A Brief History of Falling for Billy Hargrove [harrington x hargrove]

1.

The first time Billy and Steve fought without any real heat in their blows was the day Coach rounded the whole team up and looked every single one of them in the eye.

"I couldn't help but notice some unnecessary tension between a few of you, lads," he said, throwing a particularly sharp look at Billy, who smiled almost sheepishly, and Steve, whose face still had a slight yellowish tinge from the fading bruises, a courtesy of Billy's fists, "and you know that I don't mind a little bit of healthy rivalry – it keeps you sissies working hard – but when you try to kill each other on the court, it's my responsibility to take action. So," he clapped his hands, the sound echoing in the eery silence that took over the room, "you've ever heard about boxing?"

The team exchanged nervous glances, muttering below their breaths, everyone eyeing the person they'd like to see with a broken nose the most. Steve's ribs still ached from the last time he and Billy got into a brawl but his eyes found their way to the boy who, unsurprisingly, was already watching him like a hawk observing its prey anyway.

Steve was not scared. He'd beat Billy up if he had to. This time he would, whatever it took. But that was the thing about fighting with Billy – the boy had fists of stone, no remorse and so much piled up anger fueling him that he was virtually unstoppable once you really got him going.

Neither of the boys was surprised when Coach yelled from the makeshift fighting ring that consisted of a few mats pushed together to create a square area that would, hopefully, prevent their jaws from dislocating if they somehow happened to find themselves on the floor, "Harrington, Hargrove, you two need to let out some steam. Get your sorry asses over here." He handed each of the boys a pair of boxing gloves and patted them on the back, "Fair play, do you hear me? You know the rules – no hitting below the belt, no biting, elbowing and no punches will be thrown when the other one is on the ground. Understood?"

Steve nodded, Billy smirked, then the fight began.

Billy was shirtless, beads of sweat glistening on his bare chest, his blond curls plastered to the back of his neck. "Nervous, Harrington?" he asked. His eyes were dancing with excitement. Steve ignored the taunting but never took his eyes off of Billy's face.

They continued circling each other, slowly, deliberately. And then Billy swung and Steve dodged. An adrenaline surge coursed through his veins and, fuck, did it feel good. He grinned at Billy, raising his eyebrows in the universal sign for "I thought you could do better."

Billy laughed, actually laughed, and threw a second punch. Steve could have dodged it again but, for some reason, he didn't. Billy's fist came down hard, hitting his right side, but Steve was ready for the pain, and before Billy could even do as much as retract his arm, Steve's own glove had already found its mark. And it felt so fucking exhilarating.

Both boys were grinning now, a certain kind of madness reflected in their eyes, as they punched and took the blows and punched again. Because they were angry, fuck they were furious, they wanted the whole goddamn world to burn, but they weren't angry at each other (not this time, at least). And with every punch a little bit of that anger was let out, out, out, until they were giddy on pain.

In the end, Billy won. He stood over Steve with his teeth showing in a wolfish grin as Coach held up his arm, declaring him the victor. But Steve wasn't mad, not one bit, because he hadn't felt this good in a long, long time.