Definitely Not Gay (Harringrove)

Kiss

Steve

Wait, I think he's actually gay.

He's humming as I suck on his adam's apple. I totally thought he would push me away the second I kissed him, but he's actually liking this.

Oh, fuck, what do I do now? I was counting on him blowing up in my face and storming out, but now we're making out on my couch.

I'm halfway through strategizing how to kill him quietly, when I realize I like this, too.

He's hot. He's a good kisser. Why shouldn't I just enjoy this? I'm not gay if it's all part of an experiment, right? I'm trying to see if he's gay, that's all. And if we end up sucking each other off, it's all part of the test.

Besides, this would be a great thing to hold against him. Just think of how easy it would be to blackmail him after this. He definitely deserves it. He's put me through hell. I hate him.

I'm gonna make him pay with kisses. I'm gonna deflower him and strip him of his dignity. I'm gonna make him regret swiping the crown from Steve Harrington, King of Hawkins High.

He grabs my chin and forces my head up. I open my eyes. He's smiling like a maniac. And I absolutely love it. I can't help but smile, too.

He pulls me into him, our lips crashing together. We smile into the kiss. He starts bucking his hips up, making me break out in a series of moaning. God, who would have thought I'd be making out with Billy Hargrove in my living room.

But something feels so wrong about this. I hear his words from this morning echo in my head. Fag. He may be turning me on in ways I didn't know possible, but he's a terrible person. Sure, it feels amazing right now, but tomorrow, I'm gonna absolutely hate myself for doing this.

I pull away. "Billy, this is dumb—"

"Shh, shh, shh!" he hushes me, grabbing my ass and pulling me closer, "Don't think, just fuck."

"No, seriously." I scramble off his lap, immediately feeling colder without his touch. "You are the worst person to ever set foot in this shithole town—and that's a low bar."

His brow furrows. His outreached hands fall into his lap. Good.

"I won't deny it—this feels good, but... you've outright bullied me. You called me a fag. You blamed me for everything that happened last night. Hell, you'll probably blame me for tonight. I just... can't do this."

"I won't call you a fag anymore," he says quietly.

I run my hand through my hair and just laugh.

"I never bullied you."

"Billy, I don't believe any of your bullshit. Whatever you say, you're still a fucking bastard. Don't you understand?"

He scoffs. "You have got to be kidding me."

"Wha—"

"Stop acting like I'm some demonic hell spawn. You're not special. I don't give two shits about anyone at that dumb school. I haven't been out to get you. You've invented this whole rivalry all on your own. I was never a part of it."

"If you 'don't give two shits' about me, then leave. You're wasting my time."

He stands up and edges closer to me. "You don't have to make this deep, Harrington. It's just a hook up, not a wedding." He grabs my hands and laces our fingers together, talking in a low, sultry voice. "Let's just take a few swigs of whatever strong shit your parents got in their liquor cabinet and call it a drunken mistake."

Damn, can he talk like that all the time? I'm tempted to just say yes, fuck, and forget about it. But this is already too confusing as is. I don't want to complicate this any more.

He leans into my ear. "I can make it all worth it. I'm really good, I promise."

I match his whisper. "You realize this will make you a fag, right?"

He doesn't respond. Instead, he nips my ear, obviously avoiding the question.

I know this could lead to nothing but trouble. But still, how can I possibly refuse? I'm sure I can think of a million reasons. But somehow nothing's coming to me at the moment.

"The vodkas in the kitchen," I say.