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“Will, can we just…”
“We don’t have to, Mike, it’s fine.”
“It’s not fine, Will, I just— I just wanna talk.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Obviously there is something to talk about. Will. Please.”
Will suppresses an eye roll, and he wipes his cheeks quickly before he finally turns to look at him. He looks desperate, like he’s going to cry, and the expression gets worse when he sees Will, when he seems to notice the redness of his eyes.
“Will…”
“Talk,” Will says, gesturing. “Go ahead.”
“I…”
Will looks away, suppressing another eyeroll, and he huffs. The sky is grey, and it’s probably going to rain soon. Will wants to let out a dry laugh, because he thinks about that day in the Wheelers’ garage, the rain pouring outside, the rush of his blood in his ears.
It’s not my fault you don’t like girls.
“I’m sorry,” Mike says. He sounds smaller than he is. He looks so grown these days, like he’s aged ten years in the past few months. He always looks tired, his eyes a little sleepy, and his hair is overgrown, falling past his shoulders now. He doesn’t take care of it the way he should; it’s tangled and a little frizzy, like it’s supposed to be curly. He’s wearing a sweater that hangs off of his body, the sleeves hanging over his hands like he’s a child. He looks like a mess, a complete disaster, and he’s the most beautiful thing Will’s ever seen.
“You don’t have to be,” Will says, looking at the ground so he doesn’t have to look at the glistening of Mike’s eyes.
“I shouldn’t have done that, I just…”
“No,” Will says coldly. “You shouldn’t have.”
“I’m sorry,” Mike says again, intently. “I am.”
“I know,” Will says. “It’s fine, Mike.”
Mike is quiet for a few seconds, and Will finally lifts his gaze to look at him. He’s staring at Will intently, his jaw tense like he’s restraining himself, and his eyes are flickering back and forth across Will’s face. Will waits. He wants to walk away.
“I didn’t… I didn’t mean to, like, lead you on.”
Will blinks. He stares at Mike.
“Lead me on,” he repeats quietly.
Mike takes a breath, and Will can hear it tremble even with the space between them. It sounds like the wind.
“I’m not gay,” Mike says. His voice shakes. Will wants to throttle him, and he wants to kiss him, and he wants to laugh, and he wants to cry, and he doesn’t do any of it.
“Right,” he says quietly.
“Will, I’m…”
“Mike,” Will interrupts, his voice sharper than he intends, and he stops, looking at the sky as MIke falls silent. The clouds are shifting and Will wants them to take him away from this fucking conversation. “…I’ve known you, like, my whole life.”
He meets Mike’s eyes.
“I know when you’re lying,” he says quietly. Mike’s lip quivers, and Will wants to steady it for him, but he stays put, planted into the ground. “I know when you’re lying to me, and I know when you’re lying to yourself, and I…”
“Will—“
“Don’t lie to me,” Will snaps. He’s shaking, and he doesn’t know if that just started or if he’s been trembling this whole time, if he’s been trembling since he left. “Please. I don’t want to fucking listen to your bullshit, Mike.”
“I’m not,” Mike says quietly. It doesn't sound like he’s even trying to convince Will.
“I don’t believe you.”
“I’m not like you, Will—“
“You kissed me,” Will finally bursts, stepping closer, gesturing vaguely, like they’re down the hall from Mike’s bedroom and not in the middle of fucking nowhere, lingering at the edge of the woods where Will first disappeared from. “You kissed me,” he repeats, pointing at Mike. “Did you fucking forget that? That you fucking initiated it?”
“Will—“
“You kissed me,” Will says again. His voice breaks. “You held me, and you kissed me, and you liked it.”
Mike stares at him, taking a breath that trembles.
“I know you liked it,” Will says softly, looking into Mike’s eyes. They’re shining.
It’s quiet. Will half expects a car to drive by, but the roads have been quiet all day. There’s a distant rumble of thunder, but neither of them seems to notice it.
Mike exhales shakily after a few moments, and his shoulders shrug like he’s trying to shrink into himself, like he wants to disappear.
“I’m…” He hesitates, and Will bites his lip, holding back a heavy sigh. “I’m scared.”
Will lets out a sharp breath. It’s almost a laugh.
“Well, Christ, Mike,” he says, throwing a hand up, and he’s being a bitch, he knows, but he doesn’t really care. “It’s fucking scary.” He looks at Mike, and he lets out a humorless laugh that doesn’t really sound like him. He doesn’t recognize his own voice. “We live in the same world, Mike, I don’t live in some alternate fucking plane of existence where being a faggot is fucking fine.”
He stares at Mike, who looks scared, like Will is going to hurt him, like he isn’t just some stupid kid that spends his time painting and reading, like he isn’t a coward covered in scars.
“My dad was the first person to call me a queer,” Will says. “I have been called everything from a fag to a fucking fairy, Mike, you know I have. I know it’s fucking scary.”
“I’m not brave like you,” Mike bursts, stepping closer, and they’re too close now. Close enough to kiss. “You— You know who you are, and you’re so… sure about it. I can’t be like that, Will.”
“I’m terrified, Mike,” Will says firmly. “I’m scared all the fucking time. I know people hate me. But I…”
He exhales, and his shoulders fall, and it’s like all of the exhaustion catches up to him at once. He wants to go to sleep.
“I’ve been through so much shit,” he says with another light laugh. “And I’m tired. And if being gay is what gets me killed, then…” He shrugs, tossing his hands. “So fucking be it. At least they’ll bury me and not another fucking mannequin.”
“Will,” Mike says softly, his head falling forward a little like his heart has broken.
“Mike,” Will says. “You’re like me.”
“I’m…”
“You’re like me,” Will says again, firmly. “And you can… You can spend your life hiding from it, and pretending you’re not, and you can go to college and you can get a wife and have kids and a fucking house on a cul-de-sac, but if you decide in thirty years that you hate your fucking life and you accept what you fucking are, I will not be waiting for you.”
He’s close enough to see each of Mike’s eyelashes, close enough to feel Mike’s breath on his face, and he’s close enough to see that Mike is crying. That his eyes are glistening, glassy with unshed tears. Will’s chest aches. His entire body hurts.
He just wants Mike to hold him again, like he did when they were in Mike’s room. He wants Mike to cradle the back of his head, to comb his fingers through Will’s hair, to let their faces press as Will catches his breath, as he calms down.
But that doesn’t happen. They look at each other as Mike seems to register Will’s words. His eyes widen, and he looks back and forth between Will’s eyes like he’s searching for a sign that he’s lying. He looks pitiful, and it makes Will want to change his mind, but he doesn’t.
“…I love you,” he says quietly. “I do, and I always will, Mike, nothing can change that.”
Mike’s lip quivers again, and Will’s gaze flickers to it longingly.
“And I’m in love with you,” he says softly, gazing up at Mike. He’s only a little bitter that Mike is taller than him, but sometimes he doesn’t mind it. Sometimes he loves it. “And I’m terrified because it feels like it’s also, like, permanent.”
Mike’s eyebrows shift, and he looks like he wants to argue, like he wants to sob, but he’s silent.
“But I have a life,” Will says quietly, almost whispering, “that I deserve to live, with or without you.” His chest clenches as Mike’s eyes squeeze shut and a tear escapes, falling down his cheek. “I’m not going to spend my life waiting for you. Or anyone else.”
And he leaves. He walks away, down the worn-down path in the woods that should be scarier to him than they are. He leaves Mike there on the sidewalk with storm clouds hovering above him.
It’s dark when he gets home even though it’s only a little past midday. Nobody else is home, which is weird now that he has a larger family. He was used to the quiet when it was just him and Jonathan and Joyce, who typically would be out at work, but it’s different now that El and Hopper live with them. He’s become used to the sound of laughter, of music that Jonathan has taken the initiative of introducing El to.
But it’s dark, quiet, and he’s lonely.
He thinks he’s always been lonely, but it’s louder now. Heavier.
He takes off his clothes, pulls on a hoodie that drowns him, and he lays in bed.
And he cries.
He wants desperately to be proud of himself, to feel vindicated, but his muscles ache and his stomach hurts and he wants to shut himself away from the world for the next few years. He thinks he might be grieving.
He can fucking smell him. Which might just be delusion, maybe Will has finally just lost his mind, or maybe his scent has somehow lingered from when he laid in Will’s bed last week, when he read comic books with his head hanging over the side of the mattress. Faint cologne, something earthy like bergamot, and vague cigarette smoke. Lucky Strike.
The smoke lingers in Mike’s hair, somehow mixing with whatever shampoo he uses that also smells masculine. Which maybe is something that Will likes about him, that he’s a guy. That he sounds like a guy, that he feels like a guy.
Will’s kissed a girl before. One singular girl. She was nice enough, and pretty, which Will can obviously see about a person even if he isn’t actually attracted to them. She was sweet too. She didn’t seem to mind that Will cut the kiss so short, that he smiled so tightly and uncomfortably.
It was okay. Short, chaste, a little sudden. Her lips were coated in some kind of lip balm (maybe it was lip gloss) that tasted like artificial strawberries, like a bright red slushie.
Mike was different.
He was gentle. He’d been holding Will almost carefully, like Will was delicate, which isn’t something Will usually likes. People tread carefully around him, walking on eggshells, and he hates it. He hates being treated like a live explosive, like a volcano on the verge of eruption.
But Mike.
He’s blunt, and straightforward, and he’d just said, “Come here,” when Will started to cry. And Will went, because there was no room for argument, no space for refusal. Everyone else checks in on him, asks shit like Would that be okay? Do you want to do that? Is that alright?
Come here, Mike had said.
He held his arms open, and Will knew it was a terrible idea, being in love with him and all, but he fell into them, collapsed against Mike’s body. Tucked his face into Mike’s neck and focused on the feeling of Mike’s heartbeat, the sound of Mike’s voice as he hushed him and whispered things like You’re okay and I’ve got you.
Mike seemed to know just how to touch him. How to hold him.
He’d run his hands up and down Will’s back, over his sides, and he’d held the back of Will’s head like his skull was made of glass, and Will felt small, but in a good way. He felt delicate, and fragile, but he felt like he was allowed to be.
When Will cries, he gasps for breath, hiccups and can’t really breathe— his eyes squeeze shut and his shoulders tense, and it’s miserable and pathetic, but Mike didn’t act like it was. He just held Will by his shoulders and then slid his hands up to his neck, and he pulled him in close, and he whispered his name, whispered soft affirmations that Will was fine, that he was perfectly okay.
Will let him.
He shouldn’t have let him.
He’d listened intently, focussed on the sound of Mike’s voice, which was soft and gentle and fucking sweet, and then their foreheads were touching, and Will was holding the front of Mike’s shirt, and Mike was asking him questions that Will was nodding in response to, and their noses were brushing, and then.
And then.
Mike was kissing him.
His lips were dry, and Will’s were too, but it was soft, and hesitant, and it was fucking real.
Mike liked it. Will knew he liked it, because he inhaled slowly, lingering, and he held Will close, held his neck and slid his fingers into Will’s hair like he was scared Will was going to disappear or float away or fade.
Will liked it too. Of course he did.
His eyes were already closed, and they flickered open when he felt it, when he felt Mike’s mouth on his. And then he reached up to hold Mike’s face, and their heads tilted, and they were kissing, actually kissing, like they’d done it before, like this was normal for them. Will’s face was still wet with tears. Mike was still so gentle.
Will rolls over, burying his face in his pillow. It’s stupid, but he somehow misses it. Kissing Mike. Mike’s mouth. Which is a fucking insane thing to think, but…
He wants to live in those few moments they had. He wants to relive them on repeat, wants to savor them.
It was nice.
Mike had held him in a way that felt like he was cradling him, and he’d stepped forward, which made Will stumble back toward Mike’s desk. Will caught himself on Mike’s waist, held on tightly, letting himself fall back because he knew Mike would catch him. He did. Of course he did.
Mike made a noise when Will’s teeth caught his lip, and it might be Will’s favorite noise he’s ever heard in his godforsaken life. It was quiet, muffled in the back of his throat, and Will wanted to swallow it.
Will groans into his pillow, and then he screams, and it doesn’t fix anything. He doesn’t feel better.
Rain starts to fall outside, and he tucks into himself, pulling his blanket so it’s tucked under his chin. He closes his eyes and pretends he’s asleep.
He can hear El come down the hallway. She walks lightly, almost on her tiptoes, and it kind of sounds like she’s skipping, like she’s cheerful. It usually would make Will smile, but he just pushes his face into his pillow and hopes she passes by his room.
To no avail. She knocks lightly, and he can’t help but hum weakly, immediately regretting it when she comes in and shuts the door behind herself before she hops onto his bed.
“Hi,” she says cheerfully. “Are you sick?”
“No,” he grumbles, rolling onto his back and looking at the ceiling. El rocks back and forth, leaning to look at his face.
“What’s wrong?”
Will exhales. He’s quiet for a moment before he forces himself up, sitting with his legs crossed, the blanket tangled around them. She tilts her head at him.
“...Mike kissed me.”
He says it quietly, looking down at his hands before he glances up at her. Her eyes are wide, and her eyebrows have raised so they’ve disappeared behind her curls.
“Isn’t that good?” she says. “You like him.”
Will sighs, twisting his mouth.
“It was,” he says quietly. “Until we pulled away to, like, breathe, and he said What the fuck.”
“...Oh.”
“Yeah,” Will mutters. “We talked. It was…”
“Are you okay?” El asks. Will finally smile, looking up at her, and he knows that he looks like a disaster, knows that his nose and eyes are red and that his eyelashes are clumped and his hair is a mess, but he smiles anyway.
“I’ll be fine,” he says quietly, leaning toward her, and she tilts her head the other way, leaning to meet him in the middle. Their foreheads touch, and she hums sadly, frowning. “I’m okay.”
“Was it nice?” El asks when they part, suppressing a cheeky grin as Will’s eyes roll and his cheeks flush with warmth. She coos, poking his face, and he swats her hands away.
“Yeah,” he says bashfully. “Duh.”
She giggles and he can’t help but laugh with her. She has that effect on him.
“I have a sleepover tonight,” she says when her laughter fades. “With Max. But I can stay if you don’t want to be alone.”
“‘S okay,” Will says tiredly, smiling. “Have fun with Max.”
“Are you sure?” she says, and Will ignores the twinge of annoyance in his chest. Is that alright? “I can take a rain check.”
Will’s smile grows. She learned that phrase recently.
“‘S okay,” he says again. “I’ll watch a movie or something.”
“Okay,” she cedes, tilting her head at him before she flops onto her back with a heavy sigh, star-fishing across the mattress. He watches fondly. “Are you angry at Mike?”
He hesitates for a moment. “Maybe a little,” he says. “Not permanently. I won’t be angry forever.”
El hums.
She stays for a while, until Joyce comes home to pick her up and take her to the Mayfields’ house. El gives Will a hug and she kisses his forehead the way Joyce does, and sometimes Will has the sudden thought that she’s his sister, that she’s his mother’s daughter. She hunches her shoulders when she giggles the same way their mother does.
Will stays in his room. Hopper comes by his door and peeks in, lingering as he asks Will, “You alright?” gruffly. Will wants to laugh at how obvious it is that Hopper isn’t very well-trained in regards to emotions and communication. Joyce is working on it.
“Fine,” Will says. “Tired.”
Hopper hums lightly.
“‘S pizza in the kitchen if you want any.”
“Maybe later.”
“Alright.”
The house is quiet again. Will can hear the television from his room, can hear whatever show it is that Hopper is watching, and there’s nothing else. He thinks sometimes about how they live in the middle of nowhere, especially after living in Lenora, even for such a short amount of time. He had to get used to noise in Lenora— he could hear cars passing by from his bedroom, could hear airplanes and groups of kids playing in the streets.
And now he’s getting used to the silence of Hawkins. The void.
Joyce comes home, and she checks on him too, which annoys him a little, but he’s also grateful. He’s delicate, and they worry about him, and he hates it, but he also knows it’s love. He knows he’s cared for, which is a weird thing to think about sometimes, because he doesn’t feel like anyone should care about him, doesn’t feel like he’s the kind of person people care about. But his mom kisses his forehead to check if he has a fever even though he insists that he isn’t sick, and then she smothers him in kisses because it’s apparently safe to now that she knows he isn’t contagious. He can’t help but giggle, recoiling and squeezing his eyes shut, but he can’t escape when she’s leaning over him like this, laying in bed.
She leaves him alone. She and Hopper go out for dinner because they’re child-free for the night (Jonathan is off wherever he is with Argyle, who lives here apparently), and Will takes it as a win that they’re leaving him alone. They don’t like to do that much.
He can hear his own heartbeat when they’re gone. It gets dark, and he feels like he’s being swallowed. It takes a while for him to drift off, but just as he is, a tapping on his window startles him. He blinks his eyes open, looking at the dark of his room before he sits up, pushing his hair out of his face, and clicks on his bedside lamp.
And Mike is outside his window, his hand raised to tap on the window again before he realizes Will is looking at him, and he waves half-heartedly. Will blinks, letting out a soft What…
“What the fuck are you doing?” he says when he opens the window, looking down at Mike. “We have a door.”
“I didn’t want Hopper to see me,” Mike says, looking up at Will. His eyes are shiny, and Will hates it. “He asks too many questions.”
“Yeah, that’s the cop in him,” Will says instinctively, watching as Mike smiles crookedly. “Also he’s not even here.”
“I didn’t know that,” Mike says defensively, gesturing toward the house. “The light in the living room is on.”
“Whatever,” Will says, moving out of the way and gesturing. “Come on.”
Mike hoists himself up over the windowsill and into Will’s room, and Will watches almost curiously, because he’s somehow smooth and clumsy, sliding through the window and onto the ground before he pushes himself up with a little hop. It makes Will think of gymnasts.
He shuts the window as Mike brushes his hands off on his legs, and then he leans against the sill, crossing his arms over his chest, looking at him. His clothes are spotted with rain.
“Go ahead,” he says, lifting his chin at Mike. He feels embarrassed even though he knows he doesn’t really have any reason to be. He feels ugly, wearing his hoodie and his boxers, his hair falling all over his head like he’s never brushed it in his life. He ignores it.
Mike takes a breath, exhaling sharply, looking at Will intently like he’s trying to use telepathy. Will raises his eyebrows expectantly.
“...I came out to my family,” he says finally.
Will blinks, his shoulders falling.
“Except Holly,” Mike says, like it matters. “She’s at a sleepover tonight, but— but my parents and Nancy, I— I told them.”
Will stares at him.
“...Are you okay?” he asks quietly. Mike laughs.
“No,” he says. “I’m not. But I…”
He lets out another laugh, shaking his head, and he looks like he’s going to cry again. He might, based on the way his throat bobs as he swallows, the way his head tilts.
And Will feels badly, because this isn’t what he wanted, not really. He just wanted Mike to kiss him without regretting it.
“Mike—”
“I love you,” Mike says abruptly, his voice too loud, and Will kind of wonders if it’s because he knows no one else is home, or if it wouldn’t matter even if Hopper was in the living room. “A lot. I love you a lot. And I just…”
“Mike,” Will says again, uncrossing his arms, standing up straight, but Mike steps forward.
“I don’t wanna lose you,” he says firmly. “I don’t— I don’t wanna look back at my life and think about what I could have had.” He’s breathing hard, almost panting, looking across Will’s face desperately. “I want you. I want you in my life.”
“Mike.”
“Will,” Mike says. His voice breaks, and his eyes glisten, and Will’s eyes sting. His throat tightens. “You are… You are the best thing I’ve ever had.”
Will tears his gaze away, lowering his head to hide the tears that fall freely down his cheeks.
“And I fucking love you,” Mike says. “And I’m fucking in love with you, which is different, and I know that, and I am— I am so fucking scared of loving you the way I do, but you…”
He takes a trembling breath, and Will lifts his head again, looking at him through his tears. He’s blurry.
“You’re worth it,” Mike says quietly. “I— I will love you scared. I want to love you scared. If you’ll let me.”
Will looks away again, covering his face with a hand, and he takes a stuttering, hiccuping breath, holding it in his chest as he drops his hand, gesturing vaguely.
“Of course I’ll fucking let you,” he says weakly. His voice is thin in his throat, squeaky and pitiful, but Mike seems to understand him, because his shoulders fall and he exhales in relief, and he lets out a weak laugh. “God, Mike.”
Mike laughs again, rubbing his face, and Will shakes his head, moving forward until they’re close enough for him to wrap his arms around him. And Mike hugs him back. Wraps his arms around his waist so tightly he lifts Will up a little bit, burying his face in Will’s neck. His skin is still wet from the rain, and it’s cold, but Will doesn’t care.
“How did it— How did it go with your parents?” Will asks, squeezing his eyes shut. Mike squeezes him, setting him down and leaning over him, his shoulders hunched.
“Uhm,” he says shakily, his voice muffled in Will’s neck. “‘Bout as well as can be expected.”
“Mike,” Will whispers. “Are you okay?”
“I…”
Mike lifts his head, sniffling and exhaling shakily, moving a hand to touch Will’s face. His thumb brushes over Will’s cheek, and their foreheads press. He nods, brushing their noses together.
“Yeah,” he says softly. “I’m okay.”
“Mike.”
“I’m okay,” Mike says again. “I just— I just want you, Will, I just wanna love you.”
Will nods, his eyes closing. He touches Mike’s arm, sliding his hand over his forearm and pushing his sleeve up so he can touch his skin. He’s warm.
“Please,” he says weakly.
Mike exhales shakily, and Will savors the feeling of it, squeezing his eyes shut as Mike’s thumb brushes over his cheek again. Will’s throat tightens, and his eyes burn, and he’s shaking when he reaches up to hold Mike’s face. Mike lets him, tilting his head a little to press his face into Will’s palm as Will tucks his hair behind his ear.
Mike’s hand shifts on his face, and Will’s always known that Mike has big hands— it’s not a hard thing to notice— but it feels crushing suddenly. His fingers are long enough to push into Will’s hair even as his palm is pressed squarely to his cheek, and Will is drowning suddenly, is being fucking smothered.
He chokes out a weak breath, and he steps closer somehow. Their chests press.
”Are you okay?” Mike whispers.
Will nods, nudging their noses together, and he wants to cling to him, to hold him so close they’re sharing their breaths. He would be gripping the fabric of his shirt if he wasn’t holding his face already.
“Yeah,” he says weakly. “I just…”
Mike hums softly, nudging his nose against Will’s again, and Will chokes again. He swallows, forcing the tightness in his throat away.
“I like you close,” he says finally, whispering.
Mike kisses him.
It’s like last time, slow and careful and hesitant, but it’s different now, because Will is already holding him back, is already cradling his face. He can feel the warmth of Mike’s chest through the fabric of their shirts, and he wants him to take it off, wants to feel his skin directly.
Mike’s head tilts, and Will’s breath catches in his throat. His mouth is warm, and Will doesn’t think he’s ever felt warmth like this— he was so used to the cold, so accustomed to the chill that came with his solitude, so used to craving it.
But he feels warm. He feels hot.
He pulls Mike closer, letting his lips part as one of Mike’s hands slides down his body and presses to the small of his back. Will’s never been touched there, not like this. Mike’s hand spans across the width of it, and he pulls so it arches, so Will presses closer, so he’s practically falling back.
And something shifts in the air, like it’s somehow turned blue, and Will’s teeth catch on Mike’s lip, biting more sharply than he would ever have intended to, but Mike doesn’t seem to mind. He makes that sound again, but it’s louder than it was last time, and it finds its way under Will’s fucking skin.
He gasps, and his arms wrap around Mike’s neck again, hugging him tightly.
And then Mike’s tongue is pressing into Will’s mouth, and they’re both panting, and Mike is stepping forward, making Will stumble back like he did before, and maybe this is a thing for him. Forcing Will where he wants him. Gripping him this tightly.
“Mike,” Will gasps between clumsy kisses. Mike hums softly, sliding a hand over Will’s back, pushing and pulling until Will is against his desk, until Mike is gripping his waist and hoisting him up, setting him on the desk and coming in close, stepping between Will’s legs.
Will pushes his hands into Mike’s hair. It’s soft. It’s so soft that Will kind of hates it, and maybe he’s just kind of insane after the life he’s had, or maybe he’s just an angsty queer, but he wants to ruin him.
He bites Mike’s lip again, scrapes his teeth against the inside of it and pulls so Mike groans quietly, and his hands tighten in Mike’s hair, his fingers curling into the roots and squeezing. Mike gasps, his head falling back like he wants Will to pull harder, like he wants Will to bite harder. He does.
Mike swears under his breath, and Will can’t help but grin, tugging at Mike’s hair and forcing his head back, exposing his neck. Mike lets him, his eyes shut, his lips parted as he pants, and Will gazes at him hungrily, stares up and down his neck, the bob of his throat, the line of his jaw. He slides a hand over Mike’s neck, presses his palm to his throat, his fingers into his pulse. It’s fast.
Mike’s face flushes a pretty shade of red, and he lets out a soft noise. His hands tighten on Will’s waist, and Will can feel that he’s shaking.
“Don’t freak out,” he says softly, watching Mike’s face carefully as he cracks a smile.
“I’m not freaking out,” Mike lies quietly, his eyes still shut, his head still tilted back.
“I can feel you freaking out.”
Mike scoffs, and he opens his eyes, looking at Will, and that’s a gaze. He’s gazing at Will. Puppy dog eyes, glistening, twinkling.
“I’m freaking out,” Mike confesses. “Because I can’t believe this is actually happening. Not because I don’t want it to be happening.”
Will brushes his thumb over the side of Mike’s neck, watching his eyes flutter for a moment. He’s still smiling.
“I’m not gonna run away,” Mike whispers. “Promise.”
Will smiles softly, scratching at Mike’s scalp, gazing back at him, and he feels so fucking lucky to be able to do that— to be able to gaze unashamedly, to look at Mike without feeling like he shouldn’t.
“Can you kiss me again?” Mike whispers, leaning a little closer, his eyes fluttering like he’s going to cry, and he looks so pitiful it makes Will ache.
He pulls him in, and they crash together clumsily. It’s a mess, uncoordinated and kind of awkward, and maybe that’s just them. But Will doesn’t care. It feels good.
Mike’s arms wrap around his waist, hugging him tightly, and Will can barely breathe. He clings to him, holds him as tightly as possible, breathing hard. It’s so quiet, and Will can hear them, can hear the wetness of their lips, their tongues, can hear the quiet hums under Mike’s breath and the rustle of their shirts folding and bunching under their hands. He bites Mike’s lip again, and Mike hums weakly.
Will tilts his head, pulling his mouth away from Mike’s and opening his eyes just enough to see Mike try to follow, his chin tilting up. Will smiles, avoiding his mouth and kissing his chin, his jaw, down his neck. He has to shift his hand out of the way.
Mike’s hand buries itself in Will’s hair, and he groans weakly. Will can feel the vibration of his throat against his cheek, and he hums back, nuzzling into his neck with parted lips. He gasps against Mike’s skin when he can’t lift his head, when Mike’s hand tightens in his hair, holding him down. His legs tighten around Mike’s hips, pulling him in more tightly.
He feels lightheaded. Like his body is ten feet away, like he’s fucking floating, and he steadies himself by holding the side of Mike’s neck, by holding him against himself like he’s a damn vampire, like he’s drinking Mike’s damn blood.
He’s distracted. Mike’s hands slide down Will’s sides, over his hips, and he pulls him in closer, pulls him off the desk, and then Will is mid-air, clinging to Mike as he walks him to Will’s bed and drops him gently, like his skin might crack. Mike reaches past him, above him, shoving the blankets out of the way, and he lifts his chin to see, which Will takes immediate advantage of— he pulls Mike down, tilting his head to slide his tongue up over his throat.
“Fuck,” Mike hisses. His body relaxes, rests on top of Will’s, and Will groans, wrapping his arms around him so he can’t move. “Fuck, are you— are you okay?”
“Don’t move,” Will says breathlessly, squeezing his eyes shut. “‘S good, don’t move.”
“Okay.”
He doesn’t move. He stays, shifting just enough to tuck his face into Will’s neck, trapping him against the bed. His hand drags through Will’s hair gently, undoing every slight snag and tangle until it’s smooth, and Will could fall asleep here. He can hear Mike breathing, can feel his chest move with every breath. He can feel his heartbeat.
He melts. Relaxes completely in a way he doesn’t think he ever has. And Mike stays.
He presses soft kisses to Will’s neck, just under his ear, and Will tilts his head to let him, exhaling and sliding his hand over Mike’s back. He can feel the heat of his skin through the fabric of his shirt, and he wishes, again, that he wasn’t wearing it. He drags his fingers over his back, gathering the fabric in his hand, pulling at it absently, and Mike hums, kissing his neck more intently.
“Mike,” Will breathes.
“Hm.”
“Please.”
He doesn’t know what he’s asking for. He just breathes the word out, lets it out in an exhale, like it’s not even really a word.
But Mike seems to get it.
He lifts his head, finally moving and pushing himself up to look at Will, who forces his eyes open. Mike’s hair is falling around his face, blocking it from the lamp light, and Will reaches up to tuck it out of the way so he can see him. But Mike is already leaning down, nudging their noses together before he kisses him softly, slowly.
Will hums, shifting against him, somehow settling even more, and Mike shifts back, his breath catching in his throat. And Will’s blood might be boiling, he might be overheating, and he never thought he’d ever be here. Laying under Mike’s body, laying under any boy’s body, hot and breathless.
They part with a wet sound, and Will shivers, pulling at the fabric of his shirt again. They’re panting into each other’s mouths, and their noses nudge together.
“Okay?” Mike whispers.
Will nods, pulling at his shirt again.
“Off,” he breathes. “Please.”
Mike nods, kissing him again before he pushes himself up, kneeling between Will’s legs and tugging his shirt up by the back. He tosses it away, to the ground, and he’s already falling back down to Will’s body as Will reaches up to touch him, to slide his hands over his chest, his waist, over the slight ridges of his ribcage that appear when he inhales slowly.
Mike kisses him again, tilting his head to lick into his mouth, and Will groans weakly, his back arching. He didn’t know he could feel like this. He didn’t know it was possible for him to feel so good. Not after everything.
He wraps a leg around Mike’s hip, holding him tightly, and Mike hums, resting on his forearm and reaching his free hand down over Will’s waist, pressing into the fabric of his hoodie. His hand lingers there, holding him, before it moves down farther, slipping over his hip, over his thigh, and then he’s touching his skin, his fingertips slipping under the hem of Will’s boxers.
Will exhales sharply, nodding when Mike pulls away to look at him, and he shifts again, almost writhing against Mike’s body.
“Fuck,” Mike breathes. “I’m…”
Will nods again, tilting his head back.
“Yeah,” he says softly. “Me too.”
Mike drops his head and presses his face into Will’s neck with a soft laugh, and Will giggles, reaching up to cover his face with a hand. The other slides over Mike’s back, over the ridges of his shoulder blades.
He likes touching Mike like this. Freely. He slides his fingers over Mike’s spine, presses them into his skin firmly and digs, presses until Mike lets out a weak noise into Will’s neck— It’s a small noise, a whimper, and Will’s stomach does a somersault. He exhales heavily, squeezing his eyes shut, and his blood feels like it’s hot, like he’s going to boil inside his own skin.
Mike lifts his head, and his hair is falling around his face like a curtain, like it’s blocking them from Will’s empty, dark room, like it’s blocking them from the empty, dark woods. Mike’s eyes are half-shut, like he’s falling asleep, like he’s just woken up.
And then they’re kissing again, and Will’s entire body hurts, like he’s on fire, but it’s so much better than it used to be. He tenses, but his hand grabs at the back of Mike’s neck when he tries to lift his head again, and he can feel Mike smiling against his mouth.
Will wraps his arms around Mike’s neck, letting him lick his mouth open, shivering, and Mike hums quietly. The sound of it reaches Will’s throat and chokes him. He hugs him tighter.
Mike shifts slowly, like he’s tentative, pushing himself up so he’s hovering over Will, and he’s doing this nice thing with his jaw that Will kind of loves, and he wants to suck on Mike’s fucking tongue, wants to lick at his teeth and gnaw on his lips— He might be kind of insane, actually, which has occurred to him countless times before in his life, but he’s never wanted to consume someone like this, like there’s something in his chest, in his soul, that’s starving.
He only hates himself for a brief moment before he realizes that he actually can do the things that he wants to do to Mike, that Mike is doing them to him, and he feels the fucking same way Will does.
So he does. He bites, and he sucks, and he chews, and he licks, and Mike lets him.
He likes it.
Will knows he likes it.
He’s making these quiet noises under his breath, humming and groaning low in his throat, and Will’s face burns hot when he actually listens to the sound they’re making— they sound lewd, wet and soft with Mike’s groans, and they’re shifting just enough that the bed is creaking, and Will might die.
“Fuck,” he gasps, his back arching so he presses against Mike, his legs tightening around his hips. They’re both panting, their faces still close enough that Will can feel the flutter of Mike’s eyelashes on his skin.
“Okay?” Mike whispers.
Will nods.
He pulls him into another kiss, shifting to slide his hands over Mike’s waist gently before he drags his nails over his skin. It makes Mike writhe, makes him squirm against Will’s body, and Will likes that.
He curses under his breath again, forcing his eyes open as he moves, pushing Mike off of him and forcing him onto his back. Mike yelps in surprise, falling over, his eyes wide as they find Will above him, and Will giggles, pressing him into place with a hand on his chest. Mike lets him, his head falling back. He lifts a hand and slides it over the back of Will’s as Will finds his place on top of him, straddling his hips. Will watches as Mike’s eyes squeeze shut, as his eyebrows furrow, as his lips part, and he’s so beautiful Will feels sick.
He watches him, shifting slightly just to see the way he twitches, the way his cheeks flush a brilliant red. Until he can’t help but lean back down to kiss him, and he thinks there is something that’s starving inside of him, something that’s emaciated and hungry, and he doesn’t know how else to nourish it, how else to fill the void in his chest.
Mike’s hands grab him, slide desperately over his back, his waist, his hips, pushing under the fabric of his hoodie to reach his skin. His palms are warmer than his fingertips, and Will would let him burn him. He holds Mike’s neck, presses his fingertips into his pulse and wants to feel it on his tongue.
Mike shifts, writhing under the weight of Will’s body, and Will lets out a choked-off sound, moving against him. Mike gasps, gripping Will’s waist tightly, his back arching.
“Fuck,” he breathes into Will’s mouth. It sounds like white noise. Will nods, his eyes closed. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” Will exhales, nodding again, letting his forehead press to Mike’s face. “I’m…” His breath trembles, and he tucks his face into Mike’s neck, panting. “I like how you feel. Like how you touch me.”
Mike exhales slowly, pushing his hands under Will’s hoodie, sliding them over his skin, pressing into the small of his back so he presses closer. Will kisses his neck. Mike likes it. Will knows he likes it.
He holds Will’s hips tightly, so tightly it feels like his fingerprints might bruise him, like there are going to be purple whorls staining the pale skin under the waistband of his boxers.
Mike pulls— He pushes, and he pulls, and he’s guiding Will’s movements, and Will lets him, melting against him and falling pliant, groaning into Mike’s neck. He reaches up to push a hand into Mike’s hair, which is curly like it was when they were kids, before he started cutting it and brushing it out and letting it dry like that. Before he started trying so hard.
Will tugs it absently, breathing in the smell of Mike’s skin, of the cologne that he started wearing last year, the lingering cigarette smoke— He must have had one on his way over to Will’s, or maybe before coming out to his family.
Mike’s hand trails over his back as his other arm wraps around him, holding him tightly, and he’s reaching for Will’s ass, his hand sliding over his boxers before it tightens, squeezing, groping, and Will gasps, shifting, pressing back into his hand and nodding desperately.
“Fuck, Will.”
“Don’t stop,” Will says weakly, lifting his head just enough that his face presses to Mike’s, and it’s clumsy and weird, the way his nose is mashing into Mike’s cheek, the way he’s panting against the corner of his mouth, but it feels good. Will likes being close like this, like being weird about it. And Mike likes it too. Will knows he likes it too.
Mike lets out a noise that sounds like he’s trying to muffle it, like he’s trying to be quiet, but Will can feel the sound in his fucking bones, and he whines, squeezing his eyes shut as they start to burn.
“Shit, Mike, I’m—”
“Yeah,” Mike gasps, nodding. “Fuck, yeah—”
Will is crying when he comes. He’s gasping, clinging to Mike like he’ll die if there’s space enough for air between them, and Mike clings to him too, his arms tight around his waist. They’re both trembling, breathing hard, and Will is just catching his breath when Mike shifts, still hugging Will’s waist as he turns them around again, rolling over so Will is on his back. Will goes easily, exhaling slowly, his eyes opening when he feels Mike looking at him.
He looks tired. His eyes are almost shut as he looks down at him, sleepy, and his cheeks are still red, and he’s still catching his breath, his lips parted as he breathes.
Will says his name.
“You don’t have to wait for me,” Mike says softly. Will blinks. His hand falls from wherever it’s been resting and finds Mike’s arm next to his head, holding him loosely, tiredly. “I don’t— I don’t want you to have to wait for me.”
“Mike.”
“I wanna be there with you,” Mike whispers. “Wherever you are, I wanna— I wanna be there.”
Will’s eyes sting. His fingers tighten on Mike’s arm, squeezing weakly.
“I want you there,” he breathes.
Mike looks at him. His eyes flick back and forth between Will’s like he doesn’t believe him, like he’s looking for something, and Will’s lip quivers as his vision blurs.
“Will.”
“I love you,” Will chokes, squeezing his eyes shut, and he’s always been an ugly crier, but Mike just leans down and kisses his forehead and his cheeks and his chin. “I love you so much.”
Mike’s hand finds his cheek, his thumb brushing over his skin even though his tears fall over his temples. He’s so gentle.
He’s kissing Will’s face, and Will can feel the soft press of his lips, the accidental bump of his nose against Will’s, the flutter of his eyelashes against Will’s skin, and then he can feel the warmth of Mike’s tears. And Will knows he’s insane, but he wants to open his mouth, wants to slide his tongue over Mike’s cheeks. He does. Mike lets him, tilting his head, shifting so they can sit up, so Will can hold him, a hand cradling his jaw and the other buried in his hair.
Mike’s hands are gentle as he leans closer, holding Will’s arms, his eyes closed like he’s asleep. He looks so peaceful like this, like he’s dozing and not sitting patiently as Will licks him. Will aches. He wonders if he’ll ever get used to it.
He exhales heavily, holding the side of Mike’s neck as he melts against him. His forehead presses to Mike’s cheek, and one of Mike’s hands slides over the back of his head, moving to hold the back of his neck.
They breathe together.
There’s more to say, probably, because Will doesn’t even know where his wherever is going to be, where his someday is going to be, but he doesn’t really mind right now.
Because Mike will be there.
He wants to be there.
Will knows he does.