Stonathan ❤️

80

NOT MINE!!

all credits go to NeroAnne on ao3

A/N: sorry for not posting for so long! <3

He'd known that having Billy Hargrove patched into the club was a bad idea.

Everything about the blue-eyed man made Steve uncomfortable but even he couldn't deny that Billy was a phenomenal scrapper. The guy could take and dish abuse like no one he had ever met before, and he was always able to get their money from buyers, knew which people to sell to get the highest profit.

But fuck, Steve had known this would happen.

He blinked his eyes open with a deep groan, immediately bringing a hand up to shield his eyes from the white walls and the fluorescent lighting of the hospital. "Son of a bitch," he muttered, head ringing. He moved his fingers to the back of his head, hissing as his fingertips made contact with a thick bandage, but he could feel the damn bump even from underneath the protective layer.

"That would be where the gun clocked you."

Steve turned to the door. His eyes slid up the familiar body, decked out in blue scrubs and a white coat, and he smiled charmingly, easing back onto the bed as he finally stared into brown eyes full of disappointment. "Hey, doc. Nice of you to bandage me up. Wish I were awake for some of it, I bet you were real nice and gentle with me."

"Steve," Jonathan said, voice quiet. "Stop it."

Steve's grin fell. He looked away from the ex-club member, catching sight of the chair to his left and scoffing as he noticed that it was full of stuffed toys. "What the hell is that?"

"The prospects decided to come by and drop them off. The Saints feel awfully bad about not trusting their president on his judgment of the new recruit." Jonathan walked over to the stuffed toys, picking up a furry white dog and perching it on top of the clipboard he was holding, "This one is from Will."

Steve sighed, seeing the way Jonathan's fingers stroked the stuffed toy, "Your brother isn't going to join the club. None of them will be joining the club," he told Jonathan, truly meaning it, "I let them ride along and they do some cleaning at the club-house but none of them are going to get a cut and they won't be allowed to do any runs."

The Hawkins Storms and Saints Motorcycle club had been founded by Andrew Harrington back in the sixties. As the only son, Steve naturally settled into his role in the club when he became eighteen and it was in the club that he'd met Jonathan Byers, the seventeen-year-old son of club member Lonnie Byers.

It was bad. The Saints was full of criminals, more than Steve's father could ever hope to realize. They would do side-deals with rivals, send spies and in the end there would be all out wars for territory all over Hawkins.

Andrew wasn't a great leader. It was never his intention for the club to be so full of eventual traitors but he still never thought to end the club. He led the charge against violence and his VP at the time, Lonnie Byers, was absolutely no better.

Lonnie was an unpredictable and violent man, with a penchant for extorting people at their lowest points. He'd dragged Jonathan into the club-life, forcing him to become a member, to get the Saints tattoo and beat people late on payments, all against his will.

Steve remembered kissing that storm tattoo, remembered its location on the small of Jonathan's back, right in between beautiful dimples, and remembered feeling Jonathan's fingers trace the double S and crashing wave he'd gotten tattooed on his own rib-cage, and could remember the sound their skin made as he fucked into his younger lover so many years ago.