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The Starcourt parking lot after business hours is a yawning desolation made of endless stretches of simmering asphalt. Nothing but emptiness and built-up heat are waiting behind the sliding glass doors to punch Steve in the face when he leaves the mall fresh off from work.
He groans as he squints against the evening sun and stands there like a thawing ice cream cone for a moment before he starts his trudge past the last few scattered cars.
Around Steve, the parking lot and above him the open sky are so vast that the bus stop he’s heading towards looks like just a speck in the distance.
Since school ended and everyone in his year left for college, Hawkins has felt too small, too constricting, like an old, outgrown skin that Steve simply can’t manage to shed. Yet, in these moments, when he drags himself home, exhausted and sticky from slinging ice cream all day, the world is gigantic and Steve himself in it, tiny and lost.
A rumbling, swelling in the distance like thunder rolling across the sky, startles Steve out of his sullen thoughts, but as it grows louder he realizes the sound doesn’t herald a summer storm but instead announces an approaching V8 engine.
The deep, bassy growl of the machine makes something tingle in Steve's chest, resonates deeply in some cavernous place within his tired body. He turns, to find a sleek blue car speeding in his direction, ignoring the lanes and cutting across the empty parking spots.
There’s only one car in town that looks and sounds like that, only one man who drives like that.
Steve doesn’t have to guess who’s pulling up next to him a minute later.
“Ahoy there, sailor boy! Where you headin’?!” a low drawl matching the sound of the car calls out to him.
Billy Hargrove has got his window rolled down and his elbow hanging out, sunglasses perched on his nose and a cigarette dangling from his lips. Trash metal is blaring from his speakers. He’s wearing the same sleazy wifebeater that shows off his arms and chest and the same shit-eating grin he’s been wearing whenever he pops up in the line at Scoops Ahoy to torture Steve with elaborate orders.
“Home.” Steve replies flatly, annoyance flaring up inside of him at the familiar sight of Billy’s face. “What’s it to you, Hargrove?”
“Well, since it looks like daddy still didn’t give your car back...” Billy lowers his chin and peers over the rim of his sunglasses, eyes sweeping over Steve’s body greedily and lingering on his bare legs for a second before rising past his uniform and landing on his face again.“I thought I'd give you a ride before some perv scoops you up so he can find out if you already started growing pubes down those little shorts of yours.”
Steve flushes hot with embarrassment. Being made fun of for wearing this silly sailor get-up and having his BMW privileges revoked is one thing but who the hell says shit like this? It’s fucking sinister and sexual and worms his way straight under Steve’s skin, Hargrove’s favorite place to be.
“You're an asshole.” he scoffs.
“What else is new, baby?” Hargrove winks and then his eyes disappear behind his shades again as he cocks his head and nods towards his empty passenger seat. “Stop playing coy and get in.”
Steve’s embarrassment turns into spite.
“What are you doing here, anyway? Shouldn't you be hitting on some hot mom or something? Heard you were pretty busy down at the public pool.” he replies, giving Billy a dismissive once-over.
Hawkins is a town with no secrets, which means the rumors of how Hargrove earns tips besides his lifeguard gig even reach Steve in his icebox at the mall. And if Billy can deal his blows low, so can Steve.
"Yeah, I'm not looking for a meal ticket tonight. I'm more in the mood for some dessert." Billy sniffs like Steve is a treat he’s about to devour and leans a little further out of his car window, fingers drumming against the dark blue metal of the door. "Something sweet."
Another wave of warmth rushes through Steve, as he realizes Billy not only doesn’t mind practically getting called a manwhore, but he's also bragging about it to hit on Steve. Shamelessly so. And Billy’s been getting bolder with every passing summer day, ego growing bigger the more his tan deepened, and making it Steve’s problem when he comes into the shop. But Steve didn't expect it to culminate in this.
“You really think I have the time for your bullshit?” he says, sorta indignant at the implication that Billy seems to think he’s fair game, that he can have anyone.
“‘Course you do.” Billy grins. “Today is the day you set aside for going on a ride with me, honey.”
Steve laughs at that, all that sudden sweet talk after weeks of getting picked on catching him off-guard. He shakes his head, unsure whether he should be irritated or charmed by Billy’s insolence.
“Does that line ever work, Hargrove?” he wants to know.
“All the time.” Billy assures him, smiling with all his teeth, a vulpine thing, glittering and treacherous.
Something flutters in Steve’s stomach when he thinks about how Billy probably gets his dick wet on the daily. And how long his own dry spell has been.
Hargrove seems to sense Steve’s hesitation, he takes his foot off the break and his car crawls closer with a gentle purr.
“It’s a date. You, me and the sunset.” Billy continues, stretching out his arm, beckoning Steve closer with two fingers.
For a second, Steve is almost blinded by the neon colors of the dying sun that are reflected pink and orange and cyan blue in the lenses of Billy's aviators and bounce off the sleek curves of his fast car.
He looks like a trashy technicolor daydream come true and if Steve tilts his head like this and squints at him at the right angle he can see it, catch just a glimpse of him thundering down Sunset Blvd with the wind in his hair and the sun and his eyes, towards the ocean, brilliantly and violently free.
It's mesmerizing. Breathtaking. Unreal and ultimately irresistible.
In this very moment where Steve is a million miles away and standing in the empty parking lot at the same time, he realizes that Hargrove is both the best and the worst thing that can happen to him in Hawkins. That it doesn’t matter if Billy is stuck here in Shitsville like him or with him because what he’s selling is a fantasy.
Or maybe it’s a glorified, sugar-coated nightmare but Steve can’t find it in himself to really mind the difference because he might just have reached the point where he's tempted enough to buy it either way.
He ditches all reluctance, walks over to Billy and leans against the car, thigh pressing next to the open window.
Billy's hand lazily reaches out and touches the back of his thigh, fingers dipping beneath the hem of his shorts. The touch is a blatant declaration, an invitation maybe or a challenge. Steve feels dauntless for allowing it, Billy’s fingertips raising all the fine hairs on his body as they sweep against his skin. Electrifying.
"Come on now, pretty boy." Billy says, lifting his sunglasses to finally look straight at Steve. The sunset swims lazily through the lenses like a moment trapped in Jell-O.
"Fine." Steve says breathless with dare "I'll ride with you."
"Damn right you will." Billy's tongue swipes over his canines in a flash and his hand disappears from Steve’s skin as he leans over his console to pop open the passenger’s door for him from the inside.
Steve’s heart feels awkward and giddy in his chest, it’s pounding making him sweat harder as he walks around the car and gets in.
Billy’s waiting there for him, trapping Steve’s gaze with his own and holding it, as Steves settles into the passenger seat.
When Steve draws the door shut, Billy’s mouth splits into a grin, crinkling his handsome features in an amiable way. But like all his smiles, it lacks just enough warmth to be genuine and even though Hargrove’s eyes are prettier than those of most girls, they catch the light in such a way as chips of broken glass do, sparkling, but sharp and jagged at the edges.
A chill runs down Steve’s spine but the engine howls to life and the Camaro jerks forward, the time for second thoughts having passed like heat lightning.
The mall, the parking lot, the bus-stop quickly shrink in the rearview mirror as the car accelerates until they disappear like an unpleasant memory when Billy does a sharp turn and hits the open road.
Steve is so relieved to leave everything behind that he only notices the direction they’re going in when the “You’re leaving Hawkins” sign zips past them.
The sight makes Steve frown, there’s nothing in that direction except miles and miles of woods that surround the city, all the hangout spots lie the opposite way. He turns towards Billy in his seat when the first trees appear left and right of them, the forest quickly growing denser, darker.
“Where are you going? This is the road out of town.” he says nervously.
“Never said I’d take you home.” Billy replies and raises a split eyebrow at him.
Suddenly uncomfortable, Steve wets his lips and shifts in his seat instead of answering, weighing his options and finding he’s left with none. The sun is in their back, its glowing disk almost completely vanished behind the horizon now, leaving only the darkening sky in front of them. The V8 roars like a beast when Billy puts in a higher gear and barrels forward into the night.
“Hey, don’t worry, sweetheart. I know just the right spot for the two of us, all cozy and secret.” Billy says, like he can read minds and gives Steve another one of his oddly wicked smiles. His hand lands big and warm on Steve’s leg just above his knee and stays there, squeezes a little when he continues “You’re with me now, I’ll take good care of you.”
It sounds like a bad idea. And not the shiny, exciting kind that lured Steve into the car in the first place. Steve swallows hard as his eyes drop to his knee and the hand that lies there, large and possessive, at least one size too big.
“Listen, Hargrove.” Steve tries again “I really appreciate the lift but I think we better turn around.”
“Like hell we are.” Billy keeps his eyes on the road, his voice is quiet and low just on the edge of dangerous now, his grip on Steve’s thigh tightens.
Hargrove’s heavy boot steps on the gas harder, the Camaro leaps, turns into a bullet zipping through the darkness. The trees flying by shift to a blur. A glance at the meter tells Steve that Billy is way above the speed limit.
“Okay, that’s enough. Let me out!” Steve demands, heartbeat turning frantic as velocity presses him deeper into his seat “This isn’t funny anymore!” “Never said I was joking either.” the grip of Billy’s right hand on Steve’s leg turns bruising while his left one moves the steering wheel.
Steve watches in horror as the snout of the car veers to the left and passes the double strip in the middle of the road as Hargrove steers his car into the other lane, into oncoming traffic.
“What are you doing?!” Steve cries when Billy keeps his car in the wrong lane, racing forward so fast that it makes Steve dizzy.
But Billy doesn’t reply, only cackles quietly like everything is a private joke he’s enjoying at Steve’s expense. It’s terrifying.
“STOP THE CAR!“ Steve screams and then he does nothing else but scream when the two headlights of a truck appear in front of them, rushing towards them like blinding, sudden death.
For a moment there’s nothing but those two lights, the blaring of the other driver’s horn and the impending collision filling out Steve’s entire world but then Billy jerks the wheel violently, the tires screech and the car swerves to the side just in time to avoid a crash.
Steve is flung around in his seat, cheek pressing against the cold glass of the window for a second before the Camaro slingers back to the other side and hits gravel. First, Steve thinks they’ve slipped into the ditch but a look through the windshield betrays that Billy is taking them down a dirt road and deeper into the forest.
A wave of nausea hits Steve and in a panic, he starts yanking on the door handle but the passenger side is locked. Steve thinks he’s going to be sick, that he’s gonna throw up all over Hargrove’s stupid muscle car, but then the tires finally crunch to a stop and the lock clicks open.
Panting, soaked in sweat but chilled to the bone, Steve scrambles out of the car and a few steps away from it, pulse hammering with unspent adrenaline.
“Scare ya?” Billy asks as he steps next to him and when Steve turns to face him, shell-shocked, he’s met with another empty smile and those blue eyes looking pale and eerie in the dim glow of Hargrove’s headlights.
“You're crazy.” Steve breathes “You almost killed us.”
“Yeah? And how did that make you feel?” Billy’s teeth when he speaks are too white as well, too sharp “Did you like the rush?”
“The…?!” Steve starts, eyes wide and incredulous, but Billy interrupts him when he steps closer, into Steve’s space, and crowds him against the car.
“Come on, admit it!” Billy says and places a palm flat against Steve’s chest, slowly but diligently “Your heart is beating so fast. When's the last time you felt this alive, huh? When's the last time you felt anything at all?”
“I… I don’t..” Steve stammers but his mouth is dry and his head is still spinning from the thrill.
“Hush, now. It’s okay.” Billy sways closer, pulling Steve in at the same time as if he’s got his hand tangled up in his heartstrings and is directing Steve’s body like a puppeteer “We both know you'll only get this from me. I'm your lover, sweetheart.”
And then he kisses Steve, crashes their mouths together all hard and claiming, tongue and teeth and rough stubble chafing Steve’s chin when he gasps in shock against Hargrove.
“No!” Steve tries to push him away but he's trembling, shaking apart under Billy’s touch and Hargrove doesn't budge an inch.
"Oh yes, I'm your lover. You know that too. I’m your lover and I’ve been so patient with you. I've waited all summer. Watching you, you know. I know all about how you're growing a little more desperate with each day. You're ripe to burst now." Billy’s words trickle into Steve’s brain in a melodious stream, the words weaving together like the lyrics in a song Steve has heard before but can’t quite remember. "And long overdue."
Steve shakes his head again, chokes back something bitter, tears perhaps, but he knows that Hargrove is right. That Steve's been waiting, hoping for someone to take him away from all of this, if only for a minute, no matter who and how. And Billy’s found him.
Billy came for him, answering all his unspoken prayers. Who else is there to shoot poisoned sunsets and burning gasoline up Steve’s veins just to make him feel alive like this? Only Billy and Billy alone.
Billy snakes his free arm around Steve’s waist and kisses him again, slowly this time, licking the seal of Steve’s lips apart, unhurried, and slides his tongue home into the yearning wetness of his mouth.
Steve's instincts tell him that what he’s tasting when their tongues tangle is the taste of self-destruction and he squirms, makes one last effort to get away. But Billy holds him still, he holds him so tightly that Steve feels like he couldn’t get away even if he wanted it enough, that Billy’s arms are all that’s left to run into.
And Steve is tired, he doesn't want to think anymore, not about the future, not about anything. All he wants is to dream. With a sigh, he surrenders and gives himself over to Billy.
They kiss until Steve runs out of air, until he feels like he’s floating and none of his is real at all. He’s swaying gently with the movements of Billy’s hands roaming his body, exploring his hips, his thighs, the swell of his ass, taking their time to mold Steve into something new.
His mouth burns, his lips are swollen and sore and Steve feels hot all over but then cools out too fast when Billy breaks the kiss and twists a hand in Steve’s hair, like he’s been making him drink the last flames of the sunset and is now depriving him of their warmth.
"It’s time now.” Billy whispers into his ear, his other hand on Steve’s hip shoving him slowly towards the hood of the Camaro “Turn over for me like a good bitch."
Steve’s pulse spikes, his cock twitches in his underwear as he realizes what's about to happen, what was always going to happen since he set foot in Billy’s car.
He allows Billy to bend him over the car and dip his thumbs into the elastic of his sailor shorts, to pull them down to his knees along with his briefs and kick his legs apart. The metal hood under Steve’s cheek is still warm, he can feel the power of the sleeping engine on the other side of it, dreaming maybe of roads untraveled, just like him.
All the words have left him, he doesn’t need them anyway, not when he has Hargrove’s voice whispering promises and threats into his ear, sweet enough to make Steve rot from the inside.
"This will rock your world.” Billy says behind him, the lid of a bottle pops and the scent of coconut tanning oil permeates the humid summer air of the forest. “I'll fuck you raw. I’ll cum inside you and you'll come back for more."
“Please.” Steve whispers and closes his eyes.
He inhales deeply, sucking in the tropical scent of the oil hitting his backside and sliding down his crack. It makes Steve think of the beach, the ocean. Maybe if he can make believe that he’s somewhere else then he can make believe that he’s in love with Billy and that he wants this.
“Relax.” is the only warning Steve gets and then something blunt nudges against his hole and pushes in.
Steve’s eyes fly open and he gasps at the burning sensation of being filled, of being breached like this for the first time. Dull pain blossoms in his ass and his lower abdomen and Steve wiggles one foot out of his shorts and tries to open his legs wider in a desperate attempt to make more room inside himself and relieve it.
Billy’s strong hand wraps around the backside of his knee and hikes it up so that it’s on top of the hood like the rest of Steve, spreading him impossibly wider, and then Hargrove bottoms out in one harsh thrust.
A hoarse cry escapes Steve but Billy holds him down, gives him no room to evade the penetration, and snaps his hips again.
“You can take it, baby.” Billy pants, begins building up a hard rhythm “You were made for taking cock. We just gotta break you in.”
Steve sobs, grappling for purchase and finding none as he’s shoved back and forth across the sleek hood of the Camaro when Billy starts fucking him in earnest, burrowing himself deeper with every push. It hurts, but at the same time Steve can't believe how good it is. How liberating, how there's only Billy's dick moving inside his ass and white static in his head and nothing else.
Behind him, Hargrove thrusts and grunts like an animal and Steve is all animal as well, some wild creature with no reason. He howls like one too, when Billy hits a spot deep inside him that makes stars dance behind Steve's eyes.
"Yeah." Hargrove groans pounding into Steve with abandon "That’s the spot."
The pain transforms, sorta melts into heat and coldness at the same time that quickly spreads in Steve’s lower body and makes blood pool and throb in his dick. Steve wants to touch himself, wants to cum so badly but he lacks the strength to move his hands and starts humping the car instead.
He finds a delicious, slippery kind of friction, precum leaking from his tip and slicking the surface where his dick grinds against it, trapped hard between Steve’s belly and the Camaro. And it’s good, so good, better than anything Steve’s had before, the unyielding metal underneath him and Billy’s hard, ruthless cock moving inside him.
Steve rolls his hips harder, meeting Billy’s next thrust and taking him so impossibly deeper that it rips a sound of pure ecstasy from his throat.
Billy’s wild laughter echoes through the woods and he brings down one hand to slap Steve’s ass. Steve shouts as his hips stutter forward, his spine arches and his climax blazes through him, ears ringing and blood singing as his cum splatters pearly white across Billy’s metallic blue paint job.
Wrung out, Steve collapses but Billy isn’t quite done with him yet, he pushes into him one more time, burrowing himself to the root, and through all the white haze spreading in his brain Steve can feel Billy’s dick throb and pulse as hot seed spills deep inside of him.
It’s coating his inner walls, making Hargrove slip out of him easily when he finally goes soft and trickles from Steve’s stretched-out hole in a wet trail.
Steve stays like this for a long moment, spread out and fucked out on top of the car, catching his breath and coming back to his senses.
Hargrove's lighter snaps behind him and the paper of his cigarette crackles silently as he holds it to the flame. He blows out a plume of white smoke when Steve turns to face him, more cum slipping out of him and running down the inside of his thighs as he moves.
Billy watches him shiver at the sensation, face doused in orange hues and blue shadows by the glow of his cigarette's cherry. It bobs like a red eye in the dark as Hargrove's lips twist into a smile around it.
"You're good fun, Harrington." he says, shoving his softened dick back into his jeans and buttoning up "I'll pick you up again tomorrow, same time."
It's not a question, not even an offer. Just a statement, a matter of fact.
Steve doesn't protest.