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Steve doesn’t know why he agreed to take Billy to the dentist.
Well, that’s kind of a lie. Technically, he knows why. Knows that it has to do something with the weird swooping feeling that’s been happening a lot in his stomach every time Billy walks into family video with Max and hovers around the horror movie section whenever Steve’s restocking that area.
The way that feeling intensifies during movie night when all the kids are passed out from their sugar highs, and Billy tells Steve to put in the horror movie he checked out earlier even though he knows how much they scare him.
But that feeling. That swooping feeling that feels like he’s at the height of a rollercoaster, and the anticipation is terrifying but exhilarating, reaches its peak ten minutes into their private watch party when the first jump scare happens, and Billy presses his thigh against Steve’s. And then a few minutes later when the killer gets his next victim, Billy curls himself into Steve’s side, tucking his feet under his legs and staying this way for the remainder of the movie.
So if you ever come into Family Video and ask the long haired boy with doe eyes for horror recommendations, then he’s very sorry that he won’t be any help at all.
So yeah, Steve’s used to these swooping feelings and the ever present thoughts about how much he wants to run his tongue over Billy's lips each time he graces him with that half smile, half smirk and calls him pretty boy.
And okay, he knows why he agreed to take Billy to the dentist, but he just keeps that to himself and shrugs out a I’ve nothing else to do when Max fixes him with knowing eyes.
Nevertheless, here he sits in Dr. Richardson’s waiting room, reading a magazine on what’s the secret way to get the best hair (hello, it’s obviously Farrah Fawcett’s hair spray) when the door to the back swings open. He sits up, hoping it's Billy, but deflates at seeing it’s just a random dental surgeon who’s sauntering over to the receptionist with a flirty smile.
Sighing, Steve closes his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall. He doesn’t know how long it takes to remove wisdom teeth, but he doesn’t think it takes three (3) hours. It’s not that he minds waiting. He’d wait for ten times as long if it meant Billy knew that he had people who cared about him. That Steve cared about him.
However, he’d been there since 1:00 and if the clock on the wall was correct, it was getting close to 4:00, and Steve’s dentist appointments never went that long which meant something went wrong.
It’s that thought that scares him the most because he already knew Billy didn’t want to be here. Took three cancelled appointments and a promise to let him drive Steve’s BMW in order to get him here. And when they finally did get inside, after thirty minutes of sitting in the car, repeatedly going over each step of the procedure, Billy had turned to Steve and asked if he was going to be waiting for him. That he’d stay the whole time. That Steve wouldn’t leave him.
And he looked at Steve with such vulnerability and fear that Steve hadn’t seen since they first found him after Starcourt. So, of course, Steve said yes. Said he wouldn’t go anywhere and that everything would be fine and that Billy would be behind a wheel again in a few days.
But when the clock hand strikes four, and that ugly wooden bird squawks four times, Steve is suddenly overwhelmed with every single negative thought ever imaginable. But then the door swings open again, and Billy walks (well sort of stumbles out) into the waiting room. His face is wrapped in gauze, bunching his cheeks up, and his shirt is speckled with drying water spots. It’s what happens when Steve walks over, however, that gets him the most.
Billy sees him, and then his eyes go wide, and it’s all pretty comical in a sense because of him resembling a chipmunk, but Steve doesn’t really get to dwell on it because Billy’s pulling Steve to him, wrapping his arms around Steve’s middle. He slots his head in the crook of Steve’s neck (as well as he can) and whispers a “thank you for staying, pretty boy” into his skin.
A surprised squeak leaves Steve’s mouth and his arms tentatively come up, brushing over the dimples in Billy’s lower back. The heat emanating from Billy’s body passes through to Steve’s chest and that swooping feeling in his stomach returns with a force. “Yeah, of course, Billy.” He furrows his eyebrows at the dental surgeon in confusion.
“You must be Steve Harrington. I’m Dr. Richardson.”
He unwraps one arm from Billy, and shakes her hand. “Um, is he okay?”
“Yes. He didn’t want the numbing, so we had to give him anesthesia which takes slightly longer.”
“Is that...safe? Aren’t you supposed to ask me first or something?”
Her eyes slide up from the clipboard in her hand, a bored expression on her face. “Is Mr. Hargrove 18?”
“Yes?”
“Are you his guardian?”
“Not exactly, I just-”
She rolls her eyes, cutting him off, “Make sure he follows these rules. If he experiences any pain or excess bleeding, call us. The number is on the form.” She shoves a packet and a bag into his hand before walking off.
“Um, alright then.”
He turns to Billy, who’s looking at Steve like he’s grown a second head. “What is it?”
Billy doesn’t speak, just tilts his head to the side and squints his eyes.
“Billy. What’s- oomph!”
Billy grabs him, shoving their cheeks together. “Dude?”
Grunting, Billy pulls back, touches the cloth surrounding his cheeks, before smooshing their faces together again.
“Billy? What are you doing?” Steve whispers, starting to notice the looks people are giving them.
“Can’t feel,” he huffs, finally.
“Yeah, man. It’s just the drugs they gave you. It’ll wear off in a few hours.”
“But I want to.” His frown deepens before he suddenly grabs Steve’s hand. “I can feel here.” He squeezes Steve’s hand. “And I can feel here.” He brings Steve’s hand to his muscles. And no. Steve does not squeeze them. Does not compare the size of his hand to Billy’s arm. No he does not, thank you very much.
“But I can’t feel here.” Billy brings Steve’s hand up to his face, forcing Steve to run his fingers across Billy’s cheeks and over his lips. “I wanna feel,” Billy says, looking up with a slight pout.
And Steve short circuits. Tries to force his brain to stop thinking about how soft and plump Billy’s lips are, and how there’s heat forming in his lower belly and in his heart and he needs to focus but Billy’s hands are moving again, this time, to Steve’s face. He runs them over Steve’s cheeks, gently squeezing before letting out a sigh.
“Soft. Always so soft, pretty boy. I want. So much. I want y-” he stops talking, opting to press their faces together again. He hums, and the sound reverberates against Steve’s skin. And. he. Has. To. Focus. Don’t you dare get a fucking hard on in the middle of a dentist’s office over this. Don’t you fucking dare.
Billy steps away with a frown. “I just need to feel something,” he says, poking his cheeks. “‘S not fair.”
Steve briefly closes his eyes, trying to catch his breath and still his racing thoughts.
“Mr. Harrington, do you need to accuse me of not doing my job correctly again, or are you planning on leaving my office?” Dr. Richardson asks, coming up to them.
“No, sorry. We’re leaving.” He goes red before motioning for BIlly to follow him.
__________
They’ve been driving for a few minutes when Billy starts up again. He frowns as he repeatedly jabs a finger into his cheeks. Each passing moment, he makes a frustrated noise, and tries again but harder.
“Hey, stop that,” Steve says, reaching out and stopping Billy’s finger from meeting its target. “It’ll wear off in a little bit.”
“I don’t like it. Makes me feel like I’m here, but not really.” He falls silent, and Steve thinks he’s done talking until he speaks again. “Makes me feel like before.”
Steve watches him from the corner of his eyes. Notices the nervousness in the way he’s squeezing and pulling his fingers. Steve’s own hand twitches in his lap, before he stretches it out, grasping Billy’s in his own. He brings Billy’s hand to his face, rubbing them against his cheeks. “Look, I’m here.” He intertwines their fingers and squeezes. “And you’re here too, okay?”
Billy looks back and forth between Steve and their intertwined hands. There’s a hint of confusion in his eyes, but there’s something else swirling in there. Steve offers him a smile as the light turns green. Pulling his hand away, he turns his eyes back to the road. After a moment, Billy’s hand makes it way over to the steering wheel, prying Steve’s hand off of it. He pulls it to his lap, intertwining their fingers.
Steve’s eyes go wide, and he goes to make a comment, but he can see the blush making its way up Billy’s face, the bright red standing out against the white of the gauze. “Shut up.‘M just making sure.”
Smiling, Steve hums to himself, that swooping feeling making its welcome return.
Hours later, when the anesthesia wears off, they’re still holding hands.