Chapter Text
The bathroom door falls shut with a discreet little click after Billy exits the room. For a long moment, Steve is left staring at the white wood paneling like he can find an answer to all his prayers there.
But there's no sign to guide him, no divine inspiration, just the damn door and behind it the man that’s yanking on the proverbial chain he’s wrapped around Steve’s neck. He can’t believe he fell for Billy’s charm, forgot where he was and what he was doing here for a moment. A golden cage is still a cage. Steve is still just a glorified whore.
Nausea hits him, at the thought of it, his head starts swimming, spinning. He collapses against the wall of the tub and melts back into the water, drained of all the strength that kept him upright. Everything has slipped away from him and he’s drowning, sinking, veins filled with artillery lead pulling him under. He lets the water close over his head, hears the thunder of his heart in his ears, canon fire.
War.
There is war inside his head. A losing battle. With whom? With Billy? Or himself? Steve doesn’t know. He doesn’t know shit and he’s out of his depth and…
His lungs are hurting, his heartbeat is pounding in his ears. The war drum. That beat that keeps him going, keeps him afloat. Resilience, resistance.
Steve can’t drown. Not now, not yet. He’s wounded, yes. Has shown weakness in the enemy's eye but he’s not done here. Not fucking done for.
The tub isn’t deep enough, anyway, to drown in. Not when he's been kicking water for so long. It would take an ocean to kill him, an endless depth to sink to the bottom of, where it’s silent and dark, where lidless creatures swim, shining ghost lights at their prey, open mawed. It would take the Mariana Trench for Steve Harrington to never surface from again.
Giving up is not an option. Not now, not when the taste of gold sits on his tongue. The gold of the Cognac in his belly, the gold of the credit card in his wallet with no limit and no funds. The gold of Billy’s hair, the gold in his eyes, a mirage, a reflection of the candle lights. For so long, so long, Steve has been a prisoner of wealth and status and privilege but a golden cage can’t hold a man like him, it bends too easily under his will.
Steve breaks the surface, fills his lungs with air. The toxic scent of the bath has lost its power, its appeal, when he slicks his hair back and draws in air like it’s crack. Like he’s an addict.
He's still half-hard, still aching from Billy’s touch and the aftermath of sweet delirium but not powerless. Never powerless, not when Billy shelled out millions to have him.
It’s a kick. A rush. A fucking high. That realization. He’s worth more than all the things Hargrove baited him with, more than all the things the man wants to possess.
Steve is not prey. He never was.
He’s the lure. He’s what Billy desires. Always has been, highschool showers, heated glances, scorched souls. Steve is not the victim of all that greed, Billy is.
And as long as he wants him, as long as Steve has things to give, he’s in control. All he needs to do is to keep Billy interested.
He laughs. A wretched, hollow sound but so, so delighted. It’s a game but the winner has yet to be determined. You only lose if you stop playing.
Steve sways a little when he tries to rise, hand clutching the corners of the tub as he hoists himself up. The water feels heavy when it falls away from his body like it’s trying to pull him back under but Steve tears himself loose.
The tiles under his naked feet aren't completely still as he stands, his movements somewhere between clumsy and languid when he slips on the bathrobe laid out for him. It’s fluffy and soft like a cloud and Steve knows the alcohol has gone to his head, when he runs his fingers over the fabric and hums quietly under his breath, luxuriating in it for a quiet, reverent moment.
After, Steve takes a second to inspect his reflection. The mirror above the sink must be heated, there’s not a single patch of fogging. It shows off the way his face is glowing from the bath with stunning clarity.
Wash yourself.
Steve smirks at the mirror if Billy wants him soaped up and scrubbed he can either do it with his own two hands or go fuck himself. He’ll face Hargrove just the way he is, hair still dripping, water beading on his face clumping his lashes together, flushed and wearing nothing but that glow.
Beautiful.
Yeah, Steve thinks, he looks gorgeous. Worth every penny. He feels good too. Feels sexy and absolutely, definitely tipsy.
Maybe that’s where the boost of confidence comes from when he steps towards the door. Without hesitation, he opens it and enters the room behind it.
He meets thunderstorm twilight there and Billy, silhouetted against the raging sky.
Like a canvas painted in a swirling palette of greys, the huge panorama windows span the entire length of the wall behind Hargrove's back. Rain is still beating down from those anthracite clouds and thrums against them in a steady rhythm. It pours over the glass in thick streams that paint stripes of dancing shadows and light across the room. Opposite the bed, a fireplace has been lit and its crackling flames smear their colors on every surface. The room is doused in hues of orange and dusky blue.
As Steve's eyes adapt Billy’s features take shape in the dim light.
“Done cleaning up already?” He asks, smile lupine and eyes glittering in the glow of the flames.
Steve's hands twitch around the knot of his bathrobe tie in annoyance. He doesn’t dignify Billy with an answer. Instead, he opens the knot and lets the robe slide down his shoulders. It lands on the floor and pools around his ankles with a quiet sound.
Chin raised, Steve stands naked and proud.
“For you?” he scoffs “I’m clean enough.”
He steps out of the circle of his crumpled robe and towards Billy still sitting, an ankle squared across one knee, on the bed. Bare toes sinking into the incredibly soft carpet of the suite Steve makes his way over to what lies behind the ashes and the fire of his old life.
Billy shifts from his position as he moves closer, plants both his feet when Steve stops right in front of him, toes almost touching.
“I've always liked your courage, your confidence.” Billy laughs softly as he angles his face up to meet Steves’s eyes, looking at him with something akin to adoration. “Or should I say arrogance?”
Again, Steve doesn’t answer. He reaches out to touch Billy’s jaw, watches the way his lashes flutter in the half-light of the fire and the storm at the contact.
“Is this how you imagined it?” he asks quietly instead, as he traces the contour of a prominent chin. “Is this everything you wanted?”
Billy’s hand shoots up and wraps around Steve’s wrist. The delicate bones there grind against each other as he tightens his grip, bruising maybe, but Steve hardly feels it. He holds Billy’s gaze, withstands the cruel beauty of his eyes.
"It would have been. All those years ago, when all I wanted was for you to look my way." Billy
finally admits "Now, I'm not so modest anymore."
He yanks at Steve’s wrist, pulls him closer against his chest, into him, with a force that makes Steve’s knees buckle.
A hand in Billy’s hair, clawing tightly at the roots of his curls is what it takes for Steve to keep himself upright. They stay like this for the fraction of a second, tethering on the edge of the knife, hard breath and sharp teeth ready to be bared, ready to draw blood.
Looking back there has always been something between them, something unspoken, a current of sticky sweet venom pulling them under that has poisoned their hearts from the moment they first met. It’s immanent in the way they’ve struggled for dominance, in the hurt they’ve inflicted on each other with eager hands, the vicious verbal jabs exchanged until the day they parted. And it’s as strong as ever. Right here, right now. The only difference is that this time, Steve wants to find out where the current takes them.
He gives in to it as he pours himself down, spreads his legs and slides into Billy’s lap. His naked thighs glide over the soft material of Hargrove’s pants as they come to rest on each side of his hips. Silk, Steve realizes, Billy wears threads as smooth and grey as the thunderstorm as it rolls across the Manhattan sky with low, distant thunder.
The grip on his wrist disappears as he settles, turns into eager hands pressed into the small of his back, possessive and scalding, to keep him right where he is, straddling Billy’s thighs.
Steve doesn’t mind them, doesn’t mind the hunger he can see in those deep blue eyes. The more Billy wants him the more power Steve has over him.
"Tell me what you want, then." Steve whispers into the narrow space between them, slips his hands inside Billy's open shirt and lets them rest on his shoulders. Feels the furnace burning under that tan, smooth skin. His wet hair drips all over Billy's shirt and pants, sprinkles small wet spots like rain. "What more can you possibly want that I haven't signed over to you yet?"
There's a moment in which he thinks Billy won't take the bait that he'll see right through his charade, his fragile, desperate attempt to beat him at his own game. But if they share one flaw, it is without a doubt arrogance and Billy is so very certain of his triumph.
"I want you to surrender. Stop fighting me." he says after a few heartbeats, voice drifting over Steve's chest on a hot breath "Let me have you, all of you."
The words send an odd thrill down Steve's spine and he barely suppresses a shiver as those greedy hands dip lower and spread across his ass pulling him closer, tighter. Possessive, obsessive.
"Truly." Steve shakes his head and hides the smile tugging on the corner of his mouth as he dips his head to brush his lips against Billy's. "You're not a modest man at all. "
Billy is caught in this just as hopelessly as Steve is. Hook, line and sinker.
You're already obsessed. I'll get you addicted too. Steve thinks. He can already taste it on his tongue, revenge, bittersweet and ice cold. I'll do whatever it takes. And if I go down, I'll drag you down with me.
His hands curl around the back of Billy’s neck and he draws him in, slots their lips together in an open-mouthed kiss.
It doesn’t feel like a first kiss, it feels like the hundredth, the thousandths it feels like Steve’s lips were never meant for anything else than kissing Billy Hargrove. There’s no pause, no hesitation, no adjustment of the angle, they just fit together perfectly, all ravaging heat and hunger.
Billy licks up into his mouth in hot broad stripes, his tongue a heavy press against Steve’s as he claims his lips.
It’s exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. Steve's whole body is set alight as Billy takes control over the kiss. He stifles a moan when he feels teeth catching on his lower lip, has to break away for air, exactly at the same moment as Billy rolls up his hips and presses his crotch against Steve's re-hardening cock.
A growl reverberates in Billy's chest at the loss of Steve's mouth on his and then the world tips sideways as he flips them.
The mattress is wonderfully soft as Steve's back lands on it, the bed cover made from some slippery, soft material that makes him think he must drown in it. And for the fraction of a second, he remembers how tired he is, how much his body covets sleep.
There's no time to dwell on that thought because Billy is on him again, heat and hunger, shirtless now as he slips on top of Steve, skin glowing with the orange of the flames.
Steve welcomes Billy’s mouth back on his. Closes his eyes and lets him drag him into a slow, lazy kiss.
Billy kisses him like he's trying to consume him the same the way a flame consumes the wings of a dazzled moth. Billy touches him, fingers pressing between his ribs and nails catching on his skin, like he wants to find a way underneath to slip his hands inside his chest and hold his beating heart.
Never before has anyone wanted Steve like that and he feels drunker on that power than on the Cognac in his system. It almost makes him forget that he's never been with another man.
But then Billy shifts above him and suddenly he feels it, the shape of Hargrove's erection digging into his hip. It pulls him out of that dark, erotic reverie like a slap in the face. Steve gasps into the kiss, goes rigid beneath Billy, hand cramping around his shoulder.
"Relax." Billy whispers in between sucking marks into his collarbone, like he can read Steve's mind. His mouth burns."I'll make it so good for you."
That pisses Steve off so much, it actually gives him the push he needed to swallow back the frantic pounding of his heart in his throat. He lets go of Billy's shoulders, goes for the waistband of his pants and tears at it until there's the satisfying crack of a breaking seam. He'll much rather be with Billy on his own terms than play the blushing virgin.
He's stopped mid-move, fingers still fumbling with Billy’s zipper, when a large hand wraps around his neck and squeezes, pins him down into the mattress. Steve's eyes go wide but his shocked gasp is cut off by the grip on his throat, his lips part in vain around a mouthful of air.
“I said.” Billy says, voice a husk "Relax."
A thumb pushes into the carotid artery right beneath the hinge of Steve's jaw with steady pressure and doesn't let up. He starts going dizzy, lightheaded, blood rushing in his ears so loud he almost can’t hear Billy when he leans closer and speaks again.
“We’ll get to that later. I want you to be good now and lie very still.”
There’s a moment of blind panic before Steve is able to wrestle back his fight or flight reflex and manages a curt nod. He can be good for now. Or pretend to be at least. Whatever it takes, he reminds himself.
The grip softens and the air rushes back into Steve’s lungs. It brings with it a fizzing, reckless euphoria, like he's riding out a high and is off his rocker from doing poppers. He’s gone so hard so fast, that he can feel the furious pulsing of his heart in his cock as he comes down.
“See?” The hand remains around his throat, thumb caressing the underside of his jaw as Billy slowly starts kissing down his chest and belly. “That’s so much better.”
Billy keeps moving south one inch at a time. His tongue flicks at Steve's navel, wet and obscene, just a foretaste of what it's capable of, and the sensation raises goosebumps all over Steve’s body.
But all that is nothing compared to the feeling when Billy closes his lips around his dick. Steve can’t hold back a moan, it comes from somewhere deep inside his chest, raw and mindless.
A hot palm holds Steve down on one hip to stop him from bucking into Billy's mouth and all he can do is give himself over to its heat and the soft texture of that sly tongue curling underneath the head of his cock. Steve dares a feverish look down only to meet Billy's gaze. He looks up at him with veiled eyes and a devilish glint in them. Another moan spills helplessly from Steve's lips.
Billy hums in appreciation as he softly suckles at the tip, only to deprive Steve of the warmth of his mouth a second later.
The hand around Steve's neck crawls up, Billy’s index and middle finger part his lips but are stopped by the barrier of his teeth.
“Open up.” Billy commands and this time Steve obeys, he unlocks his jaw and lets the digits slip inside to rest heavy on his tongue.
Spit collects on the back of Steve's tongue as Billy pushes in harder, drives his fingers deeper. He chokes around them as Billy wraps his free hand around his cock and feels drool slipping from the corners of his mouth.
"That's right, baby." Billy mutters and begins to stroke him, too rough, too dry but perfect in a way that makes Steve writhe between the sheets and his eyes roll back. "You want them nice and wet."
At this point, Steve is beyond the ability to comprehend what Billy means but he finds out soon, when he takes his fingers out of his mouth and slips them between his legs and past his balls.
Steve shivers when he feels Billy's fingers pressing against his entrance and beginning to trace his rim in small circles, wet and dripping with his own spit, like a promise of everything he had ever desired and denied himself. Two things happen when Billy breaches him, makes him take both at once. Steve's cock gives a hard kick at the pressure and the burn when those thick fingers sink deeper into his soft insides and he groans.
It's a filthy sound reverberating deep in his chest, almost frightening in its honesty. The sensation is forgein, intrusive but at the same time wonderful in a way that Steve's brain insists is dirty and depraved but that his dick absolutely loves.
Maybe it's the added pressure from the inside, Steve doesn't know, is past the point of caring but his cock is pulsing, oozing cum from his slit that drips on his belly as Billy begins working up a steady rhythm.
Steve knows he won't last, can tell by the way tension starts building in his abdomen, the way tendrils of heat are spreading through his body. His face is hot suddenly and he realizes it's a blush that's rapidly expanding down his throat and over his chest, like wildfire.
Hargrove’s fingers flex inside of him again and hit something that makes Steve spasm in his hold. He is so overwhelmed by the sensation that he chokes out a ragged sob. But Billy is above him suddenly, covers his mouth with his own and swallows the sound.
It's too much Steve starts trembling from the strain of holding back his impending orgasm and hot tears start collecting in the corners of his eyes. As Billy's touch takes him to a place somewhere between pleasure and pain, exhaustion and bliss, Steve is threatening to drown in the wetness of Billy’s mouth and his own salty tears.
"Come for me. Be mine, give me everything." Billy's pants when he breaks the kiss, lips wet and sloppy against the side of his throat and gives Steve's cock one last harsh tug.
Steve's body finally surrenders. He comes hard, his spine arching off the mattress and his toes curling as he spends himself in Billy’s arms. His climax blazes through his body and sizzles out in bright sparks behind his eyelids until there is only blackness.
________
Steve awakens feeling like he lost centuries to sleep and at the same time, only closed his eyes for a minute.
Silence is the first thing his rousing mind registers, the distinct absence of the storm sounds on the other side of the windows. All that reaches his ears now is the distant buzz of traffic. The curtains are drawn and the mellow shadows of the bedroom and the softness of the sheets keep Steve wrapped up comfortably on the threshold between waking and dreaming. He can’t tell what time it is. Or what day. He’s alone. The spot in the bed next to him has long gone cold.
Steve is not surprised to find Billy gone, almost like the events of last night were nothing but a wild fantasy.
For a while, he simply floats detached and unanchored from reality until he slowly feels his consciousness returning to his body. Yesterday's fatigue still lingers there, bone-deep and leaden. Only when he begins shifting and stretching tentatively, finding control over his muscles, does he regain a sense of owning his skin. It's tacky with sweat all over, coated with dried cum between his thighs, on his belly. He’s sticking to the sheets. Steve groans.
Now that the hazy veil of sleep has lifted, he can't stand lying in bed anymore. He feels fucking disgusting. It takes a considerable amount of willpower, but finally he works his way out of the giant bed one hand full of Egyptian cotton at a time and stumbles into the bathroom, groggy and naked as he is.
His reflection greets him there, hair a wild mess and skin covered in Billy’s marks. His body has become a painting, retelling last night in the language of colors. The red of scratches and thumbprints scattered over his back, his sides and turning a deeper shade already around his wrists speak of Billy's greedy hands and nails. The purple of fresh hickeys blossoming on his neck, his shoulders, below his navel and, Steve realizes as he lets his gaze wander further down, between his thighs, betray where Billy's hungry mouth has been.
When Billy put these last ones down there Steve doesn’t know, probably during all the time he’s missing. At some point after he came his memories turned into a tangled mess of impressions. Steve can't even say if he passed out or blacked out. All he knows for sure is that he looks fucking wrecked.
“Goddammit!” he curses under his breath trying to get his hair under control and giving up after a few seconds only to stare blankly at the damage in the mirror for another moment "Fuck.”
So much for taking back the reins. He truly did a great job messing that up and missed his chance to get Billy properly hooked last night. It’s a shitty plan anyway, something only a drunk mind can come up with and try to go through with. But it’s still the only one he’s got. And they didn’t even… Steve is pretty sure they didn’t have sex even though he's also pretty convinced that the dried spunk on his skin isn’t his alone.
Steve closes his eyes again and massages his temples in an attempt to ease the headache all this is giving him. It was stupid to think he could turn the tables to his favor in just one night. Of course it was. He's gonna have to gear up for playing the long game, and with an opponent that can beat him any second to boot.
God, this is so fucked up.
Steve grabs a glass from the counter and fills it with tap water, he’s parched, his throat feels raw and his head is buzzing with a slight hangover. He downs three glasses before his thirst is quenched and his mind feels clearer.
He wants a shower, needs it badly, actually. Steve wrinkles his nose. He can smell himself, the way he reeks of sex.
It's tempting but it will have to wait for later. Steve's gotta catch up with whatever Billy is doing if he wants to get back on top of the situation, and fast. He opts for soaking a towel with lukewarm water and scrubbing the cum off his belly and thighs instead, cleaning himself as best as he can for now.
While he dries himself off he looks around the bathroom only to notice that his clothes are gone. The brass rack where he hung them last night is empty and now that he thinks about it, he realizes there was no sign of his discarded bathrobe either when he left the bedroom. Everything has been cleaned away neatly, even the towels have been replaced and the top sheet of the toilet paper is folded into a triangle with perfect symmetry. Someone has tidied up his mess while he was sleeping. All of it.
A horrible suspicion forming in his head, he storms back into the bedroom looking for his clothes, goes through the built-in closet and all the drawers he can find with frantic haste, but they all are empty. Of course they are. Neither of them brought luggage. Steve technically isn’t even a guest at the Plaza and he never had a change of clothes to begin with.
Great, now his priorities have shifted from trying to outsmart Billy to something as mundane as figuring out where he’s gone and whatever he did with his clothes. Steve grits his teeth in frustration. He's pretty sure Hargrove did this on purpose, just another attempt to humiliate him, and patience is not one of Steve's virtues.
From the master bedroom, a sliding door opens into a lounge area with a couch and a matching set of armchairs assembled around a coffee table. Steve takes a peek through the gap before he ventures into the next room. That butler might be lurking around a corner and for Steve's taste he already knows too much. The last thing he needs right now is an encounter with Wilson while he's in his birthday suit.
Steve lets out a relieved breath and sends a silent thank you heavenwards, when he spots a white shirt hung over the back of one of the chairs. He grabs it and pulls it on, covering his nakedness. But his relief only lasts a second before he realizes it’s clearly not his shirt. It’s too big, too long, hangs loosely off his frame and smells overwhelmingly of Billy. For a second, Steve stands shocked into stillness and enveloped by the wave of scent that hits him, an intoxicating composition of tobacco, sandalwood, leather and musk and underneath it, the faintest tang of sweat.
A tingle runs down his spine as he shivers, but it’s not an entirely unpleasant sensation. Besides, at least the shirt is large enough to cover all the important parts. Steve decides to keep it on. He does up the lower buttons but leaves the shirt open at his chest, in case he ends up finding his own clothes to change into after all, and then goes looking for Billy.
The Royal Suite has way too many rooms for only two guests. Steve finds another, smaller bedroom across from theirs and a private little gym as he wanders through the suite. Down a little hallway, he discovers the elevator and the oval lobby that leads into the parlor with the piano where he signed the contract last night. But there's no sight of Billy.
He stares into the direction of the exit, lost for a few seconds before he hears a muffled voice speaking through a door somewhere near him. It’s clearly, unmistakably Billy’s deep tenor having a one-sided conversation. He must be on the phone with someone.
Steve follows the sounds and finds Billy in a mahogany-furnished study, pacing back and forth between a bookshelf and a writing desk like a panther in a cage. He's got a phone wedged between his ear and his shoulder, base in one hand, wire dragging along the floor.
Apparently, today is another day that Hargrove looks his best, on top of his game, while Steve himself is a hot mess. Billy conjured up yet a different, freshly pressed suit from somewhere, has his hair carefully styled back and a smoothly shaved chin. Steve hates him a little more for that.
As he slips into the room, he notices a laptop computer sitting on the leather top of the desk and chances a look at the screen. Rows upon rows of green glowing digits are running across it like a colony of busy ants.
“No.” Billy says into the phone, just as Steve enters “I’m looking for negative control, Larry. Not more than 30-35 percent, just enough to block everyone else’s merger plans. That's right. I want you to buy everything in sight before Nikkei closes, but don’t go over 22. You got it? Great, pal!”
He spins around to give Steve a wide grin like he was expecting him before he continues.
“I’ll see you Wednesday for squash. Gotta run now I've got…” he winks at Steve “An important client waiting for me.”
Without another word or waiting for a reply at the other end of the line, he hangs up.
"An important client?" Steve says, deadpan, raising one brow. "I'm so flattered."
“And I'm delighted." Billy replies, eyeing Steve up "To see you're finally awake. Get a good rest, sleeping beauty?”
Steve casts a quick glance at the digital clock on the writing desk. It says 10:24 am. He slept for almost fifteen hours.
“Looks like I did." he says, crossing his arms.
Billy's eyes twinkle with amusement as he circles him and then closes in, step by step until he's backing Steve up against the writing desk, underside of his naked legs hitting the hard wood.
"And you came to find me right after getting up, didn't you? You must miss me already, huh? Didn't even take a shower yet." he leans closer, draws in a deep breath before whispering, lips brushing the shell of Steve's ear "I can still smell myself on you."
Steve hates how hard that makes him blush and how much it makes his stomach swoop. His body is a filthy traitor.
"You're gross." he scoffs and pushes at Billy's chest but he hardly budges an inch "Don't flatter yourself. The reason I came looking for you is that I can’t seem to find my clothes anywhere. Got an idea where they went?”
Billy hums, takes the hem of the shirt between his fingers and tugs on it, a playful smile still dangling off the corner of his mouth.
“I had the laundry service pick them up this morning. Your suit was still wet when they took it. You'll get it returned in a few hours but I’m afraid your shoes are ruined for good.” he says and Steve swears he can hear the glee dripping from his tongue "You're welcome by the way. It was my pleasure to help out."
“A few hours?" Steve wants to punch first Hargrove and then himself for not planning ahead "What am I supposed to wear until then?”
“Well, you could opt for a bathrobe. We have about 12 distributed across the suite but I can always ask Wilson for more if you want.” Billy grins runs his tongue over the sharp upper row of his teeth as his eyes dip lower and linger for a significant amount of time on the spot where the hem of the shirt barely reaches till Steve’s thighs to cover his nudity. "I do have to say, though, I rather like what you're wearing right now.”
Steve tries not to bristle or to flinch as Billy slips a hand underneath the shirt and runs it up his side. He planned this, Steve knows the fucker planned this. 12 bathrobes and Steve didn't manage to find a single one? That's not a coincidence. Billy probably planted the shirt for him to find as well. But that's alright because he can definitely own this, use it to his advantage.
"Yeah?" he says syrupy-sweet and bats his eyes at Billy "You like it when I wear your clothes? When I smell like you? Does it make you feel like a big man? Like you own me properly?"
Steve takes the collar of the shirt and presses it against his face, inhales deeply while keeping his eyes locked on Billy's, watches the way they darken.
"Bratty." Billy growls and suddenly his hands are under Steve's thighs, lifting him up only to let his naked ass smack back down on top of the desk. He bullies his way between Steve's legs, spreads them around his hips as he leans into his space. "I should continue what we started last night and fuck the attitude right out of you right here on this desk."
Unfazed, Steve lets the collar slip from his fingers and shrugs it off his shoulder.
"You're all talk, Mr. Hargrove." he says, opens his legs a little wider, lays out his trap with an innocent smile.
Billy’s teeth flash and he surges forward, ready to take the challenge when the shrill ringing of the phone interrupts them.
"Shit!" Billy hisses, stopping midway and drawing his brows together in a deep, annoyed frown "I have to get that. But we'll come back to this later."
"Sure." Steve shrugs with a devious little smirk and slips off the desk in a careless, fluid motion "Whatever you say."
Billy shoots him a dirty look and grumbles something under his breath as he reaches for the telephone.
"Why don’t you get some breakfast meanwhile?" he says before he picks up, back already turned towards Steve. "Just dial Wilson on the intercom, tell him what you want. He'll pass it on to the cook."
"Sounds good." Steve sing-songs as he saunters out of the study, feeling smug as hell and already plotting his next move.
The last thing he hears on his way down the corridor and towards the living room is Billy answering the phone.
"Their responding offer?" he snaps "I see. Well, I’m not losing 60 million a quarter to a bunch of incompetents. Business is business. Keep on buying, dilute the fucker. I want to see him bleed."
Yeah, Steve thinks with some kind of dark delight blooming in his chest, he's learning to play these wicked games from the very best.