouth, stuck-tight and leaden. But alongside the panic, alongside the deep fear—he feels warm. So much warmer than he’s been in days, in months, even under the oppressive heat of the Indiana summer that loomed for so desperately long.

“Yeah?” Billy asks, voice barely even a whisper as he holds Steve tighter, arms pulling him close.

Steve’s nose tucks up under his jaw as he lets out another soft, satisfied sound. “Yeah. I just wanted you to know.”

And Billy feels it when Steve twists over. Feels it when his hand works out from under Billy to wriggle up between them, splaying out over Billy’s chest– right over his heart. It’s terribly fumbling and a little awkward, but then Steve is leveraging himself up a bit, just to look at him, and Billy doesn’t care.

“You guys make me really happy,” he says.

Billy huffs out a little laugh, pretty much just one breath—all that’s left in his lungs. He can’t help but smile.

“You make me really fucking happy too,” Billy says.

Steve beams. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, baby.”

Billy’s lips find Steve’s forehead and leave a kiss there, lingering and soft.

They fall asleep like that, half-naked and tangled together, on the soft leather of the pool house couch. Billy’s sleep is dreamless and warm, and he only wakes a couple times and if then, only barely—just to shift, to press himself closer to Steve or to adjust into a position more comfortable. Every time Billy wakes, though, Steve is sleeping sound. Curled up against Billy’s chest and out cold, face relaxed all but for the little smile that tugs at the corner of his lips—like he’s dreaming happily. Like he fell asleep smiling.

Billy wakes to the sound of a camera shutter. And then a little mechanical whurl.

He blinks blearily awake to the bright light of the pool house’s many windows. He promptly closes them—and then reopens them immediately, squinting up at Eddie, whose tall silhouette towers over them, teetering on his toes.

“Morning, sunshine,” Eddie says. “Sunshines,” he corrects, after Steve makes an annoyed little noise.

“Morning sucks,” Steve mumbles, squinting an eye at him, and then Billy feels him shift as he twists over to reach out a hand. “Why are you up so early?”

And it is early, the sky still pink and fresh. Eddie chuckles, setting the camera and the candid he just took on the side table before crawling onto the couch to join Steve in smothering Billy down against the cushions.

It leaves him grunting.

“Woke up alone in an empty bed, no note,” Eddie chides, kissing Billy’s cheek and then the top of Steve’s head, tucking up close. “What’s a guy to do but panic?”

Steve frowns, and Billy sees his eyes blink open fully if sleepily. “Didn’t mean to worry you.”

“You didn’t,” Eddie assures, his smile teasing. “And what a pretty sight to stumble in on.”

Eddie snatches the photo back up and offers it out to Billy, who makes a questioning face at him. The photo is blurry, still developing, but the shapes are plain to see: Billy and Steve, intertwined like a knot, all skin and sleep and intimacy. Billy’s sun-kissed skin up against Steve’s mole-dotted. A hickey, dark even on the polaroid, right at Steve’s hip, right next to where the shape of Billy’s hand rests.

“Hot,” Billy says, unable to stop himself.

“Yeah, I’m gonna need about fifty more of these,” Eddie says, taking back the picture to give it a little shake.

Steve huffs, and even half awake, they’ve already got his skin taking on that flush Billy doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of. “Shoulda just got a camcorder.”

Eddie makes a small, delighted little sound. “Now that’s an idea.”

Steve snorts, burying his face back against Billy’s chest and humming when Billy sinks slow fingers into his hair. “Nobody is stopping you from taking pictures.”

“That sounds like an invitation, Stevie,” Eddie tells him. “You wanna take some pretty pictures, just for me? You and Billy?”

“Not when the sun is still rising,” Steve grouses.

“Maybe later, then,” Eddie says, pressing another kiss to the crown of Steve’s head. “We could make a whole album.”

Billy hums. “A whole album, just for us.”

Keeping the smile off his face is difficult—but he realizes that he doesn’t have to. So he lets it sit there, wide and bright, warming him from the inside out.

chapter 22:

i gotta know (if your sweet love is gonna save me)

Steve’s kitchen smells like bacon and breakfast sausage.

Eddie’s sprawled out at the island, his torso draped over the marble of the counter while Steve and Billy hover at the stove. Next to him, Robin’s cutting strawberries and scooping them into a big bowl.

“You know you don’t have to impress her, right?” Robin says.

She gestures at the spread of breakfast foods that are piling up on the counters—eggs, waffles, pancakes, bacon, sausage, and fruits.

Eddie gestures into the air with a sleepy hand. There’s a steaming coffee next to him, but he doesn’t appear quite awake, yet. “Stevie’s never met an opportunity for the pomp and circumstance of entertaining that he didn’t pass up.”

Next to the eggs, Steve huffs. But he doesn’t argue.

“Personally,” Billy says. “I don’t see why you’re trying to impress your ex girlfriend while her current girlfriend is right here.”

“I’m not trying to impress her,” Steve says, grabbing the half-damp tea towel he has slung over his shoulder to smack at Billy with. “I’m trying to break it to her gently. She doesn’t exactly like you.”

“Or me, for that matter,” Eddie says.

“No, she likes you just fine,” Robin says, patting Eddie on the shoulder. “Now, as boyfriend material for Steve, that’s a different matter…”

Billy crosses his arms after flipping the last of the pancakes onto a plate. “I don’t think she gets a say in it.”

“Easy, tiger,” Eddie says. “No need to defend my honor—though it’s much appreciated.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but any response he might have is interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. Robin is the first to spring for it, clearly eager and unable– or simply unwilling– to hide her eagerness. She bounds off, leaving Steve staring after her like he’s not sure if he should follow.

Not because he wants to go see Nancy Wheeler as quickly as possible. But because he’s probably debating whether it’s impolite for someone else to greet a guest at the door or not.

His ingrained sense of hospitality is kind of adorable, Billy thinks.

“We’ve avoided meeting the parents,” Eddie adds, shoving off of the counter so that he can pad over, a hand finding Steve’s hip as he dips his head to kiss his shoulder. “We have to ask someone for approval.”

“We’re not asking for her approval,” Steve insists. “We’re just telling her.”

“But her approval matters to you,” Billy says, leaning on the counter. He can’t keep a bit of the judgemental tone out of his voice.

“And that’s okay,” Eddie says quickly, giving Billy half a glare. “It’s important to us that her opinion matters to you.”

And Billy can’t help it that he’s a little nervous. That he wants this to go well because Steve wants it to go well. Because it does matter to Steve—so it matters to Billy, too. More than he’d ever admit out loud.

“It doesn’t–” Steve cuts himself off with a little sigh, glancing first at Billy and then at Eddie before slumping against the counter next to Billy– Eddie following close behind, chin hooking over Steve’s shoulder. “It doesn’t matter if she approves because it won’t change anything. But, yeah, I kinda… want it.”

Eddie grins. “Then we will be on our very best behavior for you.”

He smacks a kiss to the side of Steve’s head, lingering for just a moment, and then pulls away, bouncing on his feet before he practically skips over to Billy and steals a steaming pancake from the top of the stack. Billy’s whacking him with a spatula when Robin and Nancy file into the kitchen.

“Oh,” Nancy says, eyeing Billy and Eddie. “I thought this was just going to be the three of us?”

Robin is smiling, but she winces a bit and shrugs, hand at Nancy’s back like she’s worried Nancy might dart off just at the sight of them. Billy wonders how a girl with such prissy sensibilities can be so utterly ruthless, the way he’s both witnessed and been told of a handful of times.

“They’re, uh. A bit of a package deal these days,” Robin says around a cringe of an expression. “Sorry I didn’t warn you.”

Nancy’s lips purse, but she doesn’t look like she’s about to bolt. Steve seems pretty relieved by that.

“Yeah, they’re actually part of why I asked you over in the first place,” Steve adds, shuffling forward toward them and toward where the dining room is located, table already piled high with sweets and treats for the morning.

Nancy blinks at him– at all of them. At the pans still on the stove and the dishes in the sink. The cutting board, left discarded by Robin, full of half cut strawberries.

“Did you… stress bake?” Nancy asks, voice pitched with her skepticism.

“Stress cooked?” Steve offers. “Stress breakfasted?”

“Hey,” Billy says. “I made the pancakes. You don’t get to take credit for them.”

“Yeah, because the pancakes are really the straw that broke the camel’s back, here,” Eddie mumbles.

Billy hits him with the spatula again.

“Okay,” Nancy huffs, holding out both hands, those big eyes of hers narrowing in on Steve. “So what, exactly, is this all about?”

Steve shifts in place. Nervous energy, all bottled up and barely contained.

“Food first?” Steve offers.

Nancy rolls her eyes, but her smile is fond as she lets Robin begin coaxing her out toward the table. “You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington.”

“Nonna always said to have difficult conversations on a full belly,” Steve replies, smile tight. “Go have a seat. We’ll be out in a sec.”

And then Robin is leading her out, giving Steve a little thumbs up on the way, right behind Nancy’s back.

“You, my dear, have got to stop freaking out,” Eddie says, striding over to Steve to give him a kiss on his forehead once the two of them are out of the room.

“Easy for you to say,” Steve says, his breath sounding tight.

Billy knows the feeling.

Coming out isn’t an easy thing, and Steve’s first real experience of that—outside of Billy and Eddie themselves—was Robin, who was a promised win. The biggest concern there was probably more Billy himself and not Steve’s sexuality. And given that Nancy is now dating Robin, the conversation should be easier—but, as Steve’s said, Nancy’s unpredictable. A little less outwardly accepting than Robin.

Not to mention that breaking the news of their little winter road trip is going to come right on the heels of the big reveal.

“It’ll be good,” Billy says, coming over to wrap his arms around the two of them to squeeze them both tight. “And if it’s not, then fuck her. Who needs her approval anyway?”

“Not reassuring, sunshine,” Eddie hisses.

Steve lets out a little sigh, though. “No, he’s right. I just– I dunno. I want her to be happy for me.”

Eddie’s expression softens up into something endlessly fond. Billy knows because Eddie has looked at him like that, more than once, and Billy knows he’s looked at Steve like that more than once.

“If she isn’t happy now, I’m sure she’ll come around,” Eddie says, nudging into Billy even as he smooths a hand up Steve’s back. “You don’t gotta explain why you want your friend to be happy for you, baby.”

Steve is worrying at the inner corner of his mouth, fingers a slow drum against his own thigh, but he gives a little nod at that reassurance. “So I guess it’s time for brunch?”

“Sure is,” Eddie says. “If you’re ready for it. You call the shots on this one, Stevie. You ready to go in there and face down your ex over California’s pancakes? I already tasted them: they’re even halfway decent.”

“They’re fucking delicious and you know it,” Billy says, elbowing Eddie in the side.

Eddie cackles, stepping back from the both of them. “Okay, okay, they’re amazing, sunshine.”

Billy rolls his eyes and then grabs Eddie by the arm, dragging him in the direction of the dining room. “Nice save. C’mon. Let’s go play house.”

Billy’s still dragging Eddie when they round the corner into the dining room, Steve trailing behind the two of them. Eddie climbs into the chair across from Nancy and Billy sits across from Robin, leaving the place at the head of the table—and right next to Nancy—to Steve.

Steve takes his spot easily, smile terse when he offers it to Nancy. Hers isn’t much better, but she’s already unfolding a cloth napkin in her lap as Robin serves up some fresh bacon onto both of their plates.

“This all looks really nice, Steve,” Nancy says.

“Wasn’t just me,” Steve replies, but some of the tension bleeds from his shoulders.

“Don’t look at me,” Eddie says. “I’m not to be trusted in the kitchen.”

“That’s for sure,” Billy says with a little huff of a laugh. “Who fucks up frozen pizza?”

Nancy’s smile dims a little, but she glances over at Billy. “Thanks for the pancakes, Billy.”

“He did the French toast, too,” Steve says.

Robin rolls her eyes. “We get it. He’s a good boy that knows how to help and play nice.”

Eddie snorts. Billy elbows him.

“You’re welcome,” Billy says to Nancy, only after flipping Robin the bird.

Eddie smacks him in the arm.

“It isn’t bad news, is it?” Nancy says. “I know you said you wanted to eat first, but I—I need to know, Steve. Is everything alright?”

“It’s not bad news,” Steve assures her, and then gives a little shrug. “I kinda think it’s good news. Nice news.”

Nancy’s brows just pinch. At her side, Robin huffs, slumping back into her seat.

“Just spell it out for her, dingus.” Robin gestures at Nancy with an amused smile that has Nancy’s shoulders drawing up– the same gesture of embarrassment he’s seen Steve make, a handful of times, that Nancy mirrors now when Robin adds, “She’ll never leave it be until you just tell her. And then breakfast will get cold.”

Billy doesn’t know if it’s the inevitability of it all that breaks the camel’s back, or the appeal to Steve’s hosting sensibilities. Either way, Steve clears his throat, a little red in the face. Glances over at Eddie and Billy and lets out a nervous little breath.

“I’m going on a trip for a few months,” Steve says, eyes on the edge of one of the placemats that he made Eddie set the table with. “And, uh. I’m going with Eddie and Billy. Who are my boyfriends.”

Nancy Wheeler is a shockingly steady individual. She holds carefully still, eyes on Steve as he carefully glances up, focus unwavering even as she blinks and then blinks again.

Then, she gives a little shake of her head, closing her eyes like she’s resetting. When she opens them again, it’s to lean closer into Steve’s space, brows pinched, gaze narrowed.

“I think I heard you wrong,” Nancy says. “Repeat that for me?”

Even from here, Billy can tell that Steve’s leg is bouncing under the table. Probably about a mile a minute.

“Um,” Steve clears his throat again. “I’m going on a roadtrip with my boyfriends.”

Billy watches as Eddie reaches across the space between him and Steve. He offers out his hand, palm up, on the table. And then Billy watches as Steve takes it, interlacing their fingers and giving a little squeeze.

And Billy maybe should expect it—even though he doesn’t, it’s still a shock—when Eddie reaches out and offers Billy his other hand. Which is taken instantly.

“His boyfriends,” Eddie says with a bright grin that feels a little too wide to be only friendly.

“You–” Nancy blinks a few more times, at all three of them, leaning back in her own seat with a little huff. “Since when have you–?”

“Since summer,” Robin cuts in, dry and sharp, giving Steve a pointed look. “Not that he bothered to tell me–”

“Since summer?” Nancy’s voice is shrill when she’s shocked, and it makes them all wince even as Nancy turns to Steve again. “When in summer?”

“I mean,” Steve shifts in his seat. “The fair, maybe?”

“After the fair,” Billy says. “I did kiss you at the fair, but it was after that.”

And Billy remembers. Because the waiting, the giving Steve time to think, really dragged on.

Every moment felt like torture, like maybe he’d made a mistake by kissing Steve in the first place. Like maybe he ruined his chances for the rocky friendship they’d built up, all because Billy couldn’t keep his lips off Steve after chasing him through a corn maze like some kind of predator.

Nancy balks. “You kissed at the fair?”

Her tone has veered heavily into shock. Which, without context, seems pretty fair on its own.

“Corn maze,” Steve says with a little shrug, like that’s an explanation all by itself.

And maybe it is, because Nancy Wheeler laughs.

“Wow,” she says, shaking her head again. “Was that your idea?”

When a blush steals across Steve’s face, Billy thinks he might be missing something. When he checks Eddie, he sees the little pinch between his brows, the little cock of his head, and he knows he’s not the only one out of the loop.

“It wasn’t like that,” Steve says, and then falters. “Well. Not, uh. Not at first.”

“I haven’t actually heard this part, yet,” Robin says. “So whose idea was it, exactly, to do the biggest date activity at the fair? Other than the ferris wheel, obviously.”

Billy snorts. “We also did the ferris wheel.”

“I don’t remember who suggested it,” Eddie says. “Definitely not California, here.”

Steve’s ears are red. Eddie still hasn’t let their hands go, and Billy sees him squeeze at Steve’s all the tighter as he grins over at him.

“Was it you, Stevie?”

Steve rolls his eyes, but he hardly looks annoyed. Flustered, maybe. Wishing the earth would open and swallow him, probably.

“Yes, okay? Yes,” Steve grouses. “I did– but it wasn’t like that yet.”

“Yet,” Nancy repeats. “Not like it is now?”

Like proof, Steve lifts the hand Eddie’s latched himself onto and gives it a little wiggle. “Boyfriends.”

“Right,” Nancy nods. “I didn’t see that coming.”

“You should have,” Eddie says. “Billy and I are obviously Hawkins’ most eligible bachelors, other than Stevie, here.”

Nancy lets out something like another laugh, though Billy is hesitant to call it that. She shakes her head again, like she still can’t wrap her head around it.

“What happened to six kids?” she asks, soft, almost like she wishes no one else could hear.

For the first time all morning, Steve goes still. And then he replies, with an equally soft, “Things change, Nance.”

Billy watches as Eddie looks over at Steve and then just — leans in and kisses him on the cheek.

“Could still have six kids,” Eddie says, like he knows exactly what they’re talking about. “In a few years, obviously. And I’m not offering, but you could try and knock California up…”

Billy slaps at him. “Shut up, Munson.”

Robin chokes on a laugh, trying and failing to hide it behind one of her hands. Steve’s face has only gotten more red, but he’s huffing out a little, amused breath himself.

Nancy looks fairly mortified herself. Reaches for a tall glass of orange juice and takes a hefty gulp before setting it down again.

“Okay,” she says.

Steve perks a bit. “Okay?”

Nancy nods. “Okay. I still don’t like them.”

“Well, you’re not dating them,” Steve tells her, eyes darting to Robin.

“Lucky us,” Billy says. “You drew the short straw, Buckley.”

“Be nice, California,” Eddie scolds, stealing a piece of bacon off of Billy’s plate.

Nancy’s lips are all pursed together, like Billy said exactly what she expected of him. And he probably did. But she doesn’t let it stall her for long, whether it be out of good will for Steve or out of sheer curiosity, because soon she asks, “So. You’re going on a roadtrip?”

“For how long?” Robin asks.

The tension settled in Steve’s shoulders seems to ease away as they all spur into the idle motions of filling their plates and beginning to eat properly. As Nancy seems to clear the first hurdle without too much fuss, and begins to eye the second one.

“A few months?” Steve says, glancing over at Eddie with a question on his face.

“At least three,” Eddie replies, pausing to lick some jam from his thumb as he finishes slathering a piece of toast. “Maybe six at the most, if we get caught up. We’re going on a journey, but we’ll be there and back again in no time.”

Billy snorts. “Cool your jets, Tolkien. We’re going to the beach, not Mordor.”

“Are you sure? Because I think the three of you set loose on the highways of America is a pretty epic journey. Many opportunities for abject disaster,” Robin says.

“I’m gonna make them go to the Grand Canyon with me,” Steve says. “Since I’m driving, they can’t argue.”

“Not the entire time you’re not,” Billy mutters.

Because he does miss driving. And he likes riding too, of course—but he learned how to drive when he was fourteen and restless, and nothing can take that feeling away from him. And nothing can beat it, too.

“Easy, sunshine. We’ll talk about the logistics later,” Eddie says.

“So, have you broken the news to the kids, yet?” Robin asks. “About the roadtrip, I mean. Not about—all of this.”

She gestures at Billy and Eddie with a dismissive wave of her hand.

“You love us, Buckley,” Billy snarks.

Robin gives him a mean little smile and finds a strawberry at his chest. “I put up with you because Steve likes you. And I like Steven.”

“Love you too, Rob,” Steve mutters, giving her a dirty look over the edge of his coffee mug when she lines up to lob another strawberry. “Even when you behave like a child.”

To prove his point, Robin sticks out her tongue.

“To answer your question,” Eddie cuts in, pointing with a forkful of eggs toward Nancy and Robin. “No. They’re next on the list.”

“That’s actually, uh—later this afternoon,” Steve says, a little chagrined.

“This afternoon?” Nancy asks.

“Wanted to get it all over in one day,” Steve says.

“Like ripping off a bandaid,” Eddie chimes in.

“Hell of a bandaid,” Billy says on an inhale. “The Henderson kid’s gonna have an aneurism.”

Steve lets out a little groan, burying his face in a hand. Taking pity on him, Eddie reaches over to rub over his back.

“He’ll get over it,” Eddie assures him.

“He’ll scream my ears off first,” Steve says.

“Get earplugs. He’ll get over it,” Billy says with a shrug.

He snags another pancake off the table and crams it into his mouth whole. Across the table from him, Robin makes an affronted face and gags. He grins at her, cheeks still chubby and full of half-chewed dough.

“Hey, Steve,” Nancy says. And when Billy looks over at her, away from teasing Robin, she’s smiling fondly at Steve. “I’m happy for you. That you’re happy. And that you’re doing something for you. I’m glad that you told me.”

The look that crosses Steve’s face is so sweet, so fond, that Billy is nearly jealous.

“Thanks, Nance,” Steve says.

Nancy nods and then shrugs a shoulder. “I mean, it would kind of be hypocritical of me…”

“Yeah, how’s that going?” Eddie asks, grin sharp if crooked.

Nancy passes a furtive, flustered look toward Robin, who smiles right back at her. It only makes Nancy go a little more pink in the face.

“It’s good,” she says, prim as can be, and then turns her focus on stabbing a stray berry on her plate. “Great.”

“Glowing review, doll,” Robin says.

Nancy’s lips purse up. “I’m not going to give them details–”

Robin is already laughing and patting at her shoulder, though. Slipping her hand down Nancy’s arm and probably catching her hand under the table.

“It’s really good,” Robin adds, smile bright. “Great, even.”

“Good,” Steve says. And he looks so warm, so fond, and so deeply happy for Nancy, that any jealousy Billy might have felt fades away into nothing in the wake of Billy’s affection for him.

“So,” Eddie says, putting his elbows on the table and cradling his chin in his hands. “Go on, spill. Tell us about your first date.”

Robin’s eyes light up. “God, I have been dying for you to ask.”

Dustin Henderson does, in fact, screech so loudly that ears are left ringing. Not just Steve’s.

“God, would you quiet that kid down?” Billy grouses, rubbing at his ear as he dodges around Erica and Lucas bickering over the last slice of pepperoni at the kitchen counter.

Eddie winces and pats consolingly at his shoulder, watching as Dustin gets redder and redder in the face, Steve standing in front of him with his hands on his hips. He’s already sighed more than once.

“Six months? Six months? Are you fucking crazy?”

“That’s the long estimation,” Steve says. “We’ll probably be back in March.”

“Why?!”

“You’ve lived here your entire life, Henderson,” Eddie says, voice carrying across the kitchen. “You know the winters here suck. So we’re escaping for a while.”

“And you’re leaving us here to freeze?” Dustin rounds on Eddie, abandoning his post in front of an unmovable Steve Harrignton. “And okay, I get that he’s going with you, but why him?”

Dustin points at Billy, who can’t help but sneer back at him.

“He’s our tour guide,” Eddie says, smoothing a hand over Billy’s shoulders, tugging him to his side and giving him a little squeeze. “He’s already made the cross country trip before. He’ll know where all the cool shit is.”

“What, like the World’s Biggest Yarn Ball?” Max asks dubiously, just to be a pest, and she darts out of the way when Billy pretends to lunge after her. “Whatever, have fun. Don’t get into an accident.”

“That’s exactly why we’re not letting Munson drive,” Billy says.

Eddie makes an affronted noise and then clutches at his chest. “California, you wound me.”

“Really, Steve?” Dustin says, “These two? You want to be stuck in a car with these two? If Eddie’s driving doesn’t kill you, aren’t you worried that—”

“Dustin,” Steve cuts him off with a sharp tone and a dry look. “I’m not worried about anything. I trust Eddie and I trust Billy. You’re just gonna have to trust me.”

Dustin groans. Loud and theatrical. Billy thinks that he probably learned that one from Eddie.

“I promise not to kill your babysitter,” Billy says with a grin that he knows doesn’t look very trustworthy. He can’t be blamed, though—it’s so fun to mess with Henderson.

“Don’t make it worse,” Eddie says, batting at Billy before grabbing himself another piece of pizza.

“Who, me?” Billy asks, feigning innocence about as well as Eddie does.

Which is to say, not very well at all.

Max rolls her eyes at him and everything. Huffs and takes off toward the living room with her topped up glass of coke and an unimpressed stare.

“I don’t like it,” Dustin is saying, shaking his head, arms crossed. “I don’t like it at all. What if you end up in a ditch somewhere?”

Steve is the one that rolls his eyes this time. “You don’t have to like it. We’re doing it anyway, and we won’t end up in a ditch.”

“Yeah, because Munson’s not driving,” Billy mutters. “Any of you other twerps got anything to say about it?”

The rest of the kids all shake their heads or shrug. The ones that don’t like the plan likely don’t have anything more annoying to argue than what Dustin’s already said, and the ones that don’t care—like the youngest Wheeler—don’t have much to add.

“Will you send us postcards?” Will asks, big eyes on Steve.

“Yes,” El says. “I would like a postcard, too.”

“Postcards from every roadside attraction we hit,” Eddie says, nodding. “Got it. Prepare to have your minds blown by the World’s Largest Yarn Ball—thanks for that idea by the way, Max!”

From the living room, Billy hears her holler back a “You’re welcome!” like she actually contributed anything.

“Postcards, souvenirs,” Steve bobs his head, grinning over at Will when Dustin keeps frowning. “You want one of those keychains with your name on it from every state we hit?”

Will laughs, shaking his head. “Only if they’re really cool.”

Dustin squawks. “That’s not fair!”

“Will isn’t giving me shit for leaving, he gets his pick of souvenirs,” Steve replies, looking like he’s trying not to laugh when El and Erica perk up.

“I haven’t given you any shit,” El says.

Erica snorts. “Yeah, what she said.”

“A keychain with your name on it for each of you,” Steve assures.

Erica and El laugh delightedly and then make their way back out of the kitchen and into the living room, following the migration of most of the other kids. Which leaves just Dustin, standing there in the middle of the kitchen with his hands on his hips, looking so much like a little miniature version of Steve that Billy can’t help but snort out a laugh.

“It’s not fair, Steve,” Dustin says.

Steve opens his mouth to argue, but Dustin just continues on, plowing over whatever admonition was about to come out of Steve’s mouth.

“What am I supposed to do without you? What if I have a relationship emergency? What if something happens? What if the Upside Down comes back and you’re not here?”

That seems to give Steve the most pause. Has the chiding pinch to his features smoothing out with understanding to pave the way.

Billy gets it. Out of everything, that’s been the thing that has been holding Steve back the most. What’s been holding them all back the most.

Billy’s half torn between wanting to run as far and as fast as he can from this stupid little town. The rest of him still wakes up in a cold sweat when he dreams about the ground splitting open and something dark and angry slipping out. The rest of him feels like leaving Max here, without him, is a recipe for disaster.

The last time he wasn’t around for a while, she got herself broken to bits by the big bad, after all.

But Billy’s already talked to Max about this. Took her aside the other day and asked her to keep it quiet before Steve spilled the beans to the rest of the group. He thinks she appreciated it, him giving her a heads-up like that. But Max didn’t have the same guilt Billy has—along with her thanks, she urged him to go, told him it was a good idea. And honestly, her insistence helped alleviate some of Billy’s trepidation.

“I thought of that,” Steve replies, reaching out a scrubbing a hand over Dustin’s head. “Which is why I asked my mom to send me one of those bricks my dad is always toting around in the city. I’ve got that for emergencies– and I promise that, whenever we stop, we’ll call and check in.”

“Exactly,” Eddie assures. “Can turn around on a dime and head back, if the situation calls for it.”

Dustin makes a face. Clearly he still isn’t happy about it, but he does look a little mollified.

At least he’s running out of points to argue.

“Promise I’ll bring your babysitter back safe and sound, Henderson,” Billy says.

Dustin glares at him.

“Yeah? And what about my DM?”

Billy can’t help but laugh. “I guess I’ll bring back your DM safe, too.”

Dustin eyes him, real huffy and not at all satisfied, but finally yielding. “Fine. Fine. I want daily check-ins, though.”

“Cross my heart,” Steve replies.

Billy scoffs. “Daily is a lot. Don’t give in so easily, Steve,” Billy says.

He crosses his arms and moves to stand at Steve’s side. Levels a look down at Dustin Henderson’s stubborn face.

“Every three days. And one keychain with your name on it. And one of those airbrushed shirts from the boardwalk.”

Eddie whistles, long and low. “Always wanted one of those. Do they come in black?”

It’s not really a question, so Billy doesn’t answer. He just levels Dustin with a glare and waits as the kid appears to think about it, lips pursed together in a little frown.

It doesn’t take him much longer to wrap up weighing the pros and cons they’ve laid out.

“Fine,” Dustin says, like he hasn’t said it a dozen other times today before coming up with some and then, and sure enough he points a finger in Eddie’s face. “But I expect a good, long campaign when you come back. One that’ll last the rest of the year.”

Eddie shrugs, face mirroring the motion. “I’ll give it hell.”

“And you,” Dustin’s finger turns back on Steve, who blinks at it a few times as Dustin shoves it in his face. “Have to host again. At least three times! And let us stay the night.”

Steve snorts. “We’ll see.”

“Do, or do not,” Dustin insists. “There is no try.”

“Yeah, okay, Yoda,” Eddie slaps Dustin on the shoulder, shoving a fresh can of Coke in his hand. “Move along with the other padawans.”

When Dustin does, the three of them are left in Steve’s wreck of a kitchen, alone. But together.

Billy watches as Steve’s shoulders finally relax. As he lets out a long breath of air.

He looks like a tremendous weight has been lifted off his shoulders. Billy thinks that maybe, just maybe, this trip will be a relief for Steve, too. Something that he needs that he never would have done on his own.

Billy doesn’t do what he wants to do, which is to lean over and sweep Steve up in a kiss—the kids are right in the other room, after all—so he does the next best thing: he reaches over and gets his hand on Steve’s shoulder and gives it a warm squeeze.

“So, was that as bad as you were dreading?” Billy asks.

Steve huffs, pressing into Billy’s touch like a sunflower chasing warmth. It makes the urge to kiss him a little harder to resist.

“Not as bad as I expected,” Steve admits, a little begrudgingly, eyeing over Billy’s shoulder at the doorway leading out. “Gonna have to buy a lot of souvenirs, though.”

“You’re loaded, it’ll be fine,” Eddie says. He’s leaning up against the counter next to them, looking over with fond eyes. “A little distance will be good for them, you know. Gives ‘em a chance to grow up, spread their wings.”

“Stop talking to me like I’m an empty nester,” Steve grouses, giving him a dirty look that just makes Eddie grin wider, arms crossed and so at ease as he looks at the pair of them. “Stop it.”

“I’m not doing anything,” Eddie says, about as innocent as Billy was pretending to be earlier. “You’re just cute. Mama bear, leaving his cubs alone for the first time.”

Steve snatches up one of the dish towels and whips it toward Eddie. Eddie doesn’t even move. Just catches it, giving a little pull, until Steve stumbles toward him.

“Hey, baby,” Eddie breathes out, keeping his voice low.

He’s smiling sweetly, but in a way that makes Billy feel warm, just looking at him and Steve. Steve must feel that way too; Billy can see the flush on the back of his neck.

“There are annoying, nosy teenagers in the next room,” Steve warns him. “And a psychic.”

Eddie’s grin doesn’t quit. “I’m not doing anything, baby.”

“Then, stop looking at me like that,” Steve insists, glancing over at Billy. “Would you tell him to quit it?”

Billy shrugs one shoulder. Gives Steve a big grin. “I can’t help it if I like it when he looks at you like that.”

Steve scoffs, but doesn’t stop Eddie from catching his wrist after another tug of the towel has him blindly shuffling closer, eyes still on Billy. “You’re both ridiculous.”

“Says the guy with a Kiss the Cook apron,” Eddie teases, getting his other hand in on the action to catch at Steve’s belt loop, fingers hooking and pulling until Steve’s eyes are on him again. “And a sweater in every color they come in.”

“It’s called options,” Steve tells primly.

“You are so deeply, deeply uncool,” Billy says. “Remind me again why we like you so much?”

He can’t help but inch forward too—not quite close enough to touch either of them, but almost close enough to feel the heat from their bodies. He leans in, grinning, just to watch the way Steve blushes under his gaze.

“Um,” says a small voice from behind Billy and a little bit to the left.

Billy swivels. His eyes land on little Will Byers, standing in the doorway, clutching a paper plate almost to his chest. His eyes are wide, his cheeks are red.

Billy’s heart feels a little stuck in his throat.

For a moment, no one moves, eyes all caught on Will. For a moment, Billy thinks they’ll be stuck like this, in this terrible stalemate, for forever.

He hears Eddie clear his throat, thinks that his quick mouth will probably save the day– but it isn’t Eddie that speaks.

“Will, are my sweaters uncool?” Steve asks, making the kid blink rapidly before giving a faltering shake of his head.

“No. No, I don’t think they’re uncool,” Will replies.

“See?” Steve asks, thumping Billy on the shoulder and then withdrawing from the both of them. “Will thinks they’re cool.”

Will hovers there, in the doorway, eyes still a little wide as they dart between the three of them. He looks like he might bolt. Billy feels a little sick.

“Well,” Will adds, a little hesitantly. “I– I wouldn’t say they’re cool, either.”

But he’s smiling, too. He’s smiling—the expression becoming more clear with every passing second—as he looks at the hand that Eddie still has on the dishrag, the one that Steve hasn’t let go of either, even though he’s backed away. The three of them are standing way too close together for comfort, and Will’s still looking at them like that, lips turned upward. With wide, assessing eyes.

There’s not an ounce of cruelty in his expression. If anything, Billy sees—relief. And maybe he’s misreading that, but once he thinks he sees it, he can’t unsee it. Because Will’s gaze is darting between the three of them, calculating and almost hopeful.

“Is—is this why you’re going on a road trip?”

Steve frowns, head cocking over. “Because of my sweaters?”

Eddie is already laughing. Already bracing a hand at Billy’s shoulder, leaning over, only dropping the towel when he goes to cradle his own stomach.

Steve frowns over at him, but Will is still smiling.

“Yeah,” Eddie breathes, wheezing a bit. “It’s definitely because of your sweaters, Stevie.”

Billy swallows. He looks at Will, really looks at him, and feels some of the sickness inside his own gut ease away. He looks at that tentative hope, that curiosity, and asks, “You lived in California, right?”

Quietly, Will nods.

“So you know it’s different, some places. Not like here,” Billy says.

Will nods once more. He takes a breath. “It’s so much more—open.”

“Yeah,” Billy says. “That.”

“That,” Will repeats back, a little slowly, and then adds, “I miss it.”

Sobering up some from the fit of giggles the situation– and Steve– had kicked him into, Eddie straightens up, giving Billy’s shoulder a squeeze as he goes. Looks at Will with a grin on his face, already at ease again.

“Maybe we can plan a trip back again in summer,” Eddie says. “Get you and all your teeny boppers out to the west coast for a bit, huh, Stevie?”

Steve groans, but he barely sounds put out. “We’ve not even made the first trip, and now you wanna invite trouble along? Mike Wheeler alone would give me a migraine before an hour passed.”

In the doorway, Will muffles a startled laugh into the back of his hand.

“Make your ex drive him. He should be somebody else’s problem,” Billy says with a little shrug of his shoulders.

He pushes himself away from where Eddie and Steve are standing and starts cleaning up some of the empty pizza boxes, sliding all of the remaining pieces into one box for leftovers. The rest, he crumples up in his hands, folding them and then cramming them into the trashcan at the side of Steve’s kitchen.

“Byers,” he hears Eddie say carefully from across the room. “Will. You know that it’s important that—”

“I’m not going to tell anyone,” Will says, fast and vehement. “I won’t. I promise.”

When Billy looks over his shoulder, it’s to see a vaguely doubtful expression on Eddie’s face. Like he’s not quite sure if Will knows how important it is that no one else knows.

But Steve cuts in before he can voice it, clapping a hand to Will’s shoulder and passing him a fresh can of soda– likely what he came in here to get, that or impossibly more pizza. Kids can pack it away, that’s for sure.

“If he can keep the Upside Down a secret from people, he can keep our secret too,” Steve assures.

Will peers up at him, a little sly and definitely shy. “So, is this why you don’t hate Billy anymore?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “I never hated him. Thought he was annoying? Sure. And he’s got a mean right hook– but hate is a strong word.”

Will gives Steve a vaguely unimpressed look, one Billy thinks he’s seen on Jonathan’s face a time or two around the monthly bonfire. “That’s not an answer.”

“He doesn’t hate me because I apologized for trying to murder him with a piece of your mom’s dinnerware,” Billy says. “Anything else is beyond me, I try not to question it too much.”

“I think it’s that he looks nice without a shirt on,” Eddie chimes in. He’s keeping his voice low, conspiratorial. “Steve Harrington here isn’t immune to some eye candy.”

“Neither are you, Munson,” Billy says, walking over to flick Eddie in the back of the ear.

Will Byers looks redder than a tomato. He glances at Billy– and then quickly back at Steve.

“Um,” he says, already pulling away, backing up a step. “So, uh. I’m gonna get back now. I won’t– say anything. Obviously.”

Will’s eyes dart to Billy again, before he twists on a heel and beats a quick retreat back out of the kitchen– not quite empty handed, but certainly not leaving with what he likely expected.

“Yeah,” Eddie breathes, half relieved and half caught on an amused huff. “We don’t gotta worry about him telling anyone.”

Billy breathes out a laugh. He can’t help but feel just a little bit relieved. He feels like how Steve looked earlier, like that enormous weight just got lifted off his shoulders.

“Huh?” Steve says. “Why not?”

Billy raises his eyebrows as Eddie laughs. “Baby,” Billy breathes.

He wants to kiss Steve so stupidly bad.

“What?” Steve asks, confusion as sweet as it is genuine. “What’d I miss?”

Eddie is still chuckling as he pads over to get his arm draped lazily around his shoulders. Tugs him down a little, so that Steve grunts and grumbles while Eddie starts leading them to the door, gesturing for Billy to follow with a swing of his head.

“Promise to tell you about it later, when we aren’t playing host,” Eddie says, dry like he’s indulging Steve rather than himself.

He still takes a handful of shots with his camera– of Steve, of Billy, of the kids, of all of them piled on and around Steve’s couch. Billy swears he’ll tease him about it later.

chapter 23:

livin’ easy (lovin’ free)

Their first stop is in Des Moines. When they finally take off, leaving right at the end of November when the cold starts to set in, Steve lets Billy take the wheel because it’s far too early in the morning for him to be navigating the interstate– or so he says and whines as he tucks himself into the backseat for the first leg.

Billy thinks it’s a little funny that he’s roped himself to two people that hate mornings when he’s such an early riser himself.

Eddie snoozes in the passenger seat for the first twenty minutes, but wakes up the moment Billy cracks open the thermos of coffee that Steve packed away for them. Something that will definitely be useful– and definitely need to be refilled, if the way Eddie drinks the stuff like water is anything to go by.

But their first stop is in Des Moines. Not because there’s anything particular that they want to see– there’s a lot of farmland between Hawkins and Iowa, and an absurd amount of cows– but because Billy wants to put as many miles between them and Indiana as he can get. Feels a bit like he’s running from something, or like he’s worried that Steve or Eddie will change their mind and make him turn around.

They crash after a long day of driving– nearly ten hours– at a cheap hotel somewhere just on the edges of the city. It’s got two beds in it that they shove together, that Eddie sprawls down across as soon as they tumble in, duffle bags in hand, for a night in the cheap seats before they continue on at a more reasonable pace tomorrow.

Mostly because Steve insists on sleeping in and grabbing a breakfast some place before they move along.

“It’s not sleeping in,” Steve insists as he kicks the motel room door shut behind him, trailing in after Billy. “It’s just not leaving as soon as the fucking sun rises.”

“But we need to get on the road,” Billy says.

Steve steps behind Billy, getting his hands on Billy’s shoulders to maneuver him toward the bed. His fingers dig into the tense muscle there and Billy lets out a groan—half because he’s somehow annoyed, half because it feels good.

“We don’t, actually,” Steve says. “This is a vacation, you know. We’re not in a hurry.”

“Live a little,” Eddie says, his voice muffled against the dingy quilt.

Billy lets Steve guide him over to the bed. When he sits with a huff, the bedframe groans under his weight.

“Come on,” Billy says, gesturing around at the room. “You really wanna stick around here?”

“Here isn’t terrible,” Steve says, pointedly ignoring the weird pictures of kids with big eyes hanging on the walls. The peeling wallpaper. The ceiling that looks liable to drip at any moment. “It’s serviceable. And we can sleep here just fine. I’m not saying we hangout here all afternoon or something.”

Steve is standing in front of him now, hands on his hips and brows up, like he’s waiting for an answer.

“Eight,” Billy says.

Steve groans, long and aggravated, bypassing Billy to flop himself onto the bed somewhere next to Eddie. He bounces a little, dust particles flying.

“Nine,” he insists against the bedding, and then turns his head to glance at Billy. “And then breakfast somewhere. And then we leave.”

Billy groans.

“I think I like you better than him,” Eddie says, his voice a stage whisper from behind Billy.

Billy is tired of driving, tired of feeling trapped in a car. He wants so much space between him and Indiana that he feels like he can barely breathe. And now he’s trapped in a motel room in the ass end of Des Moines. Not moving. Still too close.

He glares at Eddie. Who blinks up at him with tired eyes that go a little soft.

“Aw, sweetheart,” Eddie says. “Come here. You drove so well.”

“I nearly ran us off the road when you tried to jack Steve off from the front seat.”

Steve bursts into a fit of laughter. Eddie looks like he’s biting a smile back as he turns over a bit, making space between his and Steve’s body.

He gives the spot a little pat.

“Only because you wouldn’t let me give you road head,” Eddie replies.

Billy gives in, somewhat reluctantly, and slots himself in between Eddie and Steve. The spot is already so warm, almost overwhelmingly so. And so tight, crammed right in between two other warm bodies. It’s not really where Billy wants to be, but he does it anyway.

It’s not as bad as he assumed it would be.

He doesn’t know why he feels grumpy—but he does. He lets his head fall down against the mattress and closes his eyes.

“You both are unsafe to drive with. Worst passengers,” Billy grouses.

“I wasn’t the one trying to distract you,” Steve says, even as he toes off his sneakers at the end of the bed, tucking socked toes under Billy’s legs, and sneaks a hand up under the front of his shirt with a little grin. “I think that at least downgrades me to mildly irritating passenger.”

“Okay,” Billy halfway-agrees, if only because Steve’s hand feels nice and cool on his abs. “But you did say he could jack you off.”

“He rescinded that offer pretty quickly when that truck honked at us,” Eddie says.

Billy groans. “You were distracting.”

“What did you expect me to do after just waking up?” Steve asks, fingers splayed out, touch lazy. “I was barely conscious and Eddie was offering to touch my dick– of course I said yes.”

“At first,” Eddie says, and manages to sound put out by it. “Maybe tomorrow, Billy and I can ride in the back. Work on distracting Stevie.”

“I hate that?” Steve says, but he’s smiling as Eddie’s hand joins his under Billy’s shirt, touch just as idle. “Don’t do that. That sounds mean.”

“I wanna get where I’m going without dying, thanks,” Billy says, but his heart’s not quite in it.

Because Eddie and Steve’s fingers are easing all of the tension right out of him, drawing it away with every touch. He can practically feel the grumpiness beginning to melt away, slipping off of him like a receding fog.

“What, you don’t have more faith in Steve’s driving?” Eddie asks.

“I have faith in Steve trying to watch through the rearview,” Billy says.

Because that’s exactly what he had been trying to do. What he had learned from, real quick.

“And then we’ll end up wrapped around some pole– or plowing into a cow,” Steve adds. “The cow is more likely, around here.”

Eddie snorts. His hand pushes higher under Billy’s shirt, to splay out over his chest, warm and heavy.

“You’re both no fun,” Eddie tells them, but he’s grinning as he props his head up on a hand to peer down at them. “But you’re both awful pretty, so I’ll let it slide.”

Billy hums. He can’t argue there—he knows he’s pretty, and he knows that Steve is even prettier.

“You’re not half bad yourself, Munson,” Billy mumbles, eyes half open as he looks up at Eddie.

“Well, aren’t you sweet?” Eddie asks, soft and pleased, and then he’s leaning down to catch Billy’s mouth for a brief moment. “Not half bad, huh?”

Sleepy, Billy lets Eddie kiss him. Only gets kind of into it as Eddie’s pulling away with a little smirk on his face.

“Look at you, sunshine. All tuckered out. Think we should take care of you tonight?” Eddie asks.

Billy hums. His lips tingle with the memory of Eddie’s, warm and just a little bit wet.

“Think I could watch you two fuck and be happy about it,” Billy mumbles.

Eddie tilts his head, like he’s honestly considering it.

“Ask and you shall receive,” Eddie says. “You really want that, sunshine?”

He feels the way Steve’s fingers stumble over his skin, like even Steve’s surprised by the offer.

And maybe Billy is, just a little bit, too. But he thinks about it—thinks about fisting his own cock while Eddie and Steve take each other apart—and he can’t help the way his gut goes hot like lava, the way his breath comes up a little short.

“Yeah,” Billy says. “I want that.”

Eddie nods, shifting a bit, so that he can get his other hand sinking into Billy’s hair. Gives a gentle pull, before leaning down to catch his mouth again. Chaste. Sweet.

“Alright,” Eddie breathes as he pulls back, eyes darting over to Steve, where he’s gone still and carefully quiet, flush already stealing across his face. “You got any requests, sunshine?”

“Slow,” Billy says, before he can even think about it.

Before he even knows what he’s saying.

But then he looks at Eddie, at the way he’s looking at Steve. And then Billy turns, flipping onto his side and pushing himself up on his elbow so that he can get a good look at Steve, too.

“Slow,” Billy says again, a little more sure now. “We’ve got time, right? I wanna—wanna see you take your time.”

“Got all the time in the world, sunshine,” Eddie tells him, dipping to press a kiss to Billy’s shoulder. “I can do slow. Stevie?”

“Oh, I get a say in this?” Steve asks, embarrassed and bratty because of that embarrassment, though Billy can’t hear a hint of true ire.

“Always do,” Eddie assures him, even though Billy is pretty sure Steve doesn’t need it, and then narrows his eyes. “Though I’m thinking you don’t need to say much if you’re gonna be all bitchy about it.”

“I’m not bitchy,” Steve insists, but Eddie just looks at Billy with his brow up.

“You sound bitchy,” Billy says with a yawn. His eyes fall on Steve, on those big, brown eyes of his. “Don’t you want Eddie to fuck you?”

He glances back at Eddie, catches his eye, and then smiles.

“Or Eddie and I can just fuck. You can watch,” Billy suggests.

And while Steve had been content to watch at the beginning, taking things slow for his own comfort—Billy knows how greedy he is now. How left out he can feel. And he knows, without even having to think hard about it, that Steve would feel left out tonight if Eddie and Billy made him watch.

Knowing that, knowing how into both of them Steve is, how greedy he is for them—makes something inside Billy sing.

Steve huffs, pink in the cheeks. “I didn’t say that I didn’t want it.”

“Oh, good, so you do want it,” Eddie says, and then reaches out to shove Steve fully over onto his back, laughing when he goes with a squawk. “Was worried there, for a second.”

Steve scoffs. “No, you weren’t.”

“You’re right, I wasn’t,” Eddie says.

Easily, moving as fluid as a big cat, Eddie sprawls out over Steve, caging him in against the mattress. He catches Steve’s lips in a kiss and hums when Steve kisses back more enthusiastically than his words might have led anyone to believe. Not that he can trick Eddie or Billy much, these days. Not that he really tries, other than when he’s being a brat.

Billy shoves himself up against the shitty headboard of the bed, eyes caught on the way that Eddie’s tongue disappears into Steve’s mouth, on the way that Steve arches up to meet the wandering touch of Eddie’s hands.

“Shit, that’s hot,” Billy says.

Eddie’s hands roam slow down Steve’s sides and then up again. His rings glint, catching quicksilver in the dim light, fingers catching at Steve’s shirt and just barely dragging it up. Just giving himself enough room to tease at the pale skin revealed with those wandering hands. His hair is a dark drape, tossed aside so that Billy can see the way Eddie’s jaw works as he kisses Steve long and slow and deep.

He’s gorgeous, crowding Steve down on the bed, mouth kiss-red and eyes dark when he finally draws away from Steve’s lips. Horribly charming when he grins over at Billy.

“You really do want a show, don’t you, sunshine?” Eddie asks, more to tease Billy than to satisfy any true curiosity.

There’s something satisfying about watching, something relaxing. Billy doesn’t know why, can’t explain it, but when Eddie keeps his eyes on Billy and draws his fingers up Steve’s torso, pulling at his shirt to expose more skin to the yellow light of the room, Billy feels something in him go a little loose. He feels the tension from driving all day seep out of the hunch of his shoulders.

“You gonna give me a show, Munson?” Billy asks.

He doesn’t feel any shame in reaching down to palm himself lazily, to emphasize just how into it he is.

Underneath Eddie, Steve twists. Arching up to meet those fingers, face twisting into a bit of a pout. Maybe because Eddie’s fingers are teasing him, or maybe because he just likes being a brat.

“I think you’re ignoring our Stevie,” Billy says. “I think you’re hours late on that promised handy.”

Steve tilts his head up and over, peering over at Billy with eyes a shade warmer than Eddie’s. Eddie’s eyes always looks like he’s gonna swallow Billy whole just by looking at him– Steve’s, by contrast, always seems to be offering some kind of invitation, warm and welcoming.

“I think you’re my favorite,” Steve tells him.

Eddie makes a low sound, peering back down at him. “Rude.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t insult the guy responsible for getting you off,” Billy says. “What if he decides to leave you squirming through all of tomorrow?”

Eddie whistles. He drags his fingernails up Steve’s chest and then back down again, all the way to the waistband of his jeans.

“Now there’s an idea,” Eddie breathes out. “You’re so smart, sweetheart.”

“Hey, whoa–” Steve shudders as his focus flies back up to Eddie, shifting beneath him like he might try and squirm away, skin jumping under the taunt of Eddie’s fingers. “I don’t think I like that idea.”

“No?” Eddie asks, most of his weight keeping Steve pretty well in place, but with enough give that Billy gets the pleasure of witnessing Steve strain and wriggle against him as if he isn’t already half hard and tugging at Eddie’s shirt with one hand. “Maybe you should be a little nicer, then.”

“I’m nice,” Steve insists. “I can be nice.”

“You were acting like a brat earlier,” Billy says. He tongues over his lips, toying with a thought for a moment before deciding to voice it. “Maybe Eddie can spank you for it, see how nice you can really be.”

Steve seems to start in place on the bed, faltering there on the paisley comforter, throat working around a choked sound. His face, only mildly flush before, floods with color.

Eddie takes advantage of his sudden stillness by sinking a hand into Steve’s hair. Curls his fingers tight enough that Steve’s breath catches, and then carefully tugs Steve’s head back– baring his throat to his eyes.

To his mouth.

Leans down and licks up the nervous work of Steve’s throat, mouth pressing over where Billy knows he’ll find Steve’s pulse rabbiting under his skin. Sinks his teeth in, hard enough that Steve seizes and clutches at him with another choked sound.

“I think your favorite wants to see you cry, Stevie,” Eddie mutters, grin wicked when he pulls up again, grip still firm enough to keep Steve’s head bowed back. “You wanna give Billy what he wants after he drove us around all day, don’t you, baby? Wanna give him a little reward?”

Steve lets out a strangled noise, fingers hooked into the work fabric of Eddie’s shirt, chest hitching. “Eddie–”

“C’mon, baby,” Eddie mutters, leaning down to mouth the words against the line of Steve’s exposed throat. “Don’t you wanna be good?”

Steve groans. It’s still a bit of a comfort, knowing that Eddie Munson’s mouth is a lethal weapon for them both. That Steve takes to praise just about as desperately as Billy.

“Yes,” Steve says, jaw flexing, whine catching as Eddie dips his tongue into the hollow of his throat. “Yeah, I wanna be good.”

Billy’s mouth feels a little dry. His skin feels a little hot. Underneath his palm, his cock gives a little kick, just from watching the way Eddie’s tongue licks a wet stripe over Steve’s skin.

“Then I think you should let Eddie spank you for being a brat,” Billy says. “You just gotta be real quiet, baby. Don’t want anyone calling the front desk on us.”

This motel is seedy enough that Billy doubts that anyone would care. Or call. But better safe than sorry, he thinks.

“How do you want us, sunshine?” Eddie asks, teeth grazing right over Steve’s jugular like punctuation.

The answer comes easily to Billy. “You, sitting up. Steve, over your lap.”

Eddie gifts him with a pleased smile. “Sure thing, sweetheart.”

Eddie only gets his hand out of Steve’s hair so that he can use both of them to start stripping Steve down. Steals a kiss, just before shoving Steve’s shirt up and over his head, and sits up onto his knees as he balls it up between his hands before launching it toward their duffels.

Hooks two fingers into Steve’s belt and gives a little pull. Arches a brow and glances back up at Billy.

“Should I strip him all the way down?” Eddie asks, using both hands to jerk Steve’s belt open, making Steve’s chest hitch and stall.

The noise Steve makes is affronted. Billy just laughs while Eddie tsks, sounding disappointed.

“Careful, baby, aren’t you supposed to be good for Billy?”

“And you,” Billy says. “He’s supposed to be good for you, too.”

Billy watches the way that Eddie’s hands smooth over Steve’s skin, though. The gentle way he touches over Steve. The way that Steve leans into it, seeking, needy.

“Everything off,” Billy decides. “I wanna see him, how pretty he is.”

Steve makes another sound, disgruntled this time, but Billy gives him a pass when he sees Eddie start pulling his belt free and working his pants open and off. Watches as Eddie scoots himself back off the bed as he pulls Steve’s jeans off before tossing them aside, too.

Stares down at him, hands finding his hips in a mirror of Steve, and grins as Steve props himself up onto his elbows. Bare but for his briefs and a pair of socks.

“He’s already awful nice to look at,” Eddie teases, just so Steve will huff at him and start toeing off his own socks. “Can’t believe we kidnapped Steve Harrington.”

“Hooligans,” Steve accuses.

“Damn right.” Billy’s eyes catch the way that Eddie leans down and draws his fingers over Steve’s torso. “I think he’d look nicer over your lap,” Billy says.

With a huff too warm to be truly annoyed, Eddie positions himself somewhat in front of Billy—like he’s making sure Billy gets the best view—and tugs Steve over his lap. Not as smoothly as Billy might have, but Eddie’s deceptively strong for his frame, and Steve goes easily.

And then Steve’s draped there, stripped bare, naked over Eddie’s lap. All mole-dotted skin contrasting with Eddie’s usual choice of dark clothes. Muscles tense and twitching as Eddie settles him there and stretches him out. Puts him on display, just for Billy’s hungry eyes.

“Well, shit,” Billy breathes out.

Eddie’s legs are folded under him, Steve strewn over his thighs, belly down and the pert curve of his bottom left bare and perked up as Eddie pushes and pulls Steve into place. Steve goes so easy– but he always goes easy when he wants it enough. When he knows that Billy and Eddie want it enough.

Billy still remembers the first time he got more than his fingers or his tongue into Steve. How pliant Steve had been as they worked him open– straining only when they began to overwhelm him. Remembers how perfect it had felt, finally bottoming out in Steve– and then how he’d short circuited when Eddie bottomed out in him.

And it wasn’t just when Steve was being fucked. He’d been just as sweet and soft, just as completely willing, when Billy climbed into his lap and rode him for the first time. Billy loved getting Steve under him any chance he could get, but there was something addicting about watching Steve’s eyes roll back as Billy rode him hard and dirty, about feeling Steve’s fingers grip so helplessly at his thighs– and, on one memorable occasion, right around Halloween, about watching Steve cry while Eddie held him in his lap, on his cock, and they both watched Billy ride.

Here and now, Billy is distracted by the sight of Steve, like he always is. Distracted by the sight of Steve going pliant and easy when Eddie scruffs him, long legs splayed out across the bed, ass in the air, head shoved against the mattress by a firm hand.

Distracted by the glint of Eddie’s rings as the fingers of his other hand chase down the line of Steve’s spine until Steve shudders. Shivers, all heady and heavy, just laying across Eddie’s lap.

If Billy thought Steve would become less responsive over time, he’d been wrong.

When Steve keeps shifting despite the grip Eddie has taken at Steve’s nape, Eddie clicks his tongue. “You keep wiggling and I’m gonna have to dig out the handcuffs.”

Steve whines, ears pink, cheek smooshed against the bedding, and quivering as Eddie pets over the back of his thighs, shifting more, helplessly restless under Billy’s watchful gaze. “Eddie. Come on, this is already so– ah!”

Steve presses a hand over his mouth, face burning.

The first strike was quick and soft, but it still seems to have knocked Steve breathless. Still leaves him squirming.

“Eddie,” Steve whines again, fingers curling into the comforter, like he’s bracing himself.

This time, it’s Billy who clicks his tongue. A little something he maybe picked up from Eddie, not that he’d admit to it if asked.

“Careful, baby,” Billy says. “You gotta stay quiet.”

It’s a little bit of a moot point, considering the next smack is a loud one, Eddie’s palm connecting swiftly enough that Steve’s ass practically bounces in the aftermath. It’s fucking mesmerizing, Billy thinks.

“Thanks, sunshine,” Eddie tells him. “You’re so considerate.”

Like he doesn’t know that Billy just thinks it’s hot, trying to keep Steve quiet. But, with the way that Steve muffles a moan into his own fist, it’s clear that Billy isn’t the only one.

After the hit, Eddie can’t seem to keep himself from smoothing his hand over Steve’s reddening skin, like he’s feeling the warmth, the aftermath. Keeps the other at Steve’s nape, holding him in place even as he squirms.

“You take it so beautifully, baby,” Eddie tells Steve, thumb dragging over the flush his own hand has coaxed from Steve’s skin.

Steve shudders. Billy can see it, rippling all along his body.

“How many?” Steve asks, already winded, pulse rabbiting where Billy can see it in his throat.

Eddie hums, petting over his skin for a moment longer. Until the tension has bled back out of Steve just enough to catch him fully off guard with another harsh blow. The sharp smack and the way Steve chokes on a shocked sound are both enough to have Billy’s mouth going dry.

“I dunno,” Eddie finally says, peering over at Billy with that smile that speaks of too much trouble. “How many should I give him, sunshine?”

The thing is, Steve likes to know how many hits he’s going to take. Billy likes being surprised. And Eddie’s just happy to give either of them exactly what they want—or not enough, depending on how magnanimous he’s feeling that day.

Billy thinks on it, his own hand palming over the bulge in his pants. His hardness is growing, and the teasing press of his own hand—the pressure not-quite-enough—feels so delightfully good.

“Twenty sound like enough?” Billy asks.

He knows Steve can take twenty, can take more if he wants.

Draped over Eddie’s lap, Steve slumps with a soft groan. Eddie chuckles, petting over his tender skin until Steve presses his face to the bed with a muffled whimper.

“You wanna take twenty for Billy, Stevie?” Eddie asks, and Billy watches him release the back of Steve’s neck– just so he can sink those long, dangerous fingers into Steve’s hair. “And a few extra from me, for moving around so much.”

Steve grunts, head tilting over. “That’s not fair–”

Eddie uses the hand in Steve’s hair to yank his head up and back. Bares Steve’s throat and leaves him clutching blindly at the blankets, chin forced high, mouth falling open on a ragged gasp.

“Aren’t you supposed to be being nice?” Eddie asks, palming rough over Steve’s reddened skin just to make Steve hiss. “Being good?”

“From here, he looks real nice,” Billy says, eyes stuck on the shape that Eddie’s pulled Steve into.

He looks good, all spread out like that, pulled taut like a string.

“Y-yeah,” Steve breathes out, voice all ragged and raw.

“How about we count those two as part of the twenty,” Billy says.

Eddie laughs, low and deep and completely delighted. “You’re soft, sunshine. Look at you, going belly-up so easily for our Stevie.”

Billy’s cheeks heat. He meets Eddie’s eyes and looks away– because yeah, it’s true, but somehow Eddie always seems to know just what to say to make him squirm.

“You’re dawdling,” Billy says. “Steve’s feeling neglected.”

“I’m not gonna put on a show if you’re not gonna watch,” Eddie says, grin crooked and pleased when Billy meets his eyes again. “You wanna be good for me too, don’t you, sweetheart?”

Billy’s gut goes warm. A shiver cascades down his spine.

He can’t help but look back, eyes pulled by something that feels stronger than gravity.

Billy swallows, throat a little dry, eyes caught on Eddie. On the way he’s looking back at Billy, a familiar smirk cutting up the corner of his mouth.

“Go on, then,” Billy says, eyes flitting to Steve, to the way he’s squirming just a little on Eddie’s lap, like he can’t hold himself still. “Our pretty boy’s waiting.”

Eddie smiles. “You got it, sunshine.”

Steve has been squirming in the driver’s seat all day. He won’t say anything– because of course he won’t– but Billy can read his discomfort in the shift and roll of his shoulders. Can see the embarrassment– and likely lingering arousal– keeping Steve’s ears that cute shade of pink that always tempts Billy into getting his teeth teasing at the shell, just to see how much redder he could get it.

But Steve is driving, and aside from the restless wiggling and adjusting, seems fairly focused on the task at hand. On the miles stretched out before them.

Eddie’s in the passenger seat, drumming along on the dashboard to whatever’s playing over the speakers. They’re switching between cassette tapes and the radio, letting the stations fade in and out, swapping out static for mix tapes for even the occasional country station.

But here, crawling up into the mountains of Colorado, there’s not much to be said for radio stations.

“Jerky?” Eddie asks, twisting around in the passenger seat to offer Billy a bag of dried meat.

Eddie’s wearing a shirt they picked up at a neon-lit gas station in the middle of the night. I left my heart in Ogallala, it says. Billy’s the one who picked it up in a fit of sheer and hopeless sentimentality, but Eddie immediately threw it over his own head and claimed it before Billy even had a chance to put it on.

Billy snags himself some jerky as the radio fades back into static.

“Either of you been to Boulder?” Billy asks. “It’s supposed to be the shit.”

Steve glances at him through the rearview with a little shake of his head. “Never been as far west as this.”

Eddie clicks his tongue, snaps his fingers, face taking on an overly thoughtful look that just makes Billy want to shove him back around in his seat. “Colorado Springs, summer of ’83, Aerosmith and DIO.”

In the driver’s seat, Steve scoffs. “Colorado Springs isn’t Boulder, Munster.”

Eddie shrugs. “Same state. Good concert.”

Billy rolls his eyes. He pushes himself forward and puts his chin on the top of the driver’s seat, right next to Steve’s shoulder.

“What do you say, baby? Wanna go see what all the fuss is about?” When Steve huffs, eyes glued to the road, Billy just hums. “I hear there’s all kinds of hot springs in the area. Might make your ass feel better after the number that Munson did on you.”

Billy grins when he catches sight of the pink clinging to Steve’s ears spreading across his face. Tilts his head over a little, just to see it better.

“That’ll be at least another three hours,” Steve grumbles, but he’s not exactly saying no. “I’m gonna need to stop for more coffee.”

“Pushover,” Eddie says fondly.

“Dungeon Master,” Steve mocks back.

“Yeah, and?” Eddie says. “You might not play DnD, but you don’t seem to have any complaints when it comes to—”

Steve squawks in offense and bats at Eddie. The car only wobbles a little bit.

Billy and Eddie laugh while Steve flushes a nice, deep red.

But with an end point finally picked, Steve drives on. Makes quick work of it, despite the dark that takes the roads before they finally near their destination.

Considering Billy’s earlier anxiety, he couldn’t have asked for easier roadtrip partners. Eddie is a wiggly, frustratingly handsy when he’s bored, loud motherfucker– but he doesn’t complain a peep about the long hours or the amount of miles. Steve only whines about it when Billy wakes him up too early, and even then, he’s easily assuaged with coffee and Billy’s old gym sweatshirt.

They end up at some ancient place called Hotel Boulderado, and Eddie nearly busts a gut laughing in the car as Steve jogs into the lobby to book them a room. Leaves Billy and Eddie behind, in case their torn jeans and general hooligan demeanors get them turned away at the lobby door.

The place is nice, if a little eerie, and Billy winks at the bellhop as he passes to the elevator, once Steve’s already secured them a room, all their baggage in his arms. Their room, when they get to it, is ages nicer than the motel that they slept at in Des Moines.

“Do you think this place is haunted?” Eddie asks.

Steve lets out an aggravated sound, looking whipped and probably feeling it. “Don’t even joke.”

“Yeah, definitely haunted,” Billy says, as the door closes with a long, eerie squeak.

Steve groans and plops down on the bed—and then yelps, pushing himself immediately back up again, looking frustrated and tired.

“Forgot about the bruising?” Eddie asks, lips turned up in a small but unrepentant smile.

“Yes,” Steve hisses. “Can’t believe I let you do that when we’d be stuck in a car for the next forever.”

“I’m sure he’d be happy to make it up to you,” Billy says, giving Steve a little leer. “But first, do you think this place has a pool?”

“No,” Steve says, a bit glum, frowning down at the bed like it’s the thing that caused his discomfort– and not the gangly idiot drawing in close to kiss Steve’s cheek. “But there’s apparently a bar in the basement.”

“Well, shit,” Billy says, “then why are we still in here? I think you deserve a beer for all that driving, baby.”

“And we deserve one for keeping our hands off all drive,” Eddie echoes.

The morning brings sunlight streaming in through the window and with it a headache the size of the moon.

Billy flips himself over in bed, from where he’s sandwiched in between Steve and Eddie, and shoves his head under one of the flimsy down pillows with a grumble.

“I see we’re not rising and shining today,” he hears Eddie say.

“Fuck you,” Billy mumbles, his own voice muffled into the pillow.

Next to him, Steve whines. Billy wonders if his headache is a similar one.

“Drinking water is a good thing,” Eddie says. Billy feels a warm hand rubbing over his back, soothing over his shoulder blades. “We could stick around here for a day. Really make use of those hot springs.”

Steve lets out a plaintive little sound, snuffling and tucking himself all along Billy’s side, all sleep warm and clingy. “Yes, good. Stay. Sleep more.”

Eddie chuckles. Billy hears the bed groan– and then he feels Eddie drape over his back to get at Steve. Hears Steve groaning, quiet and pleased, against his shoulder as Eddie probably rubs over his head.

Eddie’s body is hot like lava and languid as he drapes over Billy. Billy grunts and then relaxes into the weight of Eddie’s body pressing him down into the lumpy mattress.

Like that, warm and held down by Eddie’s weight, Billy ends up drifting for a while. Dreaming only of long roads and steep mountains, of blurry trees passing by too fast to count.

He wakes a while later to different light in the room, to Eddie pressing a glass of tap water into his hand.

“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty,” Eddie says, while Billy grunts. The sound of the shower is somewhere to Billy’s left and the room is already a little humid from the heat of it. “Can’t believe Stevie’s up before you.”

“Have to sleep in sometimes,” Billy grumbles.

“And you should,” Eddie agrees, leaning down from where he’s stood at the side of the bed to smack a kiss to Billy’s brow. “But I figured you’d get pissy if I let you go past noon.”

“Wouldn’t,” Billy mumbles, taking a sip of his water, knowing full well that he would get pissy and he knows that Eddie knows him that well.

“Uh huh.”

“So, what, are we sticking around for the rest of the day?” Billy asks, pushing himself up into something resembling a hunch as Eddie presses two ibuprofen into the palm of his hand, which he takes immediately.

“Well,” Eddie says, “there’s some hot springs. And from what I’ve gathered, a pretty robust local music scene…”

“You wanna take Stevie to a gig?”

Eddie grins down at him. “I wanna take Stevie to a gig.”

He swoops down again. Steals a kiss.

“Between the two of us, we’ll have him listening to Black Sabbath all of his own accord in no time,” Eddie adds, though Billy sincerely doubts they’ll ever pull The Outfield or Prince from Steve’s musical lineup.

Billy hums into the kiss. Eddie tastes like coffee and vending machine cinnamon buns. Billy chases the taste even as Eddie pulls back, grinning.

“Easy, tiger. We’ve got a big day ahead of us. Packed schedule,” Eddie says.

“Didn’t even get off last night,” Billy grouses.

They had drunk too much at the bar and had managed to make it back to their room before passing out in a sprawl of limbs across the hotel bed.

“I mean,” Eddie’s mouth shrugs as he draws back, shuffling blindly toward the bathroom with a look far too mischievous for this early in the day. “The shower is real big.”

And then he’s darting off, pressing past the cracked bathroom door, cackling when Billy hollers after him. When he hears Steve’s squawk of surprise– his indignant “you’re wearing socks!”– Billy knows that Eddie jumped right in without even bothering to properly strip down.

By the time Billy pries himself out of bed, braving the cool air of the room as he traipses into the bathroom, Eddie’s on his knees in the shower. From what Billy can tell, he’s got Steve down to the hilt, lips tucked up against Steve’s crotch. Steve’s hands are buried in his hair, clutching tight, and his head is tipped up against the shower tile, eyes closed to the way that Eddie’s swallowing him down.

It doesn’t take long for Billy to join, shucking off the clothes he fell asleep in last night to press his way under the warm stream of water alongside Eddie and Steve.

They end up back in bed, Eddie’s wet socks discarded long ago to seep shower-water onto the hotel carpet.

“Well, my headache’s gone,” Billy says, sprawled out on his back in the middle of the bed.

He’s not sure if it’s shower water or sweat drying on his belly, but he suspects it’s the latter. He feels winded, fucked-out and a little dizzy. Then again, he’s not sure what else he could’ve expected after blowing Eddie under the heat of the shower.

Eddie’s smoking next to him, occasionally sharing drags of his cigarette with Billy, while Steve fusses with the motel coffee maker.

“So what are we doing?” Steve asks without looking back, standing there in one of Eddie’s flannels– packed for the cold weather they might encounter on their way across the country– and not much else.

All long legs and messy hair and dry amusement when he finally glances over his shoulder to catch them both staring.

His ass is still a little red.

“Something about music?” Steve prods.

Eddie hums, lazing and content on the bed, taking the cigarette when Billy passes it back to him. “Maybe check things out, wander around, catch some food and a gig.”

“Could hit up one of those hot springs, first,” Billy says. “Get lunch, take a dip, find a gig.”

“You’re such a heathen,” Eddie says, reaching over to scratch at Billy’s belly, at the line of his happy trail.

“Not like you aren’t interested in the hot springs, too, Munson,” Billy grouses.

“If you point me in the right direction, I’ll drive us there,” Steve says, turning back to finish fiddling with the percolator, only padding back over and climbing onto the bed to flop down on his belly between their legs, chin in his hands, when the thing starts to finally begin filling the small coffee pot. “But there’s apparently this great place, like, three hours away that we could head for in the morning. Don’t gotta do everything in one day.”

Billy thinks it’s a little funny. Despite perceiving Steve oftentimes as lightning in a bottle, barely contained nervous energy leaking out of him, he tends to be the one to temper them. He’s the one to slow them down– to give them the space where it’s okay to slow down.

At first, it was a fear of pushing for too much of anything too fast. More and more these days, it’s a realization that they just don’t need to rush.

“We’ve driven twenty hours in the last forty eight,” Steve says. “I think we can take a little break.”

Billy lets some of the muscles in his neck and back relax. Lets his eyes fall closed. Steve is warm where his skin presses against Billy, where he’s slotted himself in so easily between the two of them.

Billy thought pausing for a day counted as relaxed. As slowing down and taking it easy. But he’s beginning to realize that it didn’t even come close.

“Yeah, okay,” Billy says. “Let’s take a little break.”

As luck would have it– or fate, or maybe even god, if Billy started having a little more faith– they made it into town proper the night before the Scorpions would be playing down at Folsom Field. Billy tries not to think too hard about the cassette in Steve’s glove box or the hole-filled band shirt Eddie has hijacked from him on a pretty permanent basis.

Instead, he focuses on the thrill of dragging Steve Harrington to a rock concert.

A concert Billy feels like he’s been waiting his whole life for.

The mountain air is a little chilly as they wait outside the venue before the gates open. The crowd of people milling around them is huge, and Eddie’s bouncing on his toes with the energy of it all. Billy knows that soon he won’t be cold, that soon he’ll be pressed up against thousands of other warm, sweaty bodies in a pit the size of a field.

Steve’s wrapped up in Billy’s leather jacket and one of Eddie’s shirts. His eyes are wide on the crowd around them, but his smile is so easy. So positively joyous.

“Excited?” Billy asks, bumping his shoulder up against Steve’s.

“Weirdly, yeah,” Steve replies, eyes on the crowd. “I’ve never been to a concert like this.”

Eddie is pressed along Billy’s other side, and he dips around to arch a brow in Steve’s direction. “What concerts have you been to?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “I’m not telling you because you’ll just make fun of me.”

Billy snorts. They’re all standing close together, given the swell of bodies around them, but it’s still kind of difficult to keep his hands to himself. To not reach out and touch either of them like he would behind closed doors.

Still, their closeness and warmth is comforting. A balm.

“We’ll make fun of you anyway,” Billy says with a grin.

Steve gives him a dirty little glare with absolutely zero bite to it. “That’s not a good incentive.”

“Was it the opera? I feel like you’ve been to the opera,” Eddie chimes in.

“It’s boring but weirdly moving,” Steve confirms. “But I’ve been to actual concerts before, Eddie.”

“If it isn’t rock or metal, I don’t think it counts.”

Billy watches as Steve shoulders Eddie with an annoyed huff. He can’t really hear the huff, but he can see it in the way that Steve pouts, in the way that his eyes narrow. Billy does hear Eddie’s ensuing grunt, though, and the way that he whines about Steve shoulder-checking him.

“Let’s hear it, pretty boy,” Billy says. “Lay it on us.”

“Summer of ’82,” Steve says, blushing even as he shrugs. “The Beach Boys. Saw Billy Joel with my mom the summer before that.”

Billy whistles. Eddie laughs.

Steve shoulders Eddie again.

“Okay,” Billy says, “okay. You’ve been to a couple real concerts. Despite what Munson thinks.”

Though, certainly, those concerts weren’t quite like this one. As soon as the venue opens up, they’re all pressing in. One giant mass of people at once. The three of them head for the stage, getting as close as they can before the show genuinely starts.

When it does, it’s all flashing lights and heavy guitar.

Music loud enough that it makes Billy’s chest thrum like a second heartbeat. A bass line thick enough to cut with a knife, a crowd as rowdy as they come.

Occasionally, Steve’s hand will slip into his own for just a moment. He’ll give a little squeeze, alongside a smile, and drop it again. Blink-and-you-miss-it. Eddie doesn’t do that, but he looks at Billy with so much unbridled joy and excitement in his eyes that Billy can’t help but feel it, too.

Screaming at the top of his lungs to his favorite song, his two boyfriends pressed up sweaty against his sides, Billy doesn’t think he’s ever felt this content before. This free.

They end up shouting their way all through the encore. Stumble their way out on legs like rubber when the show finally winds down and closes out. The smell of beer and sweat is already heavy, and when Eddie suggests a bit of bar hopping, it just seems like the logical resolution for the evening.

Capped off, of course, by a night-turned-dawn spent drunk and happy and stupid between the sheets, skin on skin, until they were all wrung dry.

They hit the hot springs the next day, sore and sleepy and sated, with a promise to head out first thing the morning after.

Billy’s feeling less on edge about getting on the road—the realization that they’re on a fun trip and not trying to escape something finally hitting home. He’s spent his entire life running, it feels like; it’s sometimes hard to slow down.

It snows while they’re at the hot springs. Early for the season, but nothing too remarkable. Still, to Billy, a California beach kid at heart, it feels magical.

More magical, too, when he looks over the steaming water at Steve, who’s got snowflakes clinging to his long lashes and looking at Billy with the same amount of joy as the night before.

After Boulder, they head west on Seventy and stop for food at a diner in Grand Junction. Greasy-burger fueled, they drive on through to Utah, eyes glued to the shifting, alien terrain. Billy drives—he’s done it before. For a little while, Steve and Eddie are silent, eyes glued to the windows, just looking, watching, absorbing the beauty as Billy eats up the miles under the gas pedal.

The sun’s setting, low in the sky and golden, as they follow signs to Zion National Park. And it’s down behind the mountains, by the time they start looking for places to spend the night.

“That place look too sketchy?” Billy asks, pulling up on the side of the road next to a motel with a sign so rusted he can’t even read the name.

The vacancy sign flickers.

Eddie whistles. “I bet it’s cheap.”

Not that money seems to be much of an object for Steve, who’s footing the bill for most of the trip—he said he didn’t want Eddie or Billy to spend too much of their hush money—but they’re still trying to be economical about it.

Steve shoves his face against the window and squints out at the gravel lot. It’s sparse, but there are a handful of cars about, and at least one VW van with camping gear strapped to the top.

Steve shrugs a shoulder. “If it’s awful, it’s probably cheap enough that bailing won’t hurt the pocket book too bad.”

“You’ve got a strange way of looking at things, Stevie,” Eddie huffs, but he’s already shuffling along in the back seat, gathering up what had been spilled out of their bags during the winding trip through the mountains and shoving it back haphazardly.

The second Billy’s got the car parked, he’s out of it and stretching, grunting as he does.

As always, Steve disappears to get them a room and comes back moments later twirling a key around on his finger.

“Please tell us we got the honeymoon suite,” Eddie says.

Steve barks out a laugh. “Not quite. Not even sure they have one at this place. But apparently it’s got a decent view, not that we can see too much now.”

“Do you think I could pry either of you out of bed before sunrise?” Billy asks, shouldering their three bags as Steve leads them toward their room.

“Depends on the incentive,” Steve replies, grinning over his shoulder as he unlocks their door, standing under a light just on its last legs toward flickering, all dim and buzzing, but haloing Steve in a way that makes him look far too charming– especially when all he’s doing is opening the door to a subpar motel room. “You gonna make it worth my while?”

Eddie hums, shuffling up and hovering at Billy’s back as Steve steps in, voice low at Billy’s ear. “I love it when he gets all flirty.”

“I’ll make it worth your while after we get back from a hike,” Billy says.

He drops the bags inside the doorway at the foot of one of the beds and then lets himself fall backwards onto the comforter with a groan.

Eddie makes an outraged noise. “You want to hike? To see the sunrise?! Absolutely not. I didn’t sign up for that.”

Steve shrugs. “I’m down. A little work before play doesn’t sound so bad.”

Eddie makes a gutted sound, kicking the door shut behind him. “I’m dating two jocks. What the fuck was I thinking?”

“I think you like the muscles,” Steve says, grin a little crooked as he meanders over to the window, tugging aside the worn drapes and peering out.

There’s not too much to see beyond the reflection of their own room, just some lights out back and blackness beyond—but there’s a faint color left in the sky, and Billy can see where the mountains might glow under the light of the sunrise.

The bed bounces as Eddie plops down next to Billy.

“Does California still count as a jock if all his muscle is superhuman, now?”

Eddie pulls a hand over Billy’s abdomen, where Billy’s muscles are still so well-defined.

Steve snorts. “That just makes him a super jock.”

“He definitely likes the muscles,” Billy murmurs, flexing just to watch Eddie’s eyes go all dark when he feels the change underneath his hand.

Eddie hums, propping his head in his hand as the fingers of his other hook into the bottom hem of Billy’s shirt. Tugs it up and peers down at the lines of his abdomen with a look that carries the same weight as a touch.

It nearly makes Billy shudder. When he glances over and sees Steve watching, eyes just as dark, he can’t fight it back.

“They’re pretty nice muscles,” Steve says, leaning back against the windowsill, arms crossing lazily over his chest as his eyes trail from Billy, to Eddie, and back again. “I mean, can you really blame him?”

Billy hums. Makes a show of thinking about it for a moment before saying, “It’s hot when my boyfriends like my trans-dimensional trauma-gained muscles.”

“Again, weird definition of hot,” Steve says, staying put even as Eddie’s fingers tease at the sensitive skin where Billy’s waistband has ridden down.

“Trauma muscles, regular muscles, I don’t care,” Eddie says, eyes glinting like dark glass in the dim light. “I just wanna get my mouth on them.”

And then he precedes to do just that.

Morning comes early and long before the sun. Billy drags Steve out of the sheets first, and then they both turn their focus on hauling Eddie from the warmth of the bed. He ends up stumbling his way between them for the first leg, barely awake, blinking sleep from his eyes, hoovering down the sludge the front lobby called coffee after Steve filled their thermos that morning.

“What, exactly, are we coming up here to see?” Eddie asks, already a bit short of breath, dark hair twisted up in a sloppy bun on the top of his head as he shuffles along in Billy’s shirt, torn jeans, and a pair of boots he hasn’t bothered lacing up all the way. “Sunrise in the hills? The sound of music?”

“Steve’s gonna start singing for us,” Billy says. “The hills are alive, right, baby?”

Steve grunts out something like a laugh. Billy’s in the lead and Steve’s bringing up the rear—if only to keep Eddie from trailing behind them. Occasionally he urges Eddie forward with a little touch to the small of his back or a hand on his shoulder. And Eddie, for how grumpy he seems, goes easily.

They make it up to a ridgeline just as the rosy tint of sunrise begins illuminating everything enough that they no longer need flashlights to guide their way. It’s not a long nor a difficult hike, but Eddie’s still breathing just a little hard by the time Billy sits him down on a big rock.

“Gotta get you in better shape,” Billy murmurs, pressing a kiss to the sweaty side of Eddie’s neck.

“Nah, if I collapse, I’ll just get you to carry me back down,” Eddie grins at him, mouth catching his brow in a chaste peck, right over where the scar in his right eyebrow has left the skin pale and numb. “What’s a big, strong boyfriend like you for anyway?”

Ahead of them, shuffling toward the far ridge and peering down, Steve stands with his hands on his hips. Looks out at the first of light creeping along the weathered canyons, painting the deep ridges in pinks and reds. And down at the base, in the valleys between the rocks, a wealth of lush green has bloomed.

When Steve turns back to glance at them, the rising sun catches at his profile, painting it in the same rich tones.

Steve says what Billy’s thinking: “It’s beautiful.”

“It sure fucking is,” Billy says, feeling just a little bit breathless himself.

Eddie leans into his side and Billy can feel the way he nods in agreement, eyes caught on Steve, too. On the way he lights up with the sunrise, on the way he looks back at them and grins.

“Okay,” Eddie says. “Okay, maybe this was worth it after all. But I want a piggyback down.”

Billy snorts out a laugh and says, “fine,” at the same time that Steve balks and says, “that’s dangerous.”

They only leave after the sun has fully emerged from its slumber behind the edge of the mountains. End up half chasing each other back down the trail, after Billy has jostled Eddie on his back one too many times, after Steve has taunted them and jogged ahead.

Eddie ends up with a skinned knee. Steve scrapes up his elbows. Billy is left giving first aid to them both before they can take off– and Steve ends up making big, puppy eyes at him until he agrees to drive them the handful of hours to their next stop just two hours north of Vegas.

It’s a tiny place, with one traffic light, and about fifty people who actually live there. But it’s only a few miles away from Area 51, decked with a number of little green aliens, encouraging the tourism about as much as they seem to be mocking it. Embraced by the town folk with an eagerness that contrasts with the small town nature.

Steve makes a beeline for the keychains as soon as they pull in for a pitstop.

“So, we’re staying here, right?” Eddie says, leaning up against the car as Billy fills her up. He’s flapping a brochure around in his fingers, grinning wide and looking delighted. “There’s a hotel called A’le’inn. We gotta.”

Billy rolls his eyes. He glances at Steve, who he can see through a big window, still perusing the tacky keychains.

“You’re not afraid of being abducted?” Billy asks.

“That’d be the least-weird thing that happened to me this year,” Eddie says.

“What, having two boyfriends is weirder?”

Eddie snorts, and when Billy looks over at him, his face is soft if amused. “I was thinking about the crazy, evil bats. But sure, two boyfriends is pretty weird.”

Billy snorts. “Get fucked. A lot has happened this year, obviously the bats are the weirdest.”

Steve returns when the car is filled with a handful of keychains. “They had every name,” he says, looking delighted. “What are the chances?”

He tosses Billy and Eddie each their own, though they do say William and Edward. They stick the two of them — along with one that says Steven — on the keys to the BMW, which makes them rattle incessantly every time they drive over a bump, which ends up being a frequent occurrence on the dirt road that leads to Eddie’s beloved A’le’inn.

Even the rooms are alien themed. Little green men and spaceships galore.

It’s fun right up until Steve gets squirmy when Billy has him under him on one of the beds– a water bed, if you can believe it– and says: “I can’t fool around with the aliens watching.”

Eddie laughs so hard that he’s nearly sick.

They make up for lost time—or maybe just opportunity—when they finally hit Vegas.

They don’t shell out for one of the snazzy hotels, though they do end up with the honeymoon suite—and they make full use of the ridiculous, vibrating, heart-shaped bed after Billy fails miserably at attempting to gamble.

It’s all flashing, blinding lights. Billy thinks that, as soon as they hit the strip, they all had a drink in their hand for the rest of the night. Spent the evening teasing Steve plenty when he gets all cornfed, small-town flustered over a pair of showgirls who bracket him for a picture at Eddie’s insistence. Spent it dodging in and out of casinos, hemorrhaging chips and gaining drinks all night long.

So when morning comes, it does so with a hangover the size of the entire state of Nevada. It has Billy groaning and turning his face over, tugging a pillow down over his head.

He winces when the door clatters open.

“Rise and shine, metalheads,” Steve’s voice is far too chipper, but Billy can already smell coffee. “We’ve got a golden coast to see. I want to be touching the Pacific by sundown.”

Beside Billy on the bed, the springs groan and the mattress dips. When Billy chances a peek out, it’s to see Eddie squinting across the room– probably at Steve– and not looking much better than Billy feels.

“Why does this feel wrong?” he asks, voice a croak, and considering how he nearly made Billy shout last night, he figures it’s only fair. “You’re not the morning person.”

“I hold my hard liquor better than you both,” Steve says, and Billy thinks that’s doubtful, but this also isn’t the first time Steve has out-sobered them both. “I think it’s because I’m taller.”

Eddie grunts, pointing a finger at him. “Take that back.”

“What, that I hold my liquor better?” Steve asks, and Billy can hear his footfalls as he places something on the little table by the window and then makes his way over to the foot of the bed. “Or that I’m taller than you?”

“We’re the same height,” Billy grumbles, shoving another one of the pillows over his head to block out the light and the sound of Steve’s blinding chipperness.

Next to him, Eddie laughs. Shoves at him lazily with a foot. “You sure about that, sweetheart?”

“Leave me alone. Let me sleep for another three days.”

“What’s that?” Steve asks, reaching down to catch playfully at one of Billy’s feet, laughing when Billy grunts and pulls from his grip. “You wanna slow down? You’re right, Munster, this does feel wrong.”

“Who are you and what have you done to Billy Hargrove?” Eddie asks, leaning in close with a laugh.

And then—he freezes. Billy kind of does, too. It feels, for just a moment, like the world around them comes to a screeching halt.

“Shit,” he hears Eddie breathe out. “Too soon? Too soon, yeah, definitely too soon. Shit, I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

His hand smooths over Billy’s back, up his spine. He feels the bed dip as Steve plops down right next to him on Billy’s other side.

Billy grunts. “It’s fine,” he says, because—it is.

The realization feels bright, shiny with its newness.

“You sure?” Steve asks, wiggling a hand under the pillow Billy’s pulled over his head, fingers curling gently into his hair. “I could put him in a headlock or something. Make him regret every bad joke he’s ever made.”

Eddie huffs. “You say that like all of my jokes are bad.”

“Maybe they are,” Steve tells him, glib despite the gentle touch of his fingers dragging over Billy’s scalp.

His touch makes Billy relax a little, muscles still a little tense. But Steve is touching him so perfectly, and Eddie is, too.

It makes even his headache seem bearable. Background noise to how much they mean to him.

“I’m sure,” Billy says, leaning into Steve’s touch.

Eventually he worms his way out from underneath the pillow and lets Steve push a hot coffee into his hand. Lets Eddie clamber in all close, clearly still a little sore about making a bad joke about a time—and a world—they’d prefer not to remember.

Steve hums, scooching in close after Billy has made himself at home against the ridiculously velvet headboard in order to kiss his cheek. Eddie brackets him in on the other side and steals his coffee when Steve is too slow to pass his along.

“I’m glad,” Steve says. “I feel like he’d get me back for it later.”

“I would,” Eddie promises.

“Your jokes are kind of bad,” Billy says, nudging Eddie with his shoulder. “But I still wouldn’t mind watching you get back at Steve. It’s always a good show.”

This time, Steve’s the one who shoves his shoulder against Billy’s side with a little huff.

“It’s the truth,” Billy says.

The coffee tastes a little bitter, but Steve’s spooned just enough sugar in to make it palatable. When Eddie kisses him, he tastes sweet.

After nursing their coffees and talking about plans– and after another round with the vibrating bed– they hit the road with plenty of sunlight to spare. Roll onto the interstate heading out into the desert and don’t stop until Steve insists an hour in, batting at Billy’s shoulder from the backseat and clambering out with Eddie’s camera when the wheels of the BMW are done kicking up dust.

He gathers Eddie and Billy next to him, just under a big sign on the side of the road, and beams as he forces them to take one of their cheesiest shots– excluding, perhaps, all of the alien related ones– of the trip.

It’s ridiculous, and Billy still has a bit of a headache. But when he climbs back into the car, Steve shoves the developing photo in his face– the three of them, windswept and tired and so happy, gathered together under the state border sign.

Welcome to California, Billy thinks, grin stealing across his face as he turns the key in the ignition and shifts into drive, chasing the sun.

chapter 24:

no doubt in my mind (where you belong)

Sunrises in California are really something else.

Billy remembers them as a kid, sitting on the beach with his mom, watching dawn kiss the place where the sky meets the water.

He’s not sure that holds a candle to how it looks now, with Billy sitting on the balcony of the cheap apartment they’re subletting from from some guy named Hank, who owns the pizza place downstairs, while he nurses a cup of coffee from a coffee machine that’s older than him. The coffee tastes burnt and wonderful when all he can smell is salt air on the wind.

Right now, the sky’s lit up orange and pink, violet clouds hanging low on the horizon. The water’s painted with color, too—a rippling, mirrored reflection. The view couldn’t be better: they’re above the boardwalk, practically nothing between them and the sea.

“Why are you always up so early,” Eddie says, padding out onto the balcony to join Billy.

“Someone’s gotta not be lazy,” Billy says.

Though even Billy’s maybe gotten a bit lazy, on this extended vacation with the two of them. Sure, he goes on the occasional run to stretch his legs, but all Billy really ever wants to do is hang out with his two boyfriends in their tiny apartment. It feels indulgent, this time they have together. And Billy doesn’t want to waste a minute of it. Even if they’re asleep and he’s awake.

“C’mere,” he says, tugging Eddie into his lap, allowing Eddie to steal the mug out of his hands.

“My, aren’t you a strong fella,” Eddie bats his lashes over the edge of his stolen mug, stealing a hefty mouthful before offering it back. “What’s there to not be lazy about? You got somewhere pressing to be, California?”

It rings a little funny, every time Eddie calls him that, when they’re already here. And the jokes got old within the first month.

Still, it’s kinda charming. Because it’s Eddie, and Eddie’s always kinda charming.

“Nowhere to be,” Billy says. “Just wanted to catch the sunrise.”

It feels a little unreal, being here.

Some days, he wakes up and just can’t believe it, can’t wrap his mind around this being reality. Being here. In California. With Eddie and Steve. The nightmares still linger, darkness creeping in around the edges, but it’s the sheer unfathomability of his reality that rocks him the most, sometimes. Even before the Upside Down, Billy never thought he’d be here. Never thought he’d get to have this.

Watching the sunrise helps remind him that this is all real.

Eddie hums and leans in to kiss his temple, breath smelling like coffee. “Waves any good today?”

Because Billy had got them both on a surfboard, half as a joke, until Steve took to it like the fish he is. His form still leaves something to be desired, but he insists that he likes the challenge.

Considering he’s ended up with a guy like Eddie and a guy like Billy, he supposes that’s probably true.

If the waves are any good, Steve will spend the morning plowing face first into them, until he’s worn and lazy and beach beaten. Billy, by proxy, will end up in the water with him– or at least watching him– and Eddie will trail along to make a nuisance of himself or will stay back and sleep until they’re done playing in the surf.

If the waves are bad, Eddie will probably drag Billy back to bed until the sun is a little higher in the sky. Back to a sleep-warm Steve, sprawled over their mattress.

And Billy’s been watching the sea all morning. Since the sun came up. The sky is reflecting beautifully off the serene ocean, the sunrise mirrored almost perfectly below from above.

“The water’s gonna be nice,” Billy says. “But no waves for surfing.”

Eddie shifts on his lap and leans in close. Presses a warm kiss to the side of Billy’s neck. Billy can feel the sneaky smile against his skin.

“Then why’re you out here,” Eddie asks. “Stevie’ll wake up soon. You wouldn’t want him to wake up alone like I did, would you?”

Billy snorts. “Yeah, I’m sure you were so alone with him snoring in your ear.”

“Not the same,” Eddie tells him. “You’re the gooey middle. The nougaty center. Gotta get you back before the princess notices and pouts at us.”

The sound of bare feet shuffling across tiles tells Billy that it’s already too late.

“You say that like all I do is pout,” Steve mumbles, coming up behind Billy in his chair and just leaning there, tipping over them to peer down at them both. “I do other things, like grouse and complain, too.”

Eddie lets out a little groan, but he’s craning up to catch the corner of Steve’s mouth before Steve curves down, hands on Billy’s shoulders, and kisses his crown.

“Pout, grouse, complain, withhold sex,” Eddie grumbles.

Steve grins, sleepy and pleased, wrapped up in one of the throw blankets from the bed. “Not my fault you’re so easy.”

Billy tilts his head up, catching the way that Steve is silhouetted against the still-pink and wispy sky. His features are kissed golden, just like they were on that dawn hike, just like Billy’s seen them so many times before back in Hawkins—poolside, by the lake, even in the sunset outside Eddie’s trailer.

Billy’s memories are chock full of a golden, glowing Steve. And Eddie kissing him, pressing another kiss to Steve’s lips, off-center and sleepy.

It feels like home. They feel like home.

No matter where they are.

“Hey,” Billy says, eyes caught on the two of them, chest feeling warm and full.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” Eddie says, so easily turning away from Steve’s brilliance to look at Billy.

Billy can’t help but smile, feeling a little dopey.

“Nothing,” he says, because he’s not sure he can articulate it. “Nothing. Just—you guys.”

Steve huffs a little, hard enough and close enough that Billy can feel it shift his curls on top of his head. It sort of tickles, but then Steve is plopping his chin right down on his crown.

“Well, hey, then,” Steve says, one hand rubbing absently at one of Billy’s shoulders. “Good morning.”

Eddie chuckles, stealing some of Billy’s coffee again. “Good morning, Stevie.”

“Waves suck today,” Billy says. “Could go on a walk on the beach. Or back to bed.”

“Oh, and both are so tempting,” Steve murmurs, fingers tapping down Billy’s bicep. “A romantic walk on the beach or a tumble in the sheets. Real tough choice.”

“Could do both,” Eddie adds, playful and cheeky. “Tumble in the sheets, followed by a walk, and then another tumble in the sheets. Really sandwich the best part in there.”

Steve snorts. “I thought the best part is the thing sandwiched in the middle?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “But why have more of the thing you want less, when you could have more of the thing you want more?”

“I think Eddie wants to get laid, Billy,” Steve tells him in a facade of sotto voice, muttering loud enough that Eddie can still clearly hear. “I don’t think he wants to go on a walk on the beach at all.”

“Hm. I think he’s easier to deal with when he’s tired,” Billy says, straining up to catch a kiss that Steve gives him so freely. “And he hates that.”

“You take that back. I’m just not a jock, I wasn’t built for exercise,” Eddie says.

He flicks Billy in the ear, and—judging by Steve’s squawk—reaches around to pinch at Steve’s side, too.

“I say: we give him what he wants and then we take what we want,” Billy says to Steve. “After we tire him out.”

Steve hums, leaning more fully into Billy, a solid weight at his back. “I like that idea.”

Eddie scoffs, but he’s still sprawled out over Billy’s lap. “I don’t.”

“No?” Steve asks. “You wanna go on a walk with us, then?”

Eddie makes a face, pinched in a way that tells Billy he’s being difficult on purpose, and he shifts across Billy’s thighs like he’s settling in and making himself at home. He hears Steve make a sound, something tired but amused, and Billy can almost picture the dry exasperation and fond amusement.

“I’ll go,” Eddie says. “If you let me drive.”

Behind him, Steve groans. “We’re not having this debate again. You drift left!”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “That won’t be a problem in the middle of nowhere where the hikes are.”

Billy snorts. He thinks of the many times he and Steve have shouted at Eddie for drifting over the centerline. Into oncoming traffic. “Doesn’t mean it’s safe.”

And he wonders, just a little bit, when he became someone who worried about safety. About getting into an accident.

Somewhere between the evil trans-dimensional universe and landing himself two boyfriends, probably. Not too hard to narrow down, but shocking nonetheless, once the realization has settled.

Billy’s hands find Eddie’s hips. He squirms underneath Billy’s touch, underneath the grip Billy’s got on him.

“On second thought,” Billy says, pulling Eddie a little closer with a playful grin. “With Munson like this, I’m not sure I wanna leave…”

Eddie looks at him with an arched brow, grin going easy and wide. “You got any ideas, sunshine? Or do you just like the way I feel?”

“Flirt,” Steve accuses.

“You’re sitting on my lap,” Billy says. “Of course I like the way you feel. Don’t be stupid.”

But Billy leans forward and steals himself a kiss, just a little one.

Eddie doesn’t seem to mind. Hums and chases his mouth easily, catching Billy’s chin with a hand and giving a little squeeze as he kisses him slow.

As Eddie licks his way past Billy’s lips and teeth, tasting like coffee as he slides deeper, Steve huffs out another of those resigned but amused noises and straightens out.

“When you’re both done, I’ll be in the kitchen getting coffee,” Steve teases, and Billy knows he plucks the near empty mug from Eddie’s hand, because then it’s wiggling its way under Billy’s shirt. “I actually do wanna go on that walk first.”

Eddie groans against Billy’s mouth, pulling back as Steve shuffles back inside with a frown akin to a pout, and he shouts after him. “Killjoy!”

“I’ll make it up to you later,” Steve calls back, half on a laugh.

Once Steve has had his coffee, they drive out to the cliffs overlooking the ocean.

While Billy loves walking on the beach, Eddie complains about the sand shifting underneath his feet. And Steve, for all of his whining, is happy to do whatever. As long as, at some point, Billy will race him up to some summit or down to the end of a trail, all while Eddie cheers from a distance.

The sun’s well and fully up by the time they make it to the lookout that marks the halfway point of their hike. Steve’s still panting from racing Billy to it, guzzling water while the sea breeze whips through his hair.

“Sometimes I don’t know why I date two jocks,” Eddie says. “And then I remember.”

He plucks at Steve’s sweaty shirt. At the way it’s hugging his muscles, damp from exertion and clinging to his figure in all of the right places.

“Two jocks are the only people who could keep up with you,” Billy tells him.

“No need to flatter me, sunshine,” Eddie winks over at him, poking Steve in the side until he bats him away with a grunt. “I’m a sure thing.”

“You’re a pest,” Steve says, glare half hearted as he wipes the sweat from his brow. “You’re lucky you’re hot.”

“Ooh, flattery all around,” Eddie laughs. “If you both wanted to get lucky so bad, we could’ve stayed home.”

And isn’t that something. Home, with Steve and Eddie. His home; a little apartment by the sea.

It isn’t difficult to close the distance between the three of them. To shove his way between Steve and Eddie and throw his arms over their shoulders, eyes looking out over the horizon. It feels unreal. And also so deeply tangible, this little moment of theirs.

Something Billy never thought he’d have, and something he gets to live. Every single day.

“Hey,” Billy says, giving them a little squeeze, two long lines of heat up against his sides. “I fucking love you two.”

He’s not sure he’s ever said it like that. Not without Eddie filling in the words for him, easy and carefree. Never so plainly.

He feels Eddie’s hand find his hip. Feels one of Steve’s hands land between his shoulder blades. Warm and simple.

“Love you too, sunshine,” Eddie says, and Billy doesn’t think he’s imagining the breathy softness to it.

On his other side, Steve laughs a little, tipping his head over to kiss Billy’s cheek. “I should beat you up the ridge more often.”

“I let you win,” Billy grouses.

“Just because you’re stronger doesn’t mean you’re faster,” Eddie argues, elbowing him a little. “Stevie’s definitely faster than you. In the water and on land. You’re just going to have to deal with it.”

“Or just admit you only drop back so that you can watch me run ahead of you,” Steve says with a little shrug. “It isn’t subtle when you do that.”

Eddie laughs. “And you wonder why I drag my feet so much.”

“You’re not subtle, either,” Steve tells him.

Eddie squawks a little. Fussing and over dramatic as always, and while he’s doing his offended song and dance, Steve tugs on the back of Billy’s shirt.

“Hey,” he says, kissing his cheek again. “I love you, too.”

Billy feels his whole chest fill up with warmth. He leans into Steve and pulls Eddie with him, causing Steve to grunt and plant his feet to support more weight.

“I really lucked out,” Billy says, voice a little quieter this time. “Can’t believe it, sometimes. Just had to go through hell to get here.”

“Sweetheart,” Eddie breathes, and Billy feels the warmth of his mouth when he presses a sweet kiss to a spot just under his ear.

Steve, though, smiles wide and bright at him, before leaning in to steal a proper kiss right then and there. It’s chaste, but the quickness does little to diminish the way it makes Billy’s chest feel full to the brim.

“Thought we agreed that Eddie was the lucky one,” Steve says, tipping his forehead to rest against Billy’s own.

Billy snorts out a little laugh. “Shit, you’re right, he is.”

He still feels like he can’t believe it. But it feels so good, so right. So perfectly easy.

Eddie whines, face still tucked against Billy’s throat. “You’re both so mean. Why are the hot ones always mean?”

Steve is chuckling. Billy can feel it, all along his side, and he can feel Eddie squeeze at his hip.

Feels at home, right here, pressed between them.

“Wanna race me back down?” Steve asks.

This time, Billy wins. If only to make sure that Steve gets just as good a view as Billy did on the way up.

“I love you,” Billy says, easing Steve down onto their lumpy, imperfect mattress. “I really fucking love you.”

Eddie’s right behind him, slotting in so easily, folding himself in next to Billy and Steve on the bed, lying on his side, sharp eyes watching the way that Billy kisses the hollow of Steve’s throat.

And their mattress may be lumpy and imperfect, and maybe a little too small for three—but it’s theirs. Theirs, as Steve stretches out all long and lean with Billy on top of him, theirs as Eddie makes himself comfortable for the show.

“You love fucking me,” Steve teases, but his voice is a little breathy, like he’s trying to choke back a moan with the way that Billy’s biting at his neck, scraping his teeth over sensitive skin.

“I think he loves both,” Eddie says. “Lose the clothes, sunshine. You too, baby.”

Billy bats at Steve’s hands when he tries to do it himself. Pulls his own shirt off, and then Steve’s, baring skin to his greedy mouth as he presses hungry kisses along his collar. His lips feel like they’re buzzing.

Mouth over the steady thud of Steve’s heart, Billy makes quick work of getting the shorts Steve wore off of him, along with his underwear, and then it’s all skin on skin on skin. Billy feels Eddie’s hand smooth warm and slow down his back, over his spine.

“Such pretty boys,” Eddie mutters, grinning when Billy shudders under his touch, shifting and getting his other hand in Steve’s hair, tipping his head back and leaning in to steal a kiss. “And all mine, huh?”

Steve shivers under him, skin hot and flush, fingers pulling at Billy’s hips to try and get him closer. Tips his head back for Eddie when he takes another, slower kiss, and groans against his mouth.

Eddie’s hand finds Billy’s nape and squeezes.

“What do you want, sunshine?” Eddie asks, and Billy feels his mouth against his shoulder. “You won the race down, I think it’s only fair that you get your choice of options.”

Billy’s eyes fall closed. He groans.

The possibilities are endless—he knows, because they’ve tried out pretty much all of them, boredom nowhere to be found. It’s easy to get lost in all of the choices, though. The dizzying array.

But one of them feels right. And maybe a little greedy, too.

Being with Eddie and Steve has taught him that he can be greedy, though. That he’s allowed to be.

“Wanna fuck Steve,” Billy says, scraping his teeth over Steve’s collarbone, eyes catching on the way his skin reddens underneath the attention. So responsive, just like the rest of Steve. “While you fuck me.”

“I love your brain,” Eddie tells him, kissing his temple, and when Billy looks, it’s to find him scrambling for the wobbly bedside table and digging out the lube and a strip of condoms like all he’s been waiting for was their permission. “You gonna let me watch you open him up?”

Steve’s face has taken on a pink hue that Billy knows would be warm to the touch, squirming as Billy’s hands trail their way down his sides. “Fuck that– just fuck me.”

Billy almost, almost, pouts. “You’re gonna say no to me eating you out?”

“Fuck,” Eddie groans from next to Billy.

And Billy doesn’t have to look at him to know he’s gone a little heart-eyed.

Steve makes a small, needy, little sound too. Shifts under him, all restless and dark eyed and wanting.

“Well, I’m not gonna say no,” Steve huffs. “Of course I’m not gonna say no to that.”

“Like, I could just fuck you,” Billy says, and then he drags his tongue along the line of Steve’s neck. Finishes the lick with a little nip. “But when have I ever not wanted to tease you?”

The answer is: plenty of times, honestly. There’s been times when all of them have been frantic with it, needy, skipping the preamble out of sheer desperation.

But now isn’t one of those times. Now, Billy wants to savor it, to stretch Steve out on the bed, hike Steve’s legs over his shoulder, and make him beg.

“He squirms so well, doesn’t he?” Eddie says.

His touch is warm as it follows the line of Billy’s spine. Down and down until his fingers dance over the line where Billy’s waistband sits. It makes Billy shiver.

“Thought I told you to strip down, sunshine,” Eddie says, pulling at the waistband of Billy’s remaining underwear and releasing it with a little snap. “Wanna see both of you.”

Truthfully, Billy had been way more focused on getting all of Steve’s clothes off of him than his own. The temptation to get his hands all over Steve’s body is usually far too alluring to ignore. He’d stripped off his own shirt and completely forgotten his pants. It’s difficult to wriggle out of them with how hard he is, but Billy manages quickly enough to get his hands back on Steve.

And then his mouth.

First, Billy’s tongue laps over Steve’s nipples, followed quickly by his teeth. He holds Steve’s hips steady with a firm grip, keeping him from wriggling as he bites down.

And then, too hungry to properly tease, Billy’s attention drifts lower. Down to Steve’s ribcage. Down to his hips.

He feels the bed shift as Eddie does, moving up the bed a bit to get a better view– like he intends to watch for a while, while Billy’s mouth is busy. Spies Eddie palming himself out of the corner of his eye.

Eddie’s still fully clothed. And there’s something real hot about that.

Under him, Steve is shifting and shivering, because he can never stay still. Not after all this time, not unless they hold him still or tire him out. It always makes it a bit more fun, a bit more thrilling, when they finally get him still.

Billy feels Steve’s fingers sink into his hair as Billy nips at his hip. Feels the needy little tug when he hears the whine that follows.

“You’re not gonna tease me forever, are you?” Steve asks.

Billy drags his teeth along the jut of Steve’s hip and then moves even lower to bite at the fleshy inside of his thigh. He’s a little more sunkissed, now that they’re in California. Not that they didn’t spend so many days under the summer sun back in Hawkins.

“I like teasing you,” Billy says. “But maybe if you ask nicely…”

When Steve yanks at his hair, annoyed, Billy just bites him again.

“That wasn’t nicely,” Eddie says.

“Why do I always have to be nice?” Steve grouses, just as dramatic as Eddie is sometimes.

Eddie chuckles, and Billy catches sight of him reaching back over to sink his fingers back into Steve’s hair– earning a hiss when Eddie pulls, an echo of Steve’s own motions as a reprimand.

“Don’t have to be,” Eddie says. “But you know he’ll just tease you longer if you aren’t.”

Steve groans. “You’re both the worst.”

“And you love it,” Billy says, pressing a warm, wet kiss right over somewhere he just bit. “You love us.”

Steve huffs out a breathless laugh. “I do. Love you, I mean– not the teasing.”

Eddie laughs too, leaning down over Steve to kiss him. Steals the sound of Steve’s moan when Billy switches his attention to the inside of his other thigh, the muscle jumping under his teeth and Steve’s hips straining.

“Don’t lie, Stevie,” Eddie says, after he draws away. “You like it when Billy uses his mouth on you. Wouldn’t make so many sounds if you didn’t.”

Steve groans again, gutted and low. Gives a little tug at Billy’s hair again, gentler this time.

“Say please, baby,” Billy says, though he’s already inching his mouth up Steve’s thigh as he talks, peppering kisses up and up and up, until Steve’s squirming, panting.

Steve whines, straining one last time against the grip of Billy’s hands before slumping against the sheets with a huff when it does him no good. “Please?”

“See, was that so hard?” Billy asks.

He shifts between Steve’s legs and gets a hand around the base of Steve’s cock, which is already so hard that it looks like it hurts. He leans in, breathes hot over the length of it, and then laps his tongue over the tip. Gathering up the precum beading there.

“He asked nicely, sweetheart. And you’re still teasing?” Eddie says with a tsk.

Another lick. Eyes on Eddie.

“Savoring,” Billy says. “Is it a crime to take my time?”

“Not a crime,” Eddie replies. “But not very nice, either.”

Billy fits his lips around the tip of Steve’s cock, allowing him into his mouth just a bit. Just enough to make Steve groan and shift under Billy’s hands. And then he pulls off again, all slow.

A string of saliva clings between his tongue and the glistening head of Steve’s cock.

“Who ever said I’m nice?” Billy says.

Steve groans, low and loud in his throat, and Billy can’t help but laugh. Warmth swells in his chest. And in his gut. Billy can’t help but take pity on Steve, on the way he squirms and whines.

And so Billy swallows him down, almost all in one go. To the delighted laugh of Eddie and the surprised moan of Steve.

He keeps a hand around the base of Steve’s cock, fingers curled snug enough around him for Steve to feel it. Tight enough to make him shudder and whine, even as Steve’s hips try to lurch up into his touch and the heat of his mouth. Pulls impulsively at Billy’s hair when he takes him near to the hilt and shudders heavily when Eddie mirrors the action again, helping to keep Steve in place as much as he’s trying to stir up the coals.

“Half tempted to keep you from finishing until I’m inside of Billy,” Eddie tells him, and Billy feels Steve’s body start in place, feels the way Eddie’s voice and his always dark promises leave Steve shivering with his cock pulsing and heavy over Billy’s tongue. “Think I could convince sunshine pretty easy. Thoughts, sweetheart?”

“You have my vote,” Billy says, pulling off from Steve’s cock.

His voice is already a little hoarse from the effort.

He always loves the way his voice goes rough from sucking cock, the way he’s left with a reminder of how Steve—or Eddie—felt on his tongue.

Steve whines. But before he can even open his mouth to argue, Billy laps over his cock again. “Two against one, baby. Looks like you’re not cumming.”

“You’re both the worst,” Steve repeats, flush down to his chest and grunting when Billy gives the base of his cock a taunting squeeze. “Billy.”

Steve really should know better by now. Should know that saying his name like that is more likely to strike a match that will build into a fire– that Billy will do almost anything to make Steve say his name like that again and again and again.

Besides—it’s not like they won’t let Steve cum at all. Just for a little while. But both Billy and Eddie seem to never be able to get enough of the way that denial makes Steve squirm, makes him go all desperate.

Billy takes all of Steve into his mouth again, swallowing him down straight to the hilt. Whole. And when the head of Steve’s cock bumps up against the back of his throat, Billy’s treated to a loud, embarrassing groan from Steve. A quick glance up to catch the look on Steve’s face shows that Eddie’s kissing down the tail end of that sound, eating it up straight from Steve’s lips.

And Billy’s more than willing to help keep that going, to try and eke every last sound out of Steve’s lips. He goes to work sucking Steve’s cock, bobbing his head and swallowing Steve down.

Steve trembles in place on the bed, moan muffled against Eddie’s mouth. With both of their mouths on him, hot and wet and so very wicked, Steve strains and pulls at them both. Whines when Eddie catches both of his wrists, bucking against the press of Billy’s hands on his hips, carefully pinned in place by the both of them on the bed.

His cock twitches and leaks over Billy’s tongue, down the back of his throat. When Eddie finally frees his mouth, leans up with one hand pressing Steve’s wrists to the bed above his head, Billy can hear how heavily Steve is already panting.

“I love watching you take him apart,” Eddie says, voice a low and lulling praise that goes straight to Billy’s gut. “Love seeing your mouth on him.”

It’s a good thing, too—because Billy can’t help but like it when Eddie watches him. It lights a fire up inside his veins, spurning him on, letting him take Steve deeper and deeper.

Until he can tell Steve’s getting close, that is. It’s the way that Steve’s sounds get louder, the way that his breaths get quicker, that has Billy pulling off. Licking his lips with a grin.

And then he’s moving, hoisting Steve’s legs up and over his shoulders, getting him off the bed. Billy uses his hands to support Steve’s ass, to spread those cheeks to give himself space to dive in.

The first lap of his tongue nearly has Steve shouting, always so sensitive, so surprised. Like somehow he never thinks Billy’s ever actually going to do it, despite all evidence otherwise.

“Fuck, Billy,” Steve whines out, and Billy sees his cock twitch, sees it leak, shiny with spit and achingly hard as he drags the flat of his tongue over the spasm of Steve’s rim again. “Nngh, please– hah hahh, don’t tease, Billy, please–”

He feels Steve’s heels dig in at his back. Keeps him spread, hips tipped up as he pants and squirms. Restless and needy as he’s denied his end, left coasting on the edge instead.

It makes him a little more desperate. A little more eager.

At the head of the bed, Eddie keeps Steve’s hands pinned in place with one of his own, the other palming over the bulge in his jeans. Apparently more than content to let his own need build slowly.

For all that Steve has the stamina to tease them both outside of the bedroom, once he’s in the bed and naked, he’s a needy thing. Desperate.

Eddie, though—Eddie’s the opposite. He doesn’t have much self-restraint when it comes to waiting to get his hands on either of them, but once they’re actually getting down and dirty, he’s more than happy to wait. To draw things out and let the tension build.

And Billy? Billy knows himself well enough to know that he doesn’t have much restraint anywhere at all. He’s greedy—he wants everything when it comes to Steve and Eddie. And now that they’re both his, he doesn’t ever feel much like waiting.

So he doesn’t hold back when Steve begs so pretty, fucking his tongue into Steve as he holds him in place, keeping him from squirming. The heels in his back do nothing other than encourage him, making him lick wetter, messier, hungrier.

Steve is a mess again in no time. Can do nothing but gasp and moan, twitching so perfectly tight around Billy’s tongue while still letting him in so easily. Until Steve is trying to buck, a little keen of a noise catching in his throat, sloppy and slick enough from Billy’s attention that there’s drool running down his crack, up his back.

It’s filthy. It’s perfect.

Just as perfect as the way Steve sobs out his name when Billy shoves his tongue in deeper.

“Careful, sunshine,” Billy hears Eddie say. “He’s getting close.”

Like Billy needed the warning. But still, hearing that tone in Eddie’s voice, that casually commanding one, leaves something curling warm in Billy’s core—and he knows it does the same to Steve, who hiccups around a moan.

Billy doesn’t quite stop, but he does slow down. Slows his movements, but fucks Steve with his tongue no less deep.

And then, when it’s clear that Steve’s edged away from the brink of orgasm again, Billy grins, looks up at Eddie and catches his eye—and then slowly pushes in a finger alongside his tongue.

“Hnng, fuckk,” Steve is breathing heavy, a fresh cling of sweat shining on his skin, a fine tremor in the muscles of his thighs as Billy works him open. “Fuck, Billy–”

There’s a puddle of precum on his chest, cock leaking and twitching.

“Does it feel good, Stevie?” Eddie asks, voice soothing and low, but the knowing tone has Steve letting out a strangled sound. “Do you like it when Billy opens you up?”

Eddie’s mouth, always a danger, seems to have grown worse over time. More deadly.

“Yeah– yes–” Steve hitches out, moaning helplessly as Billy opens him up. “I like it.”

Eddie hums. “Then what do you say?”

High from the back of Steve’s throat, he whines. “God, Eddie–”

“What do you say, baby?”

Steve breath shudders out of him, squirming renewing with increased fervor, breath hitching. Then the breathless, quivering, “Thank you, Billy.”

Billy can’t help but chuckle against Steve’s skin, grinning wide as Steve thanks him.

For his efforts, Billy begins working a second finger alongside the first. With Billy’s spit and Steve’s eagerness, it goes easily. Steve’s plea for just fucking him wasn’t so far off-base—if Billy wanted to, he probably could just ease inside with just spit. But then he wouldn’t get to tease Steve, to draw it out and watch him squirm.

“Billy’s being so good to you, isn’t he?” Eddie croons. “So generous.”

Billy can feel the way that Eddie’s holding Steve steady, keeping him from shaking apart. Can feel the gradual build of tension, of pleasure, making Steve moan and tremble.

Can feel how he chases his own satisfaction with needy little flexes of his hips, like he’s trying to meet Billy’s touch halfway, when he gets close again.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Eddie says, shifting up onto his knees, his other hand running up the quiver of Steve’s side, skin jumping under his touch as Steve’s gasps grow more desperate. “So good for me, working Stevie up like this. Keep him on the edge for me, sunshine.”

Steve makes a choked sound. Hiccups out another little sob when Billy presses deep– only for the fingers of Eddie’s free hand to wrap around the base of Steve’s cock, squeezing, rings catching like quicksilver in the light.

Steve jerks. Strains and lets out a ragged sound. Spasms helplessly around Billy’s greedy tongue and fingers.

Billy knows that it’s torture. Eddie’s done this to him, too—with Steve’s help, no less.

And maybe Billy would consider it evening the scales a little, getting back at Steve—but that’s not it at all. Because he loves this, and he knows that Steve loves it, too. Will even ask for it, if his inhibitions allow him to.

By the time Billy’s slowly working three fingers in, stretching Steve wide, he’s pulling back and mouthing at Steve’s inner thigh, teeth scraping against soft, sweaty skin, leaving a nice hickey in his wake.

“So fucking good for me,” Billy manages, voice gravelly and raw. “God, you’re so fucking—so needy. So easy.”

“Isn’t he?” Eddie asks. “He’s being so good for you, for us. Isn’t that right, Stevie? Taking Billy so well.”

Steve is dazed. Flush and panting. His useless straining has left him slightly spent, weak from the effort over a core of need, taut and desperate for release.

He nods clumsily, like he’s not quite sure what he’s agreeing to. Like he doesn’t care, too focused on the way Billy’s pressing three fingers deep, on the way Eddie still won’t let him find his end.

“You want more, don’t you, Stevie?” Eddie asks. “You want Billy to give you more, baby?”

Steve whines, long and low. “Please. Pleaseplease– haa, Billy, please–”

“He’s begging so sweet for you, sunshine,” Eddie mutters. “You gonna give him what he wants?”

And Billy’s too much of a sucker to say no. Or maybe it’s just that he’s too desperate for it, too.

“Yeah,” Billy breathes out against Steve’s thigh.

He kisses him there again, wet and messy. Letting his teeth scrape the skin while Steve whines.

Once Billy pulls his fingers free, sets Steve down, and gets better situated on his knees, Eddie’s pressing a bottle of lube into the palm of his hand. He makes quick work of rolling a condom on and slicking himself up, self-indulgently giving a few pumps to his cock to relieve some of the ache.

“You ready, baby?” Billy asks, lining himself up and rubbing the head of his cock over Steve’s spit-slick hole.

Steve is nodding again, just as clumsy and more than a little desperate, legs spreading as Billy settles back between his thighs. “God, please.”

At the head of the bed, Eddie has released Steve’s cock, eyes dark and heavy on where Billy’s body is so eager to meet with Steve’s. He’s still got Steve’s hands in place, the other working open his belt and then his fly with an idle pace.

Billy wonders just how long Eddie intends to drag things out. Feels like he’s doing it on purpose– making it last. Drawing it along to the point of blissful agony.

Maybe he is.

“Don’t let him cum,” Eddie warns as he watches, grinning at Steve’s pitched whine as he pulls his belt free from his jeans.

Billy hears the implied, don’t cum, either, loud as a whistle, clear as day.

The order makes him shiver. He tries not to let that implication distract him—that, or the way that Eddie’s slowly disrobing himself, but clearly he does, because soon Steve is whining and kicking his heels into Billy’s back—all while Eddie is laughing.

“Don’t keep our pretty boy waiting, sunshine,” Eddie says.

Billy doesn’t need to be told twice.

He grips himself by the base of his cock, and then begins pushing in. Slow and easy. Dragging it out for the pure sake of savoring the way that Steve’s body opens for him, slowly engulfing him in warm, slick heat.

And Steve takes him so well. Sucks in a tight breath, shuddering heavily, thighs squeezing at Billy’s hips as he sinks in, in. Moans, loud and hungry, when Billy bottoms out, spamming so impossibly tight around him.

“Shit,” Eddie breathes, watching as Steve gasps and arches up, as Billy presses into him until they’re one. “What a gorgeous sight the two of you make.”

Billy can’t help but shudder under the praise, hips stuttering at Eddie’s attention. There’s just something about Eddie that makes Billy feel so seen—and also so appreciated. Maybe it’s because of how vocal Eddie is about what he likes and what he doesn’t, but it always makes Billy feel so special, so hot.

And judging by the way that Steve shivers underneath him, he feels the same way.

With Eddie right there, eyes and attention rapt, Billy can’t help but put on a bit of a show. Keeping his movements slow and languid as he fucks into Steve—driving deep enough on his thrusts to keep Steve loud, to have him scrambling under Eddie’s hold.

Steve is panting under him. Flush and glistening and so hard that it’s gotta hurt. He’s slick and hot and tight, and when Billy moves in him, he makes the prettiest sound.

The pupils of his eyes have blown out. Swallowed the color almost completely, a fine haze of bliss leaving them glassy as Billy works him back up again.

“Fuck, Eddie, please,” Steve gasps out, after Billy has slowly, perfectly fucked enough moans out of him that his voice is already starting to crack. “Hnng, hnn, please– just–”

“You begging me to fuck Billy, pretty boy?” Eddie asks, grin wide and knowing, and Steve strains with a helpless little sound. “Want me to fill him up, so that he fills you up?”

Steve groans, slumping on the sheets, face that burning flush of embarrassment Eddie seems to like coaxing out so much. “Please.”

And Steve is so, so red. Looking like he’s bursting at the seams with desire.

It makes Billy’s blood feel just as hot. For one blinding moment, he feels close enough to cum.

And then, all he wants is more.

“C’mon,” Billy says, fingers clutching at Steve’s hips tight enough they make the skin around go a little white. “Fuck me, Eddie.”

Eddie hums. “My boys are always so eager.”

It’s as teasing as it is adoring.

And then Eddie is shuffling up onto his knees, tugging his belt free, and using both hands to bind Steve’s wrists with it. Under Billy, Steve lets out a whimper of a sound, straining and testing the give the moment that Eddie is done pulling the leather tight enough around Steve’s wrists and through the metal rungs of the cheap headboard they bought at a yardsale after weeks of sleeping on a mattress on the floor. It nearly broke once, when Steve got the wise idea to use Eddie’s cuffs on Billy while taking him for a ride.

It holds now, though. Never budging, no matter how much Steve squirms and pulls.

“Eddie,” Steve whines, fingers a flex above his head, but Eddie is already smacking a wet kiss to his forehead and moving to round Billy on the bed. “This– ahh, this isn’t fair.”

“Sorry, baby,” Eddie tells him, but he doesn’t sound very sorry at all, not bothering to strip down any further even as he shuffles up behind where Billy is knelt and fucking forward slow and steady between Steve’s legs. “I need you still, and my hands are gonna be busy.”

And then his hands are on Billy.

His shoulders, first. Then down his arms. They pause to give his wrists a little squeeze before one dips down, between Billy and Steve, fingers seeking where Billy is splitting Steve open.

“Fuuck, sunshine,” Eddie says, low in his ear, pressing flush along his back and hooking his chin at his shoulder. “Love feeling how well you fill up our Stevie.”

Billy groans, eyes falling closed as Eddie’s skirting touch and his filthy words work their way right into Billy’s core. Eddie’s so warm, so close that he feels almost like he’s crawled inside Billy, right between his ribs. Like he’s touching all of Billy all at once.

Eddie’s fingers explore a bit more—jerking over Steve, tugging Billy’s balls, getting wet and slippery with the mess of lube and spit and precum between them. Billy tries to keep his thrusts even, but it’s hard, especially as Eddie’s other hand grips tight at Billy’s hip—not quite guiding him, but urging him forward, keeping him driving in and in.

“Eddie,” Billy groans, hips fucking in deep.

He can feel Eddie’s deft hand between the two of them, caught in the heat, the messy grind of flesh against flesh.

Eddie chuckles, deep and dark, breath hot and a little short at Billy’s ear as he grinds himself against Billy in time with the rhythm his hands have coaxed Billy into. Around his cock, right at the base, Eddie curls his fingers around him for a moment, giving a quick squeeze.

It just makes Billy groan again. Just makes him buck forward.

“Focus, sunshine,” Eddie says, finally withdrawing his hand from between them– just so he can press his slick fingers between the cheeks of Billy’s ass, just pressing and rubbing over his rim. “Keep fucking him, but don’t let him finish.”

Because the look on Steve’s face is one of rapture. Of a bliss so close it would practically be a tragedy to steal it away.

It’s not difficult to keep fucking Steve while Eddie begins working his fingers into Billy, but it is difficult keeping his pace steady, keeping himself from going too fast. Because with two of Eddie’s fingers pressing deep, all Billy wants is more, and his hips know how to take it.

But Eddie’s a long line of heat at his back and his lips are pressed right up against Billy’s shoulder, leveling a warm and lingering kiss there for just long enough to catch Billy’s attention, to have him taking a breath and keeping himself under control. It doesn’t stop his fingers from gripping hard against Steve’s skin, though, like maybe if he holds on tight enough he’ll keep himself together, too.

Steve’s beautiful underneath him, which doesn’t help. All taut and trembling muscles; all glistening sweat. His cheeks are red with desire, eyes dark with blown pupils. He strains up against the headboard, pulling tight at that belt, rolling and rocking his hips into Billy’s for more with every thrust.

Two of Eddie’s fingers easily become three, and then they’re curling, pressing in such a way that makes Billy shudder forward, hips jerking.

“God, fuck,” he manages through a low groan, all while Eddie laughs behind him, low and delighted.

“That feel good, sweetheart?” Eddie asks, as if he doesn’t already know, repeating the motion with a touch more pressure.

Eddie’s fingers aren’t huge, but they feel big inside Billy. And it doesn’t hurt that Eddie knows just how to touch him to make everything inside him sing. Billy’s rhythm falters as he chokes around a groan, eyes shutting to the pleasure of it, to the heat.

“Hrgh—fuck, Eddie,” Billy groans.

He can hear the way Steve moans as Billy drives in deep, can feel the way Steve writhes underneath him.

At his ear, Eddie clicks his tongue. “Shirking on your duties.”

And Billy wants to ask whose fault that is, but he knows that question would get him nowhere.

When Billy hears the way the headboard clatters against the wall for a moment, as Steve thrashes and bucks and chokes on a sound that is nearly pained, low and guttural, Billy opens his eyes to see Eddie’s other hand circling around the base of Steve’s cock again. He feels the way Steve’s body has drawn tight, struggling to find that relief they keep denying him. Hears how he whines as Eddie keeps Billy fucking him, even as he trembles, cock leaking out heavily onto his belly, twitching as his abdomen quivers and pulls tight. Watches as his eyes flutter and roll back as Eddie catches them both there, on the edge of madness.

“You ready for me, sunshine?” Eddie asks, kissing sweat from the side of his throat as Steve’s hips flex in Billy’s grip. “Think Stevie might cry if we keep him waiting much longer.”

Almost to prove his point, Steve hiccups out a sound that sounds an awful lot like an overwhelmed sob.

Billy’s a sucker. Regularly, Billy would do anything for Steve—but like this, Billy’s helpless. He’d walk on hot coals, pry himself open at the seams, catch the moon for Steve.

“Fuck me,” Billy says, clenching his teeth against his own pleasure. “C’mon, Eddie, fuck me.”

And then Eddie’s laughing, pressing a warm kiss to the tender skin of Billy’s neck. His fingers leave Steve’s cock, trailing over the skin between them—catching on Billy’s ribs, his scars, even palming over his heart. He eases his fingers out of Billy and replaces that pressure easily with his slicked cock, the head of it pressing determinedly against Billy until Billy’s body just—yields. Allowing Eddie to slip so easily inside.

Billy moans, loud and surprised. It’s somehow always surprising just how good Eddie feels inside him, how perfect. Billy’s hips jerk forward, greedily seeking depth in the heat of Steve’s body—and then Steve moans, too, just as surprised. Just as overwhelmed.

“Fuck, you feel good,” Eddie breathes, mouth pressed to Billy’s shoulder, hands on his hips as he finishing pressing deep– deeper. “Always so good for me, huh?”

Billy’s head swims. Behind him, Eddie hums and rocks his hips, gets as used to Billy as Billy adjusts to him. Beneath him, Steve is panting and moaning, each move echoed into him.

“Billy– Billy, please–” Steve pulls at the belt, groan knocked right out of his mouth when Eddie has them both rocking forward with a push of his hips. “Hnng, fuck– fuck, come on–”

“We got you, Stevie,” Eddie mutters, and then Billy feels his hands drift down over his arms, to his wrists, until his fingers are lining along Billy’s at Steve’s hips. “We’re gonna touch you just right.”

Using Billy’s hands, Eddie gives Steve’s hip a reassuring squeeze before using the other to smooth slowly, slowly up the tremble of Steve’s side. It makes him keen. Makes him arch up into their combined touch.

“So pretty for us, isn’t he?” Eddie asks, rolling his hips again.

Billy’s helpless to do anything other than nod, desperate, as Eddie rocks into him—and subsequently, makes Billy fuck into Steve with the motion. It takes a second to hit Billy, the sheer fluidity of it, but when it all clicks into place, he feels like he’s seeing stars.

“God, fuck, Eddie,” Billy groans, as Eddie fucks into him slowly, leaving him fucking into Steve slowly. “Steve—I—”

“Easy, sweetheart,” Eddie tells him, breathless already himself, moving one of Billy’s hands up to Steve’s chest. Right over the thud of his heart. “Relax. I’ve got you.”

And he does. Each move Eddie makes is reflected perfectly into Billy. The roll of his hips. The seeking, greedy touch of his fingers across the glistening warmth of Steve’s skin.

When he kisses Billy’s shoulder again, his rhythm firms into something steady, long, and deep. Each thrust of his hips rocks Billy into Steve, who strains and moans, quivering under their touch. As Eddie coaxes Billy’s fingers over one of his nipples. As he uses the other to pet up Steve’s thigh.

“Look at him, huh?” Eddie asks, fucking in hard enough that all three of them are left groaning, bodies caught in a tangle of pleasure. “All ours, Billy. He’s all ours– and you’re both mine, aren’t you?”

Billy can feel the way Steve shudders underneath his touch—under their touch. With Eddie in him, on him, guiding him, it feels almost impossible to tell where he ends and where Eddie begins.

Billy nods at the same time as Steve cries out a yes, a broken and raw sound.

On the edge.

Caught there. Even more so when Eddie guides Billy’s hand down to Steve’s cock to give it a couple strokes—and then Eddie uses Billy’s fingers to wrap around the base of Steve’s cock once more. Keeping him right in that crest of pleasure.

It draws a long, keening whine of a sound out of Steve’s mouth– one that quickly shakes apart into a desperate sobbing as his hips buck against Billy’s. He pulls feebly at the belt around his wrists, strains pitifully, fighting to chase his relief.

There are tears in his eyes.

“Hnn, hn, please– please, Eddie–” Steve’s voice already sounds wet, wobbling in the middle. “Please, just let me– haa, m’gonna– can’t think–”

But Eddie’s fingers tighten over Billy’s. But Eddie’s hips keep moving.

But then Eddie is using his and Billy’s other hand to move up Steve’s chest, to his throat. Pauses there for a moment, pressing Billy’s palm to the vulnerable skin there, and when Eddie squeezes, he drives in hard and pointed, until Steve sobs and tries to buck again, cock hot and throbbing in Billy’s hand. Throat a desperate work under his touch, until Eddie drags it higher.

Cups Steve’s jaw with it and guides Billy’s thumb to Steve’s open, gasping mouth.

When Steve’s mouth closes around his thumb, Billy almost loses it right then. That warm, tight, wet heat. That look on Steve’s face. That desperate drag of his tongue.

It’s too much. With Eddie filling him up and Billy’s cock engulfed in Steve’s slick heat—Billy can barely take it.

“F-Fuck, fuck,” Billy groans out.

But he never falters. Because he can’t—because Eddie’s moving him for him. Rocking into Steve, holding his hands over Steve’s body. Even as Billy’s muscles go all tense with rising pleasure, there’s nowhere for Billy to go.

“God, Eddie, please,” Billy manages, as Steve’s mouth sucks around him hard. Almost greedy.

Behind him, Eddie finally seems to falter. Presses his mouth to Billy’s shoulder as he bucks in deep with a low groan.

“You wanna make a mess for me, sweetheart?” Eddie asks, mouthing up Billy’s throat, rocking forward at a slightly faster, more urgent pace. “Wanna come apart for me?”

There’s something exhilarating in the way that Billy hears Eddie’s breath hitch. In the way that his movements falter. Billy likes knowing he gets under Eddie’s skin—because god fucking knows that Eddie gets under Billy’s.

“Wanna—ah, fuck. I—I want Steve to cum—mm—first,” Billy groans.

The idea of coming without Steve tight around him, without seeing the pleasure on Steve’s face—Billy doesn’t want that. Doesn’t think he could take it.

Eddie huffs out a laugh. Shaky but delighted.

“Sure thing, sunshine,” Eddie says, releasing his grip over Billy’s hand, the one wrapped around Steve’s cock keeping him riding that edge, and uses it to take Billy by the hip as he drives in harder. “Make him cum, then.”

It’s almost difficult to touch Steve independently, without Eddie’s hand guiding him.

And for a moment, Billy falters, grip stuck around the base of Steve’s cock—before he gets his act together. A reassuring squeeze from Eddie’s fingers on his waist helps, too.

Billy moves his fingers—slick and sweaty—over Steve’s cock. Gives him a few long, even strokes as Eddie continues guiding Billy’s hips—fucking Steve and therefore fucking Billy, too.

And Billy is almost grateful– is certainly relieved– that Steve is so close already. That they’ve strung him out to the point of oversensitivity. That the second Billy’s hands begins to move, Steve is moaning and bucking up into that touch.

Steve gasps around his thumb when Eddie drives them both forward. Jerks in place on the bed with a little sob, eyes dazed and wet.

And then Eddie does it again, rocking forward firm and deep so that Billy ruts in just as deep into Steve. And then Steve is cumming.

Falls apart, so perfectly, bowing up from the bed as he chokes on his breath. Spills out, messy and hot into Billy’s pumping hand. Whimpers and whines as he shudders through it.

And it’s partially the way that Steve looks, all blissed out and desperate with pleasure—but it’s also the way that his body tightens so perfectly around Billy, squeezing and spasming around him. An unrivaled kind of pleasure.

And Eddie is relentless. Fucking Billy right through Steve’s orgasm and into Billy’s own—it hits him like a crashing wave, pulling him under as he slams his hips into Steve’s tight warmth. His orgasm leaves him breathless, spilling his pleasure into Steve as Eddie just—keeps going.

Until Billy slurs out a curse as the pleasure drags on so long it leaves his ears ringing. Until Billy fumbles a clumsy, spunk coated hand to the one Eddie has at his hip, gripping tight and groaning out. Until, under him, even Steve lets out a long keen of a sound, wrecked and blissed and agonized.

Only then do Eddie’s hips stutter. Jarring forward, harsh and relentless, a brutal urgency seems to overcome him as he groans low and sinks his teeth in at Billy’s shoulder near hard enough to draw blood. As he finally, finally finishes, bottoming out and shuddering to pieces against Billy’s back.

Billy shudders too. Grasping onto Steve’s hips for purchase. Messy hands sliding against sweaty skin.

“Fuck,” Billy breathes out. “Jesus, I fucking—I love you two.”

And then he crumples. Falling over and onto Steve, getting his arms around him. All while Eddie follows, plastered to Billy’s back, arms sliding around the both of them as he breathes heavy, probably still sensitive from his own orgasm.

Steve grunts, turning his face to nudge at Billy’s cheek with his nose. He’s still breathing heavy, probably not helped by the weight of both of them, but he doesn’t seem much in the mood to complain.

“Love you,” Steve mutters, voice a little breathless and a little dreamy, the way he gets when they get him off exceptionally well. “Since I beat you at pool the second time.”

Billy’s breath catches. He can’t help but push himself up a little—effectively doing a push-up with Eddie draped over his back—just so that he can get a better look at Steve.

He feels like the world just tipped on its axis a bit, like everything’s gone quiet all at once.

“Shit,” Billy breathes out. “You’re kidding. That long?”

Steve blinks at him, like he’s surprised he’s even asking. “Yeah, that long, doofus.”

“Still a lot less longer than you,” Eddie mumbles, pressing slow kisses across Billy’s shoulder.

“Shut up,” Billy says, elbowing him—albeit a little lazily—as warmth floods across his body.

He doesn’t know why it’s embarrassing. It shouldn’t be—loving his boyfriends. But he still feels it. Acutely and keenly.

“Aw, sunshine,” Eddie murmurs, lips against Billy’s flushed skin. “Shush, it’s cute.”

Underneath Billy, Steve makes a confused, sleepy sound. He shifts a little and lets out another sound—a far more disgruntled one—and Billy almost laughs when he sees the scrunch of Steve’s nose as he tugs at the belt still wrapped around his wrists.

Eddie doesn’t bother hiding his amusement. Just chuckles, low and pleased, in Billy’s ear.

“He’s pretty cute, too,” Eddie teases. “Can see why you were carrying a torch for him.”

“Okay,” Steve grunts, “I do wanna hear about just how long you’ve known, but can you let me go? My hands are falling asleep.”

Eddie snorts out a laugh, but soon he’s climbing off Billy and releasing Steve with quick, deft hands. He disappears for a moment and reappears with a wet washcloth and makes quick work of cleaning up the two of them. When he’s done, Billy tugs him back into bed and pulls him into his arms, sandwiching Eddie between him and Steve.

Not too long ago, never in a million years would Billy have thought he’d be here in bed with these two. Sure, he had dreamed up a thousand fantasies where he curled up with Steve—but he had never included Eddie, and he never would have thought his heart could feel this full.

He never thought he could have this. Before all the crazy shit in Hawkins—and after.

Billy never dared to hope for this.

“Hey,” Steve says, flopped over Eddie’s chest, hand tangled with one of Billy’s.

Eddie huffs, one of his hands in Steve’s hair, the other stroking over Billy’s back, his arm tucked around him to keep him close. “You doing this now, too?”

Steve shrugs a shoulder. “Maybe.”

“What is it?” Eddie jostles him.

“Just– if I could,” Steve says, squeezing at Billy’s hand, eyes drooping as Eddie works over his scalp. “If I could, I would marry you. Both of you.”

“You practically already have our rings,” Billy says, reaching over to gently tug on the two necklaces Steve has around his neck. He hooks a finger under both of them and lets them fall together, the two pendants clinking—plastic against metal. They look so good together, so perfect in their mis-match. “They’re just as much of a promise.”

“You’re such a secret sap,” Eddie says with a laugh.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Like you aren’t?”

“I’m a romantic, baby,” Eddie replies, grin wide and crooked and utterly ridiculous. “There’s a difference.”

Steve gives Billy a look. “We really do need to gang up on him more.”

“We do,” Billy says. “He’s getting too big for his fucking britches.”

He gives the necklace another little tug and then drops them, letting them fall back against Steve’s cooling skin.

“I, for one, have loved both of you for a long time,” Eddie says. “I get to call myself a romantic.”

“Oh, yeah?” Steve asks on a sleepy laugh.

They’re all spent. All lazy, heavy limbs. All easy warmth.

Eddie nods. “Yep. I’m all candle light dinners and soft, gentle music–”

Eddie yelps, Steve pinching at his side with another tired laugh. “You’re ridiculous. You’re both fucking ridiculous.”

“And you love us,” Billy mumbles, tucking his face into the curve of Eddie’s neck. His fingers lace in between Steve’s.

“I sure fucking do,” Eddie says, halfway through a yawn.

Steve huffs. “Go to sleep, you hooligans.”

“In the middle of the day?” Eddie asks, but he’s not going anywhere, breath already steady and even. “Now who’s the hooligan?”

“Sleeping in the middle of the day, listening to heavy metal, kissing boys,” Steve mutters, punctuates it with a kiss to Eddie’s chest, with another squeeze to Billy’s hand. “You’ve rubbed off on me.”

“Pretty sure we did more than rub off on you,” Billy mutters.

Steve doesn’t quite squawk, but he does grunt—though that quickly turns into a sleepy laugh. After that, they fall silent, exhausted and spent. Billy drifts to the sound of both of their breathing, a combined melody that he’s grown so deeply and perfectly accustomed to. Familiar with.

Even the sound of the sea isn’t as relaxing, as comfortable.

“Could get rings,” Eddie murmurs a few minutes later. “For all of us.”

Half-asleep, Billy’s heart still lurches in his chest. In the best kind of way. He can’t help but imagine a ring on his finger, warm metal against skin. And one on Steve and Eddie, too.

Eddie yawns again. “Can talk about it later. For now—sleep. So much sleep.”

Billy thinks Eddie is the first one out. Hears him snoring long before he hears the sleepy shuffle Steve makes, feet always seeking the warmth of their skin in his sleep.

Feels himself drift off not long after.

He doesn’t dream. He doesn’t need to.

The waves crash against the shore in the quiet time right after sunrise, the lull where the sky is still partially dusted with pastels but the sun has already fully crested the horizon. Pipers dart along the shoreline a good ways off, chasing the waves, and gulls swoop through the air currents above, their calls partially lost to the wind and the waves.

Billy’s sitting on the beach with the radio on, in nothing but a pair of basketball shorts, uncaring about the way that his scars shine out to the world. February has just rolled into California and it’s just as nice as Billy remembers it being. Comfortable—not too hot, and certainly not as cold as it would’ve been in Hawkins.

He can’t help but miss the snow. Just a little bit.

So he’s sitting there with a cool bottle of water in his hands, shoving his feet into the sun-warmed sand, comfortable and shirtless, while he watches Eddie and Billy playing in the waves. They’re not looking in Billy’s direction right now, but they do occasionally. Catching his gaze and grinning wide.

“Eddie!” Steve shouts, after Eddie’s splashed some surf water right at him, hitting him square in the chest.

Even from where Billy’s sitting, he can hear the way Eddie cackles, and the way Steve laughs too, underneath his fake-outrage. They’re knee deep in the surf, and when Eddie manages to catch Steve around the middle, Billy watches him drop like a deadweight, knocking them both into the messy push and pull of the waves.

Watches as Eddie smacks some water up into Steve’s face and Steve laughs.

It makes his palms itch. Makes him want to reach out, catch the moment between his hands, trap all that light between his fingers– just for himself. He supposes Eddie’s camera will have to do the trick.

Catches a shot of Steve struggling to get out of Eddie’s octopus grip, waves crashing into them from behind, seafoam like stars.

“Let go!” he hears Steve shout over the crash of the waves, hears him laugh again as Eddie keeps him from hauling himself out of the surf. “Billy! A little help here!”

Billy can’t help but think of the first time he saw Steve and Eddie together in one place. Steve, kicking up gravel on his way to Munson’s trailer, Billy in his shitty little lawnchair with his shitty little radio next to him—just like this.

Except now when Billy looks at the two of them, he doesn’t feel empty. Doesn’t feel that jealous yearning that he did back then.

And he doesn’t hesitate to push himself out of the chair, setting the camera and the developing polaroid down on his empty seat, to cross the distance between them like it’s nothing at all. Because it isn’t.

Billy strides into the surf and scoops Steve up, throwing him over his shoulder with ease.

“California! Unfair—you can’t just swoop in and save the day!” Eddie shouts, splashing Billy too.

“What’s the point of super strength if he doesn’t get to play super hero every once in a while?” Steve asks, dangling from his shoulder, a constant movement as he chuckles– gasping out when Billy jostles him, hand clutching at Billy’s trunks. “You gonna carry me off into the sunset?”

“Gonna have to wait a long time for that,” Billy says, feet kicking up water as he strides back through the lapping waves and toward the dry sand. “How about I carry you off toward the music, instead.”

Eddie trails after them, practically skipping up to the two of them once they’re out of the surf, laying an unrepentant kiss on Billy—and then dipping down and around to snag a kiss from a hanging Steve, too.

And it’s nice, so fucking nice, to just be able to kiss, right there in the open on the beach. Without his heart stumbling over bitter fear in his chest.

“My hero,” Steve breathes when Billy finally sets him back down on his own two feet, flush from the sun and grinning wide. “What would I do without you?”

“Figure out how to deal with me all by yourself,” Eddie chirps, catching Steve’s left hand, bringing it to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the place-holder sitting on Steve’s ring finger; the one that looks an awful lot like the one on Billy’s own hand, metal skulls and all, Billy’s with the added cross for his, as Eddie put it, Catholic guilt. “I don’t think you could manage it.”

The rings had come straight from Eddie’s fingers and onto Steve and Billy’s. Still skin-warmed when Eddie had handed them over after a romantic dinner one evening.

“I don’t think I would want to,” Steve replies.

“It’s like a balanced equation,” Billy says, thumbing over his own ring and leaning up against Eddie’s side.

Eddie snorts. “You’re a fucking nerd. You’re stuck with two nerds, Stevie.”

“I am,” Steve laughs. “Surrounded by them, even—which reminds me: Dustin called today. Asked how we were doing.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asks, pressing his lips back to the ring again, like he somehow can’t believe it’s there.

And maybe he can’t—Billy knows he’s constantly looking down at his own hand just to remind himself that this is the reality he’s living.

“Is it bad that I kinda miss him?” Steve asks.

“Not at all,” Eddie replies, face soft even though his eyes are as sharp and wicked as ever. “Mother hen, missing his chicks– it’s completely normal to miss your kids– ow!”

Steve nails Eddie pretty firmly on the shin with his foot, kicking him hard enough that he shuts up for a second.

“I’m telling Dustin you didn’t miss him at all,” Steve replies.

Eddie gasps and clutches his chest, falling down to his knees in a dramatic heap, his fall cushioned by the sand.

“You wound me, Stevie! How dare you threaten me with such slander!” Eddie cries.

“God forbid you didn’t also talk to that kid every week,” Billy mumbles. “He’d never believe it.”

“He’d believe it if I told him,” Steve says with a smirk.

Which—Billy thinks might actually be true. Steve has a particular ability to charm the socks off of people, which goes hand in hand with also being able to convince anyone of pretty much anything. And it really doesn’t help that Dustin still thinks the sun shines out of Steve’s ass.

And Steve is shockingly devious. Once Billy learned to see past the boy next door charm, he learned pretty quick that Steve was more than willing to make someone look like a fool if they annoyed him enough– and definitely willing to lie to someone’s face.

But Billy kinda already knew about that one.

“Stevie,” Eddie practically pouts up at them, one hand going around Billy’s ankle, the other reaching to tug at Steve’s wet swim trunks. “C’mon, don’t be mean.”

“Then stop making fun of me,” Steve replies, but he hasn’t stopped grinning once.

“Don’t make me separate you two again,” Billy grumbles.

When Eddie tightens his grip around Billy’s ankle and Billy looks down, he’s grinning, looking up at Billy, who’s probably silhouetted against the sky. Next to him, Steve looks fond, albeit still a little playful. Like playing in the surf hadn’t wiped the energy clean out of him.

Billy knows that Steve misses Dustin and the rest of the kids. He knows that Eddie does, too.

And it would be a lie if Billy didn’t miss Max—just a little bit. Sometimes.

“The weather in Hawkins starts to clear up in March, right?” Billy asks.

From his spot in the sand, Eddie smiles up at him. “Yeah, sunshine. It’s beautiful in springtime.”

“We’re already leaving?” Steve asks, and Billy doesn’t think he’s imagining the glum tone, biting back a laugh that Eddie doesn’t bother to when Steve continues. “But I like the beach.”

And it’s nice to know that Steve likes the beach so much. That he thinks fondly of staying.

“You did promise you’d come back soon,” Billy says.

Billy can’t think of a time he’s been happier, where he’s felt so at home. But their shitty little boardwalk apartment could be anywhere. All Billy would miss is the sound of the ocean in the mornings—as long as he gets to wake up next to Steve and Eddie, he doesn’t really care where it is.

“You actually said March,” Eddie chimes in.

Hawkins could be good. Maybe not forever, but for a little while longer, anyway.

“What if we rented a place?” Billy says. “Until next winter, or whatever.”

“We’re too young to be snowbirds,” Steve says, but it doesn’t seem like a genuine protest. “But summer is made for roadtrips.”

Eddie laughs, pushing to his feet, dusting sand off of himself as he moves to loop his arm around Billy’s shoulders. “Hear that, sunshine? I think Stevie wants to come back to the golden coast. Dustin will have a riot.”

Steve makes a face. “But we didn’t go see the big trees!”

Billy snorts out a laugh. “We didn’t get to see a lot of things.”

But Steve makes a good point—they had a list a mile long of things they wanted to see, out there in the world and away from Hawkins, and while they checked off a good number, there’s still a lot left. And it’s not like the government hush-money exactly hurts when it comes to not having to do anything, at least for a while, anyway.

“Could go see the big trees this summer,” Billy says. “After showing the kids we didn’t manage to kill you.”

Steve smiles. “I like the sound of that. Mostly because I kinda wanna rub it in their faces that you’re both perfectly capable of keeping me in one piece.”

“Not the best track record on that,” Eddie replies, leaning heavy at Billy’s side. “He hit you with a plate. I threatened you with a glass bottle.”

“Hence: proof of survival,” Steve laughs. “But then we can come back?”

“Maybe even get the same place if they haven’t rented it out again,” Eddie says.

By now, the lingering remnants of dawn have long since subsided and it’s clear that the day is going to be bright and cloudless. A good day to enjoy California and the beach while they’re still here—and maybe a good one to dig out some maps to chart out a route back, along with making a list of spots to hit along the way.

When Steve threads his fingers in with Billy’s, their rings clink against each other. And when Eddie clasps his hand around the two of theirs’ and gives a little squeeze, Billy can feel his ring, too.

It feels right. After everything, after a life spent afraid of being alone. After all his anger and resentment. After the nightmare he went through– that they all went through– it feels right.

Steve and Eddie’s hands in his. Steve and Eddie with him.

Looking at them now, as Eddie darts in to smack a kiss to Steve’s cheek, as Steve laughs and shoves at him, Billy thinks he wouldn’t know this without either of them. That this joy would be nonexistent, buried at the bottom of a beer bottle and under a lot of trauma.

It isn’t difficult to grab both of them with one arm around each of their shoulders. To pull them in close and kiss them each wherever he can land his lips—which ends up being Eddie’s temple and the crown of Steve’s head. His salt-kissed hair tickles Billy’s nose.

“I fucking love you losers,” Billy says, voice muffled against Steve’s hair.

Eddie lets out a dramatic gasp. “He said it again.”

Steve is rolling his eyes even as he presses into Billy’s side. “If you keep making a big deal of it, he’s gonna say it less.”

“I dunno,” Eddie says. “Could take a picture. Make sure I remember it.”

“Who knew you’d be such a sap,” Billy grumbles, but he’s already hauling both of them over toward his chair where the radio’s currently blaring some Bob Dylan.

Eddie ducks out from underneath Billy’s arms and nabs the camera, kicking up sand that sticks to the hair on Billy’s legs. Soon, he’s tucking himself back into Billy’s side, arm outstretched and camera held out at the ready.

“Say cheese!” Eddie shouts.

Billy’s still blinking away the flash, sunspots in his eyes, when Steve’s lips land on his cheek. Followed immediately by Eddie’s.

Later, when the picture has finished developing, after they’ve packed up their essentials and have sold or given away all the rest, after they’ve lingered long enough in the sands of the golden coast, Billy tucks it into Steve’s visor as a reminder. As a token of remembrance, a snapshot of true joy, and a promise of things to come.

Now, though, he scrunches up his nose at the blurry image still developing in Eddie’s hand. “You’re both cheesy.”

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, kissing his cheek again, lingering a moment. “You love us, though.”

“I sure fucking do, pretty boy. With all my heart.”

And he feels it—burning like a fire within him, warming him up like the sunrise on his skin. In his chest, under the scar tissue, his heart beats sure and steady and settled, content with the weight of Steve and Eddie at his sides.