Chapter Text
God had to have been laughing when he dropped Steve Harrington right in Billy’s lap. Billy didn’t give much of a fuck about religion, but he still grinned like a dumbass when the priest had slipped in a tenner and blessed his day just because his chicken carbonara didn’t taste like dog shit.
He thought of Steve below him, arched and panting and fingers scrambling for more.
He tried not to think of Steve. Popping wood at work was a one-way ticket to Hannah, the maître’d, smacking him with a newspaper like a disobedient puppy.
He did his best not to think of Steve, sweet and wanting, on the drive to work, in the shower, when he was trying to sleep at night. It worked until it didn’t, when he was chewing his way through another pack of gum before his shift at work and Jamie knocked on the door.
Hanging off his shoulder was Eric, Frat King of UC, fingers dug so tight in Jamie’s shoulders Billy could feel it in his own skin.
Billy crossed his arms, leaned against the door frame and snapped his gum. “What do you want?”
Eric smiled that smile that had hook-line-and-sinkered Billy the first time they’d met. It was all charm and grace, all kingly with a hint of something dirty at the corners of his eyes. “Jamie,” he said, and shoved Jamie forward so hard he stumbled, “has something he’d like to say to you.”
Jamie looked like he was going to piss himself. There were bruises beneath his eyes, darker than Steve’s had been.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled.
Billy snapped his gum again. He kept his eyes on Eric. “That it?”
The smile on Eric’s face tightened. His hand moved to the back of Jamie’s neck. Jamie let out a whine, shoulder dipping to get away from the bite of nails. “Eric, man, I said I was sorry!”
“Say it like you mean it.”
Jamie’s knees buckled under Eric’s hand. Billy watched them. Jamie twitched, hands twisting in the bottom of his shirt as he said, “I’m sorry. For what I did.”
Billy shifted on his heels, rocked back, looked him over. “What’d you do, Jamie?”
“Told Steve to come to you.”
“That’s not what you did.”
“It’s what I fucking did!”
“Is it?”
Eric’s smile tightened. He squeezed on the back of Jamie’s neck until he winced. “Fuck! Okay, okay,” he said, and squirmed away from Eric’s hand when he let go. “Fine. Fuck. I’m sorry I told Steve to suck cock for pills. Is that good enough?”
The question wasn’t directed at Billy. Billy answered for him anyway. “Not really, but it’ll do for now. Is that fucking all?”
Eric elbowed Jamie toward the stairwell and said, “Go wait in the car.”
“But—”
“Go wait in the fucking car, James, before you really piss me off.”
Jamie scurried off, shooting an angry glare at them both. Eric’s smile slipped from his face. Billy smacked his gum again.
“So what’d they tell you?” he asked.
“That you tried to kill Jamie.”
Billy snorted. “He’s a pussy.”
“I almost believed him.”
“Almost?”
“You are a crazy motherfucker.”
“Yeah?” Billy asked. He stepped backward and to the side. Eric siddled inside after him. “What were you gonna do? Give me a stern talking to?”
“Steve told me, you know.”
Billy spat his gum into the garbage can and gestured to the coffeemaker. “Want one?”
Nodding, Eric settled himself on one of the battered kitchen chairs, hands folded on the table. He was always too serious, from the moment Billy had met him.
“What did Steve tell you?” he asked, pouring two mugs of coffee, topping one with sugar and milk like Eric liked.
“That you two know each other. I thought it was kinda funny. You never mentioned it.”
Billy set the mug in front of Eric and took the seat next to him. “We weren’t friends.”
“But you are now.”
Billy looked at Eric over the rim of his mug, through the curl of steam. “Is Jamie gonna be a problem?”
“I don’t know. Are you going to be a problem?”
“When have I ever been a problem?’
“You’ve never given me such a run around over dick before, Billy.”
He smiled, paper-thin and said, “What did Steve tell you about me?”
Eric looked him over, slow, hunting for a flaw, for a give, for a slip in his poker face. He did it with everyone. Billy had seen it firsthand. Exploiting others came like breathing to Eric. Billy could appreciate a talent like that.
“He said you moved to Hawkins and you were friends. He also said he got pills from you—and I’m not stupid, Billy. I know what that means.”
Billy drank his coffee carefully. It burned his tongue. The clock above the stove ticked away, reminding him that he had work in an hour. He ignored it and said, “We were friends,” he admitted.
“Is that why you tried to cut Jamie’s neck?”
“Jamie deserved it.”
Eric sighed through his nose. “You talk in circles a lot.”
“I know.”
“You could try being straight with me.”
“Or what?”
“Plenty of dealers in Oakland, Billy. Don’t let it go to your head. You’re not that special.”
It was a hit to his wallet. Fucking Harrington, always coming around to fuck shit up. If it wasn’t getting him in shit with Neil when he was a teenager, it was fucking with the careful business he had set up with Eric when he’d been a freshman, pink-faced and pretty and desperate to make an impression on campus.
If he had good coke, he was in. Billy had the coke, and the weed, and the acid and the pills. He had it all in abundance, and Eric was always willing to pay.
And, yeah, fucking sure, he loved that it was easy. College kids with tuition paid by mommy and daddy, throwing parties seven days a week because they didn’t have to pay for shit. It was easy money when all he had to do was show up. It was easy because Eric did all the work.
It sure would fuck up his plans to bum around in Cuba for a couple weeks in the winter.
Billy kissed his teeth. “Are you trying to say something, Eric?”
“I’m saying,” Eric said, throwing his arm over the back of his chair and leaning back, “that you keeping shit from me doesn’t work so well.”
“My shit with Harrington has nothing to do with you.”
“Anthony nearly pissed himself and called the cops when you left. You know that, right?”
“Which one is Anthony again?”
Eric smiled, sickly-sweet and dead behind the eyes. “I can end this association at any time.”
“Association?” he echoed. “What are you, the fucking mob?”
“Any time, Billy.” His smile was predatory, like he knew how to handle something without daddy’s credit card.
Billy smiled back. “And risk someone dying?”
The smile dropped, lips twisting into something ugly. Underneath, Eric was always ugly. Billy liked that about him, even when he was biting the hand that fed. “That wasn’t my fault.”
“Yeah? I think it was.”
Eric scowled, deep, and curled his fingers into a fist. “He shouldn’t have taken it if he didn’t know what he was getting into.”
“You shouldn’t have bought laced shit from some fucker on the street.”
Eyes narrowing, Eric dropped his fist to the table and leaned forward. “You have a smart mouth.”
Billy shrugged and drank his coffee, finished it off. His gums itched. He wanted a cigarette. “So do you.”
“Is Steve your boyfriend or some shit?”
“He’s mine.”
“Yours? Like, what—is he your pet now?”
“Like he’s mine, Eric.”
“Yours how?”
“Like if I find out someone touched him I’m gonna put their head through the front door and run them over with my fucking car.”
Eric flicked his tongue against his teeth and leaned back, arms crossing over his chest. Billy shrugged again, stood and said, “Is that a problem?”
“I don’t know. Is it?”
“You can make it a problem if you want.”
Eric scoffed and stood, too. He was taller than Billy by an inch, and his spine was stiff enough Billy could see it through his shirt.
“Don’t stab anyone in the house. I don’t care what you do with Steve.”
“Then why are you here, big man?”
“Because there’s a party tomorrow, dipshit, and Kristine wants coke, but no one wants to hang around a fucking psychopath. You could at least try to be normal.”
Billy bit his lip and turned to pour himself another cup of coffee. He took it black, stirring in sugar and said, “I’d almost say you like me, Eric. Picking Jamie over me? Never thought I’d see the day.”
“I’d almost say you’re nuts but I already know you are.” He clapped his hand on Billy’s shoulder and his smile was softer, amused, and added, “Jamie’s a fucking moron, anyway.”
“Jamie should keep his mouth shut. You gonna make him wait all night?”
Eric reached passed him for the coffee pot. “Just ten more minutes.”
The party was in full swing by the time Billy got off work. Hair still damp from his shower, slicked back and collar popped, he felt bright-eyed, the espresso he’d downed like a shot before he’d fled the restaurant buzzing pleasantly in his veins.
Music vibrated on his skin, the hoots and hollers of laughter and joy, the sweet shuffle of hands groping over each other next to the front door. He slipped through easily, wound his way to the kitchen, and found Kristine sitting on the counter, Eric between her thighs and skirt riding high.
He did his best to not look for Steve and failed. The twitchiness that had wormed its way beneath his skin since that night in Steve’s bedroom had only been amplified by Eric’s visit. He’d paced in the morning and night, tried not to let himself dissolve into idle thoughts about Steve’s mouth and eyes and dick, the sound of him when he came, tried not to let Steve sink himself deeper inside his skin until he couldn’t scratch him out.
He was better than this, he reminded himself, picking a beer from the fridge and digging into his back pocket. Caught between two fingers, he held up the baggie for Kristine.
She grinned, bright, a little wild-eyed, and reached past Eric’s shoulder, swiping it from Billy’s hand.
“Thank you!” she shouted over the music, and Billy gave her a two-finger salute, catching Eric’s laughter as he turned away and stepped out of the kitchen.
He paced and prowled, sold the contents of his pockets and tried not to stare at the bottom of the stairs. He drank until he was riding the edge of buzzed, smoked on the veranda and laughed when a shirtless freshman tumbled into the hedges.
Billy thought of Steve and his mouth and his hair and the bleary eyes that had looked up at him while on his knees.
Stupid fucking Steve Harrington, with his bad ideas and pretty doe-fucking-eyes. Getting his dick in the guy who’d gotten his dick hard in high school would have been such a riot, but he’d tripped over backwards somewhere and blown Steve instead, because—
Because. Just because. Because Steve was Steve and Billy was Billy, that was why.
By the time he was climbing up the steps, slow and steady and want already bleeding into his veins, he was chomping at the bit for a cigarette. He jammed a stick of gum into his mouth and slipped down the hallway.
There were people upstairs, backed up against walls and hanging out of half-open bathrooms. A cloud of sharp-smelling smoke escaped a bedroom as Billy passed by and a redhead wearing just a jersey shimmied across the hall into the next bedroom.
Sigma Phi Epsilon didn’t make a lick of fucking sense to Billy but he could enjoy it. He did, usually, where he’d been camped downstairs all night—on the back porch, the kitchen, the laundry room, anywhere there were people who wanted drugs and were willing to pay, on their knees or with Billy’s rent. He’d leave in the early hours, red-eyed and pleased, and do it all again when the next part came around.
He was a dumb schmuck. Steve hadn’t called. It wasn’t like they were on a date, where they held hands and kissed and made plans for another day, but Billy expected something. Anything, even if it was Steve banging down his door to chew him out for the beer bottle trick.
Billy pushed open Steve’s door and wished he had another beer bottle. He wanted the knife in his glove box, the Louisville behind his door, the gun jammed in the back of his closet he forgot about most days. The gum wasn’t enough, unless he could blow a bubble big enough to clog up lungs.
He cocked his head, snapped his gum. Looked between Steve—shirtless on the bed, chest blood-flushed in a way that made Billy bleed stomach acid into his gum and mouth red in a way that made him taste blood—to Scott Conrad, beside him, one hand on Steve’s knee, a distinctly stupid look on his face.
Steve choked on a cough, jerked away from Scott and scrambled to the other side of the bed, away from the both. “Billy. Jesus. You scared the shit out of me.”
Billy rested his shoulder against the door frame, let his body fill the entire doorway. He snapped his gum. He looked between the two of them, slow, taking it in. He tasted iron and sour in his mouth, the mint enough to make him want to vomit or spit it out, like into Scott’s face.
“Hey,” he said. “What’cha guys doing?”
Scott stood, slow and adjusted the collar of his shirt. His belt was undone. Billy wanted to strangle him with it. “Billy,” he said, and took two strides forward like the big, brave fucking man he was, shoulders squared and spine stiff. “What are you doing here?”
Billy looked him over, let his eyes scrape over every inch of Scott’s body like a knife point, and then looked over his shoulder at Steve.
He was pink-faced. Like a girl. Billy told him so.
Steve scowled, hissed like a cornered animal, and stood up. “I’m going to punch you in the mouth.”
“Yeah?” he asked, snapped his gum because he could. “Doesn’t look like the only thing you wanna do with my mouth.”
Scott raised his eyebrows and then his hands, half-clenched, like he was going to do it for Steve. Something hot and wanting snaked in his belly, twisted itself into a knot. He hoped Scott would. Prayed for it like he prayed for drugs and dick.
“What the hell is wrong with you? It’s none of your business,” Scott snapped, turning to jerk a hand toward Steve. “This is his room. What are you even doing here?”
“I don’t know, Steve,” Billy said. “What am I doing here?”
“I don’t know, Billy, what are you doing here?”
“What’s he doing here?” he asked, jerked his head toward Scott.
Bewildered, Scott fixed his belt, ran a hand through his finger-fluffed hair and sent a scowl at Steve. “You said you weren’t seeing anyone! Especially—him. Really, Steve?” Scott flicked his tongue, made a clucking noise with it. “Him? Billy? You’re fucking Billy.”
Steve fixed a glare at Scott, skirting around the bed. “We’re just friends,” he said, gruff, like he’d had something jammed down his throat.
Billy didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to see them on the bed, in his head, Steve’s pretty mouth slicked and stretched red, eyes watering and cheeks pinking. He didn’t want to think about what Scott sounded like when he came.
“You suck all your friends’ dicks?” he asked. He wanted to move. To take steps into the room, close the door and lock it. Gut Scott and hang him on the wall like a mounted kill, like the moose head in Neil and Susan’s living room. Spread Steve out on the blood, bite his neck until he scarred, burn bruise marks into his hips until they tattooed themselves on his skin.
The breath Steve sucked in shook his whole body. His spine twitched with it, head moving quickly back in forth, eyes going a little crazy around the edges like he wanted to do something illegal to Billy. “I’m going to kill you.”
Billy cracked a grin, blew a bubble and glanced at Scott. “You can leave now.”
Scott looked between them both, hands held up in defense. “Steve, do you want me to—?”
“Leave? Sure.”
“It’s fine, Scott,” he said, forceful, cutting off Billy. He set a hand on Scott’s shoulder and gave him a nudge toward the door. Billy felt his whole body twitch. “I’m fine. Just—you should go.”
Scott hesitated, a suspicious glance he split between them. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” Steve said, eyes narrowed on Billy. “You really should go.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah—”
“He’s sure.”
“I wasn’t talking to you, Billy.
“Scott—”
“He wants you to go.”
“Billy—”
“He hasn’t said that.”
“Okay !” Steve snapped, stepping between the closing distance between them both, one hand on each of their shoulders. He pushed. Scott stepped back. Billy stayed put. “Stop with the pissing contest. Just go Scott.”
“But—”
“Yeah, Scott,” Billy said, smiled like a big cat, lazy and vicious. “Go.”
The look Steve gave him was downright baleful, cheeks flushed with the heat of anger. Billy wanted to lick it off him, give him something else to turn pink about. He smiled, pretty, for Steve, and Steve’s eyes narrowed, sharp like a pinpoint.
Scott looked between them, lips parted like he had something to say, and then he shook his head. “Fine. Whatever. I’ll leave you two to it.”
Billy watched him go, watched his shoulders disappear around the corner of the door. Steve watched from over his shoulder, unmoving. When Billy finally turned back to him, blowing a bright pink bubble between his lips, Steve just looked tired.
Steve raised his eyebrows at him, eyes heavy. “The hell was that about?”
“How was he?”
His brows hitched further. “What’s it matter?”
He wanted to rip him apart. He wanted to tear Steve into little, bite-sized pieces, swallow what he could and stomp on the remains. It gnawed at him, itched inside his tongue and teeth, hollowed out his bones and settled itself there. It was the kind of want that had landed him in trouble as a kid, busting jaws and lips and spleens because he couldn’t handle it. It was the kind of want that he bit his tongue over, that he forced himself to breathe through until the moment passed.
Billy picked the gum from his mouth and stuck it to the edge of the desk.
“Billy, Jesus,” Steve said, exasperated and sighing. “Are you really—?”
He crowded close, licked his mouth like he could taste the pink on Steve’s skin, and cocked his head to the side. Steve stopped mid-sentence and blinked, leaning back when they stood toe-to-toe. His eyes flicked from Billy’s eyes to his mouth, down to the vee of neck and chest exposed by his shirt. When he looked up, his eyes were dilated, wider.
They quickstepped to the wall, until Steve’s back was pressed flat and Billy leaned down, nose brushing against Steve’s throat, inhaling the scent of skin. It was Steve, the edge of detergent. Scott always smelled like cologne. Billy dragged his tongue across Steve’s skin, tasted salt and heat and nothing else.
Steve inhaled sharply, raised his hands as if to push Billy away, and then set them on Billy’s shoulders. Billy let his teeth scrape over his skin, let himself nip at the tender skin beneath his jaw. He let himself suck a mark onto Steve’s throat, until Steve hissed and clenched at the shoulders of his shirt, tugged at the fabric until it wrinkled in his fists.
“The door’s open,” Steve hissed, thick. He pulled Billy closer.
Billy kissed the red on his neck, nosed along the edge of his jaw to his ear. He kissed beneath it. “What’s it matter?”
“Anyone could come in.”
“They already know.”
Steve laughed. It vibrated against Billy’s mouth on his throat. “Whose fault is that?”
“Yours.”
“You fucking took a beer bottle to Tony.”
Billy bit the tender skin of his jaw. Steve shivered, pulled at his shirt and rocked up against him. He was all heat and naked skin. Billy hooked a finger in the waistband of his sweatpants and tugged, kissed his way over his chin to lick into his mouth.
He’d spent days and nights haunted and hunted by Steve’s mouth. He’d been a kid when he’d started dreaming about it, had pushed it aside when he’d left Indiana. Kissing him felt like winning.
It tasted like slick spit and the muffled almost-protest. Fingers curled in his sweats, Billy pinned him there, caught like prey, and kissed the breath from his lungs, until Steve was pulling him closer, one hand falling off his shoulder to grip his thigh, right below his ass, and haul him closer.
Billy pulled away and laughed. Steve’s eyes narrowed, wet mouth pursed, annoyed. It was so typically Steve that Billy kissed him again, gentler, a brush of lips and bump of their noses. When he pulled back, Steve looked less like he would kick him out.
Steve touched him like gold. It was in the curl of his fingers into his hair, nails scraping across his scalp. His mouth was turned up into a ghost of a smile and his eyes were bright, flicking between Billy’s mouth and his eyes.
“You took a bottle to Tony,” he said again, softer, and there was a question in there that Billy’s brain couldn’t pick out.
“Yeah,” he said, rough and low, fingers dipping deeper into his sweatpants. Steve was hard already, pressed up against his fly. Billy didn’t know if it was him or leftovers from Scott, but when he scratched his fingertips through the coarse thatch of hair above his dick, the startled moan Steve made was all for him.
“Did you—?”
“What?”
Billy ran his thumb along the base of Steve’s dick, felt him twitch beneath his touch. “Did you blow him?”
Steve blinked, slow, eyes a little too blown. “Huh?”
“Scott,” Billy said again, thumb and forefinger curling around the base of his dick. Hot to the touch, velvet smooth, he had the obscene urge to drop to his knees.
Steve’s hips bucked, pressed into his hand, and Billy smiled, let his thumb stroke down the shaft.
“Scott what?” Steve murmured, head falling back against the wall.
“How did he touch you,” Billy said. “I want to know where he touched you.”
“I—” The line of his throat bobbed. “He kissed me. Asked me to go down on him.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“He wasn’t you.” Steve’s eyes closed, red spreading across his cheeks. He rocked into Billy’s hand. Billy let him. “I wanted to see. If it was the same.”
“Was it?”
“No. God,” Steve groaned, opening his eyes, fingers digging cruelly into the flesh of Billy’s thigh in demand, “he was nothing like you. Is that what you want to hear?”
“Yes.”
Steve barked out a laugh. “You freak.”
Billy pulled his hand free from Steve’s sweats. Steve’s mouth parted around a protest and then closed when he licked his palm, yanking down Steve’s sweatpants with his free hand. He spat in his hand and smiled, reached down and curled his fist around Steve’s dick.
Steve hissed, pulled himself closer by the hand clutching Billy’s shoulder. Billy yanked his pants down his thighs, held him to the wall with his hand when he was done. He rubbed over Steve’s dick, traced the flared head, stroked over the bunch of skin beneath, palm squeezing with each upstroke until Steve fucked up into his fist.
It was quick, brutal, no finesse. It was the hottest experience of Billy’s life. Steve clung to him like a lifeline, pulling at his collar like he couldn’t get enough. He moaned, slick mouth falling open when Billy’s fingers squeezed, trapped his cock in his palm while his fingers squeezed over the head. Each stroke twisted a ragged breath from Steve, eyes going heavy, head dipping down to watch the rhythmic slide of his hand.
“Don’t,” Billy bit out, soft, hand stilling.
Steve whined. It sounded so fucking sweet.
“Look at me when you come, sweetheart. I wanna see your pretty face.”
Steve tipped his head back, slow, eyes dipped down. It took him long moments to look up, to make eye contact with Billy, and when he did, Billy moved, stroked over his cock like he had before, steady pressure on the head. He came with his eyes open, the ghost of Billy’s name on his mouth, heat spilling over Billy’s fingers.
Billy touched him through it, played his thumb over the tip. Steve choked on a hiccup and Billy let go, raised his hand to Steve’s mouth, pressed two fingers against his lips until he parted them with a wary look.
Hesitant, he took Billy’s fingers into his mouth, licked between into the webbing and swallowed his own spunk.
They slept with the door closed, if only because Steve could whine like a little bitch when he was sleepy. Stripped naked, Billy curled around Steve’s back, legs entwined and Billy’s arm pitched over Steve’s side. He slept with his nose buried in Steve’s hair, tangled up in Steve.
“Where are you going?” Steve slurred, one eye half open, cheek squished into the pillow.
His hair fell into his face. Billy sat next to him, pushing his bangs from his eye. Steve blinked, raised his head from the pillow. Red creases cut into his cheek and chin. Billy traced them with his fingertip.
“I’ve got work,” Billy said, quiet, knuckles tracing over the curve of Steve’s lip. Steve yawned, teeth bumping Billy’s hand. Amused, he added, “Go back to bed, baby.”
Steve rolled onto his side, propped up on an elbow, and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “What time is it?”
“Five.”
“In the morning?”
Billy grinned. “Yeah.”
Squinting in the darkness, Steve reached out and plucked at the hem of his shirt. “Come back to bed. It’s too early.”
“Work,” Billy said again. He leaned down and kissed Steve’s mouth. Steve tried to pull him into the bed. He laughed against his mouth. “Some of us have to work for a living.”
Steve licked his lips, lazy, eyes still heavy with sleep. “You could always quit.”
“And what? Get paid to sleep with you?”
“You’d make a good whore.”
“Are you calling me a whore?”
“Nah,” Steve said, and smiled sleepily, throwing himself back against his pillow. “A professional fucker.”
Billy laughed, coughed on it to bite the bark back. “You’re an asshole.”
“You love it.”
He kissed Steve on the corner of his mouth, slipping a hand into his pocket to pulling out a small bag, crumpled, with a handful of white pills stamped with CIBA. Steve turned an interested eye on them, eyebrow raising even as he curled an arm under his pillow and asked, “Those for me or are you just being a dick?”
“You can pay me back tomorrow night.”
“I’ll probably be shit at sucking cock.”
“You can learn,” Billy said and kissed Steve’s shoulder as he slid off the bed and stood, leaving the bag next to Steve.
Steve rolled onto his back, setting his hand on top of the pills. He wasn’t half-asleep anymore, eyes bright in the glow of the streetlamp outside. Chewing on his lip until it went red, he picked them up, counting out each pill through the bag.
“What do you want me to do? Let you fuck me?”
Billy studied him, watched the way he nipped at the skin of his lip until blood welled. “Want me to?”
“I don’t know.”
“That why you tried fucking Scott?”
Steve licked the blood off and sat up. The bag dropped onto the bed beside him. “I just wanted to try it.”
“You know where I live. You weren’t too shy about showing up uninvited before.”
“Well, that was before you gave me a crisis.”
“I sucked your dick. It’s not a big deal.”
“I liked it.”
“Most guys do.”
Steve made a noise of irritation in his throat. “I like you, dumbass.”
Billy said nothing. He tilted his head to the side, looking over Steve. Steve stared back, jaw tipped stubbornly.
“Come to my place tomorrow night,” Billy said, and was already working out a scratchiness in his voice he could fake on the phone with his boss. “I’ll make it up to you.”
Steve frowned. “Make up what?”
“Not calling you after we fucked.”
Steve swallowed and looked away, fisting the bag of pills in his hand. For a moment, Billy wondered if he would throw it, but then his fingers relaxed and he sighed, flopping back onto the bed.
“Fine. Whatever.” He glanced at Billy. “Eight?”
“Eight works,” Billy said, bending down. He kissed Steve, dipped his tongue into his mouth and tasted a desperate twinge in the noise Steve made when he pulled away.
Billy only knew where Scott lived because they’d fucked once a handful of months back, when Billy had gotten horny enough to put up with incessant chatter if it meant getting his dick wet.
Scott lived a few blocks away from the school. Billy chewed gum and hummed along to the radio, fingers drumming a beat on the steering wheel. He hummed as he parked his car; he hummed as he climbed out and stood next to Scott’s truck, hummed as he dug out the switchblade from his pocket. He hummed as he jammed the knife into each tire. He hummed as he carved faggot into the red paint, dragged a line underneath because he could.
He hummed as he climbed into his car, tossed the knife into the backseat and drove home.