Chapter Text
"The weather tonight is looking like rain, rain, and more rain!" Hawkins' evening weatherman garbled through the Beemer's stereo system, his steady voice warped by the way rain battered Steve's poor radio antenna. Bucket after bucket of the unseasonably heavy downpour dumped straight onto the windshield without pause and nearly blotted out the road ahead. If he weren't so damn exhausted from a double shift at work followed by evening classes, he'd be tempted to pull over and nap along the shoulder. "Now for some of the latest love ballads from artists you love!"
Steve's focus was dragged sharply and violently from Hawkins' slippery road conditions when a loud POP sounded from the rear end of his car, followed by harsh tugging at the steering controls. "Holy shit!"
He wrangled his car onto the shoulder and threw the hazards on, but breathing felt impossible. His fingers slowly found the steering wheel again and curled around it numbly - almost like they weren't truly attached to his body. The sensation of worn black leather creaking under his palms as those unfamiliar digits flexed simply didn't register. Anxiety and frustration swirled through his gut, filling the air. Stifling him.
Inside Steve's head was nothing but an endless scream of exhaustion-fueled frustration, but out loud he muttered: "Guess we'll just have to walk the last mile or so and risk a cold tomorrow."
But before he could open the driver's side door and step into the rain, a knock on the passenger window sent his head thudding against the roof. "Ow! Fuck!"
The figure standing outside knocked again, clearly impatient. And who wouldn't be impatient when they were riding an enormous motorcycle through this intense of a rainstorm for some ungodly reason? Trusting his instinct despite the unconventional circumstances (though, to be completely honest, when was anything conventional in Hawkins?), Steve slid across the seat, reached for the handle, and cranked the window down. Rain immediately started dripping onto the inner panel of the door, but he ignored it - the aggressive stranger was far more interesting than mild upholstery damage.
"Your rear tire blew out." The stranger's voice was low; he sounded authoritative but not pushy. "Do you know how to change it?"
"No," Steve replied. Embarrassment at his lack of knowledge forced him to add a quick but sincere: "I'm sorry."
The stranger flicked his helmet's visor up and Steve bit hard at the inside of his lip for entirely different reasons. There was something about the man's eyes. Something about the way they flashed like steel in the murky light that pulled Steve closer to the window before he'd even noticed he was moving. He'd barely regained his senses in time to hear the slightly bemused: "You don't gotta apologize to me, pretty boy. It's not my ride."
"Uh. Right. Well, thank you for letting me know. About the tire." Steve chuckled awkwardly and flashed the stranger a lame thumbs-up. "I'm just gonna walk home and come back for it in the morning."
"I can change it for you."
Wait, what?
Steve's brain momentarily lost all function. "Oh- Okay. Thanks! Here, let me-" He pulled whatever lever popped the trunk open and snatched his umbrella from the floor behind his seat. "Let me keep you semi-dry, at least."
"Thanks. Think you could keep my helmet off the ground, too?"
"Of course!"
Steve had not been even slightly prepared for the man beneath said helmet. He muttered yet another "Holy shit" that evening, though it was said at a much lower volume and with far greater awe.
Billy rolled his eyes and pulled his motorcycle up alongside the stranded Beemer. A few shredded bits of rubber scattered and steaming on the pavement, combined with the Beemer's total lack of rear left tire, told Billy everything he needed to know. It was an easy enough fix even in this torrential weather; surely the driver could handle it on their own?
Curse both the alpha and the professional mechanic in him for refusing to let him leave without checking things out.
The Beemer was a relatively new model, though clearly well loved judging by some dings and scrapes near the trunk, and painted deep maroon; nothing Billy would be want to be caught driving, but also not impractical. The driver obviously hadn't noticed the sound of Billy's bike approaching over the roaring of the rain, because one gentle knock at the window resulted in a hollow thud and startled cursing.
Billy knocked again just to see what would happen.
For a long moment there was nothing, only harsh pellets of rain, and then the window came open in hurried little increments. The streetlamp shining over Billy's right shoulder revealed an admittedly pretty face gazing up at him. The man was around Billy's age, with purposefully arranged waves of brown hair and big brown eyes to match.
"Your rear tire blew out." Billy stated. Worried that only one of them might make it out of this hellish rain alive, he added: "Do you know how to change it?"
"No," Beemer Guy shook his head. While the driving rain had obscured his scent entirely so far, Billy managed to catch a faint whiff of bitter embarrassment through the filter on his helmet helmet. "I'm sorry."
Billy flicked his visor open to get a better handle on the situation and noticed an immediate shift from bitterness to cinnamon-sweet warmth. The alpha's nose twitched and he hid a grin between his mustache and the helmet; pretty boy kinda smelled like apple pie.
"You don't hafta apologize to me." Billy slid his tongue along his teeth and practically felt the resulting wave of cinnamon. "It's not my ride, is it?"
"Uh. Right. Well, thank you for letting me know. About the tire." The man's bitterly embarrassed scent returned and he offered an uncomfortable laugh, giving Billy a very limp, unenthusiastic thumbs-up. "I'm just gonna walk home and come back for it in the morning."
Before he could stop the traitorous words from leaving his mouth, Billy had already made the offer: "I can change it for you."
Why? Why had he decided to change this guy's tire when all he really wanted was to go home, curl up on the couch with Glenn, and finish watching Hellraiser? But then-
Then that fuckin apple pie pushed through the rain again and returned Billy to putty in the stranger's hands.
"Oh- Okay. Thanks! Here, let me-" The man ducked back toward the driver's side and fiddled around for a moment. Billy heard the trunk click open, eyes still locked on the driver pulling an umbrella from the floor behind his seat. "Let me keep you semi-dry, at least."
What a cutie, Billy smiled internally but kept his face intentionally blank. He wasn't the right kind of guy for Beemer, anyway. He could tell. "Thanks. Think you could keep my helmet off the ground, too?"
"Of course!"
The cinnamon-sweetness tripled in strength once both of them were standing near the jacked up bumper - Billy handling the tire repair and his pretty stranger keeping his helmet safe and (mostly) dry. He wanted to ask the omega (Billy could tell by the way he kept tugging the hem of his sweatshirt over his wrist glands) for his name, but they had barely been able to hear each other before, and now the rain was coming down even harder. Any sort of multisyllabic conversation was damn-near impossible.
The swap was mercifully quick.
Billy stood and took his helmet from the driver's loose grip, its visor safely locked into place. The man held the umbrella over Billy while he wiped the helmet down and slid it back over his face. He flicked the visor back up again to yell: "You'll need a new tire as soon as possible! Go home and warm up before you get sick!"
"Right. Yeah, okay. Thank you!"
Billy watched as Beemer Guy started the engine and disappeared into the downpour, sighing out a foggy breath of resignation. Once the glowing red of pretty boy's taillights fully disappeared, Billy revved his bike and followed suit.
"Hey, yo, Billy!" Eddie shouted from across the mostly-empty garage. "Before you get elbow deep in Mr. Carter's Olds, the Big Boss sent in a special rush job for you. It needs to be ready for this weekend."
"Rob's bike again?"
"You fuckin' know it."
"She can't keep shredding throttles like this, dude. Her bullshit driving is going to put us out of business."
"Whatever. It's not like we give them parts or labor for free," Eddie chucked a greasy rag at Billy's head and missed by a longshot.
"Don't expect me to admit you're right when we both already know it." Billy huffed and slid into the private garage where Hopper sent 'rush jobs' to be repaired. "Still it doesn't mean I like having to prioritize this shit over my regulars."
"You made a deal with the devil," Eddie shrugged and flicked the switch beside the door. Billy groaned.
Robin's dark red Kawasaki Ninja had skid marks all along the left side of its chassis. Two yet unidentified wires poked up from its engine block and oil leaked from somewhere deep within. Billy shot a glare across the room but didn't put much heat behind it; besides, Eddie was right again. He had made a deal with the devil, and now he had to pay his dues.
"See you at lunch, fucker."
"Fuck you, too."
Eddie disappeared back toward the main garage, yelling instructions at a couple other mechanics as they opened up their stations for the day. He made sure that Randall had the Olds repairs handled, at least, so Mr. Carter wouldn't have to wait any longer than Billy's original estimate. Billy thanked the heavens that Eddie was so great at handling issues like this, especially when they hit at random.
Come to think of it, it was damn near time he offered Eddie a proper business partnership...
"This way!" Robin herded Steve between two burly security guards and into the bustle of her 'track' for the evening. Neither of the two men posted at the entrance glanced her way or asked any questions about who Steve was or where they were going. "I've always wanted to introduce you to the gang, but they're not in town very often so I've never gotten the chance. Until tonight! So hurry up, dingus!"
"Seriously?" Steve fell into step behind her, allowing himself to be dragged. Robin's iron grip on his wrist tethered him to safety as they dodged between bodies and obstacles. "Am I cool enough to meet your racing friends?"
"Not by a long shot," she laughed. "But you're cool enough for me, and that's what matters. Plus I'm the one to beat around here; what're they gonna do, talk shit about my skills? Just because I'm a girl and 'just some beta' doesn't mean I won't kick each and every one of their sorry asses without breaking a sweat."
Steve adored many things about his best friend, but her easy wit and self-confidence were high on the list. Whenever doubt struck, Robin's was the first number he dialed for advice. She had yet to steer him wrong - though tonight felt close to skating the edge of his tolerance for shenanigans. While he was genuinely excited to meet her friends from the underground circuit, he was still a mostly-innocent suburban omega.
What did he know about illegal street racing?
Turns out, Steve knew a bit more than he thought. Because, as they rounded one last corner and came upon a brightly colored gathering of tents, he spotted the man who'd saved him from walking home during last week's big storm. The handsome man who'd changed his tire and gotten him home alive.
Before Steve could say anything or try introducing himself, Robin shouted: "Hey guys, we made it!"
"Heya, Rob! Glad to see you're still alive and wreaking havoc."
"Shut the hell up, Ed."
"And deprive the world of my witticism? I think not."
"Boo fuckin' hoo," Hot Biker drawled. Steve really hoped he wouldn't do that thing with his tongue and his teeth again. He didn't want to humiliate himself or Robin in front of these people.
"Guys, this is my friend, Steve. Steve, I'd like you to meet Heather, Chrissy, Eddie, and Billy. Eddie and Billy maintain the bikes for all of Hopper's races, Heather races the circuit with me, and Chrissy runs the flags."
Steve shook hands with everyone as they were introduced, but his eyes couldn't stay away from Billy for more than a few seconds. Dried and styled into a low bun at the nape of his neck, Billy's caramel curls gave Steve a new appreciation for Odysseus' episode with the sirens. He desperately wanted to bury his nose right there and learn the details of Billy's scent; alas that such behavior would be highly inappropriate.
"So, Steve, didja get that new tire?"
"Wh- Oh! Yeah, I did. Thanks again for rescuing me," Steve ran a hand through his hair and shot Billy his warmest smile. "I probably would have caught the flu by walking."
"Ah, so you're Mystery Biker Guy." Robin elbowed Billy in the ribs. "Thanks for doing Steve a solid. Forget the flu, he'd probably be dead by mugging or some kind of accidental impalement without your help, dude."
"The next person who thanks me is getting socked in the mouth," Billy warned, glaring down at his beer. Steve swallowed hard. He'd been so friendly a moment ago...?
"There's the Billy we know and love," Heather teased. Billy reached to mess up her hair and Heather darted out of reach, laughing. This was more than a gang or friend group, this was a pack. Steve's skin felt hot and far too tight over his bones; he didn't belong here. He was an interloper yet again.
He should go-
"Hey, Steve, you alright?"
Steve looked up to find himself and Billy standing ten or so feet away from the tents. A blue and yellow bike provided a decent enough excuse, so he reached for it: "Yeah, just wanted to take a look at this... Yamaha."
Billy's frown deepened, as did Steve's unease. "I can pretend that's the truth for the time being."
"Thanks." Alone out here, Steve could finally identify the primary notes in Billy's scent: Pine smoke, petrichor... and the steady presence of motor oil that was unavoidable in Billy's line of work. "I think it's all a little overwhelming. Not that it's your fault, or anything!"
Billy chuckled and bumped their hips together. "You don't gotta defend yourself to me, pretty boy. The circuit can be a lot."
"How did you get involved, anyway? Were you looking for some kind of connection or did mob boss Hopper find you in the Yellowpages?"
"A bit of both." Billy clammed up and Steve felt wrong-footed all over again. Why couldn't he keep his damn feet out of his mouth?!
Chrissy bounced over and interrupted their growing cloud of awkwardness. "Wanna come see Robin kick some newbie all the way back to New Jersey?"
"You know I do."
"Hurry up, then!"
Steve startled when Billy grabbed him by the hand, grateful when the alpha didn't try and twine their fingers together. Billy waited a beat, giving Steve the opportunity to reject him, but when Steve's protest never came he started toward the racetrack.