Harringrove One-Shots

Burn Me (Don't ever stop burning me)

This was a bad idea. A terrible idea, and yet, Steve still pulled his car into the dirt path of the query. Shifting his car into neutral, sinking down into his leather seat, lead thudding dully against the headrest.

His body burned, vibrating beneath his clothes. It ached to be touched, to be ravaged, and it only seemed to want the seething burn of one person.

"You there, Harrington?"

Speak of the devil.

With a sigh, Steve reached over, clicking open his door, "I'm here," he mumbled, "I'm here."

Billy sauntered towards him, a hand resting on his belt loops, pulling his jeans dangerously low. Resting on his sharp hips, the slightest hint of that California tan made Steve's mouth water. Jean jacket hanging off one shoulder, hooked around his middle and index finger, he wore sunglasses. The glint of the moon reflecting off the dark surface.

In his ears, Steve could feel his heart pump, almost rising above the shifting water below them.

Steve melted against his car, resting his back on the cool hood, hoping it would calm his red face.

This was such a bad fucking idea.

But his blood was pulsing. Heat began to build within his stomach, this was a bad fucking idea, but it was such a good fucking feeling. He lets Billy saunter towards him, lets the blonde rasp in his ear, "Are you ready for me, Pretty Boy?"

Steve pulls him closer until he can feel the roaring heat of Billy filly against him. He can smell musk and sex, but he doesn't have time to feel hurt, to feel betrayed. Because Billy is kissing him, he's kissing him and Steve is in the clouds.

Soaring miles and years above Hawkings, holding Billy's hips in his hands, back pressed uncomfortably against the hood of his car, lips locked against burning fire. It hurts, but Steve can't find it in him to care.

He wants to be consumed by the fire that is Billy Hargrove. He wants to be burned, to scrape himself until there's nothing left. To expose everything to this boy. Because that's what they are, they're boys. Billy's not a man.

"I'm always ready."

And neither is Steve.

______

Steve wakes up in the backseat of his car, ass sore, marks on his chest, lips swollen, and cold. He's always cold. The sun just barely crests the query, gliding along the water as it melts into deep purples and yellows.

Groaning, he doesn't bother to sit up, it won't do him any good. Reaching beneath the seat, hand reaching around blindly until he stumbles upon a bottle of pills.

Pain killers.

He always needs a few after burning in the arms of Billy.

His car is empty. It's quiet. Billy's gone, but what can Steve expect. He's never stayed. Never.

Curling closer in on himself, Steve curses.

It's so fucking cold.

______

Billy left his cigarettes, they're menthols. Steve stores them away in his glove box.

______

"You're fucking dumb," Robin retorts, tapping her socked feet against my windshield. She's sprawled out in my shotgun seat, hands folded behind her head, eyes closed, "So dumb."

"Yeah, yeah," Steve dismisses, sighing out heavily. His neck still burns. Small scorchings and burns littering across him, Billy never quite does leave you, "I know."