Chapter Text
Mike Wheeler was decidedly not in his element. It was so hot outside that he felt sticky, his throat was dry and itchy, and he was covered head to toe in a preppy polo and plaid ensemble that made him want to punch himself in the face. He was surrounded by a crowd of identically douchey boys, except they weren’t nearly as self-aware about how hopelessly idiotic they looked and sounded.
“Dude. I heard whoever sleeps with the most girls freshman year gets to be Pledge Master the next year,” One of the idiots tells his friend in a comically fratty voice. He had to be doing that on purpose.
“No way! Bet I’ll bag more girls than you this semester.”
“You’re on dude.”
The two proceeded to do a business handshake on it. Mike was working overtime to keep his thoughts separate from his facial expressions, choking back scoffs and blinking away eye rolls. Working consciously to keep his mouth shut instead of shouting things like “How would you possibly verify the alleged body counts?”, “Why would you want to sleep with a ton of different girls when you could exclusively fall in love with one?”, and most urgently, “Why do you want to sleep with girls at all?!” Sometimes he felt like everyone was in on some big joke without him.
The general chaos dwindles into quietness as three of the older frat boys saunter into the room, staring at the group of pledges with a sense of superiority and faint distaste. There were two brunette guys on either side of the tallest, a blonde guy with a fresh summer tan coloring his skin.
“Listen up, fuckwads,” The tall guy yells, despite the silence pervading the room ever since he entered. He starts pacing back and forth slowly, scanning the crowd with a scrutinizing gaze. “There are about 50 of you here right now, give or take.” There were exactly 32, but Mike wasn’t going to offer that up. “We are only up for taking 23 new pledges, maximum. That means several of you, are gonna get your little bitch feelings hurt. And when that happens, I don’t want to be getting phone calls or visits from your whiny parents. If they wanna be upset with someone, they can be upset with themselves, for raising such pussies,” He spits out, and Mike becomes hyperaware of the way his hands are trembling. He buries them in his pockets without breaking eye contact.
“List.” The blonde orders, leaving his hand palm up in the space in front of a brunette’s face without turning to look at him. He dutifully drops it into his waiting hand without a word.
“Okay. Looks like there are… five legacies that will automatically earn a spot in the brotherhood. If I call your name, please step forward and form a line to my right,” He announces, sounding bored. “Jason Carver, Adam Kerr, Charles Mckay, Eric Taylor, and Michael Wheeler.”
Mike was aware his dad’s previous membership made him a legacy, that he was supposed to automatically get a spot, but he still jolts at the calling of his name. He has to force his legs to move forward, walking stiltedly towards where the other assholes stood in a line.
“You gotta be fuckin kidding me,” The blonde guy sighs, rubbing circles at his temples.
“What’s wrong, Justin?”
“One of the goddamn legacies is the fuckin queer I was gonna cut first round tomorrow,” Justin muttered, but not so quietly that the line of birthrights can’t hear. Mike’s stomach lurches painfully as the other pledges snicker, he bites on his tongue so unmercifully that he can taste the coppery tang of blood. Justin moves towards Mike, and Mike tries to keep his eyes on his shoes.
“Who’s your dad?”
“Me?” Mike sputters after a lapse of silence.
“Yeah, dipshit. Who’s your dad?” Justin asks impatiently, sky blue eyes narrowed.
“Ted. Ted Wheeler.”
“Shit,” He curses emphatically, turning back to whisper to his friends, blocking the pledges’ view in a huddle.
“Are you actually gay?” One of the other legacies with fluffy dark hair asks Mike, grimacing in disgust. Mike felt his foot tapping the scalding pavement incessantly, but couldn’t seem to stop himself.
“Obviously not,” Mike mumbles, keeping his head down.
“He definitely is.” He hears another guy whisper back. “Gross, dude.” He bites his tongue harder.
Justin whirls back into Mike’s vision, sun drenched blonde hair burning his retinas.
“Okay, Wheeler,” He sighs. “Your rich dad donates a shit ton of money to us every year, so you’re in. But I swear to God, you put your little faggy hands on anyone here and I’ll drop a lawsuit on your ass before you can even blink,”
“That won’t be a problem,” Mike says under his breath, scowling.
“What did you just say to me?” Mike ducks behind his raven hair, pleased he convinced his mom to let him forego a haircut before rushing. “I said , what did you just fucking say to me?” Justin repeats, sounding more pissed by the second.
Mike lifts his head, internally bracing himself for impact. “I said, that won’t be a problem,” Mike seethes, straining himself to maintain eye contact. He’s actually an inch or two taller than Justin when he straightens his posture, and he looks down on him, mustering an intimidating glare.
“Good,” Justin relents, shoving Mike back gently. When Mike regains the courage to look up again, he notices one of the brunette guys looking at him. He shifts from foot to foot, suddenly nervous.
Whatever Justin is droning on about is lost on Mike’s ears as he stares back. The boy has almond brown hair, shaggily cut, curling around his ears. His jaw is sharp, his features defined, a solid Roman nose sloping over plump lips, circumscribed by a delicate cupid’s bow. But what captivates Mike the most about his entire daydream of a face are his eyes. They’re this excruciating mossy green, framed by sweeping lashes, and Mike wants to swim in them.
“ Dude . Dude!”
Mike snaps out of his reverie at the sound, realizing all the pledges have cleared out besides the dirty blonde legacy badgering him.
“What?” Mike asks distractedly, watching the green-eyed heartthrob turn away, stomach clenching at the sway of his hips. He has a perfectly round ass, stretching the taut fabric of his slacks.
“Dude. What is with you? They dismissed us for lunch.”
“Oh. Thanks,” Mike answers, suddenly feeling awkward. They were the only two left on the patio.
“I’m Charlie by the way,” He ventures, holding his hand out for Mike to shake. He must clock the confused look Mike sends the porch, because he revises, “Charles.”
“Mike,” Mike reciprocates, shaking his hand firmly, the way his dad made him practice this morning. “Michael,” He jokes drily.
“Our parents totally screwed us,”
Charlie laughs. “So, the president’s kind of an asshole, huh?”
“The president?” Mike follows him down the street, spotting some of their obnoxiously-dressed peers at the other end of the road.
“Yeah. Justin? The blonde jerk?” Charlie supplies.
“Oh, yeah. He sucks.” Charlie hums his agreement. “Who were the uh.. the other two up there with him?”
“Oh my God, you’re so clueless, dude,” Charlie laughs. “The one who handed him the legacy list earlier is Kyle Buchanan, the Vice President. The other brunette is Will Byers, this year’s Pledge Master.” Mike’s stomach somersaults repeatedly. He definitely understands how Will was able to fuck the most girls last year. Mike envies every last one of them. And Will being his Pledge Master means they’ll definitely be seeing more of each other.
“Cool. Thanks, man.”
“Don’t mention it,” Charlie shrugs. Mike notices abruptly that he can actually tolerate the guy. He undoubtedly heard all the gay allegations thrown Mike’s way earlier, and he was still reaching out, making sure he didn’t get left to fend for himself for lunch. Maybe he was okay with that sort of thing? More likely he just didn’t believe the accusations. Being called gay was an insult more commonly thrown around than being called ugly these days.
“Where are you living this year?” Mike asks, trying to sound casual, and not let it show how desperately he needs a friend here.
“Callaway, you?”
For once, Mike couldn’t believe his luck. “Me too!”
“Rad. I think a lot of our pledge class will live there, too. My dad said that’s where most of the freshman frat guys tend to live.” Oh, great . “Wanna walk together to our pledging bullshit tomorrow?”
Mike felt his heart soften at the kindness, before feeling a little sick that Charlie was befriending him. It wouldn’t last long. Mike knew he wouldn’t have any actual friends in the frat. He’d be fine.
“Yeah, for sure.”
Charlie sat next to him at the sandwich shop, trying to include Mike in the conversation a few times. Mike didn’t feel like talking as much with the others around. They learned that another legacy, Eric, was living at Callaway too, and the three boys walked home together. Eric’s hair was a muted ginger color, and he had dark brown eyes that didn’t stay in one place for too long. After a short conversation in the lobby, the boys parted ways, with plans to meet by the front desk tomorrow at 11:45 am, to head to the frat house for a day of torture. Mike was dreading it, but he couldn’t help but feel butterflies swarm his stomach when he thought about seeing Will. He might even get to talk to him!
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Mike stumbles blearily down to the lobby at 11:48, met with an ever-chipper Charlie and a glowering Eric. Charlie hands him a cup of coffee, ushering him towards the door.
“Drink up man, you’re gonna need it,” Charlie warns, earning a grunt of displeasure from Mike.
“Yeah, I heard last year they made the guys run 5 miles by the end of day one,” Eric tells them.
“Kill me now.” Mike groans.
“We better hurry, our treatment’s gonna be way worse if we show up late, and someone didn’t get to the lobby on time so we’re already running behind,” Eric bites pointedly, sending another glare to Mike.
“Sorry. I couldn’t find my contacts,” Mike mumbles, embarrassed.
“What do you think would be worse: the punishment for being late or the punishment for wearing glasses during pledgeship?” Charlie laughs.
Before Mike can fully prepare himself, they’re at the patio, pulling open the heavy wooden door. It seems like a majority of the possible pledges are already there, scattered around the open living space in various groups. From where they’re standing there’s only a sagging couch, a T.V., and a coffee table in their view of the large room. Mike leans against the wall by the winding staircase, sulking, hidden from sight while Charlie runs off to socialize.
“Late on the first day? Way to make a first impression, Wheeler.”
Mike turns his head grumpily, only to see Will mirroring his stance against the wall, smirking at him. His heart thumps in his chest dramatically, like he’s already started running the miles.
“We were only like… one minute late,” Mike defends weakly.
“Oh? Who else were you with? So I know who to cut,” Will says plainly, and Mike can’t tell if he’s joking or not.
“Uhh… you can’t cut legacies though, right?” Mike winces.
Will levels him with a look, scooting close enough that Mike’s breath hitches, and his ears are almost certainly pink.
“I can do whatever I want.”
If Will doesn’t inch away from him soon, Mike’s gonna have a pants problem. He flits his gaze to Will’s lips, then back up in a panic, praying he didn’t get caught. He doesn’t need to start confirming any ideas on his first day. He gulps. Will’s gaze lingers for another drawn out moment before he backs away, calling all the pledges’ attention without having to yell. Everyone moves to the center of the room at his voice, and he sends them to the backyard to start running laps. Mike can’t look at him for too long without blushing. This is really not helping his case.
Something most people wouldn’t guess about Mike Wheeler, is that he can run. Fast. He still hates it, doesn’t really enjoy a second of it, but it’s true nonetheless. He’s always preferred flight to fight, though, and it comes in handy more often than he’d hope. When it’s your only defense mechanism, and the things the assholes spit at you are true, you become good at it. For once, Mike is thankful for his mom’s insistence on buying several pairs of the expensive running shorts he’s wearing right now, because he feels like the wind, barely panting as he laps some of the pledges in the back.
He might be deluding himself, it’s not like he can see all that well while he’s jogging, but he could almost swear he can feel Will’s eyes on him, heavy gaze following him around the track. It spurs him on, making him push that much harder, until there’s only one guy ahead of him.
Three miles and a broken sweat later, Will blows a red whistle around his neck (totally upending Mike’s attempts to catch his breath) and tells the pledges to get some water from the coolers lined along the back door.
“Holy shit! Wheeler, why didn’t you tell us you could run like that?!” Charlie asks, coming up to clap Mike’s shoulder like he’s a real athlete. Mike shrugs him off, laughing at the praise.
“Yeah, that was impressive dude,” A different legacy says, one Mike doesn’t even know by name. He smiles his thanks, reaching for a cold water. It’s slapped from his hands before he can bring it to his lips, landing on the concrete with a splat. He hears laughter and turns to see the asshole from yesterday, the legacy with dark fluffy hair who asked him if he was actually gay.
“Aw, did you drop something? You’d think such an obvious fairy would have a better grip,” He sneered, making the small group of pledges behind him crack up like demented hyenas.
Mike ignores him, swooping to pick up the bottle. The cretin made a show of thrusting his water bottle towards Mike’s ass as he bent over, resulting in uproarious laughing.
“Bet he’s real used to that.”
“He probably likes it.”
“Fucking disgusting.”
Mike rose back up slowly, trying to maintain his composure. He was used to this. It was fine. It doesn’t matter that he can’t run away, he doesn’t need to. He’s okay. He can take a punch. He’s done it before.
“Greg!” Will’s voice booms, dark and angry, almost echoing in the shade of the porte-cochère. Mike turns gradually, watching the dark-haired moron freeze in horror, paling as Will approaches.
“What the fuck was that? Where do you think you get off, harassing another legacy? You are not his superior. You’re not anyone’s superior right now. You’re less important than the mud on the bottom of my shoe. Act like that to a brother again and I’ll beat the shit out of you.”
“Y-yes sir.” Greg nods rapidly.
“Go run another mile. If it isn’t under 8 minutes I’ll talk to Justin and get your ass dropped. Your dad isn’t worth nearly as much as Wheeler’s. Everyone else will take a break and watch.”
The yard fell soundless, Mike’s heart pounding rapidly in his chest. Will stood up for him. He looks pissed, still. Mike is in real danger of swooning like a damsel in distress.
Greg shook his dirt-brown head in exasperation, heading for the track like a man heading for his death sentence. Conversations slowly resume, and Charlie edges over to Mike’s side as he’s tossing the busted water bottle in the trashcan, handing him an undamaged one.
“That was badass, dude! Pledge Master’s first freak out, on your behalf!”
Mike can’t help the grin pulling at his face, or the giggles threatening to leave his chest at the sight of Will dramatically monitoring the watch on his wrist while Greg runs for his life, breathing raggedly.
After a grueling day of memorizing the Greek alphabet, running, and compulsory bonding, Mike was more than ready to clock out. Will dismisses them around seven, suggesting they get some sleep before tomorrow’s festivities.
Despite the anxiety practically begging Mike not to, he makes his way towards Will as the crowd disperses, wanting to thank him for earlier. When he gets close, Will doesn’t turn to look at him, and he feels uncertain and small.
“Hey,” Will says, still not making any effort to look at him.
“Uh, hey,” Mike tries, sounding as gawky as he feels. “I just wanted to, like, thank you for.. earlier. That was really cool of you.”
“You don’t need to thank me,” Will concludes.
“I want to. It… no one ever really sticks up for me like that. So.. Thank you.”
“I wasn’t doing it for you,” Will argues, brooding.
“Oh. Right. That makes more sense. Um, thanks anyway,” Mike replies, turning away with an embarrassedly sunken heart.
He jumps a little when Will circles his wrist, pulling him back in his direction.
“Wheeler.”
“… yeah?”
“Be careful,” Will cautions, gravely. Mike feels sick.
“That’s not ominous at all,” Mike cracks blandly, pulling his arm back.
“I just… you should learn to stand up for yourself.”
“I’ve always been more inclined towards flight,” Mike answers sardonically.
“I noticed. Quite a runner.”
“See you tomorrow, Will.”
“Yeah.”
Mike turns away feeling even heavier than he had when he got here this morning, which was already pretty bad. His gut is telling him he’s in danger.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
After a week of similarly uninspired pledging days, Will has cut 2 guys, and he informs everyone at the end of their day on Friday that things are only getting worse from here.
Ever since Will raged at Greg in front of everyone, Mike only gets mistreated when he’s far, far away. Which luckily isn’t often. But Mike isn’t enjoying himself, by any means. He tried so hard to talk his parents out of making him do this, but the best he got was their agreement to let him drop at the end of this school year if he still truly hated it. He doesn’t have anything in common with anyone here, no matter how nice Charlie tries to be to him. At this point in the week, Mike’s moved to a sort of resigned depression, barely engaging in conversation and retreating deep inside himself. He’s distantly proud that he’s even made it this far, this was his younger self’s worst nightmare.
“Wheeler.” Will nods at him, expression as guarded and stony as ever. Mike raises his eyebrows, too exhausted to even attempt a bro nod.
“You feeling okay?” Mike reminds himself he’s imagining the note of concern in Will’s impenetrable voice.
“Fine.”
“You sure? You don’t have to come to this stuff if you’re sick or something. The guys understand because they don’t want anything contagious spreading.”
“I’m not sick.” Mike says on instinct and then curses himself internally. He could’ve gotten out of a week- two if he really milked it.
Will looks at him quizzically, like he’s trying to play connect the dots with his freckles or something. Mike avoids eye contact, swinging his bag over his shoulder to leave.
“Wait,” Will instructs. Mike turns to look at him expectantly. “I need to talk to you.” Mike just stares at him blankly, too removed from his emotions right now to even worry about what Will has to say. Will sighs in frustration, grabbing his wrist again and pulling him towards the stairs.
“You good, Mike?” Charlie asks, tilting his head towards them in concern. Mike nods. “Do you want us to wait?”
“He’ll meet you guys later.” Will answers for him, and starts walking up the stairs without looking back; like he just knows Mike’s going to follow. He leads him to an alcove of bedrooms, it smells violently of weed and body sweat. Mike must scrunch his nose because Will says, “You get used to it,” before opening the white door to his bedroom.
His bed is made neatly, a plain blue comforter with plaid sheets. Mike notices an easel in the corner, with a cup full of paintbrushes next to it. Will closes the door behind him, and when he sees Mike eyeing it he says, “I’m in an art class.” And then when he gets closer, “The guys think it’s just a one time requirement, but it’s actually my minor,” He admits. Mike awards him with his first genuine smile of the day. The rest of the room is pretty plain, aside from a few posters for bands he doesn’t recognize.
“That’s really cool. I didn’t realize you live here,”
“Exec members are required to. You can sit,” Will tells him, patting the space next to him on the edge of his bed.
“That’s okay,” Mike says, too nervous. What if someone walks in and thinks Mike is trying to seduce him or something?
“Sit. You’re making me nervous hovering like that.”
Mike sits on the floor, which turns out to be a big mistake, because now he’s looking up at Will, between his legs. He looks devastating like this, peering down at him, and Mike fights back a torrent of dirty thoughts. The two just sit and stare at each other for a long, tense moment, and Mike doesn’t know if he’s the only one noticing the electricity permeating the private room.
He’s almost disappointed when Will bursts the bubble, clearing his throat. “So, like I said, next week is gonna get… intense. And I just wanted to give you a heads up, tell you to make sure you’re extra careful.” Mike’s lips droop into a frown. What the fuck?
“Why are you only warning me ? You think I’m too weak for this or something?” He snaps.
Will’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “No. You’ve been doing really well. You’re the second fastest, and you memorize things the quickest. I can tell you’re really smart,” he says earnestly. Mike can feel himself blushing, but he still feels like he’s about to fall into a trap.
“Then why did you single me out to warn me?”
“Uh.. when I say intense… I don’t mean like physical exertion. Some of it gets psychological,” He clears his throat. “Sexual.”
Mike’s mouth falls open in shock, but he quickly recovers. “And that would bother me specifically because…?” Mike wants to hear him say it. Wants to watch Will’s lips form the slur. To kill his last ember of hope that he’ll enjoy this stupid fucking fraternity.
“Mike,” Will insists softly. Mike jolts at the use of his first name. It’s the first time Will has said it. He crosses his arms, feeling like he might start crying. He refuses to look up.
“Can I tell you a story?” Will asks him gently. He sounds so different than the colorless voice he uses when he addresses them as a group. Mike wants to curl up in it. He nods, still not looking up.
“Generations back they started the more sexual side of pledgeship. At first it was just stupid stuff like blow or blow.” Mike furrows his brows at the discolored carpet, prompting Will to elaborate. “Pledges could either choose to snort a line of coke or blow their Pledge Master.” Mike’s stomach wriggles. He knows what he’d choose. It scares him.
“But things escalated, as they usually do with stupid shit like this. Last year, our Pledge Master would call any pledge of his choosing any time he wanted to get off quick. Sometimes a blowjob, sometimes just a quick handy. Sometimes specific stuff.” Mike squirms from his spot on the floor, imagining Will’s deep voice over the phone, raspy with need, begging Mike to come over and blow him. “We all had to do it. The rumors are that the Pledge Master before him was even worse.” Will chances a peek at Mike, biting back a grin as he sees how flushed his ivory skin has gotten. He’s shifting on the floor, like he’s so turned on he can’t sit still. It reminds him what he has to say.
“There was a guy in my class last year who, I guess, was the most enthusiastic. He didn’t openly say he liked it or anything. But the Pledge Master started favoring him because he would draw things out a little longer, tease him. Try new things without being asked. He genuinely wanted him to feel good.” Mike’s cock was fully hard in his shorts by now, and he took panting breaths trying to calm himself down.
“And the other guys started to notice. When the Pledge Master would get hard, he’d pull the same guy away each time. At parties, at date events, during study hours. And rumors started spreading, and the other pledges beat up the favorite, I mean beat him really bad, and locked him in the shed out back overnight.” Will’s voice wavers, and Mike feels himself soften, guilt and fear overwhelming him.
“That’s awful,” Mike whispers, shivering at the thought.
“It was.” Will looks directly at him, meaning scrawled all over his desperate expression.
“Was it… was the guy… is he okay?” Mike asks feebly.
“Yeah. I’m okay,” Will answers quietly, and Mike’s heart drops.
“It was you ?!”
“Everyone knows about my girlfriend, Audrey, now. So everything resolved itself,” Will cuts in, almost protective. Mike’s hope deflates as quickly as it had inflated. Of course Will isn’t gay. He’s not a freak like him. He’s just really nice. Who wouldn’t pick Will as their favorite?
“And you slept with more girls than anyone else in your pledge class last year,” Mike reminds him, almost reverent.
“What?” Will looks at his serious expression and starts laughing. “Where did you get that from?”
Mike buries his burning face in his hands, embarrassed. “One of the pledges said that’s how you became Pledge Master.” Will laughs even harder.
“It’s because I had the highest GPA, and I convinced the Dean to let us host our fundraiser on campus this year,” He explains once he sobers.
“I can tell you’re really smart,” Mike repeats, almost inadvertently. Will just laughs easily.
“Anyways. I just wanted to warn you. Don’t tell Eric and Charles. No one else knows for sure yet.”
“I won’t,” Mike promises. “Thanks.”
“Sure. Just plan for loose pants- no grey sweats, though. And… maybe try to work on the blushing thing.”
Mike feels himself blush even harder at the call out, and resists the urge to hide under Will’s bed. “If we do blow or blow… do I seriously have to snort cocaine? There’s a long line of drug addiction on my mom’s side, her uncle is in prison-“
“Mike!” Will interrupts, laughing again. “I’ll put out granules of sugar for you.” Mike keeps his strong preference for the other blow to himself, nodding his thanks.
He starts to stand up, but hits his head on Will’s easel, effectively knocking over the cup of cloudy paint water onto the carpet.
“Fuck!” He panics, looking around for something to clean it with.
“It’s okay,” Will placates, not sounding mad at all, but Mike’s still in a frenzy. He grabs a t-shirt from under Will’s bed and Will stills.
“Don’t touch that!”
Mike freezes, heart thudding dangerously against his chest. “What?” He asks, shirt still bunched up in his hand. Will leans forward and snatches the shirt from him, hiding it behind his back. Mike blinks up at him, confused, watching his cheeks bloom a vibrant red.
Oh. Oh . He just touched Will’s cum rag. Holy shit . He wants to lick it. Or sleep with it.
“Shit, uh sorry!” Mike yelps. Will shrugs, feigning nonchalance, but Mike can see the way his cheeks burn, watching in a daze as he rips the shirt off his reddened chest with a flash of dark armpit hair. Will’s arms ripple with muscles, big and firm, and his stomach is more toned than even the dirty magazines Mike sneaks, almost appearing to have an eight pack. Mike eyes the fine hair that trails from his navel, disappearing into the waistband of his shorts.
“Wheeler.” Will barks, drawing his attention to the shirt he’s been trying to push into Mike’s hands. The one he just had on. Mike swallows.
“I don’t want to get your shirt dirty,” He tries, voice cracking around his blatant arousal.
“It’s fine, just soak up the water from the carpet so I don’t have to pay the deposit,” Will tells him, growing impatient. Their fingers brush when Mike reaches for it, and Will jerks back like he’s been electrocuted. Mike tries not let it hurt his feelings. Tries not to brainstorm ways to steal the cum-stained t-shirt on Will’s bed as he sops up the spilled water. He doesn’t know how long it’s been when Will clears his throat again.
“I think it’s good.”
“Sorry. Um. About the entire last 10 minutes.” Will laughs a little, but it doesn’t meet his eyes. He thinks his face is back to its normal color, but Mike can barely look at him when he has his shirt off like that.
“Wheeler.”
“Mhm?”
“Look at me.”
Mike turns his head, feeling his abdomen pull taut with want as he ogles Will again. He licks his lips.
“You need to jerk off.”
Mike chokes on his saliva, sputtering. “ What ?”
“You need to jerk off. Multiple times. You’re way too horny to handle this week as is. You can barely look at me.”
“Oh my God,” Mike murmurs, wondering how the hell he’s supposed to calm down enough to leave if Will keeps existing like this.
“I’m being serious. You have to be really careful. Don’t let your guard down, no matter what’s going on around you.”
“I know,” Mike acquiesces. “Can I at least use that t-shirt for clean up?” He jokes, pointing behind Will.
“Michael.” Will deadpans, color returning to the apples of his cheeks. Mike’s dick twitches in his pants. He doesn’t stand a chance.
Later that night in bed, Mike decides to listen to Will’s advice, wrapping a loose fist around himself. He thinks about how Will looked, sitting on his bed, staring down at him. Pictures the faces he’d make if he let Mike suck him off. Maybe he’d moan out his name. Mike hisses, remembering how unbearably hot Will looked with his shirt off, imagining those strong arms gripping him, dragging his fingertips down the divots of his ungodly abs. He spills all over his moving hand with a cry that sounds an awful lot like Will’s name.
Chest heaving in recovery, he inhales sharply as he recalls the way Will said “Michael,” in that commanding voice. Imagines him gritting it in his ear as he orders Mike around, telling him exactly how to please him. He sighs, reaching for his quickly re-hardening dick.