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Published: 2023-12-12

Category: M/M

Rating: T

Words: 1,521

Fandom: Stranger Things

Ship: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington

Characters: Billy Hargrove, Steve Harrington

Tags: Holiday Harringrove Exchange, Prompt Fic, Christmas Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor

Summary:

He doesn’t argue with the mittens. Just gives Steve a look.

 

“I’m used to it. You aren’t.”

 

“I’ve been here two years, Steve. I can handle a little cold.”

 

“Then why are your lips blue?”

 

Billy touches his lips, sees Steve smile fondly.

Author's Note

For Destroya_Destroya.

I hope you like this little ficlet for the boys! Happy holidays!

I hope you enjoy! And consider leaving a comment at the end of the fic to let me know what you thought.

The thing about Christmas is it’s his least favorite holiday.

 

Back west, Billy didn’t have to deal with snow and ice so frigid it ruined his tires. No. He had to deal with sporadic bouts of rain, and evenings that dipped into the seventies. Big fat deal.

 

There is one thing that never changes, rain or snow, California or Indiana. And that’s Neil and his anger.

 

He blows hot air on his hands when he hears crunching footsteps from behind.

 

Billy pretends he doesn’t notice, because he does that kind of sappy shit now. The kind where he lets Harrington pretend to jump on his shoulders to try and scare him, only to press a cold-nosed kiss to his cheek before turning him around and pecking him on the lips.

 

And then—

 

“Merry Christmas!” Then, when he gets a proper look at Billy’s face, “Jesus. Nice shiner.”

 

Harrington gingerly touches mitten fingers to the black eye he’s been sporting since six that morning. The sting has lessened, but not by much. The cold helps.

 

So does Steve, when he kisses him once, twice, squeezing his middle for good measure.

 

“I can’t wait for summer,” he says, pulling back with a frown. Looks more like a pout, cute when paired with his flushed cheeks and nose. He pulls his mittens off and starts shoving Billy’s hands into them. “Then you won’t have to deal with him anymore.”

 

It’s been in the works for months now. They both have jobs; Steve at Family Video with Robin same as ever, Billy at the local diner as a line cook. He likes it. The repetitive ease of it. The stink of grease and vegetable oil clinging to him long after he gets off shift.

 

Steve sometimes calls him his hot potato, on account of the copious amounts of french fries he makes, and it bristles as much as it warms.

 

They’re saving up to move. They won’t go far; Steve refuses to stray too far from Robin’s side. Billy’s fine with that, fine with anywhere that isn’t under Neil’s roof.

 

Fine with anywhere Steve is.

 

He doesn’t argue with the mittens. Just gives Steve a look.

 

“I’m used to it. You aren’t.”

 

“I’ve been here two years, Steve. I can handle a little cold.”

 

“Then why are your lips blue?”

 

Billy touches his lips, sees Steve smile fondly.

 

“Fuck off,” he huffs, embarrassed.

 

Steve just crowds into his space, ducks his head and blinks long eyelashes up at him like he loves to do. Loves it because he knows what it does to Billy. Makes him feel all puddly. Makes him to say soft things, things that burn on the way up but always leave him feeling refreshed. New growth after a wildfire.

 

Steve kisses him, right there in the snow, surrounded by trees.

 

It’s been their spot for a while. A little removed from the Harrington house, a lot removed from Cherry Lane. It’s private, the mild wilderness a reprieve from any judgment they might garner if they ever tried this in actual public.

 

He’s told Steve about San Francisco. About how people don’t care so much in certain neighborhoods there. Has told him about Los Angeles. About how he misses the beaches but not necessarily his hometown.

 

Too many memories.

 

They both like Indianapolis. Both like Chicago a lot more. It might be there that they eventually move, but at least they won’t have to hide so much, so often.

 

It makes him giddy. The idea of freedom alongside Steve Harrington.

 

“I got you a present.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“It’s at my house though. In my room.”

 

Billy waggles his eyebrows and Steve swats him. “Not like that! But that’s not off the table, obviously.”

 

“Oh, obviously.”

 

“Still want to cook dinner? I can order out—”

 

“Shut it, Harrington. I won’t hear anything about ordering out. You know I’m broke as shit until the first, so you’re gonna have to deal with a homemade meal as a present.”

 

He feels guilty about it. A little. Steve and him…it’s not what they do. They’re not really gift givers. Once, they’d been getting a little rough in the back of the Camaro, and Steve accidentally snapped Billy’s necklace. The chain was delicate. Steve replaced it in a matter of days.

 

The chain was expensive, he just knew it. Knew it was real gold, not the shit that turns your skin green.

 

Billy’s given him small things, not unlike a crow. Things like lighters, his old pocket knife when Tommy was still giving him shit. Half a candy bar.

 

He’s not good at it. He has somewhat of a plan. Has been saving up for that as much as he has been the new place. But it’s hard when Steve just throws his money around.

 

And he knows Steve doesn’t care if he doesn’t get something equally expensive in return. He never does. He’s as happy to receive a wrapper as much as he is a pretty decent knife, even if he never used it.

 

Even now, Steve just smiles. “I love when you cook. I never eat as good as when you take over my kitchen.”

 

That at least is true. He’s been pretty proud to see Steve’s middle fill out a little since they started going together.

 

Steve maneuvers them until Billy’s back is against a tree, snow deep and crunching around their shins as Billy parts his thighs and encourages one of Steve’s forward. His leg slots between his own and he sighs into the next kiss. It’s open-mouthed, makes him melt, go pliant with tongue and teeth, heat that claws from his throat down to his belly. Makes him stiff in his jeans, makes him rut against the lean thigh between his.

 

And Steve is perfect, because he just keeps giving Billy the same treatment. Same pressure. Same unbothered pace. A deliberate thrust forward every now and then, enough that Billy feels him hard against his hip, but not so much they’ll reach the end so soon.

 

He could spend forward like this, wrapped up in Steve and his cologne and his chilled nose and his hungry kisses.

 

Then Steve pulls away. Billy purses his lips, confused and wanting more of what they were doing five seconds ago, but clearly Steve’s smirk means he’s up to something.

 

Then Steve pulls on Billy’s jacket and the smirk grows.

 

“Harrington. Steve, don’t you fucking dare—”

 

Steve grins like the devil as he tips back, bringing Billy forward and they go crashing backward into the snow.

 

Billy lands on a much more solid, much warmer surface, which also happens to be swearing and laughing since Billy accidentally elbowed him on the way down.

 

He pancakes out beneath Billy and laughs loud enough to echo through the trees. Billy lifts his head enough to look down at him, uses a mitten to brush the fringe from Steve’s eyes. Steve’s laughter slows as he wraps his arms around Billy’s middle, bumping their noses together and sighing.

 

“Somebody’s happy with himself.”

 

Steve’s eyes sparkle up at him. It’s a look Billy’s seen plenty, knows in his gut what it is.

 

They don’t say it. But Billy can tell Steve wants to. Might any day now, and isn’t that a kick in that ass? He’s had many girls before tell him those three simple words. But this would be different. The idea of Steve saying it aloud, to Billy, makes his stomach flip. Makes him sweat, flushed and nervous.

 

It’ll mean something. It’ll mean everything.

 

But Steve just noses at his cheek again, rests his mouth on his jaw and hums, content.

 

“I can’t feel my fingers, Steve.”

 

He snorts. “I’d say stick them up my shirt, but I’m like five layers away from naked and also can’t feel my legs anymore. Maybe let’s move this to my place?”

 

Billy grins back down at him. “You read my mind, pretty boy. Come on, up you get.” He pushes himself up, straddling Steve briefly while Steve suggestively tilts his pelvis and moans all fake and wanton. Then Billy’s hauling him up, can’t keep the stupid smile off his face.

 

He won’t say it. Not before Steve.

 

“You’re a bigger dork than your little babysitter’s club, I hope you realize that.”

 

Steve’s hands find his shoulders, and Billy knows what comes next. He jumps with a little grunt and Billy is there to catch his legs. He gives Steve a piggyback ride over the snow and hidden tree roots and tries to focus on not tripping them both to their deaths.

 

“You’re the one who wanted to marathon Star Wars last weekend.”

 

“And you’re the one who was mouthing along in episode six. Don’t think I don’t know you’re hiding that knowledge from Dweeb Numero Uno.”

 

“Dustin can never know. But touché.” Steve nibbles his ear and Billy jostles him. He laughs, light and easy. Then, “Few more months, then it can be like this every day.”

 

“Hopefully with less snow.” Billy’s heart pounds. “You excited?”

 

He hears the smile in Steve’s voice as he says, “I can’t wait.”

 

Billy can’t either.