TWENTY PUSHUPS

Completed Fanfiction based on characters from Stranger Things. 2k.

It’s post Star-Court and Billy is fine. No one knows how he’s fine but he’s fine. It’s weird because Steve isn’t used to seeing Billy like this, laughing, willingly talking to Max, to Lucas. It’s a major adjustment. The main thing that catches Steve off guard is how much muscle Billy has lost.

He’s not thin, though. That’s the thing. He’s probably about as big as Steve now (despite the one inch he has on the blonde.) He catches himself staring, looking for the bulk of muscle, the California tanned skin, but instead, Billy is more lean now, less tan after death herself came knocking at his door.

Maybe that’s the reason that when Billy snaps at him for staring with a “Like what you see, Pretty Boy?” Steve cannot help but bite back with “Just happy that I finally might be stronger than you.”

The room goes silent and the kids stare. They watch, flitting between the two. Even Steve holds his breath. Billy is softer now, doesn’t care about the image and bravado now, changed his opinion on it—much like Steve did—when he was shish kebab-ed by a flesh alien. Steve has no idea if Billy’s going to snap, if he’ll break, but he laughs. He goddamn laughs. It’s not the malicious, oily laugh that he used to do, but it has a hint of that bite. He leans in, staring into Steve with all the power of a predator.

“I can still beat your ass any day, Harrington.”

And Steve gulps. The kids watch, trained to see his next move. So he obliges.

“Only with a plate. Take that away and what have you got?”

Billy sits back into his chair. He’s smirking, spreading his face and making Steve fidgety. He doesn’t like it. Or maybe he does. Steve never knows these days. He finds himself craving the attention and touch of his former nemesis. Maybe he craves the attenion and the companionship of someone who knows just how fucked up he is and brings the same baggage to the table.

He trusts Billy, considers him a friend now. Nancy is still wary of him, but that fact honestly makes him want to love the guy a bit more. Not that Steve will ever admit how much Billy has come to mean to him in the past couple months. It took a while for Billy to open up to him, many silent hours while Steve sat next to Billy’s hospital bed on the nights he couldn’t sleep and watched shows with Billy. Eventually, the dam broke.

And maybe that’s the reason why Steve stupidly challenges Billy and then accepts and allows the brute to do twenty pushups with Steve on his back.

Steve is no quitter, so he does it. He sits on the lower half of Billy’s back, tucking his legs behind his ankles so his full weight is on Billy. He’s warm, so warm, and Steve shouldn’t be surprised but he finds himself feeling it, placing his full palms onto Billy’s back and feeling the heat soak through the shirt and into his hands. Steve tells himself it’s to steady his lanky body. He tells himself the same when Billy first goes down and jostles Steve so he balances his hands on Billy’s shoulders. And Steve is an idiot because Billy is still ripped. He lost the bulk of the muscle from not being able to work out for months and having to go easy on his body, but Steve should have known. There are other ways to work out, such as swimming or running, and suddenly Steve is assaulted with the fact that Billy is shredded. His calves flex and look like they’re carved from marble under the strain of his body. The shoulders ripple under his finger tips and he finds himself entranced, staring at the veins bulging in the back of Billy’s hands, how his breaths are controlled and barely seem labored at all.

The kids around him are screaming, counting each push, but Steve cannot focus on them. He can feel every rep, how much of Billy’s body is being used in each movement, and wants to plaster his whole body to him, to lay out like a cat and soak in the power and heat radiating off of Billy.

He finishes. The kids scream in excitement and Billy collapses, just for the fanfare. He makes some comment about how Steve is “heavy as hell” but Steve doesn’t bite back. He slowly gets off of Billy’s back, missing the warmth under his palms. Billy looks at him, smiling and flush faced, but the smile fades upon seeing Steve. And Steve misses the smile. He misses the laughter, the roundness of Billy’s cheeks and the sparkle in his eyes when he grins.

Steve shakes himself of it. He slaps Billy on the shoulder like the blonde has done to him on many occasions and commends him for not “being a wimp”. They sit down and The Party goes back to whatever they’re doing, but Billy isn’t paying attention. And Steve only knows that because he isn’t either. He’s looking at Billy and he is staring right back.

Steve feels like he should look away, but he can’t seem to care to. They have both almost died—and died, in Billy’s case—enough times to know when to run and when to bare your underbelly and let it eat you alive. So Steve plants his feet and lets himself look, to do what he has wanted to do for months.

“You want a beer, Harrington?”

The gaze doesn’t waver. It’s a question that is more than that. It’s an invitation and Steve wants to know what for. So he answers.

“I’ll take whatever you got.”

Billy stands and only breaks the gaze when he turns towards the kitchen. And Steve has never stood up so quickly in his life. Not for Nancy, not for his first crush, Tiffany. Steve should be terrified, the fact that it’s Billy of all people, but it feels as right as when his bat connects with the fleshy side of the demogorgon’s head and it makes that noise and he gets the sweet satisfaction that “I did it right and I’m going to win”.

He rounds the corner to the kitchen with hummingbirds in his chest. Billy’s waiting for him, looking at him from his open beer. He sips on it. Takes a real good pull. Bares his neck to let Steve look. He knows he looks good. He knows his angles, his appeal. Steve has always known Billy is the most attractive guy in Hawkins, but he never knows when Billy stopped being good looking and became simply beautiful to him. Must have been during the late nights with the low hum of the tv because Billy fell asleep and Steve turned it down. Billy was no longer angry, no longer scared, and he looked at peace for once. Steve thinks it’s then that he decided he wanted to make him feel that way forever, to help him be safe and happy.

Billy passes Steve a beer. Their fingers brush. Steve wants to linger and pull away at the same time. He plays it cool. Billy watches him. Calculating. Seemingly indifferent.

Steve puts the beer on the counter and Billy cocks his brow.

Steve takes a step and a half forward, curls his fingers into the soft, warm cotton of Billy’s shirt and presses his mouth to his.

It’s soft and quick, a test. Steve believes he won’t be punched, but he doesn’t know how Billy will react. And he barely does. He freezes, doesn’t move, and Steve would believe he turned him to stone like Medusa if it wasn’t for the soft, breathy noise that escaped from Billy’s lips at the contact.

Steve pulls away slowly, to not spook Billy. The kids are still rambling away about something in the living room. Billy’s eyes open slowly, dark lashes fluttering. He looks to Steve, open, raw. His eyes hold so many questions that he won’t dare to utter. They both know they can’t. There will be time for questions and talking, but Steve decides that’s for later and tilts his head, running his hand up into Billy’s curls to bring him in for another kiss.

He feels Billy sigh into him, the string keeping him upright is snipped and he sags into Steve. He’s soft and warm and everything Steve imagined and more. Steve can taste the smoke from Billy’s cigarettes that he “quit” months ago, swears he can taste the California sea salt on his lips.

They kiss for a bit, gentle and slow. It’s tentative, holding no bark or bite, unlike how everything else had been for them. It’s the raw sides of them, the parts they only show each other, that are present now.

It’s only for a moment—who knows when the kids could come in—but they pull away with a look, how it all feels like the waves that have been building have finally crashed. Billy smiles, laughs a little. Shakes his head and makes his curls bounce. He licks his lips, as he always does, but this time it's without a waggle, as if he's testing, tasting, finding Steve left on his lips and confirming that it's not a dream--this happened. 

“Been planning that for a while, Pretty Boy?”

“No,” Steve says.

“A little spur of the moment fun then?” Billy says and Steve can see him start to guard up.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, “And I’d like to do it again.”

Billy’s walls shatter. He smiles, beams. It reaches his eyes in the way that Steve loves. Just for him. All for him.

“Yeah? I think that can be arranged.”

So he pulls Steve in for another kiss and for two boys who have never really experienced being welcome, it surely feels like coming home.