[ 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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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. ]
no subject
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. )