It happened so fast that Billy didn't have a chance to recoil from the touch. The sharp almost-sting of it sent an edge of clarity through Billy that was so crystal it made him dizzy and he fought the ridiculous urge to thank Munson for it.
But instead, he lifted himself from the couch and took the offered card table from Steve so that he could busy himself doing anything but unpacking the way Munson had turned his anger into desire without him even knowing it had happened until it was too late. The work was a welcome distraction, cooling his skin and his nerves no matter how simple it was. The happy tittering of the girls and Steve's playful ribbing of his best friend helped as well.
Billy was almost back to normal when Eddie offered, "If I know my Chrissy," in a voice so saccharine that Billy had no choice but to investigate, "she's the one hitting on Robin. Isn't that right, Sweet Thing?"
And then Chrissy laughed. She laughed and so did Robin. They both laughed like they knew something and Billy was getting very tired of not being let in on the joke.
He was about to say as much when he noticed the way Robin covered Chrissy's rosy face with her slender hand. Noticed the way Robin tucked that rosy face into the crook of her neck affectionately. Noticed the way Chrissy curled her arms around Robin's waist in a gesture that was too intimate to be friendly.
And he noticed the way Munson's expression softened when he saw the girls.
He caught Munson's eyes a moment later and resisted the urge to ask the question that Munson was dangling in front of him. The other man was testing waters, same as Billy was. And yet, Billy couldn't help but feel like Munson was risking more than Billy. Perhaps he was. Because Billy was still a possessive, territorial son of a bitch, and any animal, when its territory was threatened, could and would lash out. And Billy didn't share his things. Munson was trying to confirm that.
Steve snapped at Robin to go get the chairs, breaking Billy of his train of thought. Shockingly, the woman complied, leading Chrissy away by the hand and leaving the three men alone with one another. Silence fell heavy between the three of them, Steve visibly working out the same question Billy was decoding and Munson glancing between him and Billy as though waiting.
When he finally spoke again, it was soft enough to avoid shocking anyone.
"My table-setting skills may not be what you're accustomed to from the Harrington Estate," Steve scoffed and fell into what must have been his natural stance with his hands akimbo on his hips, "but I can at least do so suitably enough for pizza."
And then he was gone, as though escaping from something. Steve muttered something under his breath and laughed, but Billy didn't catch it. He was too caught up in the way Steve's hair flopped when he shook his head and the tilt of his lips as he smiled. He was too caught up in what that smile might feel like against his own lips. Or his throat.
"I umm..." It drew Steve's attention from the corner around which Munson had vanished and back to him. Billy hadn't realized that he didn't like not having that attention until that moment, but suddenly it was like he could breathe again. "I think I found my mentor."
Again, Steve physically reached for the change in subject as he leaned against the table in a very familiar stance. It was strange to see him leaning against his palms with a card table under him and no apron draped across his front, but the effect was the same. His body fell into ease at the familiarity and Billy melted in front of him, pinned to the table under Steve's gaze.
The small breath of "oh" that escaped Steve's lips nearly beat the breath out of Billy, but he maintained his composure. Even through the thrumming of his own heartbeat slamming against his chest.
"Is he everything you dreamed he would be," Steve asked, and Billy could tell he was forcing levity into his voice. Why? Why was Steve trying so hard? Had Munson's ribbing really put him so far off his footing that he couldn't find it again? The idea that the other man had so upset Steve made that horrible, awful, selfish, territorial son of a bitch in Billy's gut snarl and clench his fists, but he ignored it. Steve was a big boy, and beyond that, Billy wasn't about to fool himself into thinking that he had any right to jump to his defense. They weren't... well he wasn't really sure what they were but he knew what they were not.
Still, and even with his nervous energy, the way Seve curled his voice around the word dreamed sent a shiver down Billy's spine and flattened him against the card table as though Steve had physically pressed him. He could almost feel the hand between his shoulder blades.
"And more, Pretty Boy," Billy assured with a laugh.
And then Steve's face did this incredibly complicated and nuanced dance. Like he regretted asking but was still so curious. Billy tried to follow the steps, but he got lost somewhere in the middle, too caught up in the draw of Steve's brows between his eyes and the breathy chuckle that puffed from between his lips. The dance ended with a smile on Steve's pretty pink lips that reached his pretty brown eyes and Billy let out a soft breath. Whatever emotions he had run through, he landed on happy. Or at least something like it.
"Remind me of your criteria, Hargrove."
The teasing edge in Steve's voice almost made Billy's eyes roll into the back of his skull. Just the right side of condescending, like Steve couldn't and shouldn't be bothered to remember what Billy had outlined.
"Well, he's a..." Billy began, pressing his palm down against the table beneath him. "Well he's a he."
Steve made a small sound of acknowledgment, nodding his head gently to encourage the other man to go on. Billy bit down on a groan at the patronizing tilt of Steve's lips as well as the urge to lick across them. Instead, he adjusted his elbows, inching the hand-pressed palm down into the table incrementally closer to Steve's fingers.
"And he knows what he's doing, obviously." And Steve made a gesture to mirror the last word. "He's... gotta be one of the best people I know at being a human. Easily... top five."
"Oh, top five, wow." Steve nodded and his hair flopped some more and Billy wanted to bury his fingers in it. He wanted to run his hands through the strands and yank and pull and twist. It had to be as soft as it looked, it just had to be. As soft as the smile that pulled up exactly one half of his mouth as he asked, "he's patient too?" There was a tremble in Steve's voice that Billy wanted to bathe in. But the older man looked down and away as though avoiding Billy's gaze and Billy just would not have that at all. This was too important to have less than Steve's undivided attention.
"Oh yeah." Billy shifted again, this time into Steve's field of vision and caught his eyes. "Works with kids. Always has a gaggle around. They seem well enough adjusted. As well-adjusted as teenagers can be, anyway." Another sigh of a laugh that went straight to Billy's gut. God, Billy was so doomed. So utterly and hilariously doomed.
"Wicked sense of humor. He's dry as hell, a little frantic, but dry. He's already been calling me out on my bullshit."
Steve's face did another rendition of that really complicated dance, but this time Billy followed the steps. Watched the way Steve bore his teeth as though in pain and tracked the fluttering of his eyelids. For a moment, Billy worried that he had overstepped. Worried that he'd read this whole thing so wrong and was headed down a path that he couldn't back out of. Was that complicated dance just Steve trying to figure out how to let Billy down? He was too nice to outright be a dick, and he did have a lesbian best friend but... but having a lesbian sleep across the hall from you was very different from a guy telling you he was gay and specifically trying to pursue you.
But then Steve spoke again and the tremor was back.
"Is he um..." Steve's voice sounded choked in his throat and he had to clear it out to make it sound even close to familiar. "Is he brunette?"
It might have been flirting. Might have been. Had it not been combined with the shake in Steve's voice and the fact that he couldn't meet Billy's eyes anymore. But Billy answered with a wistful "yeah," because whenever Steve Harrington was concerned, Billy never had any control of himself. And then Steve croaked, "sounds perfect," and Billy knew. He knew that Steve had no idea. Oh god, this beautiful man had no idea how fucking gone Billy was for him and it hurt because that not knowing had Steve thinking that Billy would ever let anyone else in.
"Yeah, he... he kind of is." Billy shifted again, pushing his hand closer to Steve's hand until he could extend his pointer and just brush the edge of Steve's knuckle. It was the slightest touch, light enough to only be considered "contact" by the barest definitions of the word. And it was no different than when he would press his fingers into Steve's as he took his coffee at the cafe, but given the circumstances... it sent lightning down Billy's wrist and he had to fight the urge to smooth his whole hand over the back of Steve's. The touch was also enough to draw Steve's attention to the single point of connection and Billy had to pretend like it didn't send a jolt of desire through his whole body.
"I want you."
Billy said it before he knew that his mouth was even open and the only reason he knew that he'd spoken at all was that Steve nearly choked on his own breath.
"You... what?"
The older man's voice was barely a whisper but it rang in Billy's skull as though he'd shrieked. And it was impossible to discern whether or not Steve's shock was born of disgust, but Billy's instincts defaulted to the former, immediately setting him up to protect himself, even as he tried to fight it. They wanted him to pull his finger back and retreated all the way back to his core, tuck his arms under his chest, and rock back onto his heels and away, but he remained. He remained and split lips split into a wicked little grin, something that might have been a threat if he wasn't physically below Steve.
"I want you," he repeated, his voice lilting all on its own more towards teasing, "as my mentor."
Another dance of emotions moved too quickly for Billy to pick out, but he swore he saw disappointment. But he also saw relief or something like it, so he tossed Steve another lifeline.
"What did you think I meant?"
He could admit to whatever he wanted, and Billy would roll with it.
"Well, I mean..." Steve's voice was a drawl that slipped down Billy's spine and had him fighting a fluttering in his eyelashes. "Buddy come on. The way you worded that..." Steve let his tone slide salacious and his lips turn into a smirk as he spoke. He curled the finger Billy had slid his fingertip up and pressed the knuckle into the pad of Billy's finger. The reciprocation of touch almost made Billy lurch back, shocked by the sudden show of shy bravery from the other man. "What's a poor guy supposed to assume?"
"Hey man, what you assume from my statements is not my problem."
Steve's laughter barked out of him that time. Billy could feel the burst of air across his cheeks and he inhaled sharply to take the air from Steve's lungs into his own. Against the table, Steve ran the finger next to Billy's along its sensitive side and Billy was certain Steve could hear the furious slamming of his heart.
"Oh, oh yes of course." Steve bent his head so far that Billy could feel the soft kiss of his bangs against his forehead. His breath smelled like toothpaste and coffee and Billy wanted to only ever breathe that ever again. "Because beautiful men always whisper that they want me when they're asking for innocuous things."
There was silence for a beat as Billy's brain struggled to process what he'd just heard. His furiously hammering heart stilled so suddenly that he lurched forward, his arms nearly giving out under the weight of his torso. And when he looked up, Steve looked just as shocked, his pretty pink lips hanging open as though searching for the next thing to say.
Billy's brain kicked in first, drawing a wide, toothy grin across his lips and moving his hand up and around the back of Steve's, his fingertips resting on his pulse as it rabbitted against the tender skin there.
"I knew it," he purred, sliding incrementally up toward Steve's still-slack mouth. "I knew you thought I was pretty."
Billy was close enough to lick Steve's lips when the other man's brain finally kicked back in and he jerked his head back just out of reach. It would have stung of rejection if Steve's eyes weren't nearly black and his perfect mouth wasn't tilted in a beautifully condescending smirk.
"I have eyes, Hargrove." Steve's voice was a purr that pressed against the back of Billy's neck, forcing him back down to his elbows without Steve even having to touch him. It sent lightning down his spine and settled low in his stomach where it simmered pleasurably.
Again, Billy's voice ran away with him.
"So do I."
Billy would have said more. He would have talked about how Eddie might just kiss pretty young things, but Billy tried to possess them. He would have warned Steve that if he wasn't careful, Billy would try and monopolize all of his time. That he would try and wrap the other man up so far and so much in him that Steve wouldn't know what to do with himself without Billy. That Billy was the worst kind of horrible, awful, selfish, territorial son of a bitch and so long as Billy thought he was his, Munson would never be able to put his lips or his hands on Steve.
But as luck would have it, footsteps leading to the living room effectively cut off any thought Billy may have had in that direction. The footsteps also cut off any thoughts Steve might have had as well, causing him to stand bolt-upright. Which would have irritated Billy had it not put him face to face with the fact that Steve was, in fact, not unaffected by his advances. Steve noticed this a moment later and Billy would swear until his dying day that he saw that interest twitch at the same time.
Billy was on his own two legs and turned away when Munson came to a stop in the living room. There was a tense beat of silence between the three men and Billy knew without looking that Munson was doing simple math in his head. Munson found himself at an important juncture. He could either call them out on what he suspected had happened or he could let it ride. And if he called them out, Steve would deflect like he always did. And it would hurt. And Billy would turn mean because hitting always felt better than getting hit. Just like the sun rose and set each day, these things were for certain.
So Billy trained his eyes on the crackled asphalt of the parking lot below the window and waited.
"There a seating arrangement, Stevie?"
Billy let out a breath that he didn't know he was holding while plastic tableware hit the table without rhyme or reason. Steve only scoffed behind Billy but said nothing and when Billy turned he was falling into the chair at the head of the table like he belonged there.
And as enamored as Billy was at the idea of Stevie the Pretty Little Housewife, he found himself breathless at the idea of Head of the Household Steve Harrington. And suddenly, in that fantasy, Billy was the one wearing the frilly little apron and didn't that just awaken something different in his chest? Something fast and light that Billy lunged to catch but failed at every turn.
Munson grabbed the seat next to Steve and Billy's body acted on its own, shoulder checking him out of the way and taking the seat for himself. And to his credit, Munson held up his hands in surrender and took the seat one space down, across from Chrissy. Chrissy, who was just... fully engrossed in her fevered little whispers into Robin's ear. Add it to the fucking list, Billy supposed. something else to decode at some point in the distant future.
Suddenly hands were flying, shooting out to grab slices of pizza and huge mounds of greens while conversation drifted to the safety of small talk. How was work? Plans for the weekend? What are the kids up to? Billy let it wash over him, following Steve with his gaze as he vanished into the kitchen only to return with beers. He passed them out like the good little host he was, and when he passed Billy his bottle, Billy was helpless but to drag his fingers along the soft backs of Steve's fingers. Because now that he knew the feeling of Steve's skin and the electricity that came from Steve touching him back, the idea of touching anything else seemed ludicrous.
He watched as Steve graciously handed beers out to everyone at the table, even if Steve and Munson were the only ones old enough to actually do so. The Cool Mom, Billy caught himself thinking despite himself.
He watched as Steve opened his bottle on the edge of the card table without missing a beat, slamming his hand down against the cap so that it flew off. He didn't even miss a second in his conversation with Robin. Didn't falter once. And then his pretty pink tongue shot out to rest on the lip of the bottle, guiding it into his mouth where he pulled, long and deep, the corners of his mouth left open to allow the beverage to flow down his throat.
He watched Steve's adam's apple bob with each swallow.
In front of him, the girls laughed. Well, Chrissy laughed. Robin cackled. Head back, eyes closed, full body cackle. It made Billy smile despite himself, and he contended himself for the time being watching Steve flap at them both as Munson goaded him from the other side. Always goading. Always pushing and prodding. Billy smiled at that too. Smiled and leaned back in his chair, happy to just eat his mid-level pizza and listen to the chaos around him, idly turning over the mystery of Eddie Munson in his head and untangling the reasons why he looked on so fondly while Robin folded his girlfriend so delicately into her arm and laughed into her shoulder in a way that was far too tender, even for a pair of girls.
"Hey Billy?" there was uncertainty in Steve's voice suddenly like he was measuring his words. Like he was worried that Billy might lunge if he didn't choose the right ones. And on anyone else, Billy would have snapped. He would have become the villain they expected him to be. But the way Steve floundered it was... well it was sweet. Less "please don't hurt me" and more "I don't want to hurt you." And no one had ever taken that precaution before.
"Are you... going to redo the um..." Steve was flapping again, gesturing vaguely to his own face and Billy, of course, knew what he was asking after. He knew, how could he not? There was only one thing that had been on his face before he died, of course, but Billy would be god damned before he stopped this, frankly, precious scrambling from the man before him.
Billy reached out a hand to slap it flat across Munson's stomach, as though asking you seeing this too? They both watched as Steve looked to Munson for help, and in getting none, seemed to steel himself and all but blurt out, "are you going to redo the notch in your eyebrow?"
And even though he'd expected the question, and even though it was innocuous enough, he didn't expect it to hit Billy like a fist to the diaphragm. He hadn't expected it to trigger such an intense fight-or-flight reflex. Or rather, his fight reflex.
"It um..." his voice sounded strange in his ears and his arms itched like they always did right before a fight, like ants were crawling up and down the muscles under the skin, forcing him to empty his hands just in case he needed to block or attack. "It wasn't so much a choice as it was a... well a scar."
Another tense silence fell over the table and Billy was getting sick of those kinds of silences, to be quite honest. They made him squirm and writhe because he was so used to them being followed up by something hideous. Sometimes it was a blow, but other times it was just horrible, quiet pity. And Billy wasn't sure which one he hated more.
But instead, it was Robin who broke the silence with a lopsided grin that spoke of mischief. Billy felt himself falling as much in love with a woman as he was capable, understanding wholeheartedly how and why Steve had devoted himself to her.
"So are you going to tell us how you got the scar," she asked around a gentle lilt of mirth, "or are you going to make us ask?"
He laughed, but without warmth to the sound. All eyes were on him and he figured that if he was trying to get close to Steve, the least he could do was let him and his crew in on a few secret parts of his life.
"I had a friend pierce it when I was fourteen." And wasn't that moniker just the understatement of the century. Friend. Like that "friend" hadn't fundamentally shifted Billy's whole axis while he had him. And somewhere, deep inside of himself, Billy did want to say as much. Wanted to let the assembled group in just that much more. But that part was deep and quiet as it asked, and Billy ignored it. He ignored it because none of what he suddenly wanted to tell them mattered.
Not really.
Not to the story.
It didn't matter that Billy's friend had a name and that name was Gabe. It didn't matter that Billy thought Gabe was the prettiest name in the world until he met Steve. It didn't matter that Gabe had also pierced his right earlobe. It didn't matter that Gabe had been his first kiss. It didn't matter that Billy's lips felt hot and cold for hours afterward. Billy felt the shift in his timber. Felt the way his voice shifted down in pitch and volume like he might wake the long sleeping of the ghosts that still watched him from the coast.
"It was such a dumb choice, I knew how Neil would react. But... I dunno. It felt... right? I guess? Taking some control back from him. Even if it was for a few days." Billy had kissed Gabe again with the safety pin still through his eyebrow. He'd gotten blood on Gabe's face, but the other boy had just wiped it away and gave Billy his third kiss in as many days.
"I stayed away from the house for as long as I could," he continued as he turned away from the memory, folding it neatly and packing it back away in the box with Gabe's name on it. "Went right from school to work, and came back after Neil had gone to sleep, leaving before he got up but... well... one morning I woke up, and there he was, in the living room waiting for me before the sun rose."
And he had been so visibly furious that Billy froze in every sense of the word. Stopped dead in his tracks, his mind screeching to a halt. He had started to shiver like someone dunked him in ice water. And when Neil began to approach him, slowly because he liked to draw out Billy's anguish, Billy didn't even have the good sense to back up.
"I tried to hide it with my hair but it was no use." Because while he was trying to be more vulnerable, there was no way Billy could admit to being stupid enough to just sit there and let it happen like he had. That he'd just watched Neil get close enough and didn't even fight back as he grabbed Billy's arms and threw him back against the wall.
"Neil saw it as soon as I turned the corner and he was on me. And I was just a scrawny kid at the time," and what he meant was that he was just a fucking terrified kid, "so he pinned me and ripped it out. Said that if I was going to be fagging around the least I could do was keep quiet about it."
And even though Billy wasn't sure if the injuries hurt more than his father calling him a slur, he had expected it. He had also expected the bruised ribs and the black eye. He had expected to be denied dinner and breakfast the following morning. Of course, he did. He was a kid, but he wasn't stupid.
What he hadn't expected, however, was for Gabe to spit on him three days later and call him the same slur. He hadn't expected that beautiful boy with the beautiful name to ambush him on his way home from school one day with three of his friends. He hadn't expected him to tell people that Billy had all but forced himself on him.
And that had hurt so much more than anything Neil could ever dole out.
The feeling of eyes on him brought Billy out of his own grief, but the looks people were giving him weren't piteous like he'd been expecting. If anything they all looked... well they looked furious. Even sweet little Chrissy, whose delicate little brows were pinched in the center of her forehead. There were tears in her eyes, but Billy knew they were angry. Next to him, however, Munson looked at him as though appraising some kind of antique, and Billy suddenly remembered shoving him against a brick wall when he'd caught him staring at the scar on his right ear lobe.
Both phantom scars now, but they tingled under Munson's scrutiny.
If only to break the silence and to distract everyone's anger, Billy took a deep breath and put every ounce of air he had into asking, "why do you ask, Pretty Boy."
He kept Munson's gaze and watched as his lips quirked up into a small smile. He kept it as Steve coughed, caught off guard by the use of the name he'd only ever used when they were alone. Kept it even as Chrissy and Robin howled with laughter. And Munson never blinked. Just mirrored that wolfish grin right back at him, and Billy had to fight the magnetic pull that drew him physically closer. Had to lean away to protect himself.
When Munson honest to god giggled, Billy almost lost his resolve. Almost forgot to be angry at him for going behind his back. Almost leaned right in and swallowed that giggle himself.
Add that to the fucking list as well.
"No... no reason..." Steve finally choked out. Billy finally broke eye contact with Munson just in time to catch the blush that stained Steve's cheeks before he ducked his head down. The groan that slipped from his throat would have embarrassed him if he wasn't slowly realizing how gone he was for that man.
"Seems a little odd that you noticed something like that, Pretty Boy."
And Billy supposed the deeper timbre to Munson's voice was his attempt at mimicking Billy, but it didn't even come close and Billy didn't particularly care. He was all set to ignore Munson until his razor-sharp elbow dug right in between two ribs. He'd even jostled the joint, wiggling it further into the meat of Billy's ribcage before the blonde finally yelped and pushed him away. But like one of those punching dolls, Munson bounced right back, giggling while poking his fingers into the hollows between his ribs just like he had his elbows.
"Oh. My go -- It's his face, Munson! I look at his face all the time!"
Like that was a viable defense. Like it wasn't so very deeply incriminating. Like it didn't set Billy's pulse to racing. He watched Munson's face light up with an infectious kind of glee that made it impossible for Billy to stop the bark of laughter that erupted from his lips. He almost missed Steve's scathing hiss of "knock it the fuck off, Munson," between his own laughter and the shrieking of the two girls who clasped hands like lifelines.
And then Billy took a risk. Something he didn't tend to do about three years ago but hell, born again and all that. He turned bodily to face Munson who lit up impossibly further at the attention and spoke to him like they were the only two in the room. He leaned forward conspiratorily, speaking into the air between them like he wasn't speaking loudly enough for everyone to hear. Like he wasn't captivated by the scent of Old Spice and weed and... was that... was that Herbal Essences?
Billy furiously scrambled for his faculties and tried to inject as much of his normal charm into his voice as possible as he damn near purred, "he noticed my jeans too." And he'd be damned if Munson's eyes weren't watching his arm as he fiddled with the bottle in his hands. "Asked me if I bought everything a size down. Told me it worked. Whatever that means."
He pushed his elbow into Munson's ribs with less painful force than he'd done to him, and it drew Munson's dark eyes from his arms up to his face where the older man flushed furiously. Didn't he and rosy-cheeked Stevie make the prettiest pair?
And didn't that stray thought cause Billy to pause for just a breath?
"So hang on, let me get this straight," as though there was anything straight about this house, Billy mused as Robin all but pressed her lips to the shell of Chrissy's ear as she imparted some secret to the other girl. "You noticed Billy's scar, or rather lack-there-of because you're looking at his face, right? So following that line of logic, you noticed Billy's jeans because..."
Munson was vile and heinous and Billy could kiss him over it. Another cackle slipped through his lips before he could stop it.
"Lookin' below the belt, Pretty Boy?" Munson nearly asperated on his food with the force of his own laugh. "Shame on you, you know I'm not that kind of gal."
The girls were laughing wildly, their shrieking nearly drowning out the pitch of Steve's frantic rebuttals as they leaned on one another for support. Finally, after starting a million sentences and finishing exactly none of them, Steve squeaked, "look," in a voice so high it was nearly a dog whistle. "A friend looked good, I noticed, and I complimented him on it, it's not... look it's not that big a deal, okay! It was a friend complimenting a friend. That's it!"
And that was it, wasn't it?
Because the laughter died on Billy's lips and he was left wondering what the fuck he'd experienced with Steve not 20 minutes ago. Which was a dumb question because he knew what it was. It was what he had been afraid of when Eddie had walked in on them nearly kissing. What he had always been afraid of when he was getting too close to boys he knew that he shouldn't be. Because he knew what it was like for pretty straight boys to be called queers even if they were side-eyeing the lifestyle. And he knew, when cornered, Steve would jump to deflection, just like that. And he knew it would hurt.
He just didn't expect it to hurt that much was all. He didn't expect it to throw into question everything Steve had said to him right up until that moment. He had expected to fight and lash out and then flee. He didn't expect to want to retract his offer for Steve to mentor him with the same ferocity of a cornered animal.
He didn't expect the pads of his fingers where Steve had so timidly returned his touch to suddenly burn like he'd stuck them in acid.
Billy swallowed the hurt and hid his expression behind the neck of his bottle as he muttered, "you've got a hell of a way of complimenting a guy."
"Well," Munson broke through the miserable haze of Billy's slow spiral, leaning into Billy in the same way that Billy had done moments before, "from a strictly unfriendly perspective, it does work."
And what the absolute fuck else was Billy supposed to make of that? When Munson was just standing over him, at least then Billy could pretend that he was looking for a fight. At least he could pretend that he still had Straight Boy Cred with the other man but this... this was a come-on. This was a come-on and he'd done it right in front of god and everyone, but no one seemed to care. Robin was slapping at Steve's bicep while she hissed at him and Chrissy was trying to get her to stop. If they heard, they didn't care.
And it was strange the way his voice curled around the word unfriendly. Strange how Billy found himself reacting to it without mindful permission. Strange how his voice lowered to almost a growl around the word, despite his voice staying conversational, and how Billy had to physically suppress a shiver. He grunted around his pull of beer to bide his time while he fought that quick and wicked thing darting around his chest.
"Unfriendly," he finally asked, falling into something that looked startlingly like who he used to be because that was so much safer than continuing to recognize the picture of Eddie Munson before him. "The hell's that mean, Munson?"
"Exactly what I said, Hargrove." Munson looked up into Billy's eyes as he spoke, which made Billy very aware that the older man had been watching his mouth. And that combined with the way he growled again, this time around his name and granted it was only his last name, but it sent that thing fluttering helplessly around his chest ever faster because oh god, how would his first name sound if Munson growled it like that? "From an unfriendly perspective."
"So this..." Munson now had his undivided attention and seemed to be reveling in it, "this is you being unfriendly?"
"You should see him when he's being friendly," Chrissy cut in with entirely too much glee and son of a bitch was he being double-teamed? He'd had a few straight couples offer to buy him dinner and drinks before Starcourt in exchange for an evening, but something about Chrissy's cadence implied that she was going to bat for Munson only. And then Robin laughed, but there was nothing malicious in the sound.
Things were falling into place, but these were still dangerous waters. They were still strange and uncharted. Billy still had literally everything to risk, everything he was tentatively rebuilding and in so many cases constructing for the first time.
And then he watched Munson raise a finger, as though telling Chrissy to be silent. The command alone was enough to stop Billy's heart, but then Chrissy whispered something into Robin's ear that made her shoot beer out of her nose and Eddie held up a second finger.
Which meant that the black hanky that Billy had always taken for appropriated fashion... wasn't.
Munson caught his gaze and Billy shut himself down, shooting the fluttering thing out of the air. Because there was no fucking way Munson was a polyamorous, queer, hard top. Not all of those things at once. And if Billy had any sense of self-preservation left, he'd shut himself down now before he embarrassed himself. Munson was Munson. He did what he did and what he did was he flirted with everyone, got into people's space, wore a black hanky, and fucked Chrissy Cunningham.
"I know what I'm doing," he muttered, leaning away from Munson and immediately missing the scent and warmth of him. "Don't need you to tell me anything about anything."
There were several more moments of furious hissing from his right before Steve cleared his throat and offered in a voice so gentle Billy almost missed it, "I'm sorry, Billy. You-you look... You look good Billy. Always have..."
And Steve's voice was so sweet and so gentle and so earnest and his eyes were so big and so brown and so wet that Billy couldn't help but offer a tight smile in response. Couldn't help but forgive him. It had been Billy's fault, after all. Munson got him hopeful. Got him feeling some type of way. Got him reckless and acting foolishly. Steve reacted in a way that made sense, and Billy couldn't fault him for that. Couldn't fault him no matter what, because whenever Billy raised his eyes to meet Steve's, they were always so wide and wet and cowed that Billy nearly melted on the spot.
He'd probably forgive Steve for anything, he realized in that terrifying moment.
"Soooo..." Robin finally hummed, glancing between the three men with Chrissy's hand still laced with her own. "There's talk around the town about The Returned getting housing. You guys heard anything about it?"
"Dinky little RVs," Billy supplied with a shrug, trying to disguise the relief in his voice. "Can't take them off the lot they put them down on but... it's a space of my own. Probably going to take them up on it." Like he wasn't hanging on every word of the subject. Like he wasn't already planning on being first in line for the housing. Like he wasn't chomping at the bit to get out from under Susan's wringing hands and Max's death stares.
"Maybe someday they'll let you just... have it?" And just like Billy could see why Steve had given Robin such easy devotion, the gentle hope in Chrissy's voice made it evident why Eddie was so stupid for her. "What would you do if they did?"
"That one's easy." Because of course, Billy had entertained that thought. Of course that had been the first thing he thought about when he heard he was in line to receive an RV. "I'd tear out of this place like a bat outta hell and not stop driving until I found the coast. Park her on a beach and just... camp."
And it didn't matter that Billy hadn't planned beyond that. It didn't matter that Billy had no idea what he was going to do once he was in California. None of that mattered. All that mattered was getting back to someplace that didn't reak of Neil and monsters and whatever other (sometimes literal) bullshit Hawkin had rippling under the surface.
What did matter, however, was the glimmer of something on Steve's face that looked suspiciously like hurt, and how suddenly Billy saw himself slinging Pretty Boy over his shoulder and tossing him and a duffle full of his stupid preppy polos in the back of the RV to make Billy's great escape with him.
"For how long?" There was a dreamy quality to Munson's voice that Billy felt himself being drawn into. A hooded kind of wistful quality to his eyes and the tilt of his mouth as he rested his chin on his fist. "How long would you camp out for?"
"Guess I'll cross that bridge when I get to it. What about you, Munson?"
And just like Steve, Munson's face did a strange, intricate little dance when the focus shifted back to him. For a man who loved being in the spotlight so much, he certainly didn't seem comfortable when someone else turned it on him. Which, Billy supposed was something that he understood. When you spend so much time crafting a persona, highlighting parts of yourself that are so highly curated that even you can't tell what's real from what's created, it's disarming when someone catches you unaware.
"Feels a little like abandoning Wayne," he admitted, his voice almost shy. "But I also want to give him his space back. I've occupied it for over half my life now and it is time to get a place of my own."
Robin offered, "you wouldn't be far from him," around a mouthful of her own pizza, which, in turn, caused Steve to flap at her with the back of his hand, hissing about manners. It made Billy smile despite himself. Made him slap the back of his hand against Munon's chest again and leer, "I'm sure Chrissy wouldn't mind the privacy either."
Chaos erupted almost immediately. Chrissy's musical little laugh rang out a moment later, muffled only slightly by the bony protrusion of Robin's shoulder. Said bony woman then began lashing out under the table with her bony little feet, hissing and kicking at Billy until he backed up and out of the range of her fire. Her best friend, however, swooped in on his other side before he could retaliate, also hissing about his manners and attacking him with open-handed slaps to his shoulder and bicep, causing Billly to react in kind. Robin and Chrissy, of course, cheered Steve on, leaving Billy to fend for himself.
When Billy had finally had enough, however, it was easy enough to snatch Steve's wrist from the air and pin it to the table, effectively ending the tiff. Steve was still breathing a little heavily, but Billy needed to pretend that it was from the small exertion of attacking him and not because of whatever dilated his eyes that far that fast. He needed to pretend that it wasn't because Pretty Boy liked the show of strength.
Billy held those nearly-black eyes until they flicked over his shoulder and that was just... that was not going to happen. Steve wasn't looking anywhere but him with that flush and those doe-eyes.
"Still aren't able to win a fight, are you Pretty Boy," he goaded as he let Steve's wrist go, the other man's gaze firmly on him once more. He fairly preened with satisfaction as Steve visibly reacted to the gentle insult before Robin, once more, cut in.
"Well, you know, if the RV is rockin'..."
And Billy was about to respond with the finishing line, but Eddie, Master of Curve Balls and Risk-Taking Extraordinaire, instead answered in almost a song, "may as well knock, see if we can't make a little room..."
And that was it. The final piece of the puzzle. Billy swung around to face the dark-haired man as he laughed at them and bore his teeth in what was supposed to be a sneer but he knew from the bubbling in his guts was nothing close to that. Because Billy was the worst kind of horrible, awful, selfish, territorial, and possessive son of a bitch, but something in him was starting to envelop Munson into the slowly growing list of things titled "Mine."
"Chrissy's usually really good about sharing," Munson went on, his voice like syrup as he walked two fingers over to Chrissy who seemed like she was going to acquiesce before she took her arms away. That was probably going to earn her a third strike and Bibbly wondered how many Munson allowed. How many would he give Billy when he was in one of his moods?
But before Billy could give any more thought to the subject, Munson finished with a positively tooth-rotting, "and so am I," and Billy was helpless against the swell of laughter in his throat. He nearly shoved Munson over with the force of his elbow and cackled, "It's always the cheerleaders. Always the good girls that are the biggest freaks."