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”You talk in your sleep, you know.”
The blinds are rolled down and the white, completely see-through curtains are closed too. Steve can’t see that the sun is already high in the sky and burning everything in its wake, but he can feel it because the room is positively sweltering.
It doesn’t help that they close the door, too.
There’s no actual need, because they’re alone. No one is ever in Steve’s house, but it makes them feel safer having the visual of the door fully shut.
“Oh?” He hadn’t been aware, actually. No one’s ever been around to tell him. Nancy definitely never said anything.
Billy hums from behind him. Steve doesn’t have to turn around to know how he looks; lounged in his bed, suntanned, and with the sheets pooling artfully around him even if it’s too fucking hot to even be partly under the covers.
Instead Steve keeps staring at the door, keeps sitting on the side of his bed. The floor isn’t even cold against his bare feet.
“Can’t even get you to shut up when you’re asleep.” Billy’s tone is sharp and his words are harsh, but Steve doesn’t flinch at either. He wants to laugh.
Because he knows Billy – or, he can read Billy. He doesn’t think anyone actually ‘knows Billy’, maybe not Billy himself. And while Billy sure sounds it, he isn’t being mean right now. Not like he can be, when his words bite the worst and make Steve flinch away even though he knows Billy won’t physically hurt him ever again.
So Steve’s grinning even as Billy can’t see it and says, “You wouldn’t want me to, anyway.”
Billy doesn’t reply, so Steve doesn’t know if he’s grinning too, or scowling, or has that sappy look on his face he always refuses exists when Steve brings it up and that he hides away if Steve’s able to see it.
He figures Billy would look really good with a cigarette right now. Would look good bathed in sunlight too, but Steve never draws the curtains, so they’ll have to make do with the light coming off his bedside table.
He’s provided Billy the perfect opportunity to say some gross shit like, know something else I’d rather have your mouth be doing, but Billy doesn’t take the bait.
Ironically, it’s the quiet that makes Steve anxious, not the words. You talk in your sleep.
Steve isn’t good with sleep. He isn’t good with a lot of things, but sleep in particular doesn’t come easy to him anymore.
Sometimes it’s falling asleep that’s the problem, mostly it’s staying asleep. Sometimes it’s impossible to not wake up in the middle of the night screaming, or on the worse night where he doesn’t have enough air to even do that, when the darkness is oppressive and fucking terrifying. Or, not the darkness, but what hides there.
Billy knows about the screaming. And the not screaming. He’s been there for both, has jolted up from the bed to seek out the threat, to fight off whatever’s made Steve so afraid he’s shaking apart in his bed, until he seems to realize there’s nothing there, it’s just the two of them and there’s seemingly no reason for Steve to be as scared as he is.
Yet he can’t stop shaking. Not until long after Billy’s curled himself around him, warm and solid and breathing and alive and safe, they both are, do his limbs fall heavy and the sobbing threatens to take over instead.
It’s not as bad now as it used to be. Isn’t as bad when Billy stays over. Steve’s even started sleeping through the night again, on those nights only.
Steve dreams. Or more accurately, he remembers, with added on events of just how wrong things could’ve gone, nearly did go. Dreams filled with darkness and screams and too many teeth and danger, danger, danger until the anxiety makes him want to tear off his skin and hide away forever.
It’s gnawing at him now, not knowing what Billy may or may not know right this second.
“What’d I say, then?” he asks, going for casual, but his skin is too tight and the line of his shoulders too rigid that Billy will know just by looking at him.
“Loads of things,” Billy says. His voice is deep and a bit gravely, the way it always goes when he’s just woken up.
The lie-in had been accidental. At least they both have the closing shift today. Billy has to stay late to teach the kiddies in the late afternoon and Steve has to lock up the ice cream shop and ask Robin if she wants a ride somewhere, even if she always declines.
“You talked about the ocean,” Billy finally tells him. Tensely, which tells Steve it’s not the entire story. “Kept going on about waves and sunshine and driving down long, deserted roads.”
Oh. Steve feels his mouth go slack as all his muscles relax. It happens so quickly, too quickly. He nearly slumps down so much he slides right off the bed. His skin is too sweaty to glide anywhere, though, which is probably the only thing that saves him and his dignity.
Because what Billy’s leaving out isn’t the part about too many teeth and growls and a bat with nails and keep them safe. It’s that Steve thinks about the ocean and waves and sunshine and driving down long, deserted roads with Billy.
Steve can’t help the smile the breaks out on his face. He can still feel the anxiety swirling around inside him, now there for a different reason because Billy doesn’t really do… this. Feelings or commitments or whatever you might want to call it. He gets scared and makes stupid, impulsive decisions, or he wants to test someone, push them to their limits to see if they’ll really follow through on what he’s pushing for them to do.
Steve talking about not only going to California, but going with Billy is definitely something that’ll make Billy scared enough to do something stupid before he shows up at Steve’s front door again. Tired and worst case bloody and just so fucking sad and filled with anger that only slowly starts to ebb out when he’s got his face pressed into Steve’s hair and Steve’s got his face pressed into Billy’s neck.
“Did I bore you with my travel plans?” Steve lilts. He’d meant to tease, because Billy likes it when he pushes back and Steve loves to push back, but he doesn’t end up doing that.
Billy snorts from behind him and it makes Steve grin wider. Duck his head down even as he knows Billy can’t see how his mouth is stretched out in a smile.
He notices he’s got a set of teeth marks indented in his skin, right on the bone of his wrist. It’s red and a bit sore when he moves his hand around. It’s just deep enough to still be there as a remnant from last night, but not deep enough to have drawn blood that have scabbed over.
He likes it. He always does, and Billy knows that which is why he keeps giving him little marks and bruises he’ll get to run his fingers over during the day when he can’t remember what is a dream and what is reality.
He’ll have to wear a watch to work, though. Robin would give him looks, probably thinking he did it himself while jerking off to keep quiet. And it’s a bit of an awkward place when he has to hand ice cream over to sweaty, tired parents and too hyper children all day. No need to cause a scandal.
“Always yapping away,” Billy groans, but he sounds less tense, has less anger looming right underneath the surface.
Steve hums. “Could stop listening, then, if I’m so annoying.”
And he should sound like he is annoyed, but he really isn’t. This is just how they are, this give and take, push and shove.
Billy’s physically unable to stop listening. Is always paying attention to the point where it’ll go from being a nuisance to too much and the anger will boil over and Billy will snap for whoever’s talking to shut up.
He never does that with Steve. Even with how Steve admittedly does have a way of yammering on and on, words just falling out on top of each other in a mess until he isn’t sure what the point he’d been trying to make was.
Billy’s always sweet when Steve talks. He’s sweet too when the words refuse to come to Steve, when all he can do is gasp for air that’s evading him, Billy’s still listening patiently then too.
He should tell him, he thinks. Feels like a hypocrite, feels like bullshit, because that’s what Nancy had wanted to do, had wanted to tell Barb’s parents there was no reason to hope when they should be grieving.
He keeps seeing too many teeth, and too many teeth and Billy, and it fucking terrifies him.
And he shouldn’t be thinking like this, because they closed the gate. It’s over. All the demodogs had been taken care of the following couple of weeks; the first one because Steve, Hopper, El and Mrs. Byers had gone out and taken care of them, but after that first week they’d just started to drop dead. They couldn’t handle being cut off, weren’t strong enough to survive without that something tethering them to their own world. They’d only had to dispose the bodies after that.
Billy moves around. Steve hears the sheets being shuffled, feels the dip in the bed as Billy’s probably moved to face him better.
“How would I ever know what you’re thinking, then?” Billy asks, voice light but so heavy with teasing.
Steve should get up and go take that shower he desperately needs. They both have work in an hour or two, and they both need to shower and eat before that, and they won’t have time for either if Steve turns around and takes a look at Billy.
Because he knows what he’ll see and he knows what he’ll want to do instead of all the things he needs to. Knows he’ll want to crawl back onto the bed and down Billy’s body until he can press his nose into the v of his legs, or maybe just settle on top of him until he can sink down, down, down.
“No one ever really wants to know,” Steve tells him a bit distantly. Eyes fixed on the two sets of yesterday’s clothes tossed on the floor right by the door. “The truth can be inconvenient, and people hate being inconvenienced.”
He’s thinking of rows upon rows of teeth and screaming, wishes he could just be thinking of beaches and the ocean and sunshine and worrying if Billy will or won’t want to go with him.
Billy shuffles from behind him again. Steve feels the heat of his hand hovering over the bare skin of his lower back, but Billy never closes the distance.
He’s always been weird about that, careful not to initiate touches if Steve isn’t looking at him.
“You still high, baby?” Billy asks, and Steve wants to laugh. Wants the knots in his stomach and chest to go away until he can finally be content.
He never comes closer to that feeling than in moments like this one. Moments where it’s easy to breathe even with everything he’s trying to leave behind.
Their work uniforms are lying in a tangled heap on Steve’s bedroom floor where they’d dropped them last night. The red of Billy’s swimming trunks shines brighter than the rest of the clothes. They’ll be all creased and messy by now, and Steve will have to iron the sailor suit before he goes to work, which Billy will make fun of him for, but he can’t just not do it. He really needs to get started on his day if he wants to have time for everything.
Instead he turns around. Slides back fully on the bed, settles between Billy’s legs, and holds himself over him, perched up on his elbows by Billy’s head. He’s careful not to press down on Billy’s hair, to not accidentally squash any of the golden curls.
Billy’s a fucking vision underneath him, is a vision in general.
“High on life,” he drawls exaggeratedly. Takes a risk and presses a kiss to Billy’s chest.
“High on love.” Doesn’t look further up than Billy’s mouth, can’t take the risk of looking him in the eyes. He’s still smiling, soft and sweet, and his body hasn’t grown tense underneath him.
“High on you.”
Chances a look. Billy rolls his eyes, but he’s still smiling and relaxed and letting Steve do whatever.
Billy raises his hand, runs his fingers along Steve’s jaw, up his cheek, down his nose, over his cupid’s bow, over his lips and settles on his chin. The pad of his thumb presses down until Steve gets the hint and lets his mouth fall open easily underneath Billy’s administrations.
His thumb moves up, traces over the line of Steve’s bottom lip, holds down until the wet, shiny bit of Steve’s mouth starts to show.
“Jesus, you’re pretty,” Billy mutters. His pupils are blown and his gaze is fixed on Steve.
And Steve loves it.
“Got to be, don’t I?” Steve asks when Billy isn’t holding his mouth open anymore. Drops down from his elbows until he’s lying fully on top of Billy. “To keep your attention.”
Billy snorts. “Oh, yeah. You’ve got so much competition, pretty boy.”
Steve beams. Likes it when Billy breaks out the sweet names that are only slightly mocking. Likes it when Billy unintentionally reveals just how much moments like these mean to him too, that it’s not just Steve who feels it.
Steve hums. “Bathing suits have never sold this well before, you know.”
That startles a laugh out of Billy. He’s shaking with it, and in turn shaking Steve.
He’s got laughter lines around his eyes and his mouth, Steve realizes. He likes the look of them, likes knowing he was the one who brought them out this time. Made Billy laugh hard enough that they couldn’t keep hidden in smooth, tanned skin.
“Saw Mrs. Wheeler get a new one the other day,” Steve continues before Billy’s managed to settle down.
“That so?” Billy’s still giggling. His hand smoothes over the line of Steve’s torso, tickling along his ribs until he wants to squirm with it, but he keeps still. He’s being good. “Think you’d look prettier in it, baby.”
Steve can’t help the pleased smile that shows on his face. “Not quite my colors.” Finally squirms when it becomes too much.
Billy’s grinning, looking like a predator with sharp teeth and clever eyes. Like someone who’s just caught their prey, and it makes Steve want to squirm until he can burrow his way into Billy’s chest and just stay there.
A hand runs through his hair, tugs a bit until his mouth falls open reflexively.
“Every color is your color,” Billy drawls. Steve can tell he doesn’t really care about that though, isn’t thinking about which colors are complementary to Steve’s skin tone. “If you can rock the sailor outfit anything works.”
Steve scowls at him. “I look fucking cute in that sailor outfit, asshole.” It’s not his fault there’s a stupid hat.
Billy tugs a bit harder around his handful of hair, sending a deliciously sharp pain sparking down the line of his spine, makes him shiver with it.
“Said so, didn’t I?” Billy reminds him.
He had, Steve has to concede in the end. Doesn’t do it verbally, because he doesn’t want Billy to gloat for, like, a week, which Steve knows he’ll do. He’s an infuriating asshole like that.
He still presses another kiss to the sleep-warm skin right near his mouth. Makes it a bit wet, licks with just the tip of his tongue until Billy’s eyes darken and Steve can feel his pulse picking up.
He tastes of salt and sweat and Billy, and it’s so good. He moves along his skin until he ends up at Billy’s right shoulder, just over the top of his bicep, right at the tattoo.
He’d gotten it on the night of his 18th birthday, back in April. Had had a bloody nose the day after and a proper shiner.
Steve had laughed when he first saw the tattoo, because it’s so Billy it’s slightly hilarious. It’s so fucking dramatic, but it’s also so fucking sad or some shit, so it was either laughing or crying and Steve does enough crying in front of Billy during the night.
Because maybe it’s for bragging rights, like Billy claims. Some kind of street cred about having a skull tattooed onto your body that Steve will never fully understand, but Steve sees.
The cigarette dangling out of the skull’s mouth, the smoke curling up towards his shoulder, reminds him a little too much of the way Billy likes to leave a cigarette in his mouth, likes to feel the way his lips will curl around it, the way he can hold it still between his teeth.
If the skull didn’t say enough by itself, the dead look in his eyes that Billy sometimes gets should be the final nail in the coffin. At least it’s summer and Billy’s lack of a uniform, so to speak, means there’s nowhere to hide away the bruises. Steve’s also fairly certain Billy’s and Max’s mom and dad are out of town, because he’s seen Max run around the mall with the boys at all sorts of hours that he knows she never would’ve been allowed out at if Billy wasn’t the one in charge.
He should tell him, Steve thinks again. Tries to dismiss the thought, because, no.
Not only will Billy laugh and call him a nutcase, Billy will leave. He’ll leave and he’ll never come back.
And Steve is selfish. He’s selfish and he’s bullshit and he falls in love with all the wrong kinds of people. And he doesn’t want to be left alone again. He can’t.
“Can’t believe you went out and bought new shoes just so you could color coordinate.” Billy says the word like it actually pains him to acknowledge he has that term in his vocabulary, even though Steve’s fairly certain he knew about it before Steve ever told him.
Steve frowns. “But they’re literally the perfect match? How could you honestly expect me not to –“
He umph’s when Billy suddenly drags his body up along his own. They’re both too sweaty and it burns when their skins stick together, but then Steve’s close enough that Billy can kiss him quiet.
He should tell him, he thinks again. What if it’ll end up being what saves his life?
It’s a nagging little thought that never fully goes away. Is there every single time Steve looks at Billy or thinks of Billy or worries about Billy when he wakes up in the middle of the night screaming and Billy isn’t there.
And he shouldn’t even be thinking about it, because the gate is closed. No more monsters, no more weird labs, no more getting beat up, no more weird mysteries, no more deaths. It’s done and over with, and telling Billy would put him in danger along with Steve, if it’s any indication the way the government officials had hunted him down afterwards and made him sign wads of paper after paper.
But what if, a voice in his head traitorously whispers. Then Billy licks over the seam of Steve’s lips and it’s easier to not think about any of it.
Billy would leave, but before that he’d call him stupid, an idiot, crazy, exactly what everyone else calls him, and what Steve hates being called, and what Billy never calls him because he knows Steve hates it.
He’ll tell him, he decides when Billy rolls them over so he’s on top, situated between Steve’s legs, hands wrapped around his wrists and holding them up over his head, and kissing him lazily like they have all the time in the world, if it ever comes down to it. If it’ll ever be necessary. He’ll tell him.
If it ever comes back, if it ever seems like ignorance isn’t bliss anymore, like knowing might just end up being what’ll save Billy’s life, Steve will tell him. About everything. About monsters and too many teeth and screaming and all the deaths and constantly being so fucking scared. He’ll tell him.
And he’ll let him laugh at him and he’ll let him call him bad names that’ll haunt him for a long, long time, and it’ll all be worth it because it means Billy’s alive to do it.
He’ll tell him, and then forgets about everything else and just focuses on kissing Billy.
Four days later, he’s trapped in a Russian elevator. Dustin and Erica are asleep while he and Robin try to figure out something that could help them break out of here, but it’s difficult when all Steve can think about is how he should’ve told Billy when he had the chance.
Mind you, he never would’ve thought Russians were what they had to be afraid of. And they have no reason to think any of this is connected to the Upside Down, but Steve still feels the regret festering in the back of his mind.
He hasn’t seen Billy since Friday morning-noon-ish. Since Billy had pressed him up against the inside of his front door, trailing biting kisses along his skin until they’d both nearly been late for work.
Steve hopes it hasn’t made a difference not telling Billy. Billy, who, theoretically, should be safe, because he spends most of the day at the pool, which is so public no monster is going to be charging through there all willy-nilly, and Cherry Lane is far enough away from the woods that it should be secure. Safer than Steve’s house, apparently, maybe even ironically, considering the other type of monster that lurks around Cherry Lane.
He’ll tell him when they get out of here, he decides. First thing, doesn’t matter if this is only the Red Army infiltrating or if there’s some Upside Down business involved as well, Steve’s going to tell him. Just hopes he won’t be too late to do so.
Because, what if, the voice keeps tormenting.