what the fuck do you mean whats a pudding pie? they sell them in hawkins dont they? what a fucking shithole if they dont
[ ... shows up for a long while. The message is deleted. It is so tempting to go on another Hawkins tirade, it comes so easy. No beach, no city streets, possibly no pudding pies. It's basically Alcatraz, except Alcatraz at least gets an ocean view. Jesus. ]
lacy... cupcakes. sure, harrington see ya
[ See ya, Steven. 'Free' weed interests him. Sinking into Steve's orbit interests him too. Steve and his complete disinterest in rolling over for Billy is monumentally more interesting than anything Tommy or Carol or the others have up their sleeves. ]
( Steve is too blazed for this. the ( ... ) coming and going barely registers, he's still stuck on whatever the hell a pudding pie is. like banana cream? no, those are a thing, even in Indiana. kinda fancy to kill after smoking some dope, though. by the time he realizes he's still thinking about what pudding pie Billy means (french silk? is lemon meringue a cream pie? how hard is it to even make a pie?), he immediately forgets to think about the next thing. hopefully Steve wasn't required to genuinely answer that emotional appeal for pudding pies. )
Yeah, lacy. Like when you practice the loops in cursive, on a cupcake. They're chocolate. Come on. Stop being a goddamn tease about it.
(see ya could mean Billy can't talk because he's getting snacks, or see ya could mean he's tired of having this conversation. hell it could even mean Billy is pretending to humor him, only to never show up with Twinkies. It is hell to not know which of the three it could be. ) Fine. Whatever. You know where I live.
[ Billy has restraint. Well, he actually doesn’t, but he does have some shit to finish up before he grabs his keys and his wallet, laces his boots, and gets out of his house, so he doesn't bother texting back. He trawls through the Big Buy, scowling at the state of affairs, until he finds what he’s looking for.
It’s more like 30, maybe 45 minutes when the Camaro cruises toward the nicest part of Hawkins. When Steve opens the door, Billy doesn’t greet him. Just starts talking, frown on, paper shopping bag in hand. ]
They’re just called hostess cupcakes. Everyone knows that. Why would you call them lacy?
( forty five minutes is a long time. not long enough for Steve to lose his buzz, but long enough to practically go insane in a house without terrible sweet snacks. it wasn't entirely accurate that he has nothing in his house, it was more that none of the options were indulgent enough for his liking. Steve was this close to believing making a brownie mix just to eat the batter like he was eight years old was a reasonable thing to do, even uncomfortably staring at the instructions on the back of the box like he was studying for a chemistry final when he finally hears the knock.
it's been long enough to nearly forget he asked Billy Hargrove to do his munchies run, until the reality of the situation wanders up and knocks on his door. what are the chances it's Dustin? seems low. speaking of Dustin, Steve finds himself not wanting to risk anyone that actually likes him witnessing Billy on his doorstep, they'd probably send in the calvary. and goddamn, does he want those Twinkies. )
Shut up, ( Steve says, though it is astonishingly lacking in the bite it needs. smoking always puts him in a good mood, sort of why he does it! all he wants is to laugh through a show that may or may not be funny, and mindlessly eat anything sugary he can get his hands on. he is closer to that goal than he has been all day (read: the past hour and a half tops), not even Billy is allowed to kill his buzz. ) You brought them, right? If you think you're some kinda comedian with Funyuns in there, the best you're getting is a contact high.
[ Billy laughs. Shut up. Haha. Said with so little bite; Steve looks a little mussed from whatever he’s been up to… smoking weed and laying around it seems. It takes some of the bite out of his words, makes his eyes a little glassier, makes him seem kinda soft. Interesting. ]
Fuck off, man. I’m not going to shotgun off you. Roll me a joint, I got your shit.
[ Billy presses the bag toward Steve, but, then he pulls it back. ]
Wait — where’s your freezer? [ He pushes past Steve, walking through the foyer before he pauses, does a circle accompanied by a low whistle. ] Damn. You going to pay me back for the shit I got you?
( laying around indeed. in SWEATPANTS. who knows what started the great jean riot of '84, though the aftershocks are clearly apparent. really, though, why would Steve have to wear tight jeans to smoke pot alone in his den? c'mon. does even Billy sit by himself in his jeans? if he does, that's sad.
Steve looks momentarily delighted, for the entire three seconds the bag is in his grasp, and then it's gone again. he looks a bit like a toddler without object permanence, quietly devastated. )
What the hell does a shotgun have to do with anything? ( again, too blitzed for this. first he doesn't know what pudding pies are, and now Steve is feigning ignorance in shotgunning. well, not feigning. it's the truth that he has no goddamn clue what Billy is on about. he's only ever smoked by himself or with Tommy, safe to say he wasn't about to suck the smoke out of that guy's mouth. Steve frankly can't fathom what Billy needs to see his freezer for, he just doesn't care. he grips Billy momentarily by the shoulder, because he's unnecessarily handsy high, before he abandons and wanders in the right direction.
the kitchen paints a depressing story, with an empty olive jar on the counter, and the flipped over box of Betty Crocker. ) You spend more than fifty on this shit? ( Steve wonders, leaning against the island and watching Billy Hargrove wander his kitchen. he sounds amused. mostly by the idea of a $50 munchie run. imagine all the lacy cupcakes that would entail! )
[ Billy’s not opposed to laying around his own house in basketball shorts and a band shirt, does often enough after working out or while watching MTV, with no one to impress around. But, he does otherwise have people to impress, a whole town of people he wants to remain untouchable to. That includes Steve.
Ah. Oh yeah. Fifty bucks. ]
Yeah. Fine. I owe you thirty.
[ He’s also frowning at the tidy destruction of olives, the abandoned box of brownie mix that just screams ‘ennui.’ Billy doesn’t mind smoking alone, does it plenty in his car or out his window at home to unplug his brain, but this is kind of sad. He’s also still wondering if Steve is stupid or if Hawkins just doesn’t know anything. They could hardly do a keg stand.
He sticks two pudding pies in Steve’s freezer. He’s a genius like that. ]
That's cute. Sweetheart, are you telling me you don’t know what a shotgun is?
( well, that makes one of them. Steve has spent the better part of his high school career convincing Hawkins High that he has perfect hair, the perfect car, the perfect house, and a devil may care attitude that none of it mattered to him, that's how expected it was. well, he's still got nice hair, a nice car, and a nice house, but not much else. and turns out only 13 year olds seem to appreciate his actual personality. he has a few months left until he graduates and frankly Steve just wants to make it that far. he'll worry about the rest later. he has no interest in trying to keep up with Billy, or pretend to be the guy he didn't even like being. the guy Billy was hoping to tangle with mostly stopped existing once a faceless monster crawled out of Jonathan Byer's ceiling.
Billy telling the graduating class he smokes alone in sweatpants is hardly more shameful than anything else that's gone wrong in his life lately. honestly, why not. maybe Tommy's dealer will make themselves known so he can replenish his stash. )
Nnnnno? No. ( Steve took a minute to really think about it. he knows what shotguns are, thanks, just no clue what they are in relation to weed. he does pause at the sweetheart, like his brain needs an extra try with it, turning it over a couple times. but Steve says nothing about it, so apparently a sarcastic sweetheart fits somewhere in with sarcastic gentleman and sarcastic talk of creaming pants. he drums impatient palms on the countertop. ) Bring my goddamn twinkies, will you? C'mon. ( he doesn't get his sweets until Billy gets his blunt, so Steve would really like to get on with it. he smokes in the den, so that's where he is headed. it is unwise to leave Billy Hargrove loose in his house, though Steve does it anyway. if the guy wants a joint, he has to show up eventually. )
[ And he does want weed, brings the whole paper bag with him when he follows Steve into the den, eyes still tracking over the house, the idle wealth. The Hargroves don’t do as poorly as some, but the Camaro and his dad’s Volkswagen are a little nicer than one would expect on a security guard's salary. Billy certainly wouldn’t throw a party at his house. For a handful of reasons, he guesses.
But he drops the bag on the table in the den, pulls out a twinkie, but doesn’t toss it to Steve, just grins and plops it back in the bag. ]
You gonna roll it for me too?
[ He’s still not sure if Steve’s pulling his leg. He kind of thinks he is, but sometimes it feels like Hawkins just doesn't know anything. ]
But seriously? Never done it to save your weed? Here, give it.
[ Billy extends his hand, snaps his fingers like Steve’s a servant. ]
( Steve was, in fact, already in the process of rolling Billy a joint, and incredibly focused on it at that. Steve likes having a task to complete, being useful, something to focus on. even his doped brain realizes there's limited use in giving Billy Hargrove weed, but also if he let the guy do it himself he'll probably be too damn generous and his stash is barely a stash. more of a hint. there'd probably be nothing left if he let Billy do it himself.
Steve is intrigued, however, by the idea of saving weed. he's been stingy as hell about it lately and saving is absolutely the idea. how did Billy know?? Steve is in an unnaturally good mood when he's a little blazed, so it is annoying that Billy is being annoying. he shouldn't be rushed, right now! it'll be a shitty joint!
he seals the paper with a careful run of his tongue, and there's something satisfying about Billy having to french him by proxy to make off with some of his weed. it isn't his best work, but that's Billy's fault, not his. ) Fine. God. So demanding. ( Steve is fresh out of things to do, having handed off his handiwork. something about accusing Billy of being demanding is funny to him. to be fair most things are funny to him, right about now. so he leans lazily with an elbow propped up on the back of the couch and watches, expecting to be amazed at any minute.
honestly it is some kind of amazing he's in arm's reach of Billy and nobody is throwing any punches? doesn't entirely feel real. but what a sad goddamn trip, to be so lonely he hallucinated a guy that can't goddamn stand him for company. so, no, he'd like to be amazed in a more fun way than that, actually. )
[ Steve takes for-fucking-ever, and Billy’s hand stays outstretched, fingers loose, threatening to snap again. But he waits, watches his pink tongue peak out to seal it shut and eventually gets the joint in hand. He does hold it up, a little closer to his face, looks at the slightly lumpy joint and gives Steve a withering stare. It says all he needs it to say: Can’t even roll a joint under duress? Come on, man.
Billy takes a seat on the couch. Maybe it’s a little too close. A regular guy would probably take the joint and take a seat on the opposite end, maybe the fancy leather chair sitting kitty corner to the couch. But Billy slumps in next to Steve, grabs the lighter from the coffee table. ]
Breathe in.
[ He doesn’t elaborate, just lights the joint, breathes in deep, expression going a little content when the heady smoke fills his lungs, even though, it’s not even great weed. He should get them better weed. Not that they’ll… ever do this again.
He leans up abruptly, and quick as a snake gets Steve by the chin. Steve’s stoned, mouth a little open just because he’s relaxed, and Billy leans closer, breathes out, smoke tickling over Steve’s mouth, some spilling in, some gusting over his cheek. ]
( sometimes, Steve thinks his dad isn't fair. how he always looks at him like a checkbook that fails to balance. running deeper and deeper in the red with no end in sight. first B of his life he actually earned, 9th grade. after hours, hours of cramming — a missed party, constantly muttering dates that didn't mean shit unless you were taking a history final under his breath. sleepless nights reading and rereading and rereading his reread to make sure he had it right. it felt good, that B-, until his dad looked at it over his drink and sighed.
but sometimes he thinks maybe his dad might have a point. that not even trying, Steve just gets things wrong. like staring at Billy Hargrove's mouth a little too long, even after he doesn't have to anymore. even with most of the dope smoke fallen out of his slack jawed mouth so there's no reason to still be staring. wondering what it'd be like to kiss someone that isn't a girl. a boy, ostensibly, but apparently that's too much for him to rationalize, even now. Billy's got a ghost of mustache, Steve has always thought it looked a little dumb before he wondered what it'd be like pressed against his face. the thoughts come too easy, in a brain slowed down by grass.
so moments like this, it just makes sense his dad knew he was a disappointment straight from kindergarten.
Steve doesn't have to cough, he's smoked enough before Billy got here that the smoke doesn't mean anything anymore. maybe his lungs are just fucked now from all that Upside Down shit, anyway. he coughs anyway, because it's reason to turn away from those crazy blue eyes boring right into him, and the touch still on his skin. ) Some party trick, ( Steve says wryly, like he's still not impressed. look, he doesn't bother to play the game much anymore, but it's not like he forgot how it works. it's almost believable, even. Steve has plenty of practice, after all, since he's the king of goddamn bullshit. )
[ The smoke streams from his mouth, ghosts into Steve’s, and the other breathes in, but mostly just stares back. Big doe eyes glassy and dumb. Which is a little bit of a shame, Billy was hoping for more of a reaction. To make Steve squirm or cringe a little, be forced to laugh it off and look the other way. Or even push him off.
It’s interesting in its own way, but Billy doesn’t really know what to make of it just right now. Steve smoking alone in his big, empty house. Billy drops his clean shaven chin and leans back, an arm on the back of the sofa. ]
Give it a try next time and seal it. Didn’t catch you at Tina’s.
[ Billy raises the joint to his mouth and takes another heavy drag. He should really be stoned. ]
Are you always at a party? ( Steve wonders aloud, because keeping thoughts on his head is too difficult right now and he used all his energy repressing the curiosity of what it is like to kiss another dude. does Billy ever go home, ever sleep? or is he just an endless party, rolling from one house to another with occasional stints at the public pool. Steve vaguely remembers what it was like, living between parties. to be fair it was barely a year ago so hopefully he still remembers. it was fun then, he's pretty sure. not so much now, even when he tries to force it.
right. his sweet shit. the expression on his face is like he entirely forgot the demanded stash existed and the reminder managed to turn his entire day around. plowing his way through a box of Twinkies is the only thing in his life that matters. Steve unceremoniously snatches the bag and upturns it on his mothers fancy coffee table books, full of glossy pictures of important places. he could cry at the sight of all the processed sugar, just waiting to be devoured. Billy is the worst in so many ways, but he did kinda come through on this one.
Steve tears open whatever sweet thing is easiest to reach, eats half of it in one terrifying boy bite, and slumps into a useless noodle across the back of the sectional. he's not quite at the vibe he wants to be, though, not as loose and stupid and happy. he chews and contemplates and eyes Billy and decides to roll the dice. )
Hit me again. ( of all the ways to phrase it, Steve!!! he means the joint, though, for the record. he'll take his own drag just fine, shotgunning is no longer necessary. but if all Billy feels inclined to is letting him soak up his leftovers, you know what? fine, as long as it gets his buzz back. )
What else is there to do in this shithole? [ He’s usually at a party, or at least, he’s fine with it being perceived that he’s always at a party. The other options are less interesting, less alluring. Sometimes, he doesn’t risk sneaking out to avoid the fight when he’s caught rolling back in. Sometimes, he does reads magazines with the radio on, tuned to a west coast basketball game.
Steve descends on a twinkie like a lion on the soft belly of an antelope. It’s kinda gross, or maybe a little funny. That’s probably the weed starting to work, and Billy is grateful for some weed, even though he thinks he might have some still hidden somewhere in his bedroom. ]
Yeah? You’re that easy?
[ He fully thinks Steve means shotgunning, not just being offered the joint. That or he wants him to pound his face again, which is unlikely, but some people are into weird shit. He’s still sitting next to him, so his head shifts to stare and it’s a monumentally stupid thought: doing it for real. How he did it for Kristy or Tina. Pulling their mouths together so he could breath through them, mostly just to feel them melt against him.
He could do that to Steve. Grip his chin tight and press them close and maybe Steve would melt a little, or maybe he’d just rear back and punch Billy in the face. And that would be funny, until it wouldn’t be, until he’d need to shake it off and make it a joke. But the thought lingers when he grabs Steve by the face again, his blue eyes sharp even as his eyes begin to blur from three quick consecutive hits.
He doesn’t crash their mouths together, but he’s gripping Steve’s chin in such a way that his thumb rests on his lip as he breathes the smoke out in a steady, steady stream. ]
You don't wanna know the answer to that question, ( Steve says, wryly, like it's a joke that's not that funny. and honestly, it's not. Billy might be an asshole, but not even he should have to be neck deep in all of this terrifying Upside Down bullshit. it's a nightmare, Steve feels certain it has ruined his entire life. he used to be something, at least more than he is now. and now he's alone smoking the last of his shitty weed with a guy that broke a plate over his face, just to feel slightly less miserable for a little while.
keep to the parties, is the point. it's better than the alternative.
is he easy? Steve has to pause and genuinely contemplate that one. he's not entirely focused, when Billy leans toward him again. there's less of the uncertain thrill of the first time, if anything it's easier. Steve knows what to expect and thank fuck Billy didn't decide to be a tease for the sake of being a dick about it. Steve feels like he needs the hit enough that he doesn't even care that it comes directly from Billy's mouth.
so he tilts forward to take it, not enough to close the distance, but enough to that the lack of distance left feels noticeable. Billy's eyes are stupid blue, aren't they? somehow it makes sense on him, beachy blonde and ocean blue. he's like a walking ad for the wonders of California. Steve lets his breath catch to hold the smoke longer than he likely should, because he's gonna make the most of this borrowed buzz. it's really his buzz, anyway, if you think about it. since it's his weed. so it is reasonable to linger just a little too long with Billy Hargrove perched just over his mouth.
and then the moment is over, because he has to cough, and to Steve's credit he does reach forward to push Billy's face away from his when he does. half cough, half laugh, though nothing continues to be very funny. )
Maybe, ( Steve agrees, the worlds most delayed answer. really, what's wrong with being easy? better easy than confusing or distant or constantly wondering if you're even getting anywhere. Steve finishes what is left of his half demolished Twinkie and asks through the bite, apropos of nothing, ) Isn't that wasting it, kind of? You know. The gap.
( yeah, Billy, isn't it wasting a shotgun to no homo it? just saying. )
[ Steve takes it real well, glazed doe eyes and parted mouth, breathing in deep. And it feels dangerous to hover here, holding himself up over Steve Harrington's face, breathing out smoke, filling Steve's lungs until he's full to bursting. Then he's coughing and pushing Billy away, and he goes, snickering. A little evil. A little boyish.
Easy. Steve must've been easy, but in that way popular boys are. Still breaking girls hearts when they don't go for them, wetting their dicks elsewhere. Billy's going to make a joke about it. Easy. Then Steve opens his mouth, and Billy breaths through his nose. ]
Oh yeah? Am I wasting your weed?
[ There's a moment where he almost reconsiders. Doesn't do it. But he bites, instead grinning wide, showing white teeth. He leans back on his edge of the couch. Holds the joint up. He can go again, and he issues a lazy challenge. ]
( snickering like a goddamn gremlin is relief, considering the laughs Steve has heard out of Billy Hargrove before. it takes awhile for the smoke to fade from his lungs, for the cough to fade into a laugh. it's dumb, to laugh at somebody else laughing. but that's a good sign, Steve is aiming for that sort of stupid. making the entire world floaty and funny. that pitch perfect place where nothing matters as much as it should. almost normal, just rose tinted and fuzzy at the edges.
Steve sucks at some of the sugar left behind on one of his fingers, lifting accusing eyebrows. ) Well, yeah. ( obviously they're wasting it, with half the smoke soaking into his mother's ugly throw pillows. Steve didn't particularly mean it as a challenge, just an idle thought.
and yet a challenge it clearly is, from the smile with too many teeth, the drawl that makes it seem like Billy has already decided he'll whit out. the Steve on the faltering edge of a half-abandoned high had been coherent enough to kick himself for wondering about things he shouldn't want. the one that's slipped a little too far in not worrying about anything isn't quite as reserved. Billy can condemn him for all sorts of things; being a bitch, being a priss, not planting his feet, not being the fight Billy seems to so desperately want. but Billy can't call him a coward, because it only takes a half a breath to decide, yeah, he'll come and get it.
kinda funny, to push Billy away one second and drag him closer the next. Steve has his head is lazily thrown over the back of the couch, though, so Billy has to come to him. it's not a kiss because there's an objective. sort of like mouth to mouth, right? just sharing air. the finger he sucked on is a wet hint at the back of Billy's neck, and honestly this way is almost easier this way, because Steve doesn't feel compelled to keep his eyes open when they're this close. )
[ The thing is, Steve Harrington couldn't drag Billy anywhere he doesn't want to be dragged. But it's such a goddamn surprise to have Steve take the bait that Billy lets himself go, and he grins like a shark the whole way, because there's no universe where Steve actually does it.
Except apparently in this one. There's no finesse because it's not like they're kissing, but Steve's hand, a little wet from being a fucking animal, sits on Billy's neck like maybe it's muscle memory for him. And some of this is muscle memory for Billy too. It's why he's got one hand on the couch for support and his mouth holds still for a moment before it parts and he — breathes out. It is easier. No wasted smoke ghosting past Steve's lips and over his cheeks, just straight into his pipes.
When it's nearly gone he breathes through his nose and — his mouth softens, tongue soft when it runs over his lip, which means running over Steve's lip. The slight angling of his head that makes this a move to be played on a girl in the back row of the Hawk while some shit movie plays. Then Billy kisses Steve hard, for just a moment, with plenty of time to plant a hand on his chest and push himself off, laughing viciously, like it's all a big fucking joke.
A big fucking joke. ]
How was that? Waste any?
[ He's still snickering, hovering above Steve with that wild buoyed energy simmering in his chest, though cottoned by taking three hits in the span of a — well not that much time. ]
( Steve doesn't get the Billy Hargrove appeal. he's aware there's supposed to be something there. Tommy has been a lot more respectful of their friendship divorce than Carol, who still likes to show up and lean on Steve's locker when he's trying to get his textbooks and mind his own damn business. heralding the panties Billy has been dropping and the parties he's been demolishing around a lollipop that makes her mouth a little too red. like each and every feat is a jewel plucked from a crown Steve gave up on purpose, is how he remembers it going. the hottest thing about Billy Hargrove is his car, not the fact he likes to lounge against it in jean-on-jean like he's Bruce Springsteen with worse hair.
and then Billy runs his tongue runs across Steve's lip — not in his mouth, technically, but maybe not not in his mouth, because it has to be open to take the smoke — and tilts his head in just that right way —– and Steve isn't entirely sure when it happened but it's almost like what they're doing shifted somewhere else. a total play, like Steve is some girl and he needs to be impressed to let Billy's hands wander, because there's gotta be some kinda compensation for being a complete goddamn asshole. Steve can't comprehend why any girl would let Billy kiss them, considering the shit that comes out of his mouth. and then it happens, and he hates that a part of him suddenly gets it.
Steve exhales again, the last of his shitty weed stuck in a closed system between them. does that make it better, actually? he can't decide; it feels like his mind is ticking two beats too slow, and that's a dangerous game to play with present company. it's over, though, which is good because Steve is finding something warm and leaning over him a little too easy to enjoy, right about now. trusting Billy to pull back on his own was his first mistake, as Billy makes a point of doing exactly what you don't want him to. he bears forward instead and Steve huffs a surprised mutter of a noise, grip tightening on Billy's neck like the guy is a kitten that can be scruffed and dragged off for his own good.
not that Steve manages to drag him back until the worst is already done. if Billy Hargrove gave him a fat lip from a shotgun with too much teeth (shotgun, that's what that was), it is going to completely ruin his buzz. ) What the fuck, ( is all that can occur to Steve to say, at first, his mind slow to wrap around the situation. Hargrove laughing, the smell of his aggressive cologne somehow overpowering the weed. laughing, because it's a joke. obviously it's a joke. a Hargrove Classic, wherein no part of it was actually funny. Steve wants to be mad, he should be mad. shouldn't he? he'll have to blame the buzz that what bubbles up instead is a laugh. incredulous, relieved — a strange thunder of thrill that Steve hasn't felt in awhile.
well, at least not in a way that didn't make him think he might be about to die. )
Jesus, nevermind. Who taught you that one, the... the... the shark from Jaws? ( it was a slow dig, but he got there! Steve releases Billy to try and shove him back by the shoulder instead, because he's too goddamn close, and the moment is decidedly over. whatever the moment was. ) How about you chew on something that can't bleed, ( Steve aims for dismissive, picking and tossing a Little Debbie monstrosity that got unfairly crushed between them, like if he's opting out of being Billy's chew toy he has to provide something else. Steve letting his tongue catching in a spot behind his lip that feels especially smart from the puncture of Billy's teeth is a slight blow to the facade. )
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no subject
Date: 2022-07-26 02:27 am (UTC)they sell them in hawkins dont they?
what a fucking shithole if they dont
[ ... shows up for a long while. The message is deleted. It is so tempting to go on another Hawkins tirade, it comes so easy. No beach, no city streets, possibly no pudding pies. It's basically Alcatraz, except Alcatraz at least gets an ocean view. Jesus. ]
lacy... cupcakes. sure, harrington
see ya
[ See ya, Steven. 'Free' weed interests him. Sinking into Steve's orbit interests him too. Steve and his complete disinterest in rolling over for Billy is monumentally more interesting than anything Tommy or Carol or the others have up their sleeves. ]
no subject
Date: 2022-07-27 09:36 pm (UTC)Yeah, lacy. Like when you practice the loops in cursive, on a cupcake. They're chocolate. Come on. Stop being a goddamn tease about it.
( see ya could mean Billy can't talk because he's getting snacks, or see ya could mean he's tired of having this conversation. hell it could even mean Billy is pretending to humor him, only to never show up with Twinkies. It is hell to not know which of the three it could be. ) Fine. Whatever. You know where I live.
no subject
Date: 2022-07-27 11:40 pm (UTC)It’s more like 30, maybe 45 minutes when the Camaro cruises toward the nicest part of Hawkins. When Steve opens the door, Billy doesn’t greet him. Just starts talking, frown on, paper shopping bag in hand. ]
They’re just called hostess cupcakes. Everyone knows that. Why would you call them lacy?
no subject
Date: 2022-07-28 12:45 am (UTC)it's been long enough to nearly forget he asked Billy Hargrove to do his munchies run, until the reality of the situation wanders up and knocks on his door. what are the chances it's Dustin? seems low. speaking of Dustin, Steve finds himself not wanting to risk anyone that actually likes him witnessing Billy on his doorstep, they'd probably send in the calvary. and goddamn, does he want those Twinkies. )
Shut up, ( Steve says, though it is astonishingly lacking in the bite it needs. smoking always puts him in a good mood, sort of why he does it! all he wants is to laugh through a show that may or may not be funny, and mindlessly eat anything sugary he can get his hands on. he is closer to that goal than he has been all day (read: the past hour and a half tops), not even Billy is allowed to kill his buzz. ) You brought them, right? If you think you're some kinda comedian with Funyuns in there, the best you're getting is a contact high.
no subject
Date: 2022-07-28 01:15 am (UTC)Fuck off, man. I’m not going to shotgun off you. Roll me a joint, I got your shit.
[ Billy presses the bag toward Steve, but, then he pulls it back. ]
Wait — where’s your freezer? [ He pushes past Steve, walking through the foyer before he pauses, does a circle accompanied by a low whistle. ] Damn. You going to pay me back for the shit I got you?
no subject
Date: 2022-07-29 04:30 am (UTC)Steve looks momentarily delighted, for the entire three seconds the bag is in his grasp, and then it's gone again. he looks a bit like a toddler without object permanence, quietly devastated. )
What the hell does a shotgun have to do with anything? ( again, too blitzed for this. first he doesn't know what pudding pies are, and now Steve is feigning ignorance in shotgunning. well, not feigning. it's the truth that he has no goddamn clue what Billy is on about. he's only ever smoked by himself or with Tommy, safe to say he wasn't about to suck the smoke out of that guy's mouth. Steve frankly can't fathom what Billy needs to see his freezer for, he just doesn't care. he grips Billy momentarily by the shoulder, because he's unnecessarily handsy high, before he abandons and wanders in the right direction.
the kitchen paints a depressing story, with an empty olive jar on the counter, and the flipped over box of Betty Crocker. ) You spend more than fifty on this shit? ( Steve wonders, leaning against the island and watching Billy Hargrove wander his kitchen. he sounds amused. mostly by the idea of a $50 munchie run. imagine all the lacy cupcakes that would entail! )
no subject
Date: 2022-07-30 09:11 pm (UTC)Ah. Oh yeah. Fifty bucks. ]
Yeah. Fine. I owe you thirty.
[ He’s also frowning at the tidy destruction of olives, the abandoned box of brownie mix that just screams ‘ennui.’ Billy doesn’t mind smoking alone, does it plenty in his car or out his window at home to unplug his brain, but this is kind of sad. He’s also still wondering if Steve is stupid or if Hawkins just doesn’t know anything. They could hardly do a keg stand.
He sticks two pudding pies in Steve’s freezer. He’s a genius like that. ]
That's cute. Sweetheart, are you telling me you don’t know what a shotgun is?
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Date: 2022-07-31 02:20 am (UTC)Billy telling the graduating class he smokes alone in sweatpants is hardly more shameful than anything else that's gone wrong in his life lately. honestly, why not. maybe Tommy's dealer will make themselves known so he can replenish his stash. )
Nnnnno? No. ( Steve took a minute to really think about it. he knows what shotguns are, thanks, just no clue what they are in relation to weed. he does pause at the sweetheart, like his brain needs an extra try with it, turning it over a couple times. but Steve says nothing about it, so apparently a sarcastic sweetheart fits somewhere in with sarcastic gentleman and sarcastic talk of creaming pants. he drums impatient palms on the countertop. ) Bring my goddamn twinkies, will you? C'mon. ( he doesn't get his sweets until Billy gets his blunt, so Steve would really like to get on with it. he smokes in the den, so that's where he is headed. it is unwise to leave Billy Hargrove loose in his house, though Steve does it anyway. if the guy wants a joint, he has to show up eventually. )
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Date: 2022-08-02 01:04 am (UTC)But he drops the bag on the table in the den, pulls out a twinkie, but doesn’t toss it to Steve, just grins and plops it back in the bag. ]
You gonna roll it for me too?
[ He’s still not sure if Steve’s pulling his leg. He kind of thinks he is, but sometimes it feels like Hawkins just doesn't know anything. ]
But seriously? Never done it to save your weed? Here, give it.
[ Billy extends his hand, snaps his fingers like Steve’s a servant. ]
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Date: 2022-08-04 04:17 am (UTC)Steve is intrigued, however, by the idea of saving weed. he's been stingy as hell about it lately and saving is absolutely the idea. how did Billy know?? Steve is in an unnaturally good mood when he's a little blazed, so it is annoying that Billy is being annoying. he shouldn't be rushed, right now! it'll be a shitty joint!
he seals the paper with a careful run of his tongue, and there's something satisfying about Billy having to french him by proxy to make off with some of his weed. it isn't his best work, but that's Billy's fault, not his. ) Fine. God. So demanding. ( Steve is fresh out of things to do, having handed off his handiwork. something about accusing Billy of being demanding is funny to him. to be fair most things are funny to him, right about now. so he leans lazily with an elbow propped up on the back of the couch and watches, expecting to be amazed at any minute.
honestly it is some kind of amazing he's in arm's reach of Billy and nobody is throwing any punches? doesn't entirely feel real. but what a sad goddamn trip, to be so lonely he hallucinated a guy that can't goddamn stand him for company. so, no, he'd like to be amazed in a more fun way than that, actually. )
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Date: 2022-08-05 12:15 am (UTC)Billy takes a seat on the couch. Maybe it’s a little too close. A regular guy would probably take the joint and take a seat on the opposite end, maybe the fancy leather chair sitting kitty corner to the couch. But Billy slumps in next to Steve, grabs the lighter from the coffee table. ]
Breathe in.
[ He doesn’t elaborate, just lights the joint, breathes in deep, expression going a little content when the heady smoke fills his lungs, even though, it’s not even great weed. He should get them better weed. Not that they’ll… ever do this again.
He leans up abruptly, and quick as a snake gets Steve by the chin. Steve’s stoned, mouth a little open just because he’s relaxed, and Billy leans closer, breathes out, smoke tickling over Steve’s mouth, some spilling in, some gusting over his cheek. ]
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Date: 2022-08-07 10:38 pm (UTC)but sometimes he thinks maybe his dad might have a point. that not even trying, Steve just gets things wrong. like staring at Billy Hargrove's mouth a little too long, even after he doesn't have to anymore. even with most of the dope smoke fallen out of his slack jawed mouth so there's no reason to still be staring. wondering what it'd be like to kiss someone that isn't a girl. a boy, ostensibly, but apparently that's too much for him to rationalize, even now. Billy's got a ghost of mustache, Steve has always thought it looked a little dumb before he wondered what it'd be like pressed against his face. the thoughts come too easy, in a brain slowed down by grass.
so moments like this, it just makes sense his dad knew he was a disappointment straight from kindergarten.
Steve doesn't have to cough, he's smoked enough before Billy got here that the smoke doesn't mean anything anymore. maybe his lungs are just fucked now from all that Upside Down shit, anyway. he coughs anyway, because it's reason to turn away from those crazy blue eyes boring right into him, and the touch still on his skin. ) Some party trick, ( Steve says wryly, like he's still not impressed. look, he doesn't bother to play the game much anymore, but it's not like he forgot how it works. it's almost believable, even. Steve has plenty of practice, after all, since he's the king of goddamn bullshit. )
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Date: 2022-08-15 01:29 am (UTC)It’s interesting in its own way, but Billy doesn’t really know what to make of it just right now. Steve smoking alone in his big, empty house. Billy drops his clean shaven chin and leans back, an arm on the back of the sofa. ]
Give it a try next time and seal it. Didn’t catch you at Tina’s.
[ Billy raises the joint to his mouth and takes another heavy drag. He should really be stoned. ]
Your sweet shit is in the bag.
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Date: 2022-08-31 03:20 am (UTC)right. his sweet shit. the expression on his face is like he entirely forgot the demanded stash existed and the reminder managed to turn his entire day around. plowing his way through a box of Twinkies is the only thing in his life that matters. Steve unceremoniously snatches the bag and upturns it on his mothers fancy coffee table books, full of glossy pictures of important places. he could cry at the sight of all the processed sugar, just waiting to be devoured. Billy is the worst in so many ways, but he did kinda come through on this one.
Steve tears open whatever sweet thing is easiest to reach, eats half of it in one terrifying boy bite, and slumps into a useless noodle across the back of the sectional. he's not quite at the vibe he wants to be, though, not as loose and stupid and happy. he chews and contemplates and eyes Billy and decides to roll the dice. )
Hit me again. ( of all the ways to phrase it, Steve!!! he means the joint, though, for the record. he'll take his own drag just fine, shotgunning is no longer necessary. but if all Billy feels inclined to is letting him soak up his leftovers, you know what? fine, as long as it gets his buzz back. )
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Date: 2022-09-11 08:31 pm (UTC)Steve descends on a twinkie like a lion on the soft belly of an antelope. It’s kinda gross, or maybe a little funny. That’s probably the weed starting to work, and Billy is grateful for some weed, even though he thinks he might have some still hidden somewhere in his bedroom. ]
Yeah? You’re that easy?
[ He fully thinks Steve means shotgunning, not just being offered the joint. That or he wants him to pound his face again, which is unlikely, but some people are into weird shit. He’s still sitting next to him, so his head shifts to stare and it’s a monumentally stupid thought: doing it for real. How he did it for Kristy or Tina. Pulling their mouths together so he could breath through them, mostly just to feel them melt against him.
He could do that to Steve. Grip his chin tight and press them close and maybe Steve would melt a little, or maybe he’d just rear back and punch Billy in the face. And that would be funny, until it wouldn’t be, until he’d need to shake it off and make it a joke. But the thought lingers when he grabs Steve by the face again, his blue eyes sharp even as his eyes begin to blur from three quick consecutive hits.
He doesn’t crash their mouths together, but he’s gripping Steve’s chin in such a way that his thumb rests on his lip as he breathes the smoke out in a steady, steady stream. ]
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Date: 2022-09-19 04:39 am (UTC)keep to the parties, is the point. it's better than the alternative.
is he easy? Steve has to pause and genuinely contemplate that one. he's not entirely focused, when Billy leans toward him again. there's less of the uncertain thrill of the first time, if anything it's easier. Steve knows what to expect and thank fuck Billy didn't decide to be a tease for the sake of being a dick about it. Steve feels like he needs the hit enough that he doesn't even care that it comes directly from Billy's mouth.
so he tilts forward to take it, not enough to close the distance, but enough to that the lack of distance left feels noticeable. Billy's eyes are stupid blue, aren't they? somehow it makes sense on him, beachy blonde and ocean blue. he's like a walking ad for the wonders of California. Steve lets his breath catch to hold the smoke longer than he likely should, because he's gonna make the most of this borrowed buzz. it's really his buzz, anyway, if you think about it. since it's his weed. so it is reasonable to linger just a little too long with Billy Hargrove perched just over his mouth.
and then the moment is over, because he has to cough, and to Steve's credit he does reach forward to push Billy's face away from his when he does. half cough, half laugh, though nothing continues to be very funny. )
Maybe, ( Steve agrees, the worlds most delayed answer. really, what's wrong with being easy? better easy than confusing or distant or constantly wondering if you're even getting anywhere. Steve finishes what is left of his half demolished Twinkie and asks through the bite, apropos of nothing, ) Isn't that wasting it, kind of? You know. The gap.
( yeah, Billy, isn't it wasting a shotgun to no homo it? just saying. )
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Date: 2022-09-27 03:53 pm (UTC)Easy. Steve must've been easy, but in that way popular boys are. Still breaking girls hearts when they don't go for them, wetting their dicks elsewhere. Billy's going to make a joke about it. Easy. Then Steve opens his mouth, and Billy breaths through his nose. ]
Oh yeah? Am I wasting your weed?
[ There's a moment where he almost reconsiders. Doesn't do it. But he bites, instead grinning wide, showing white teeth. He leans back on his edge of the couch. Holds the joint up. He can go again, and he issues a lazy challenge. ]
Come and get it then. [ And he breathes in. ]
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Date: 2022-09-28 03:54 am (UTC)Steve sucks at some of the sugar left behind on one of his fingers, lifting accusing eyebrows. ) Well, yeah. ( obviously they're wasting it, with half the smoke soaking into his mother's ugly throw pillows. Steve didn't particularly mean it as a challenge, just an idle thought.
and yet a challenge it clearly is, from the smile with too many teeth, the drawl that makes it seem like Billy has already decided he'll whit out. the Steve on the faltering edge of a half-abandoned high had been coherent enough to kick himself for wondering about things he shouldn't want. the one that's slipped a little too far in not worrying about anything isn't quite as reserved. Billy can condemn him for all sorts of things; being a bitch, being a priss, not planting his feet, not being the fight Billy seems to so desperately want. but Billy can't call him a coward, because it only takes a half a breath to decide, yeah, he'll come and get it.
kinda funny, to push Billy away one second and drag him closer the next. Steve has his head is lazily thrown over the back of the couch, though, so Billy has to come to him. it's not a kiss because there's an objective. sort of like mouth to mouth, right? just sharing air. the finger he sucked on is a wet hint at the back of Billy's neck, and honestly this way is almost easier this way, because Steve doesn't feel compelled to keep his eyes open when they're this close. )
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Date: 2022-10-05 10:04 pm (UTC)Except apparently in this one. There's no finesse because it's not like they're kissing, but Steve's hand, a little wet from being a fucking animal, sits on Billy's neck like maybe it's muscle memory for him. And some of this is muscle memory for Billy too. It's why he's got one hand on the couch for support and his mouth holds still for a moment before it parts and he — breathes out. It is easier. No wasted smoke ghosting past Steve's lips and over his cheeks, just straight into his pipes.
When it's nearly gone he breathes through his nose and — his mouth softens, tongue soft when it runs over his lip, which means running over Steve's lip. The slight angling of his head that makes this a move to be played on a girl in the back row of the Hawk while some shit movie plays. Then Billy kisses Steve hard, for just a moment, with plenty of time to plant a hand on his chest and push himself off, laughing viciously, like it's all a big fucking joke.
A big fucking joke. ]
How was that? Waste any?
[ He's still snickering, hovering above Steve with that wild buoyed energy simmering in his chest, though cottoned by taking three hits in the span of a — well not that much time. ]
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Date: 2022-10-17 03:47 am (UTC)and then Billy runs his tongue runs across Steve's lip — not in his mouth, technically, but maybe not not in his mouth, because it has to be open to take the smoke — and tilts his head in just that right way —– and Steve isn't entirely sure when it happened but it's almost like what they're doing shifted somewhere else. a total play, like Steve is some girl and he needs to be impressed to let Billy's hands wander, because there's gotta be some kinda compensation for being a complete goddamn asshole. Steve can't comprehend why any girl would let Billy kiss them, considering the shit that comes out of his mouth. and then it happens, and he hates that a part of him suddenly gets it.
Steve exhales again, the last of his shitty weed stuck in a closed system between them. does that make it better, actually? he can't decide; it feels like his mind is ticking two beats too slow, and that's a dangerous game to play with present company. it's over, though, which is good because Steve is finding something warm and leaning over him a little too easy to enjoy, right about now. trusting Billy to pull back on his own was his first mistake, as Billy makes a point of doing exactly what you don't want him to. he bears forward instead and Steve huffs a surprised mutter of a noise, grip tightening on Billy's neck like the guy is a kitten that can be scruffed and dragged off for his own good.
not that Steve manages to drag him back until the worst is already done. if Billy Hargrove gave him a fat lip from a shotgun with too much teeth (shotgun, that's what that was), it is going to completely ruin his buzz. ) What the fuck, ( is all that can occur to Steve to say, at first, his mind slow to wrap around the situation. Hargrove laughing, the smell of his aggressive cologne somehow overpowering the weed. laughing, because it's a joke. obviously it's a joke. a Hargrove Classic, wherein no part of it was actually funny. Steve wants to be mad, he should be mad. shouldn't he? he'll have to blame the buzz that what bubbles up instead is a laugh. incredulous, relieved — a strange thunder of thrill that Steve hasn't felt in awhile.
well, at least not in a way that didn't make him think he might be about to die. )
Jesus, nevermind. Who taught you that one, the... the... the shark from Jaws? ( it was a slow dig, but he got there! Steve releases Billy to try and shove him back by the shoulder instead, because he's too goddamn close, and the moment is decidedly over. whatever the moment was. ) How about you chew on something that can't bleed, ( Steve aims for dismissive, picking and tossing a Little Debbie monstrosity that got unfairly crushed between them, like if he's opting out of being Billy's chew toy he has to provide something else. Steve letting his tongue catching in a spot behind his lip that feels especially smart from the puncture of Billy's teeth is a slight blow to the facade. )