Work Text:
It was a bad day.
Billy has two different kinds of bad days.
On one he cracks under the slightest inconvenience. Tears are almost constant, with an ache in his chest Steve knows he’ll never be able to fix. On days like that Billy needs careful attention, gentle touches, soft voices. He needs the lights on, curtains drawn, comfort, and to be surrounded by softness. The other one, Billy rides on a manic high. He’ll leave physical therapy with all the windows down, wind in his curls, cursing the doctors, cursing god, because he lived. Those days Billy turns the music up full blast and screams with every song. Those days Billy refuses to be taken care of, refuses affection, refuses to be loved. On days like that he almost always finds his way to alcohol, and then he drinks like a fish until it either numbs him or makes him beg for forgiveness, beg for all those people to get to live, beg to die.
He calls himself a monster on both days. But Billy was never the monster.
Today, the apartment is quiet.
Scrambled egg covers the kitchen floor, splatters all over the counters, all over the walls. The plate that Steve had set Billy’s breakfast on smashed to pieces in the middle of it all. He can see there was some desperation in trying to clean it up— napkins strewn about around the mess, some clumped together, egg now cementing them to the linoleum… and there’s blood. Not a lot. Nothing to really be alarmed about, just a few crimson drops that lead up to the sink.
As light-footed as possible Steve crunches over the broken plate, peeks into the sink to see a whole handful of crumpled paper towels covered in old, dried blood. At least it looks like the bleeding was stopped after whatever accident occurred, which is leaps and bounds better than the last time Steve had come home to blood on the floor. He crunches his way out of the kitchen, he’s going to track eggs all over the apartment. He’ll just have to deal with that later.
It’s not dark out yet, the sun is only just beginning to dip into the horizon. The sun sets, orange and pink, casting a violet shadow through the curtains, and all the lights are on. Steve knows they’ve been on all day. They were on for half of the night too.
Around the corner, he can hear Mr. Rogers’ soft voice coming from the TV-
"You’ve made this day a special day, by just your being you. There’s no person in the world like you, and I like you just the way you are."
Bright, tinkling piano follows with the start of the ending song-
"It’s such a good feeling to know you’re alive, it’s such a happy feeling you’re growing inside, and when you wake up ready to say, I think I’ll make it a snappy new day.”
Billy’s wrapped up tight in the knit blanket Mrs. Henderson made them on the couch, only a few of his blonde curls peeking out. Steve watches the blanket rise and fall, steady with Billy’s breath, he’s fast asleep.
Crouching, Steve rests a gentle hand on Billy’s shoulder, feeling him startle underneath the confines of the blanket at just the slight change in pressure. Softly, he breathes, “It’s okay, it’s just me.”
Billy shifts slowly, turning himself over to peek out at Steve.
“You okay?” Steve tugs at the blanket still pulled tight around Billy’s face, trying to get a better look. His skin is red and splotchy, indents and creases show where his cheek was smushed into the pillow, skin warm under his fingers as Steve brushes his curls out of his eyes. Billy blinks, blue eyes filled with sadness stare back at him, bleary from sleep but glazed and bloodshot from crying.
Billy mumbles, “‘m okay.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” Steve knows things aren’t actually okay, Billy isn’t okay, but he won’t push him. Billy talks when he wants to talk. It’s just not often that he actually does.
PTSD. Depression. Anxiety. A cocktail of diagnoses Billy can’t escape.
The doctors prescribed pills Billy won’t take. They give him sedatives and antidepressants, antipsychotics and mood stabilizers, and Billy would rather take them by the handful than give them any real chance to work.
Because Billy either wants to be alive and unclouded by medication, or dead. There’s no in-between. And there’s nothing Steve can do to convince him otherwise.
Plenty of people would have left by now, Steve’s sure. Plenty of people wouldn’t be able to deal with the hospitalizations, the trauma, the pain, the neverending bad days. But Steve loves Billy. And Billy is still in there, underneath all that hurt. Steve sees him when they watch movies and Billy throws popcorn at his face, he sees him when they cook together and Billy picks a fight over a recipe, he sees him when Billy talks shit to the kids even though they all know he loves them, he sees him when they finally curl up at the end of the day and Billy tells him he loves him too in the soft light of their bedroom, just the two of them. He’s still Billy.
No amount of bad days can take that away.
Billy shakes his head, blinking up at him. “‘m sorry about the mess.”
“It’s okay. I’ll clean it up.” Steve cups his cheek, traces the deep-set line under his eye. The nightmares were bad last night, kept both of them up, and then they bled into the daylight. It happens more than either of them would like to admit. And Steve's heart aches every time. Looking at Billy like this, wishing Billy never had to feel like this, wishing he could take it all away. “Did you get cut on the plate?”
Billy nods, shifts enough to pull his arm out from underneath the blanket. He shows Steve his hand, gauze wound tight around his palm, a pink spot marking where the cut has started to bleed through. “‘s not bad… promise.”
It’s not as bad as it could be, that’s for sure. Billy had managed to stop the blood and get it bandaged, which is a feat in and of itself. And it’s just a cut from a plate. Steve had to take all the knives out of the apartment, after all. The doctor had heavily suggested he do so after their last visit, after Billy’s last “accident”. So, yes, it was a bad day, but not the worst day they’ve had. No panicked phone calls to Steve’s work, no hospital visits with stitches or overnight stays to worry about this time, just a messy kitchen.
And Steve can deal with an accident with a plate. He can deal with eggs stuck in the carpet.
He nods, smiling sadly before planting a soft kiss on Billy’s forehead. “I’m gonna get cleaned up and get started on dinner.”
Billy’s hand shoots out and grabs Steve’s arm as soon as he’s standing. “No, stay… Please sit with me… just for a little while...”
Looking out towards the kitchen, Steve’s eyes follow the trail of yellow egg that leads out to them. He lets out a sigh looking down at his shoes. He's not mad, but definitely not in the mood to clean either. That makes it easier to nod and smile a little brighter as Billy sits up, making room for Steve to get situated next to him.
Bob Ross is on the screen now, talking about the different colors of paint he’s going to use, spatula pushing them around with a gentle click and clack on his palette. Billy retrieves the remote from the cushions, flips through only a couple of channels before settling on The Golden Girls. It’s a good sign. Means he’s in better spirits after sleeping with the lights on all day. He tosses the remote onto the coffee table, settles in close, and rests his head on Steve’s shoulder.
Steve thinks- hopes, that maybe he’ll sleep a little better tonight.
“I missed you.”
Steve smiles, turning slightly to kiss the top of Billy’s head. “I missed you too.”
The pair watch Rose and her friends in silence and it’s like Steve can see the bad day melting away with every snort and chuckle that escapes Billy. Like he’s coming back to life. Coming back to Steve. Pulling his arm out from between them, he drapes it over Billy’s shoulders, gives him a squeeze as Billy turns and buries his face in Steve’s neck, planting a gentle kiss there.
“Kiss me,” Billy whispers, straightening up to let Steve in, watching him with a soft, tired smile.
Steve obliges, leaning in he plants a delicate kiss on Billy’s cheek, grabbing his chin to direct his face as he kisses the other side, then his forehead, and then finally his lips.
“Keep kissing me,” Billy mutters as he sheds the knit blanket and eagerly crawls into Steve’s lap.
He kisses him again and again. Kisses away the pain, kisses away the bad day, and Billy grows desperate for it. Wanting more, Billy kisses him more frantically, pushing them together, grinding down into Steve’s lap, his hungry mouth opening for Steve’s tongue.
But Steve pulls back, smiling at the small gasp that escapes Billy’s lips.
Steve holds his cheek, runs his thumb across his pouty bottom lip, “Relax, baby, let me take care of you... Let’s go to the bedroom.”
Billy frowns but climbs off Steve's lap and allows to pull him up from the couch, lacing their fingers together as he leads him down the hall.
Peeling Billy’s shirt off, Steve gives him an innocent kiss on the lips. Kisses a path along his jaw, down his neck, and then along his collarbone. Hands trailing down over starburst scars that bloom over his chest and stomach, hard keloids that Steve knows make him itch and ache. He kisses them too, ignoring Billy’s sigh of protest as he lays him down gently on their bed. He takes his time, loving every inch of him, wishing just a kiss could take all the pain away. Wishing his kiss would get rid of every scar that makes Billy insecure.
“You’re so beautiful,” Steve whispers into his skin, lips ghosting along as goosebumps prickle over his stomach, the muscles clenching under his touch.
Billy’s breath hitches, “Don’t…”
Steve knows he doesn’t like hearing that.
He glances up at him, Billy’s arm is draped over his eyes now, hiding them as Steve works his way back up. He intertwines their fingers, careful of Billy’s bandage as he pulls his arm away from his face, revealing the sparkle of fresh tears in the corners of his eyes. Steve swipes his thumb under one, clearing the dew that’s slowly collected there, pressing his lips into the opposite corner, kissing away the salty drop before it can fall down his temple.
“Shhh, it’s okay, baby.”
Billy grabs at the hem of Steve’s shirt, anxious for more contact and desperate to get moving, desperate to get away from his emotions. He doesn't want Steve to take his time, he doesn’t want him to be sweet.
But Steve is going to be sweet. He’s going to take his time.
“You’re not gonna let me take care of you?” Steve hums into his ear, giving his neck a small nip as Billy lets out a frustrated sigh. His hands trail down, back over his scars, back over his stomach, down to the elastic of his pajama pants. Billy’s already hard, already aching against the fabric. Steve palms at him, grins at the whimper that escapes his lips as he lifts his hips into the touch.
“Take care of me, Daddy.”
“Good.” Steve gives a breathy laugh into Billy’s neck, giving him another affectionate bite.
Shedding the rest of their clothes and throwing them around the room, Steve dives back in, kissing back over Billy’s scars, back down his stomach, and finally to his erection that twitches and leaks precum onto his stomach.
“Look at how bad you want me.”
Licking up his length, Steve savors the salty, musty sweetness of Billy’s cock. Kisses his head gently before closing his lips around it, pulling a sharp gasp from Billy whose hands grip into Steve’s hair. He bobs his way down his length, grabs the base of his cock for support as Billy fills his mouth. But it’s just a tease. Steve pulls back, leaving Billy slick with his saliva, he strokes him slow and steady, doesn’t quicken even as Billy bucks up into his hand with a dull moan.
Steve hikes one of Billy’s legs up, spreading him out before kissing his thighs. Biting and sucking at the tender flesh and then smoothing over the mark with his tongue. He looks up again, Billy’s blue eyes shining with desperation and lust, eyebrows knit together tight.
Beautiful.
“More?” Steve purrs but he’s already on the move, reaching into the nightstand and pulling out a bottle of lube. Slicking his fingers with the lubricant, he settles back in between Billy’s legs, knocking away the hand that paws at his own cock. “No touching, let me.”
Billy lets out another exasperated sigh but it quickly turns into a gasp of pleasure when Steve traces puckered skin with a slicked, cool finger, slowly easing it in before following with a second. Billy makes a move like he’s going to grasp at his cock again, but seems to think better of it when he catches Steve’s eyes, instead, gripping into the sheets.
Vulnerable and beautiful, with a blush of arousal that spreads down his neck and chest— he gives himself over to Steve, trusts Steve.
Steve continues to take his time, scissoring Billy open, egging on his moans with the slip of another finger. With his other hand, he gives Billy’s cock a couple of long, languid strokes, a small taste of relief that gets Billy panting. Steve’s rock hard, aching for relief too.
“Fuck me, Steve... Please, fuck me.” Billy whines, eyes screwed shut, back arching into the touch.
Steve curls his fingers ever so slightly, pushing up until Billy groans, his mouth falling open with an obscene line of drool that drips down to his chin. Steve grins, fully satisfied with Billy’s reaction. He reaches up, wiping away the line of spit with the pad of his thumb, tracing Billy’s plump lip before slipping it into his mouth. Billy closes his lips eagerly, moans around his thumb as he hungrily begins to suck. Steve gasps, watching Billy with hooded eyes as he continues massaging his prostate.
He lets Billy rock his hips into Steve’s hand, trying to fuck himself faster, edging himself closer to release before Steve pulls his fingers out. Billy’s eyes are firey when they meet Steve’s, frustrated beyond belief, breathing heavily as Steve pops his thumb out of Billy’s mouth. Steve can’t help but smirk, soothing a hand over his cheek as he grabs the lube and wets down his cock.
“You’re so fucking good, you know that?”
Billy lets out a whimper, pulling his knees up for Steve to line himself up. Eager to please, eager for praise, it makes Steve smile. Slow and steady he pushes past Billy’s rim of muscle, easing in, back and forth, watching Billy carefully for any discomfort. But Billy drops his head back, letting out a moan as he rolls his hips, pushing himself down further onto Steve’s cock.
“Fuck, you feel so good.” Steve coos, hands gripping onto Billy’s hips, holding him steady as he finally bottoms out. He thrusts slow to start, checking in with Billy who already looks completely fucked. “Does that feel good, baby?”
Nodding enthusiastically, Billy reaches out, gripping onto the back of Steve’s neck as he pulls him into a bruising kiss, passion and fire between their lips, rocking himself back in time with each of Steve’s thrusts. They pant into each other's open mouths, unable to continue kissing between moans, growing dizzy with the heat as Steve picks up his pace. Billy grips onto his back desperately, fingernails digging into flesh as Billy chokes around a string of obscenities.
Pulling back just enough, Steve wraps a hand around Billy’s cock, slowly building to a stroke that matches the thrust of his hips. Billy keens. And Steve can see him nearly fall apart then and there, head dropping back once again, eyes dewy with pleasure. It’s enough to make Steve feel a familiar tightening in his abdomen as he fucks into Billy harder.
“Fuck, baby, you’re so good.” Steve pants, “So beautiful, taking my cock like that— fuck!”
Billy grips onto him harder, “Daddy, I’m— ahh!”
He gasps and Steve thrusts hard, snapping his hips into him again and again, hand pumping at Billy’s cock faster and faster. “I love you, baby. Come for me. Come for me.”
And with that Billy finishes with a cry, hot cum shooting out over Steve’s hand and onto his own stomach. His legs shake under the vulgar squelch as Steve continues to pump him, draining him completely. Billy gasps and cries and Steve only stops when his movements begin to stutter, chasing just a couple more thrusts before Steve buries his cock deep inside Billy, losing himself completely in his own climax.
They both lay there momentarily, panting, Steve stretched out on top of Billy before he slowly pulls out. He props himself up to look down at Billy whose cheeks shine with fresh tears. He doesn’t hesitate then when he pulls Billy up into his arms, pressing his head into his chest as Billy cries. He’s not racked with sobs, he’s not struggling to breathe, he just cries softly against Steve’s bare chest.
“It’s okay. I’m here.” Steve soothes, hand running through soft curls.
Billy doesn’t ever have an explanation for crying after sex. He joked once that it was because Steve was so bad, but Steve quickly realized what it was really from. Love. Love that only Steve had shown him. Love and care and all the things that had been missing from Billy’s life. Before he had his body and mind destroyed by the mindflayer, he was living with a different kind of monster, after all. And it kills Steve to think that Billy had never been happy. Had never felt warm, safe, and cared for. It kills him even more that it took such a terrible thing for Billy to finally have that.
But he has it now, that's what matters, and Steve will be there to hold him and clean up eggs whenever he needs him. He’ll be there to remind him on the bad days that there are still good things, that there is still love in the world. That what happened isn’t Billy’s fault and it doesn’t change how Steve feels about him.
So, it was a bad day, but that doesn’t mean tomorrow will be, and that doesn’t mean their night together now will be either.
Billy’s eyes still shine with tears when he pulls back to look at Steve, eyes red-rimmed and tired, but he smiles now. Soft and small.
“I love you, Steve.”
“I love you, Billy.”