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“Hey, Harrington.”
Steve jolts awake. Heart pounding with adrenaline. He knows that voice. Knows it way too well.
He must have fallen asleep on his couch. It was a long night. His face is still fucked up. His everything is still fucked up. He managed to shower and change into sweatpants. Exhausted but too freaked out to sleep. He was watching cartoons. Wondering if maybe he could erase the past twenty-four hours from his mind if he drank enough.
Maybe he’s still asleep. Definitely still a little drunk. Because Billy Hargrove is standing over him, in a ripped up tank top that’s drenched with black blood.
Billy Hargrove is dead. Steve watched it happen. Watched those awful, fleshy tentacles rip into Billy’s body. Standing too far away to do anything about it. Screaming. Half sobbing. But he’s pretty sure nobody heard him in the rest of the commotion.
“You’re dead… ?” Is what Steve says. Because what the fuck else does he say?
“Nah.” Billy cracks his neck. “Just took a little nap.”
Before Steve can really parse that, Billy’s on top of him. Grinding a chub against his leg. Kissing his neck. Like it’s a normal night that Steve’s parents aren’t home, and Billy’s stoned enough to come by looking for some fun.
“Wait. Billy. What the fuck?” Steve pushes at Billy’s shoulders ineffectually. “I like. Watched you get ripped apart. You weren’t breathing. They took you away in a body bag.”
“No shit. I woke up in the morgue. Any idea how hard it is to get out of those freezers? Took for fucking ever.”
Billy does not sound appropriately concerned about the words coming out of his mouth.
“Are you a zombie?” Steve doesn’t know how that is an actual serious question he’s asking. But it is. It’s very serious.
“I don’t think so.” Billy shrugs. “I mean. I wanna eat you, but not your brains or something. Probably a good thing. Doubt there’s much up there to go to town on.”
Steve wants to be horrified. Billy flicks him in the forehead and grins making a little thunk sound.
Well. If Billy’s feeling normal enough to give him shit, that probably means he’s alive? Or at least still somewhat human? Right? Billy’s not actively bleeding. Steve doesn’t feel any wounds when he runs his hands along Billy’s sides. Just ripped fabric and smooth skin underneath.
Steve’s seen a lot of weird shit in his life. He’s seen a lot of weird shit in the past forty-eight hours. Why is it more ridiculous for Billy Hargrove to rise like Lazarus than it is to launch fireworks at a Cronenberg flesh monster made of living human goo?
Maybe he’s just ignoring some obvious, glaring red flags because it’s Billy. And he does that for Billy anyway. He doesn’t want Billy to be dead. He’d much rather it be true that Billy is fine, and here biting his shoulder for normal sex reasons and not because Steve’s about to be devoured. Besides, Steve’s cheated fate more times than a person should be able to get away with. If this is what kills him, what a way to go.
Billy smears their mouths together. It’s not a great flavor profile. He tastes like blood, and salt, and a bunch of other nasty stuff that Steve can’t quite place. But it’s Billy. Billy’s alive and his mouth is warm, and when their tongues brush against each other, it makes Steve groan like always.
It’s not really anything out of the norm when Billy props himself up on one arm and forcefully flips Steve onto his stomach. Billy is never gentle. He takes what he wants and Steve’s a sucker for it. Steve’s hard and moaning as Billy tugs his sweat pants off. Grabs his ass, spreads his cheeks. A glob if spit lands right on Steve’s hole. Billy rubs it in with his thumb. Just teasing. Circling. Making Steve whine and spread his legs wider.
“Yeah, baby. There’s my little whore.” Billy spits again. Pushes his thumb forward. It burns in just the right way. The way that makes Steve squirm and grab the edge of the couch cushion.
Billy groans. There’s a weird slick noise.
“Hmm… that’s new.”
Steve turns his head. Looks over his shoulder. There is a fucking flesh tentacle in the air, sprouted from Billy’s back.
“Holy fuck—“
Steve tries to get away. Billy’s holding his hips down. Grip too hard to break. Billy’s strong, but not this strong. Steve can barely move.
“Ow, ow, you’re hurting me—let me go—“
Billy doesn’t let go. The tentacle elongates. It swishes and flicks in the air like a cat’s tail. Then it slithers, tracing up Steve’s back towards his face. He pulls away as much as he can.
It doesn’t look quite like the horrific appendages that the monster sprouted. It’s smoother. Maybe because it’s made of just one person. It’s not regular skin though. It’s like… a transparent mucus membrane over red, veiny flesh.
“I was just thinking how it would be nice if I had more hands to touch you.” Billy sounds almost pensive. Like this isn’t something out of a horror movie, and it’s totally fine that he just sprouted a tentacle.
The tendril touches against Steve’s cheek, caressing it. He shudders. It’s a slick.
“Oh god.” He’s hyperventilating. He’s gonna pass out. “Billy this is—supremely not OK. I don’t like this. Let me go.”
Billy listens this time. He lets Steve scramble away. Off the couch. To the other side of the room, back against the wall. Stark naked, in a state of sheer panic.
What does he do? Does he call Joyce? The kids? Everyone is sleeping, and grieving, and probably the last thing they wanna hear about is a zombie with extra appendages.
Billy has sprouted another tendril. Long and thin like the first.
“How are these connected to me?” Billy peels off his filthy shirt and turns around. He makes Steve look at what’s happening with his own two eyes.
It’s… less gross than it could be? They’re almost like wings. Sprouting near the tops of Billy’s shoulder blades. His regular skin is split, but it’s not bleeding. There’s more of that mucus membrane surrounding the tendrils. Like these things were already inside him and just kind of. Folded out.
In fact. Steve can see more little slits in Billy’s back. Eight in total. Each about an inch long, evenly spaced on either side of Billy’s spine, running down to about the end of his ribcage. As Steve’s looking at them, the next two slits spread open, and the tendrils start to slide out.
Steve’s gonna faint.
“Woah…” Billy breathes. “I can feel them. There’s more of them, right? God this is so weird.”
“Yep.” Steve squeaks.
The rest of the slits are spreading. Tentacles extending. Billy shivers. Arches his back like a cat.
“Jesus… it feels… really good? Come back here. Touch them.”
“Absolutely not.”
“C’mon baby. I just wanna see something.”
“Touch them yourself.”
Billy sighs. Reaches back with one of his hands. Touching the lowest slit on his ribcage. He moans.
“Oh my god.” Billy’s voice is ragged.
“What? Really?” Steve can’t help himself. Billy’s just stroking his finger lightly around the slit and he sounds like he’s about to come.
“It’s fucking amazing.”
Steve isn’t sure what possesses him to approach. He likes making Billy feel good? He’s maybe curious about how this shit even works. At least it seems like Billy can control the appendages. They’re not gonna randomly start strangling anybody. Probably.
He settles on the couch behind Billy. Runs his fingers down Billy’s spine. Billy shivers. Stops touching himself. Leans back into Steve.
“Please.” He whispers. Billy has never said that before. Ever.
Steve rubs his index finger against one of the slits. It’s sticky. Silky smooth. Warm. Billy whimpers. Steve’s got two hands. Soon he’s rubbing around the top two slits, tracing them. Brushing against the base of the tendrils. As he goes on, the slits spread wider. The tendrils seem to be getting thicker? Maybe from increased blood flow? Billy is shuddering. Gasping. Begging for it not to stop.
“Are you like… coming?” Steve’s voice sounds strained. Even to him. He’s so hard. He can’t even really parse what’s happening. But he knows it’s working for him. It’s hot to see Billy this sloppy and desperate.
“Yes.” Billy whines. “Fuck. It’s like. All up my spine. It’s fucking weird but feels so good. Shit.”
Steve moves down to the next set. It’s probably a bad idea. But he leans forward. Licks the edge of the top right one. Billy almost screams. He’s swearing under his breath. Whole body jerking. Steve takes that as a sign to keep going.
The tentacles are whipping around. Twisting and curling in the air. Steve can’t keep track of them all. He’s distracted. Forcing louder and more desperate noises from Billy’s lips. He startles when he feels a slick heat press against the base of his spine.
“Billy—“
Then Steve’s abruptly on his back. Billy between his legs. Staring at him wild eyed.
The tendril presses at Steve’s ass again and surges forward. Sliding into Steve like a thin finger. It’s a lot. Very fast. It burns. Because it’s getting thicker the longer it stays inside him. It keeps expanding until it’s almost the size of a cock. Fuck. It’s pumping in and out of him. Stiff but not straight. Its wiggling.
Steve doesn’t know what to do. He moans. Billy’s staring down at where Steve’s stretched around him.
“Fuck.” Billy breathes.
Steve feels another tendril slide in alongside the first. It thankfully stays small, but he can still very much tell it's there. His mouth falls open. Then there a tendril rubbing against his tongue. It doesn’t taste like much. Vaguely like pussy? Salty and a little musky.
What even is happening.
The tentacles inside him are wet enough that it’s not a sharp discomfort. More of a dull ache. The good kind of burn. Even when a third one slips in. They’re twisting against each other. They seem to be expanding and contracting. Which is a profoundly strange sensation. Steve doesn’t know what to do with it.
“I… do you think my cock would fit?” Billy swallows hard. He looks as dazed as Steve feels. Which is probably understandable, considering the circumstances. Steve’s just dealing with like, one set of genitals. And it kind of seems like Billy just got eight new ones.
“What. With them?”
“Yeah.”
“No. Don’t even think about it.”
“Just let me try. It’ll fit. Like. I’m pretty sure I can make them get smaller again.”
“Billy.”
“Trust me, Baby. It’ll be OK. Just…”
Billy shifts, unzipping his jeans. Steve wants to squirm away. But there are still three of those things inside him. One teasing at his mouth, occasionally dipping inside it. The other four just, caressing random parts of his body. Or that’s what they were doing. They’re now curling around Steve’s wrists and ankles.
“Billy!”
“You really don’t want me to?” Billy sounds pained. The tip of his dick is rubbing against Steve’s ass cheek. Dangerously close. The tentacles are still pulsing inside him. Expanding. Contracting. Pressing against the spot that makes everything go sideways. The spot that makes his cock twitch.
“I… ugh. If it’s too much you have to stop. Like immediately. You got that?”
“Yeah. Of course, baby. I’ll go so slow.” Billy’s panting. Tense all over.
Billy sounds exactly like James Newman did at boy scout camp when Steve was fifteen. Hand lotion and raging hormones. Just the tip.
Steve knows you can’t trust any promises that someone makes when they’re hard and on the verge of sliding into you. He also knows he can’t trust himself to make good choices when Billy Hargrove is halfway on top of him. Hell, if Billy’s within five feet of him, Steve’s higher brain functions just go offline. It’s not his fault. Billy is pretty. And infuriating. And he makes Steve feels lot of overwhelming, conflicting emotions. It’s more than anybody should be expected to cope with.
The tendrils do seem to be shrinking. He can still feel them twisting, but they’re more like fingers again. Really long, slick fingers. Spreading him open. All three pressing in different directions. Steve yelps. It doesn’t even hurt exactly it’s just a fucking bizzare sensation. He’s so wet and so open. And then. And then Billy’s cock presses into him.
“Oh god–”
“Fuck.”
Two things happen. Billy slides all the way forward and then the tendrils expand. Steve almost screams. It’s so much. Too much. The tendrils shrink as quick as they engorged, and Billy’s apologizing, sorry baby, you felt so good, didn’t mean to, did I hurt you? Steve doesn’t even know where he is. There’s a lingering ache. He doesn’t think anything ripped. It’s probably a lot like that time Billy was convinced he could get both a dildo and his dick into Steve at the same time. He was right, but Steve was limping for like a week.
“Steve. Steve, baby. You gotta talk to me. Are you good?”
“I… think so?” Steve’s speech is a little slurred. He’s so fucking full. There are weird, wet ropes squeezing around his ankles and wrists. He’s pretty spaced out.
Billy starts to move. Slow at first. The tendrils move with him. Like they’re wrapped around his cock. Ribbed for her pleasure. Steve giggles. Because this is insane. What other reaction is he supposed to have? He’s not positive this is really happening. It might be a dream. Or a hallucination. Maybe he’s the one that’s dead and this is a really weird level of purgatory.
The tentacle that was in his mouth has moved. It’s teasing around one of his nipples. Steve moans. Like. This is good. Sex with Billy is always good. It’s part of the reason Steve puts up with so much bullshit from him. Other than Steve just being a doormat that’s attracted to emotionally distant douchebags, or whatever.
The tendrils inside twist one direction, and then the other, as Billy fucks him. Steve’s mouth is hanging open. He’s groaning on every thrust. One of the tendrils keep rubbing against his prostate in the best way. Screwed up as the situation is, he could also very much get used to this.
There’s a tugging on his wrists. He follows the kinetic energy. Lets his hands be placed on Billy’s back. He knows what he’s supposed to do from there. He barely traces against the edge of a slit before Billy’s shuddering and swearing under his breath.
Things get real intense after that.
Like, Billy fucking him harder than he’s ever been fucked in his life. And the tendrils inside him swelling to the point of discomfort but not outright pain. The tentacle that was teasing his nipple slides down to wrap around his cock and squeeze it. There’s kind of no choice but to fall apart completely.
So Steve does. He comes so hard he stops breathing. Hips jerking. Shuddering. Billy moans, fucks him even faster. The tentacle around Steve’s cock is still squeezing. Milking him. He feels overstimulated. Frayed. Dazed.
“Billy.”
Billy growls.
It’s sudden. The tendrils around his wrists and ankles squeeze down as they get thicker. Steve’s stretched open again. It feels like there’s a fucking baseball bat up his ass. And there’s so much slick. He can feel it leaking out of him onto the couch. There’s a puddle on his stomach. His wrists and ankles are drenched.
Billy grinds into him a few more times before going still. He collapses forward. Grunting against Steve’s shoulder.
The tendrils release their grip. Steve gasps as they slide out of him. He watches in mixed disgust and fascination as they slowly retract and fold back into Billy’s body. The slits close up so they’re barely visible. Just little stripes of shiny membrane along Billy’s back. Like. You wouldn’t notice them unless you were looking for them.
“What the hell just happened?” Steve’s voice is wrecked. He was probably being louder than he realized. He hopes none of the neighbors called the cops. Like. Even if they did, the cops have better shit to be doing right now re: secret russian lab under the starcourt mall. But still.
“I dunno.” Billy nuzzles the side of his neck. “It was pretty awesome though.”
“So like. You just have tentacles now? That’s a piece of information I have to live with?”
“What do you wanna do about it. You gonna turn me over to the feds, Pretty Boy?” Billy bites down on Steve’s shoulder. Gentler this time.
He mouths along Steve’s jaw to his lips. They kiss again. There’s as much heat behind it as ever, even though they literally just came. They both know Steve isn’t gonna mention this whole monster biology thing to anybody. At least, he’s not gonna unless a bunch of weird murders start happening and it seems like Billy’s developed a taste for human flesh. El can blow shit up with her mind. Billy got possessed (then killed?? then resurrected???) by an eldritch horror and now has tentacles. Just another day in Hawkins.
“I’m uh. Glad you’re not dead.” Steve mumbles. It sounds dumb. Whatever.
“Yeah. Me too. Like. Maybe hell’s full of cute twinks. But I’ve already put so much work into making you the perfect slut. It’d be a shame to have to start over.”
“You’re the absolute worst.”
“You’re so hard about it.”