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STEVE WAS VIOLENTLY ripped away from his — admittedly wet — dreams in the morning. He couldn't even remember how he got dressed and back into his bed after last night, but he was thankful for it, because when he opened his eyes, the whole group was hunched over him, standing in a circle around his bed, minus Billy and Eddie. He blinked a few times, still sleepy, but it seemed to be reality. „What the..." he mumbled beneath his breath, but his eyes met Mary Brown's steel-gaze and he knew better than to curse.
„I'll see you in my office in no more than ten minutes, Steve." It was not a suggestion — this was an order. He grimaced, barely managing to pull himself up. He felt his brain starting to work at somewhat helpful capacity again, but that also meant he was flashed by memories of last night: Billy on top of him, Steve desperately wanting to scream in pleasure, holding it together for the sake of not waking up the others. He had to smirk. Steve Harrington had been deflowered. Steve Harrington had exceptional sex. Exceptional gay sex, to be exact.
He shot a glance over to Billy's bed, but the other man was missing. He scrunched up his face and then stood up, making his way to the bathroom. His hair was a mess and his neck looked like a fourteen year old, who just learned what hickeys were, had a field day. Great.
It took him eleven minutes to reach Mary's office — he saw it on the kitschy cat wall-mounted clock in the hallway — but he got away with it. The office door was shut and he could hear voices from behind it. Slowly, he pressed his ear to the door in order to find out what was going on, but he could only make out bits and pieces: ...unacceptable behaviour... sexual intercourse... needs to have consequences... not my son...
Steve grimaced. So Billy was first in the hot chair. And from the sounds of it, it didn't look too good. How did they know? Steve was so careful not to make a sound yesterday and even if someone had been awake — they wouldn't rat them out like that, would they? He leaned against the wall next to the office door, staring at the clock, the hands moving in what felt like slow motion.
„Steve," his mother's heels clattered on the wood floor as she staggered towards his son, a worried expression deepening the wrinkles in her face. „What have you done?" he saw tears shimmering in her eyes as she came to a halt in front of him. He looked around for his dad, but he didn't seem to be there.
„He's outside. Smoking. Calms the nerves," Rosie Harrington shrugged, still looking at her son, the disappointment in her features almost unbearable for Steve, who relaxed the tiniest bit when he heard he still had five minutes before the giant ass-whooping would take place.
„Tell me, son," his mother demanded again, and her gentle voice was shaking, „What have you done?" she shook her head. Judging from the pained look on her face, she knew exactly what he did. Steve swallowed hard.
