Work Text:
There are more embarrassing ways to sprain your wrist than getting a little enthusiastic with the snow shovel. Namely jerking off. Steve’s done that more than once.
Snow shovelling one handed isn’t an option and school isn’t cancelled in spite of the four inches of snow.
Steve got a flier through the door a couple days ago he never bothered to throw out, one of those hand written photo copied ones offering a bunch of services like dog walking and lawn mowing and gutter clearing. Steve digs it out under the pile of mail addressed to his absent parents, scans the bullet points. Snow shovelling. Services available 5 AM-7AM Weekdays, 7AM-12PM Weekends.
No excuse not to go now. Steve dials the number. It rings four times before a girl answers.
“Hello?”
“Hi, I’m uh, calling about the snow shovelling?”
“You want my brother, hold on.” A muffled shout of Billy! crackles through the phone. Steve waits. The voice on the other end is husky, a little breathless.
“Billy Hargrove,”
The new kid. Steve’s heard about him, not met him yet. “Steve. I’m calling about snow shovelling? My driveway’s a little backed up and I hurt my wrist pretty bad.”
“Where do you live?” Steve gives him the address. “I can be over in 30 minutes. That work for you?”
“That’d be great,”
“Do I need to bring my own shovel, or?”
“I have one here,”
“Cool,” The line goes dead. Well, alright then.
…
Steve’s not sure what he was expecting when he answered the door. It definitely wasn’t a tanned, curly haired, mullet sporting dreamboat. Steve’s mouth drops open as he looks Billy up and down. Billy wrinkles his forehead. “Do I have the wrong house, or?”
Steve snaps out of it. “No! No. You’ve got the right house.”
“Where’s the shovel?” Steve steps out into the cold, opens the garage and hands him the tool. “I’ll get to work, then. Should be done in 20 or so.”
“Ok.”
Steve goes back inside. Tries not to ogle Billy out the window. He resists the urge for all of five minutes, chokes on his own spit when he peeks through the curtains.
Billy is ripped. Cut like some some ancient Greek statue. He’s also shirtless, denim jacket tied around his hips, t-shirt hanging out his back pocket. Steve watches the muscles ripple under his skin as he shovels. Billy rolls his shoulders, turns a little too quickly for him to close the curtain in time. Steve catches the quirk of an eyebrow before skittering behind the cloth.
Guy must have eyes in the back of his head. Or this happens a lot with middle aged moms that have busy husbands. Probably the latter. Must do it for tips. He’s definitely getting a tip.
Steve knows it’s stupid to look again, he has to go to school with the guy. But he’s only human and Billy really is something else. There’s no one this hot in Hawkins. Who’d blame him.
Billy’s facing the house now. Steve can see his abs clench as he bends over, sweat glistening on his skin, breath misting in the air. There’s a little furrow in his brow, pink tongue poking out the corner of pinker lips. Steve’s breakfast goes uneaten in favour of watching Billy work.
He manages to step away from the window just in time for Billy to finish shovelling. Steve sprints to the kitchen, grabs one twenty too many from the allowance his parents leave behind to keep him fed in their absence, almost eats carpet in his rush to get to the door after Billy rings the bell a second time.
Steve’s panting a little as he opens it, feels like an idiot for not taking a minute to catch his breath when he sees Billy breathing steady post manual labour, still shirtless.
“Been busy?” Billy asks. Steve nods stupidly, mouth hanging open a as he shamelessly eyeballs Billy’s washboard abs. “My eyes are up here, you know.”
Steve’s glad he rushed to the door now, any residual redness from the exertion will cover up the mounting blush he can feel burning just beneath the skin. He thrusts the money towards Billy, who glances at Steve with a little smirk before taking it. He separates the two bills, looks at Steve again.
“Is this a tip, or did you grab two by accident?”
“Tip,” Steve says it while staring at Billy’s nipples, because he’s not taken the time to appreciate those yet. Steve knows he’s being incredibly rude, isn’t sure what the fuck is wrong with him. Billy seems to be enjoying it, though. “Aren’t you cold?”
“Nah, I’m always a little hot.” More than a little.
Steve just keeps staring in lieu of a response. Billy chuckles, takes the liberty of manually closing Steve’s jaw with a thumb under his chin. “I’ll see you at school, pretty boy.”
Then he turns, swaying his hips a little as he strolls back to his car. Steve doesn’t close the door till Billy’s long gone.