october || billy hargrove
word count: 733
warnings: curse words, mentions of alcohol
summary: billy, undeniably drunk, comes up to talk to you at a party
Dim lights and loud music greeted you as you walked through the front doors of Tina’s party. Mötley Crüe’s “Shout at the Devil” was blaring and the teen boys were, like normal, watching as a boy tilted upside down chugged beer to be crowned the new “Keg King”. Five hours ago, you were making fun of even the thought of going to this outrageously overrated party, but now, here you were, at the entrance of it all.
“Hey Nancy, maybe I can go home? This party doesn’t seem like my cup of tea,” your voice getting louder as the music does. “You just got here!” She exclaims, dipping her solo cup into the bowl of “pure fuel”, as one guy called it. “Hey, woah, woah, woah,” Steve had started to warn Nancy.
While Nancy served as no help drinking all that booze, you wandered off to see if you could find any of your friends. That was if none of them were drunk already.
“Hey, hey, Y/N, was it?” you a deep voice slur out from behind you. You turn around to meet eyes with a tall, masculine guy with sweat reeking off of him. After another glance, you recognize that he was the boy chugging the beer when you first arrived. “Yeah,” you say slowly, still studying him.
“I’m Billy, the new kid? Yeah?” he rubs his forehead between words before chuckling slightly. “Maybe we can talk when you’re sober,” you suggest, starting to walk away. His hand grabs your wrist, preventing you from leaving. “No, no, no, no. Pretty girls can’t wait,” he says, a grin tugging at his lips. You smile, not processing the compliment fully since he’s still drunk.
“Look, maybe eat something? I’m not in the mood to talk to you, nevertheless drunk you,” you explain, trying to leave again, but his firm hands keep their hold. “You’re pretty smart for having such a gorgeous face. I’ve seen you a lot in the halls. I usually can’t look away,” he winks, his hold on you loosening.
“Billy, I’m not interested. You’ve been here a week and slept with, like, twelve girls,” you say, the frustration becoming visible on your face. “Two, and they were pretty hot. You’re something different, though. I got the vibe you wouldn’t put up with my shit, and now I know that’s true,” he says.
You take a moment just to breathe, because, unsurprisingly, he still wasn’t getting what you were putting out. “What’s your point?” you say, breaking the silence between you. “Let’s go on a date.” You scoff, poring over his face to see any hint of laughter or grin. “Is this a joke? I don’t find this very funny, Billy,” you say, your face growing sterner by the minute.
He starts laughing, to which you cross your arms and sigh. You should’ve known a guy who radiated cool would never show any interest in you. You hated Billy, despised him, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t find him attractive.
“Fuck you,” you mutter, shaking your head. He laughs again, only making you angrier. You expect him to leave to tell his friends how fooled you were, or go drink until he passes out, but instead his hand lifts off your wrist to angle your chin up to allow him access to your lips.
Everything was happening so fast: one hand sliding up your side, another caught in your hair, all the while finding yourself kissing back. He pushed you against the nearest wall. Being as bold as he is, he slid his tongue in, and if you couldn’t taste the booze before, it was the only thing you could think about now. A wave of realization crashed over you, forcing you to push him off of you.
“What the hell?” He asks, licking his lips and fixing his hair. You took a moment to take in all that happened. You expected people to be staring, but they were too busy in their own episodes. “I should be asking you that,” you state, readjusting your shirt. “If you wouldn’t try a date, maybe you’d try a kiss,” he explains.
“Go fuck yourself, Billy,” you say, storming off to tell Nancy that you were leaving.