[ the decision to get the fuck away from hawkins high school is made the moment billy pulls into the parking lot, barking at max to get the fuck out through gritted teeth. it's a decision far more difficult to put into practice, eventually cutting the engine and chain smoking through the rest of his cigarettes while he should be in first period, a rare enough occurrence even without the sensation he's trying to ignore at the base of his spine, urgent and hot and obnoxiously needy.
he can smell her even when he rolls the window of his camaro up, punching the door with the side of his fist, agitated. it's an impulse that's been easier to deal with since moving across the country — billy only vaguely parses that it's something to do with hormones and proximity and if there's one good thing about hawkins, it's how much more sparse this feeling is here, how infrequently it overpowers his senses to the degree it is now.
an hour passes before he can bring himself to reverse and get the fuck out of the parking lot but he doesn't get far, sweating underneath the cheap thrifted leather of his jacket even though it's far from hot out. refuge comes behind the school building but he still needs to get out of his car to stretch his legs, to distract himself from the agonizing strain of his cock against already too-tight denim, relief impossible to manage on his own when being so close to that fucking smell forces him to wait, yearning and dreading in equal measure.
then — fuck. whatever cover came from distance is destroyed the moment nancy wheeler steps outside and he slams a fist against the hood of his car, stomach going tight. he can feel her coming closer and relief, want starts eating away at how self conscious he is, how fucking humiliating this is, desire tripping every possibility of evading this into needing it to happen.
billy doesn't make it far from his car, back pressed against one side of an infrequently used storage shed, all bulky phys ed equipment inside, breathing hard through his nose when he can finally hear her, that quiet growl and the heat in her words that should be ridiculous, something easily mocked. but it makes his knees go weak and if he had the ability to laugh at himself, now would be the time. because of course it's nancy wheeler. ]
Or what? [ it's an inane question, almost entirely posturing, but it's still some pretense at control, pushing himself forward with an ease that comes close to making him shudder. there's no room for anger when he's like this, he's not even thinking clearly enough to recognize that he isn't angry in the slightest, temper subdued or stable under the weight of how badly he needs her right now.
whatever stubborn part of him that thinks he should keep trying to walk away from this is wholly suffocated when he looks at her, walking toward her without hesitation — she's finally fucking here. ]
rolls in late with some brews
he can smell her even when he rolls the window of his camaro up, punching the door with the side of his fist, agitated. it's an impulse that's been easier to deal with since moving across the country — billy only vaguely parses that it's something to do with hormones and proximity and if there's one good thing about hawkins, it's how much more sparse this feeling is here, how infrequently it overpowers his senses to the degree it is now.
an hour passes before he can bring himself to reverse and get the fuck out of the parking lot but he doesn't get far, sweating underneath the cheap thrifted leather of his jacket even though it's far from hot out. refuge comes behind the school building but he still needs to get out of his car to stretch his legs, to distract himself from the agonizing strain of his cock against already too-tight denim, relief impossible to manage on his own when being so close to that fucking smell forces him to wait, yearning and dreading in equal measure.
then — fuck. whatever cover came from distance is destroyed the moment nancy wheeler steps outside and he slams a fist against the hood of his car, stomach going tight. he can feel her coming closer and relief, want starts eating away at how self conscious he is, how fucking humiliating this is, desire tripping every possibility of evading this into needing it to happen.
billy doesn't make it far from his car, back pressed against one side of an infrequently used storage shed, all bulky phys ed equipment inside, breathing hard through his nose when he can finally hear her, that quiet growl and the heat in her words that should be ridiculous, something easily mocked. but it makes his knees go weak and if he had the ability to laugh at himself, now would be the time. because of course it's nancy wheeler. ]
Or what? [ it's an inane question, almost entirely posturing, but it's still some pretense at control, pushing himself forward with an ease that comes close to making him shudder. there's no room for anger when he's like this, he's not even thinking clearly enough to recognize that he isn't angry in the slightest, temper subdued or stable under the weight of how badly he needs her right now.
whatever stubborn part of him that thinks he should keep trying to walk away from this is wholly suffocated when he looks at her, walking toward her without hesitation — she's finally fucking here. ]