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Steve cursed himself for sleeping late, rushing from his car to the main entrance of Starcourt Mall. Robin, his new coworker who had started the job with a level of annoyance towards Steve that he felt was wholly unearned, was going to kill him. Well, she could have whatever scraps of him were left after their manager got wind of him being late.
The shorts of his Scoops Ahoy uniform rode up his thighs as he shamelessly ran for the revolving door at the mall’s main entrance. Any other time, he’d care about their uncomfortable fit and the sensation of starchy fabric chafing his ass, but he really, really couldn’t afford to be late this early into his new job.
The morning summer sun was beating down through the glass as Steve slammed into the available section of the revolving door, the air within already several degrees warmer than outside, and stuffy to boot. Steve tried to push the door forward quickly since the other three sections were thankfully empty, but there was an unusual amount of resistance that slowed him down to a pathetic crawl.
“What the hell?” He muttered, scowling as he tried to give a little more oomph to his push.
A shadow fell over his shoulder as the air within the section became a little more stifled. Of course, some impatient mallrat had to muscle into the same section as him even though every other one was empty. As if Steve’s luck hadn’t been shit enough lately, having not managed to find a girl worth getting serious with since Nancy, not getting into any colleges, and his father forcing him to work a minimum wage job at a mall— a job with a mortifyingly unflattering uniform, and a coworker that seemed immune if not downright put off by his signature Harrington charm. Plus, the aforementioned running late his first week on the job thing.
Very determinedly, he did not acknowledge the interloper in the section with him who was already breathing down his neck. He kept his eyes forward, despite the slow progress of the door’s revolution. Steve gave another ineffectual shove at the metal bar across the door in front of him before it halted forward motion entirely, and the other person’s knees knocked into the back of his own, startling him. He would have stupidly taken a step backwards, if he could have, but instead, straightening up resulted in the stranger’s chest getting pressed into Steve’s back, their denim-clad thighs now brushing up against the back of his unfortunately mostly bare thighs. Standing further upright confirmed that it was a decidedly flat, masculine chest that he was getting acquainted with. Steve was already so over this.
“Jesus, what’s your damage, man? Riding my ass isn’t going to make the door to move any faster.”
His voice bounced around the small space, signaling that they were entirely enclosed within the section. Maybe if he hadn’t already been frustrated before he ever entered the door, he would have thought better of getting snippy with an unknown man in such a tight space. But here they were; Steve was annoyed, and this guy had volunteered to make it his problem too when he followed Steve into the revolving door like a freak.
The hair on the back of Steve’s neck stood up as the man’s hot breath rushed over it. Already filling the tight space, it smelled far too strongly of cigarettes and cinnamon gum. The man’s mass against his back and thighs was unwelcome, uncomfortable, and incredibly disconcerting. His oven-like body heat warmed through the jeans he had on, and the fabric tugged at the exposed hair on Steve’s thighs.
“No fuckin’ way. That you, Harrington?”
Steve groaned and let his head thunk on the glass in front of him as he recognized Billy Hargrove’s voice over his shoulder.
“Yep, it’s me. We gonna do the whole song and dance again or what?”
Of course it’s Hargrove in here with him. Why the hell not? Once they got out of there, Steve might as well go straight to the payphone to call his father and let him know he lost a minimum wage job at an ice cream parlor within his first week, because that’s obviously where the day was headed, given this brilliant start.
“What’s the opposite of serendipity? S’gotta be what’s got us both in here, don’tcha think?” Hargrove’s obnoxious voice paused for only a moment, “Or maybe don’t, wouldn’t want that dome of yours overheating while we’re stuck in here, it’s hot as balls already.”
Steve was pretty sure he remembered that word from shop class in high school, but had no idea why Billy was bringing it up now. "What? I mean, maybe they’ll have to use a buzz saw to get us out, fuck,” Steve thought he had muttered that under his breath, but Billy’s responding snort of “Christ, Harrington, what did I just say?” had him second guessing himself on both counts.
Steve drummed up as disinterested a tone of voice as he could manage, which wasn’t hard to do given how little he wanted to be in the door a second longer than he had been already. “How about you just back the hell up and shut up about your balls, man.”
Instead of responding to the barb, Billy shifted behind him, jostling against Steve more as he created barely an inch of clearance between their hips, much of the length of their bodies still managing to touch at multiple junctures. Steve shut his eyes against the friction of denim on his calves. As Billy’s chest lifted briefly off his back, clammy air rushed up the back of his shirt to fill the vacated space. If he gritted his teeth and thought happy thoughts, literally being anywhere else with anyone else, he might be able to ignore the unwanted warmth under his skin that had begun to spread from each point of contact with Hargrove.
“The hell you wearing, Harrington?” Billy’s voice raised goosebumps along Steve’s neck again, sounding lower than before. Steve wondered if they were already running out of oxygen in this slice of the door, and that’s why he felt slightly dizzy.
“I work here, dumbass. Scoops Ahoy? You think I wear this for shits and giggles?" He didn't pause, not wanting to give Hargrove the time to respond to his clearly rhetorical question, "And I’m running late, actually. So as fun as this isn’t, I’d like to get out of here.”
Billy wasn’t ready to move on from the uniform, apparently. He let out a low whistle, and Steve’s points of warmth ramped up to burning as he felt, rather than saw, Hargrove intensely looking him up and down from behind.
“They got you putting it all out there, don’t they? It’s practically indecent. Pretty boy like you must be raking in the tips.”
The smug look that Steve didn't even have to turn around to know Hargrove was sporting burned the back of his head. The guy's ability to sniff out and poke at an already sore spot was unrivaled.
Steve snapped back bitterly, “Yeah, you bet. When you see the hat, it really ties the whole Popeye the Dipshit look together.”
Shit. He forgot the Scoops Ahoy regulation sailor hat at home. Steve pitched his head back to run a hand through his hair in frustration, only managing to give Billy a face full of hair and brush arms with the guy. At some point unknown to him, Billy’s arms had traveled to hover right around Steve’s hips. Not touching, but almost as if Hargrove was blocking him like they were back in basketball practice. The ghost sensations of his palms not quite on him were almost worse than the actual, burning points of contact along their legs now.
Billy inhaled deep through his nose, before blowing it out his mouth obnoxiously to dislodge Steve’s hair from his face. He was apparently undeterred by their proximity as Steve fought back shivers from the prickling of his breath along his scalp.
“Shit, I would pay to see you strike out with the bitches then, might have to visit this joint. Don’t worry, I’m a big tipper.”
The asshole's smirk was definitely back. Steve swore this guy only had like three lines, or maybe Hargrove saved the reruns just for him.
“No need to blow your pocket change, Hargrove, there’s a good chance I won’t have the job after this,” Steve deflated. His initial prickliness had quickly faded to resignation, and it bled through in his weaker retort. “I think the door’s stuck.”
Somehow, within what couldn’t have been more than a couple of minutes, at most, Hargrove had left him less sure-footed than he already wasn’t, really hadn’t been since Spring when the college rejection letters started coming in. His shoulders sagged backwards slightly, inadvertently resting some of his weight against Billy’s chest, causing them both to startle at the increased contact. Yet Hargrove didn’t lean away, surrendered no further room between them.
For a moment, it was quiet between them. If Steve didn’t know any better, he’d say Billy was letting him grieve his short-lived ice cream slinging career. The guy’s heartbeat could be felt steadily thrumming against Steve’s back through both their shirts. In this context, so far removed from the aggression and unyielding competitiveness that Hargrove usually displayed back on the basketball court, Steve could almost see where girls managed to find appeal in physical contact with the guy. He was solid, in a way, and maybe his radiator-like body heat could even be nice in places other than a revolving door that felt more like a sauna with each passing minute.
His downright charitable line of thinking was cut short when he was jostled by Hargrove raising his arms above Steve’s shoulders, bracing against the door in front of them, and giving one, then two hefty shoves. Neither moved the door, but they forced Steve, being slightly taller than Billy, to duck down to avoid getting shoved face first into the glass, and that move had him... pushing his backend right into Hargrove’s crotch. Steve’s own arms shot out to the side, seeking balance as he scrambled in what little space he was afforded to try and avoid touching Billy wherever possible. Great. Perfect. Genius move, Hargrove.
“What the hell, man? I just said it was stuck. Get off me!” Steve blustered. The audacity of the guy to reach over Steve probably shouldn’t have surprised him, but the asshole still had his ways of catching him off guard.
Billy only snorted, whether out of frustration with the door or derision at Steve’s floundering was unclear. His right arm snaked down to Steve’s waist, a hand on his hip steadying him before he tripped over Billy’s feet and into the curving glass wall to their side. And, yep, that sensation was so much worse than what he had imagined moments before.
Steve’s face burned as Hargrove began shoving harder at the door with his left arm, still gripping Steve’s waist with the right. He grunted noisily into Steve’s ear with the effort of each push, apparently having decided the time for making small talk was over. Which Steve wouldn’t have minded at all, if it weren’t for how each push had Hargrove thrusting his sweaty front all up and down Steve’s back, hips lined right up with his ass in what Steve imagined looked like a twisted parody of dirty dancing. Billy’s breath, sickly sweet with tobacco and the spice of his gum, puffed hot and wet against Steve’s cheek. His own arms had ended up pinned in front of him on the door, allowing Steve just enough space to avoid having his face pressed right up against the glass in front of him. The cool glass of the door on his arms contrasted sharply with the heat at his back, splitting his attention in two directions. The vibrations of Billy’s pushing on the door reverberated up his arms, further ramping up the buzzing in his head.
The noise, the vibrations, the stifling air, the too hot points of contact and the friction it caused between them, all of it was building up a sense of dread and coiling in Steve’s gut that was heading straight to...
Oh God. Please no.
Steve Harrington was getting hard, trapped in a god-forsaken revolving door, at the goddamn mall where he worked, in a goddamn sailor uniform that was indecent on a good day, from Billy fucking Hargrove. A gasp that sounded far too winded escaped against his will. He was on fire with shame as much as he was from how turned on he had quickly become. His one small mercy was that no one had approached the door from the inside of the mall yet, so no one was there to witness the tenting of his shorts.
He had to be imagining it, but he swore Hargrove’s pushing had begun to drag out, prolonging the intervals when their bodies had the most contact. Maybe Steve was on the verge of panicking, maybe he had claustrophobia, his dick was going into shock, and his mind was stretching time out. Like those sorts of moments people describe experiencing while in a car crash, everything in slow motion. Because Hargrove definitely didn’t just widen his stance so that his next shove had his crotch hitting Steve’s ass at a slight upward angle, would never drag himself against Steve a second longer than necessary, and it definitely wouldn’t shoot a molten twist from somewhere deep and low within Steve that had him at full mast within seconds. Nope.
Steve tried to tell himself that his body was just responding to the undeniable intimacy of their circumstances, the familiar sensations of rhythmic thrusting and hot breath hitting his ear. It wasn’t nearly as convincing as he’d hoped, because feeling them from this direction and from a man was not at all familiar. He was in uncharted territory at nine AM on a weekday morning, and frankly he felt unequipped to deal with it. Scratch that, he had zero desire to deal with it, he'd actually rather escape the stupid door and never think about this moment again. So he bit back his next groan when his traitorous dick gave another kick, steeled his resolve to demand Billy stop and have them wait for help. That was the plan, until a particularly prolonged, full contact shove from Hargrove brought the stiffy the other guy was now sporting to Steve’s immediate attention.
“Holy shit.” He didn’t mean to say it aloud. Or in such a breathy voice.
Steve was as good as frozen to the spot, the squirming movements he hadn’t even been aware he was doing before now stilled. Billy’s movements stuttered as well, as though he had to break himself out of his rhythm. His grip on Steve’s hip tightened threateningly.
“Not. A. Goddamn. Word, Harrington,” He bit the words harshly into Steve’s ear, “If you want to make it to your precious little ice cream shop in one piece.”
Steve nodded dumbly, not out of fear of Hargrove, despite knowing firsthand how his threat wasn’t idle, but because he was sent reeling anew from the knowledge that Billy was just as turned on as Steve was. His own erection twitched again at the idea, which made Steve wish Billy would just kill him on the spot.
“Um, wouldn’t dream of it, man,” Steve snapped, belatedly realizing that responding at all was the opposite of Hargrove’s demand, but deciding to commit to it. “Not like I’m looking to compare notes on the impression of your hard-on with Becky Hafferty.”
He was finding it harder to think with Billy’s hand still acting as a hot brand on his hip, and he began wriggling again as if to dislodge it. This caused two things to happen, neither of which were the intended effect. First, Steve’s ass ended up pushed up against Hargrove’s crotch again, the stiff line of his erection through denim just as unmistakable as before, and it sent another twinge of something up Steve’s spine. Second, Billy’s grasp on Steve didn’t loosen so much as his fingers just splayed wider on his hip to accommodate Steve’s movement. This allowed his fingers to slip above Steve’s waistband, inching just underneath his shirt. Hargrove’s warm fingers on Steve’s skin sent him shivering, and Steve cursed under his breath at how ridiculous this had all become.
Hargrove remained uncharacteristically quiet, despite his earlier threat and how Steve had only managed to escalate their predicament, so much so that Steve could hear the asshole swallow thickly behind him. Steve decided he could probably at least try not to end the morning with a black eye, and maybe Billy needed to be handled with kid gloves right now.
“Look, Hargrove...” He rallied every bit of focus and patience he had left, “Let’s just get the hell out of here, and we never have to speak of this again. Deal?”
After a tense moment where Steve was sure his head was about to be put through glass, Billy cleared his throat.
“Yeah, okay.”
“...Okay. Yeah, okay,” Steve began, surprised but feeling a rush of relief that they were finally on the same page. He swatted Hargrove’s hand off of him. “Both hands on the glass. Push together on three.”
Billy scoffed but slowly brought his hand up to the glass once more. He even scooted back just enough so that Steve had enough clearance to brace his own hands on the bar of the door, and Steve rolled his eyes at the guy's grand gesture. What a class act.
“One... Two... Th—”
Hargrove began pushing before Steve even got the word out— because it was too much to ask for the guy to just listen for once— and Steve was left scrambling to throw his own weight against the bar.
An alarmed yelp cut through the sound of their heavy breathing, startling Steve backwards into Billy once more. He whorled around, still caged in by the other guy’s arms, to try and spot the source of the noise behind them. He remembered too late that this pressed their fronts together, and Steve’s semi was still far too obvious in the blasted sailor shorts. Steve felt on fire as their erections got acquainted through layers of jeans and cotton. He and Hargrove locked eyes, so Steve had a front row seat to the exact moment when the guy realized. His ridiculously long and dark lashes made his widening eyes all the more absurd.
Steve took as big of a step back from Hargrove’s growing sneer as he could, all the asshole’s previous rage apparently washed away as his tongue darted out past his lips. Probably priming his pie hole to make what he thought was another brilliant observation. But when Steve’s back hit the door, jostling it a bit, another audible oof sounded from behind Billy, distracting him from whatever crock of shit he was about to say. Billy craned his neck around to try to locate the source of the noise, and Steve took the opportunity to look over the guy’s shoulder as he had originally intended. What they saw caused them both to scoff some variation of what the fuck.
Eddie “The Freak” Munson was caught in the revolving door, pinched right where it closed, as if he had been caught halfway into trying to dart into their section. My section, Steve corrected himself internally. What was with every idiot in a mile radius trying to get into the same section of this revolving door from hell the one time he used it?
Munson’s face was bright red, probably from having been squeezed like he was in a nutcracker whenever Steve and Billy had pushed against the door. Had that been happening every time Billy had pushed the door since they’d gotten trapped? Why had neither of them heard him until now? Well, Steve had some idea of the answer for the latter, as he was uncomfortably reminded that both his and Billy’s hard-ons had yet to flag.
“Munson... What the fuck?” Billy unhelpfully repeated himself.
Eddie coughed and saluted with the hand that was in their section. His voice came out as a wheeze.
“Hey fellas... Turns out three’s a crowd, eh?”
It was deathly silent between the three of them for a painfully drawn-out moment. Both Billy and Steve were still awkwardly craning to take in the sorry sight of Munson. At some point in the past thirty seconds, Hargrove had ended up pressed against Steve again when the asshat had shuffled forward for reasons Steve would never know or understand.
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” Steve had finally reached a breaking point. “No, no, no.”
He gently pushed Billy away from him with one hand on his chest, not stopping to note how surprisingly easy the meathead went with the motion. The guy just stared down at the hand on his chest, a fittingly dumbfounded look on his face. Steve didn’t stop pushing until Billy had backed up enough that he could squeeze around him and start pushing on the opposite door, the one threatening to split the freak, in reverse.
“No,” Steve continued, not sparing a glance to either of the idiots, “Not to-fucking-day.”
As soon as there was enough clearance that Eddie could ostensibly slip free, Steve turned and slammed his palm onto the taller guy’s forehead, grimacing at how sweaty his face was.
“Out,” He commanded, shoving Munson back without much resistance. His beady eyes were wide and nearly crossed as they tried to look up at Steve’s hand on his forehead.
Steve watched for a moment to see the weirdo stagger backwards into the daylight. Munson smartly did not immediately try to reenter the door, but a muttered “Well fuck you very much too,” snaked its way inside as he brushed himself off.
Steve aimed his attention at Hargrove next, his hand reaching out to grab the guy’s arm before he had fully turned. That was a mistake, one he should have known better than to make, and Billy’s fingers wrapped hard around his wrist before Steve could get ahold of him. It was as clear a warning as the guy was going to give, but after this ordeal, Steve knew Hargrove had nothing on him.
Steve rolled his eyes as he turned his head towards Billy, a “Playtime’s over, Hargrove,” already on his tongue, but the words died as their eyes locked once more.
The guy’s eyes were really blue, and a little lost looking, despite the scowl he had trained on Steve. The grip on his wrist was just shy of painful, but at least it distracted him from thinking about how those same eyes had been at his back, staring, for the past however long they had been in the door. Steve swallowed dryly, resenting how the heat of Hargrove’s hands felt all too familiar by now.
“Not a word,” Hargrove reiterated, voice low, “You got it, Harrington?”
Jesus, he’s still on that?
Steve sighed, “We’ll never speak of this again. I'd sooner forget it happened at all, trust me, man."
Billy’s eyes searched his face for a moment, before apparently determining Steve could be taken at his word. He dropped Steve’s arm, and Steve immediately took the opportunity to shove the guy away from him.
"Now I got a job to get to, Hargrove, so beat it.”
A shit-eating grin returned to Billy's face at the mention of Scoops Ahoy, and Jesus, the guy was more stuck than the door had been, he didn't even seem to register Steve's shove.
“I hope you manage to keep the job, King Steve. I meant what I said about swinging by. Wanna see you in your crown next time,” His tongue wagged as he lazily tapped a finger to Steve’s head. He stepped backwards towards the opening in the door of his own accord, unashamedly adjusting himself through his jeans with his other hand until his boner was less obvious. Once in the clear, Hargrove gave a two finger salute, turned around and slipped out the door without another word.
Steve suppressed a full-body shudder, and turned around, more than ready to put the experience with Hargrove and Munson quite literally behind him. He began pushing the revolving door the right way again. Progress was still painfully slow but blessedly unimpeded. Safely facing away from Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum, he discretely adjusted his own dick so it was trapped under the waistband of his shorts.
As soon as he could, he bolted out of the door into the interior of the mall, gulping in fresh air that was wonderfully cool from the air-conditioning. He ran the entire way to Scoops Ahoy, vaulting feet first over the counter beside Robin at exactly 9:11am Eastern Standard Time. Like a ninja. The store was empty, since people, rightfully as far as Steve was concerned, didn’t want Cherry Jubilee for breakfast. Robin blinked unamused at Steve as he stood up, straightening out his uniform.
“Don called, his car had a flat so he’s not coming in until after the lunch rush. I haven’t the faintest idea why, but I told him you were already here. You can thank me by cleaning all the cones dropped by crying children off the floors today, and deal with their parents.”
Huh. So Robin, who he had been so sure was counting down the days until he was fired, had covered for him to their manager? Maybe Steve Harrington's luck was turning around after all.
“No prob, Rob. I majorly owe you,” Steve found himself grinning while he caught his breath, simply caught up in the relief of having escaped his personal hell. He made to retrieve his ice cream scoop before remembering company policy. He even managed to sound a bit sheepish when he asked Robin, “Is there, uh, any chance we got a spare hat in the back?”
“How serendipitous for you, there is in fact one in the back. You can have it if you agree to never call me that again,” She rolled her eyes, already turning away from him. Apparently she still preferred to look out towards the vast load of nothing beyond the shop counter to continuing a conversation with Steve.
Steve hastily agreed and started to make his way to the back room to look for the hat before Robin’s words really sunk in. He did a double take back to the girl at the counter. The past ten minutes of his life flashed before his eyes, and some previously missing puzzle piece seemed to slot into place.
“Serendipitous, as in... Serendipity?” Steve ignored the unpleasant buzzing under his skin at the recollection of Billy's voice at his back. He figured there was no harm in asking Robin a stupid question; it didn’t seem as though his coworker’s opinion of him could fall much lower.
The blonde girl shot him a quizzical look over her shoulder, an eyebrow raised, as if to say really? but she nodded.
Steve took it as a sign to press on, “Is that... like, y’know, luck?”
Robin’s look softened into a not-quite smile once she seemed to finally pick up on how clueless Steve really was.
“Yeah, Dingus," She snorted in amusement, "Something like luck.”