Work Text:
February 14, 1990
«Today is finally their day.»
By a fortunate turn of events, Will found himself in Hawkins in mid-February. He had to rush home because a mix-up had occurred with his financial aid at university. Some of the paperwork had been sent to the wrong place, and now the originals–unfortunately left at home–needed to be signed immediately. He was only supposed to stay for two or three days, but everything dragged on, and now he had been here for nearly a week. He had already called his professors at the university almost twenty times, apologizing for his absence and explaining the situation again and again, like a well-worn record. And he would be lying if he said it hadn’t been exhausting.
All these days, Will had done nothing but nervously wait for his documents, checking the mail every morning and evening, helping his mom and Hopper around the house (though they constantly insisted it was unnecessary, since he was a guest and should be resting), trying to find new inspiration for his work, and meeting Mike every day at exactly three o’clock in the afternoon at his house. They had last seen each other over the Christmas break, when the whole party had gathered together a few times. Those had been warm and pleasant days, making them forget how far apart they all were. Now, in cold, damp Hawkins, only Mike remained, his sole company to brighten these gray days. And Will liked it. Liked it more than he wanted to admit.
“Just like old times,” Mike said during one of their daily meetings, a wide smile on his face, popping a piece of cookie into his mouth. He lingered on Will with his gaze until he returned the same bright smile, and his eyes immediately softened. That moment had lodged itself in Will’s memory, playing on repeat for the second night in a row. Tonight would be no exception.
Will didn’t know how long he had been lying in his old (now guest) room, staring at the ceiling. In the past few days, all the flings he had tried to pursue in New York had completely faded from his mind. He couldn’t stop thinking about stubborn, irritable Mike, who somehow always treated him so kindly whenever they met. And that was a problem.
Because in the past, in the old days, there was always noise between them. Friends laughing. Dice clattering across the table. Loud, heated arguments. Someone’s mom calling from the kitchen that dinner was ready. A TV playing a new movie. The world around them–too loud, too deafening.
Now–complete silence. There was nowhere to run. Almost no one could interrupt them. And in this comfortable quiet, Will could hear his own heart too clearly. It forced his subconscious to recall all those forgotten feelings he had tried so long to bury. He looked at Mike and felt the pulse in his throat beat sharply. That desperate, frozen-in-his-chest feeling of love returned.
He rolled onto his side, burying his face into a pillow that smelled both foreign and familiar–Joyce’s laundry detergent and the past. A soft whimper escaped his lips, and he buried himself deeper in the sheets, trying to calm down. Why did everything have to be so hard?
New York seemed distant, almost unreal. Like a strange board game whose rules he still couldn’t understand. There were people. Attempts. Awkward dates. Someone’s phone numbers he had tossed into the nearest trash can. He told himself he was moving forward, learning to live independently. But the moment Mike opened his mouth–even just to speak–the intangible collar around his neck tightened painfully, leaving red marks. Like a puppeteer who had forgotten his doll, letting it gather dust, only to jerk it sharply one sunny morning, forcing its atrophied limbs to move again.
He knew–he knew for certain–that it had never been just “like before.” It had been better. Closer. Warmer.
Mike had grown a little taller. Broader in the shoulders. His voice lower. But when he laughed, leaning forward on his elbows, he still looked like they were twelve years old and summer lay ahead.
And his gaze. He looked differently. Longer. More attentively. More greedily stealing moments whenever Will’s eyes met his, as if waiting. Watching like he was trying to memorize every detail–the jawline, the curve of the lips, the way Will habitually tucked hair behind his ear when nervous.
Now, Mike leaned a little too close. When his knee touched his own, he didn’t rush away. When his fingers lingered on his wrist a moment longer, passing something wordless. These were small things.
But from these small things came the total, completely inexplicable catastrophe.
Will’s eyes shot open. The room was the same–old walls, familiar ceiling, a faint creak of pipes deep in the house. But inside, it felt like the moment before a fatal leap. He knew he would see him again today, at three o’clock. As always.
Softly tapping his hand, he ordered his inner voice to quiet down, trying to take control of the strangely pleasant chaos in his chest.
No panic. Everything was decided–once he got up, he would go to the store and buy Mike a Valentine’s Day gift. He would finally step over his silly fear and hesitation, which had always kept him on the sidelines. After all, they were adults now, and he could handle this situation like an adult. If Mike understood the gesture but refused him–he could easily spin it as an ordinary gift, with no deeper meaning, and finally get over it.
The thought that he could confess the still-burning feelings to his friend today sent a flip in his stomach. He hugged his slightly trembling right hand to his chest, trying to find his heartbeat. If he was lucky–if he had read all the signs correctly–this day could be anything but ordinary. It could be very special indeed.
With the other hand, he hugged another pillow to himself. Perhaps Karen had used this same detergent all these years, because the scent inadvertently reminded him of the Wheeler house. Of how his pillow smelled when he had lived in the basement during quarantine. How it smelled in Mike’s room the last time they had to share his bed (since Mike had firmly forbidden him to sleep on the floor that day), when Holly’s friend stayed over for Halloween, and the girls had taken over the basement. With a good imagination and a slightly tired mind, he could effortlessly picture himself sleeping next to Mike again. Mike himself, lying under his soft embrace for the night.
The thought of him made his racing heart calm, and he didn’t even notice when he finally fell asleep.
***
Morning came too abruptly. Cold light pierced through the curtains–bright, shameless; yanking Will from a fragmented, anxious sleep. He blinked, momentarily forgetting where he was: New York, campus, the cramped room with the peeling radiator…
No. He was home. In Hawkins.
He rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling as if, at any moment, the answers to his most cherished questions might appear there. At night, everything had seemed bolder. More certain. Now, a strange mix of panic and anticipation settled in his chest. Three o’clock.
He glanced at the clock. Nine a.m.
Too early to go to Mike. Too late to change his plans.
Will sat up slowly, running a hand across his face, trying to shake off the last remnants of sleep. His stomach twisted unpleasantly, like before an exam. Only the stakes were far higher. Was he really going to do it? Say it. Stop pretending this was “just friendship,” a line he didn’t want to cross, yet felt it must.
Outside, it was gray and damp. Snow had turned to heavy slush. Typical February in Hawkins. A typical day that could change everything. The thought of the store made him tense again. He had to pick something right. Not too obvious. Not too safe. A balance between confession and retreat, so Mike could interpret it however he felt was natural. But the gift had to hint at the depth and intimacy Will so desperately wanted to convey. Not a direct confession, but a step toward it. A hint, one that could be caught or ignored if things went wrong.
That was the difficulty.
Too obvious, and he risked everything. Too neutral, and he stayed in the safe zone, where nothing ever changed. And he was tired of the safe zone. Tired of half-tones, pauses, and unspoken words.
He moved away from the window and began dressing slowly, as if every action required its own effort. A plan formed in his head: a small shop downtown, selling handmade chocolates and maybe some silly romantic trinkets. Something simple, but personal.
Will caught his reflection in the mirror and lingered longer than usual. Eyes slightly red from lack of sleep, hair disheveled and in need of styling. He looked the same as always, and completely different at the same time. Inside, everything teetered on a knife’s edge. The thought of how Mike would look at him today made his stomach clench. And what that look would be–disgust, indifference, or something else entirely–he couldn’t predict.
He exhaled, grabbed his jacket, and left the room, moving quietly to avoid being noticed by Joyce and Hopper, cooing softly somewhere in the house. The smell of coffee in the kitchen snapped him back to reality, the mundane sounds of morning, the familiar motions. His plan crumbled when his mom spotted him right at the door.
“Already leaving?” Joyce’s voice was too bright for nine a.m., and Will froze, caught doing something shamefully suspicious. She stood by the stove with a mug in hand, in a soft sweater, hair loosely tied, eyes sharp–too sharp. Hopper sat at the table, flipping through the newspaper, pretending not to listen, but Will knew that trick too well. He rubbed the back of his neck, searching for words.
“Yes,” he said, trying to sound casual. “Just… checking the mail.”
Receiving an even more questioning look, he added hesitantly:
“And… I need to go downtown. For something.”
“For something?” Joyce repeated, raising an eyebrow.
Will felt his cheeks betray him, warming instantly. Calm. Ordinary conversation. Ordinary morning.
“Just… need to buy something,” he shrugged, trying to look nonchalant.
Hopper snorted behind the newspaper.
“Downtown? There’s only the florist and the candy shop,” he remarked without looking up. “Which, by the way, have huge sales today. Very… strategic location choice.”
“Jim,” Joyce warned, but a sly smile was already tugging at her lips. Will wanted to sink through the floor right there.
“It’s not what you think,” he said too quickly, losing all confidence in his voice, making it worse. Joyce moved closer, her expression softening.
“Sweetie, we’re not thinking anything. Just… if you need to go, go. We won’t be home tonight either. We’re going to Enzo’s,” she turned to Hopper, who peeked over the newspaper with a soft smile. “Just don’t be late for three.”
He froze.
“How do you–?”
She smirked, as if she knew far more than she said.
“You leave at the same time every day.”
Of course. Yes. Stupid.
“Yeah… uh, right. Have fun, okay?” Will awkwardly nodded at his own words, tugged his jacket on, and practically slipped out the door before the conversation could go further.
The cold air hit his face, and he could finally breathe. His heart still raced–not just from the upcoming meeting, but from how transparent he was at home. He walked faster than necessary, hands buried in his pockets. The wet snow crunched beneath his feet, and the air smelled damp and slightly sweet, maybe the trees.
It took him about half an hour before he finally made it to downtown, which felt surprisingly quiet today. Probably because of all the snow. And maybe everyone else had bought their Valentine’s gifts in advance–planned their moves long before now.
Will slowed down as familiar shop windows came into view, the ones he had been scanning for the entire walk. Downtown Hawkins had always felt a little tiny to him, like a miniature town you could walk across in fifteen minutes. A few cars parked along the street, a handful of pedestrians bundled up in scarves, and red ribbons lazily swaying in the wind.
He stopped in front of the candy shop window. The glass was slightly fogged from the inside, behind it neatly arranged boxes of chocolate, heart-shaped cookies, and ridiculously sweet-looking pink-glazed pastries. Everything looked a little silly, overly staged. And impossibly intimidating.
"It’s just a gift," he whispered to himself. But he knew that was a lie.
Will pushed the door, and a cheerful bell jingled overhead. Inside, it was warm, smelling of cocoa and caramel. Behind the counter, a middle-aged woman perked up at the sight of a customer.
“Good morning,” she said with a gentle smile. “What brings such a handsome young man here? Looking for something special?”
Will froze for a second–not from the compliment itself, but from the word special.
“Yes,” he breathed out before he could stop himself.
He stepped closer to the display, scanning the boxes. Large ones–too extravagant. Small ones–too meager and modest. He felt a trembling inside at the absurdity of the choice, as if his entire future depended on it. In a way… it did. Silly chocolate and a silly holiday.
“We have a limited Valentine’s edition,” the woman suddenly continued, pulling a box from under the counter, tied with a deep red ribbon. “Completely handmade. With ingredients that… let’s just say, lift the mood.”
Will blinked innocently, glancing back and forth between her and the box. She winked.
Lift the mood?
His gaze returned to the box. It didn’t look suggestive. No crass writing. Just a neat design, dark chocolate, strawberry filling. Almost elegant. Just the kind of thing Mike might like.
For a moment, he forgot why he had come.
“Just… chocolate?” he asked cautiously.
“Of course,” she replied with a soft smile. “All natural ingredients. Completely safe. Very popular among young people today. And not just young people.”
He felt his ears burn and didn’t ask any further. Didn’t want to seem foolish or overly aware of what she meant.
And that’s why he didn’t notice the tiny note on the back of the box.
Will handed over the money and paid quickly, tucking the purchase into a bag as if it were forbidden. Outside, the cold hit his face again, but inside he felt even warmer. The bag in his hand felt heavier than it should. He checked the time. Ten twenty. Almost five hours to go.
He walked slowly along the mostly empty street, trying not to look at the bag, as if it might start glowing red and attract the attention of passersby. Foolish. No one knew what he carried inside. No one knew what was happening inside him.
The wind slipped under his collar, and Will instinctively held the bag closer to his chest, hiding it from the snow. The gesture felt almost too caring. He noticed and almost laughed at his own ridiculousness. He had just bought chocolate–not a ring, not a heartfelt card.
On the way home, he tried to distract himself–counting steps, looking at signs and trees, listening to the slushy snow crunch beneath his feet. But his thoughts stubbornly returned to three o’clock.
To the warm, familiar basement. The old sofa. The way Mike would probably lean in closer than necessary again.
And suddenly, a wave of doubt hit him. What if he imagined it all? What if the glances and touches were just friendly coincidence?
He stopped mid-sidewalk, taking a sharp breath. The air was cold, biting, but helped clear his head.
Even if. In theory, even if he was wrong–he would survive. He wasn’t the boy who would bury feelings under layers of silence for years. Will had grown up. Gone to New York. Learned to stand on his own. And if Mike didn’t get it–well, it would hurt, but it wouldn’t be the end of the world.
With that thought, he continued walking.
Home greeted him with silence. Joyce had apparently gone out, and Hopper, by the hour, should have been at the station. Even today, he hadn’t gotten a proper break, though he would be off a few hours earlier.
Will quickly went to his room and carefully placed the bag on the bed. He sat on the edge of the mattress, staring at the box as if it might give him answers. The deep red ribbon was tied neatly in a bow. Everything looked… beautiful. Alluring and magical. Almost cloyingly sweet.
He had never been close to romance enough to feel it burn like this across his skin. None of those who had tried to court him could match the feeling building in his stomach at the thought of Mike receiving these chocolates. His gift.
Will left the bag on the bed and went to the mirror, lingering longer than usual.
“It’s just a gift,” he whispered to his reflection. But there was more hope than conviction in those words.
He imagined how it would happen. The basement. The old sofa. Maybe they would sit too close, as always. He would hand over the box awkwardly, as if by accident. Or push it toward him the moment Mike opened the door, presenting it as a fact.
He decides to approach the table and takes a small, neat scrap of paper, carefully writing out precise letters:
«Happy Valentine’s Day. With love, Will.»
Concise, but clear. He hesitates a few more times before placing the note under the ribbon. The room is still quiet. The ticking of the clock seems louder. Time crawls painfully, as if testing him.
There’s nothing to wait for. He just needs to go–and with a clear head, make it through the simple act.
***
The snow crunches under his feet louder than he’d like. He almost runs, gasping for breath. Getting ready had taken far longer than usual.
Who was he kidding–he had never prepared this much for a meeting with Mike. With anyone. Because of that, he was almost an hour late, walking as fast as he could. As if on cue, dusk had started to fall, and the snow was coming down harder. Large snowflakes clung to his eyelashes, making visibility worse.
Mike’s house appeared around the bend too quickly–familiar facade, snow-covered path, windows glowing with warm light. Nothing had changed. Everything as always.
The porch steps were slick with a thin layer of ice. He climbed them more carefully than he wanted. The knock came softer than he intended. Almost timid. The door opened, and warm air spilled out along with the familiar smells of home: wood, baking, comfort.
Mike stood in the doorway, hair messy, red oversized sweater, hand still on the doorknob. A flicker of mild annoyance crossed his face, then he relaxed sharply when he realized it was his friend.
“Will? Hey, I didn’t expect you today,” he said with a teasing lilt.
Will froze for a moment.
Didn’t expect?
“Umm… I thought we’d meet as usual?” he said, looking away. “Sorry, I didn’t think you might have plans.”
His body instinctively turned sideways, but then his hand was firmly grabbed.
“No, what? I thought you would have plans,” Mike babbled, surprised.
“Seriously? Plans in Hawkins?” Will let out a small laugh, entering the house. The sudden warmth enveloped him.
“Well… you never know,” Mike said, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly.
The door closed behind him, and the warm air finally drove the chill from his lungs. He removed his scarf, feeling his cheeks stop burning from the cold–they were now flushed for a different reason.
“What kind of ‘you never know’ is that?” he smirked, trying to keep the conversation in neutral territory. “At most, a trip to the store and back.”
Mike snorted but didn’t argue. He still stood near the hallway as Will made his way to the basement, with Mike following.
“You just…” he shrugged. “You’ve changed. New York and all that.”
It was said almost casually, but something else lingered in his voice. Hesitation? Concern?
Will froze for a fraction of a second.
“In a bad way?” he asked quietly.
Mike shook his head immediately.
“No, of course not.” On that note, he bit his lip and tapped his knees. “Listen, I just rented "Wait Until Dark". Thought I might rewatch it. You don’t mind, right?”
“No, of course not,” Will replied, just tossing his backpack onto the couch. He settled beside him, one leg crossed over the other. His eyes stayed fixed on Mike as he fiddled with the player. Will didn’t dare retrieve the chocolates yet, still flustered from the earlier moment. He only glanced at the box quickly before closing the bag when his friend finally joined him on the couch.
The TV screen flickered on with a soft, slightly grainy light. Mike frowned in concentration, adjusting the picture and tapping the blanket.
“He gets a bit fussy sometimes,” he muttered, almost in self-defense.
Will nodded, though he wasn’t looking at the screen. He was watching Mike.
The way the red sweater slid slightly off one shoulder, and how he habitually tugged it back into place.
Will’s hands rested on his knees, fingers trembling slightly–from residual cold, or nerves.
The movie began.
Black-and-white frames filled the basement with soft shadows. Silence felt denser, cozier. Mike moved closer than necessary–like always. Their knees nearly touched.
“You really don’t mind?” Mike suddenly asked softly, eyes still on the screen.
“Mind what?” Will turned his head.
“Well… that I picked the movie again. I thought…” he trailed off.
Will felt a smile tug at his lips.
“Mike, it’s just a movie,” he said sincerely. It was funny to watch how much his friend cared about his opinion. With Lucas, there was never any doubt about what to play.
“Yeah, but–” Mike sighed and finally looked at him. “Today…”
There it was. The word unspoken, hanging in the air.
Today.
Will swallowed nervously.
“Today,” he repeated quietly, as if the word alone carried weight.
Somewhere on the screen, someone screamed. The sudden sound made them both flinch slightly–their shoulders brushing. The contact was brief. Mike quickly shifted to the side without breaking his gaze from the movie. Will felt like he might lose his mind.
***
Almost two hours had passed when the credits finally started rolling on the screen.
Music quietly filled the basement, black-and-white letters crawling slowly upward. The TV’s flickering light stretched shadows along the walls. Neither of them moved.
Will realized he barely remembered the middle of the movie. The scenes had blended together–he had been too aware of every accidental touch, every movement beside him. So lost in his own thoughts, he had let reality slip by.
The TV continued its soft hiss in the background. No one reached to turn it off.
“You’re… different today,” Mike started, then faltered. “I don’t know.”
“Different how?” Will asked cautiously.
Mike shrugged, eyes falling to his hands.
“Like you’re thinking about something… all the time.”
Will felt it almost physically, like a thin line he was teetering on. Slowly, he glanced at the backpack lying beside him on the couch. His heart picked up pace again, catching up with the beats it had missed. This was it–the chance to step into uncharted territory he had never tasted before.
“I…” he swallowed. “Yeah. I guess I am.”
Mike lifted his head.
“About what?”
Will’s palms grew clammy. If he didn’t do this now, he might never do it. He leaned forward, took the backpack, and placed it on his knees. The lock clicked too loudly in the silence of the basement.
Mike’s eyes followed him intently, like he wanted to burn a hole right through him. Will pulled out the box.
The deep red ribbon was still neatly tied. The note peeked out slightly, the words not yet visible. He held it for a second. Two. Then he handed it over.
“For you,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. The world seemed to shrink to this one gesture. To this box between them. Mike shifted his gaze from Will’s face to the gift, and back.
“For me?” he whispered. Will nodded.
And the heartbeat–so loud, it felt like it could be heard even over the ticking of a watch.
“You…” Mike hesitated, corners of his mouth trembling slightly. “What is it?”
“Just…” Will felt his own voice soften on its own. “Just for Valentine’s Day.”
The word sounded careful. No further explanation needed. But both knew exactly what it meant. Mike slowly reached forward and accepted the box. Their fingers brushed–just for a second, but a spark of electricity ran along Will’s arm. Mike looked down at the ribbon.
“You’re serious?” he whispered. “This… for me?”
“I said so,” Will tried to smile. “Or did you think I bought it for myself?”
A strained chuckle escaped him. He immediately regretted it. Mike snorted, eyes soft. He carefully traced the bow with a finger, as if checking its texture.
“These…” he lifted his gaze again. “Strawberry. Just how I like them. Thanks.”
Simple words, but full of warmth. Will forgot to breathe for a moment.
“Can I open it?” Mike asked, already starting to untie the ribbon. Will relaxed, giggling.
“It’s your gift.”
The ribbon gave way, sliding gently across the lid. The little note shifted slightly, now fully visible. Mike noticed it, holding it between his fingers. The basement suddenly felt too quiet. Even the TV seemed to hiss softer.
His eyes traced the line of writing. His expression shifted–from mild curiosity to something deeper. Quiet. Almost bewildered. He read it again. Then looked at Will. No trace of mockery or disgust in that gaze.
“Thanks,” he repeated softly. Will felt his whole chest freeze inside.
Mike lowered his eyes to the box, opening it fully. The chocolates were neatly arranged, gleaming under the soft lamp light. Some wrapped in gold, others in red and silver.
“They look too nice to eat,” he muttered playfully, but reached for one anyway. Will smiled instinctively.
“Handmade,” he said.
Mike snorted and popped a chocolate into his mouth, with no ceremony.
“Mmm,” he said a second later, raising his eyebrows in surprise. “Will, how much did you spend on this little piece of heaven? I swear, I’m eating the whole box.”
He grabbed a second almost immediately, as if unaware of how fast he was going.
Will watched. Forgot to respond, to joke about his friend’s greedy behavior.
His eyes caught how Mike licked his thumb after chocolate smeared on it, how he frowned slightly at the sweetness but still reached for another.
“Hey, leave some for me,” he finally squeezed out, his voice easing.
“You said it yourself, it’s my gift,” Mike countered, already reaching for a fourth. He leaned back on the couch, and Will lightly tapped his shoulder.
They traded jokes for a few more minutes before Mike finally turned off the TV and said:
“Hey, I got a new comic yesterday. Wanna read it? I’ll run grab it.” Rolling up his sleeves, he added, “Phew, it’s getting kinda warm in here.”
“Warm?” Will repeated, flustered. It was rarely warm in the basement in winter, even with the heater on. “Probably just… from the radiator.”
Mike snorted, leaning slightly forward, popping another chocolate into his mouth.
“No,” he replied with a mischievous smile, “it’s not the heater. It’s you. Damn, these chocolates are so good! I’m gonna get diabetes soon.”
Mike left the basement, hopping over two steps as if nothing had happened. Will froze in place, trying to catch his breath. His trembling hands touched his lips as he tried to focus. What the hell had just happened?
He had to stand up, sit back down, and then stand again. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been this nervous over just a playful remark. But damn it, it wasn’t just any playful remark–it was from Mike, for God’s sake.
He took a deep breath, trying to collect his thoughts, but the more he tried to focus, the stranger the feeling became–a mix of surprise, embarrassment, and… a persistent gut feeling. Thinking again, he reached for the box of chocolates, but the culprit of all this panic suddenly burst into the basement. With a completely relaxed expression and overly casual movements, he flopped onto the couch next to Will.
“Phew, looks like the whole house’s heating broke. It’s sooo hot…” Mike said, fanning himself with his hands. Will raised an eyebrow, leaning closer.
“And… where’s the comic?”
Mike snapped his head around. His cheeks were burning red, which for a second made it seem like he had a fever. Was he delirious?
“The comic? Did I… forget it? I’ll get it now.” He smiled foolishly and started to stand, but Will insistedently grabbed his wrist and pushed him back down.
“You’re not going anywhere. What’s happening? Are you feeling unwell? Do you have a fever?”
His hand brushed Mike’s grown-out bangs aside and touched his sweaty forehead.
“You’re burning up, Mike!”
Mike leaned sharply toward Will, nearly bumping his shoulder into Will’s chest, and spoke with astonishing confidence, as if this were completely normal:
“Lies. The hottest one here is definitely you.”
Will froze, feeling a shiver run through his chest. His knees involuntarily pressed together, trembling from the rush of sensation. Mike didn’t pull away. He leaned even closer, gaze intent, unwavering. His voice dropped slightly, almost playfully heavy.
“Seriously… your skin… it’s… soft. Have you been using some cream in New York? And you seem…you look... so soft. You know what I mean?” At the last words, his voice fell into a strange, intimate whisper that snapped the magical moment into reality. This wasn’t how Mike usually behaved. This was not something that could happen anywhere but in his dreams.
Will inhaled too sharply and leaned back slightly, but Mike gently, yet insistently, held onto his shoulder, as if keeping him in place. He leaned forward carefully, as if trying to catch something.
“And also…” he continued, lowering his voice, “your scent… or maybe your aura… you’re seriously hot.”
The words stuck in Will’s ears as if they weren’t just heard–they were literally experienced.
Hot. Hothothothot–
What the hell?
Will more assertively freed himself from Mike’s hold, removing his hand from his shoulder. His eyes fell on the box that had been lying between them the whole time, like a heavy weight. The realization didn’t come immediately. It fell from the sky, and he restrained a reflexive gasp of shock.
“Completely handmade. With ingredients that… let’s just say, lift the mood.”
How could he be such an idiot and not realize that she had literally slipped him something? Why was it so hard to read the label properly, even twice?
From the couch came a desperate whine, and he saw Mike fully collapsed, like broken clay or a mess spread across a canvas. With a slack jaw and glassy eyes, he stared at the half-eaten chocolates as if he had just survived a flavor apocalypse.
Oh god.
“You… you ate half of them?”
Mike, not taking his eyes off the box, reached for another piece, his voice just as relaxed, as if this were perfectly normal.
“Uh… well… they’re so tasty… and… they melt on your tongue… and you know what else can melt on your tongue?–”
Will lunged forward before his friend could grab another ticking time bomb, pressing the half-opened box to his chest. Mike’s surprised, yet slightly dazed eyes fixed on him treacherously.
“Hey, wait, I haven’t even finished!” he said, with a playful note, though tension laced his voice. He reached for the box again, but Will nudged it closer to himself, not letting him.
“I… I’ll make tea first, just wait here.”
He bolted from the basement, trying not to trip on the way. For a long moment, he didn’t want to leave his friend alone with this side effect, or alone at all. What if he managed to do something reckless while he was down there? God, what if someone spiked those chocolates with some strong drug? What if Mike started foaming at the mouth and he had to do emergency gastric lavage?
He quickly set the box on the table near the phone and thanked the universe that the kitchen was empty. Shaking hands, he began dialing a familiar number he knew by heart.
“Come on…”
After about seven rings, a tired voice answered–Robin.
“Who dares call me on such an important day?” Her voice was dripping with sarcasm, but Will had no time for jokes.
“Robin! Oh God, thank you. I… I urgently need your help.”
There was rustling on the other end, followed by a cascade of impossibly serious questions.
“Mini Byers? What happened? Are you okay? Where are you? Did someone hurt you?”
Will faltered, fumbling over words.
“No! No, I’m… okay… I think… I’m fine… it’s just… it’s about Mike…” he gripped the phone in desperation, his heart pounding so fast it felt like it might burst. “He… he ate these chocolates… and I don’t know what to do!”
A sharp intake of breath came from the other end of the phone.
“Wait, what?” Her voice softened slightly but remained sharp, as she always did when taking charge. “What chocolates? What are you talking about?”
Will pinched the bridge of his nose, mentally preparing himself to explain.
“I bought him a box of chocolates for Valentine’s Day,” Will stammered, white-knuckling the phone. “He ate half of them, and I realized there’s some… weird side effect that kicked in after that. And now I don’t know what to do!” His voice dropped to a whisper. “He already called me hot twice!”
There was dead silence on the other end.
“…Are you serious?” Will heard Robin let out a tiny chuckle. “You’re dead serious right now?”
“Robin, it’s not funny at all! What am I supposed to do with him, help! What if this is some serious drug?”
But she, apparently, had stopped listening. Her laughter rolled through the line, fading and returning, making him blush even more. Will tried again to interrupt her contagious, boisterous laughter.
“I’m serious, he… he’s acting completely irrational! I don’t know how… how to control him!”
Another sharp breath came through, less light this time, as if Robin was gathering herself.
“Okay, listen. First, tell me what kind of stimulant you fed your boyfriend.”
Stimulant? Will even restrained a comment about the label his friend had put on them.
With trembling hands, he flipped the packaging, squinting to read the tiny print. On the white label, it said: Aphrodisiac.
He seemed to say it aloud.
“Oh… what a problem,” Robin muttered, more seriously now. “Okay. Listen carefully, Mini Byers. First: don’t panic. Second: you have to keep an eye on Mike and stop him from doing anything stupid. If he starts acting strange,” she continued with a raspy chuckle that quickly turned serious, “distract him with something safe. For example, get him to sit, show him some comic, a book, a drawing. Or give him a drink. Actually, give him cold water. Or take him outside, it’s cold out. And one more thing! Under no circumstances argue or flirt with him, even if he tries. He’s not himself right now, and any wrong word will amplify the effect.”
“O-okay…” he stammered, trying to steady his breathing. He had never dealt with stimulants before. He knew practically nothing about them. “I… I understand. I just… I just keep him under control, right?”
“Exactly,” she confirmed. “Don’t let panic take over.”
“Thanks,” he said before Robin replied briefly,
“Good luck, you catastrophic lovebirds.”
Will repeated to himself: cold water, distraction, stay calm, no flirting. He took a deep breath and almost silently set the phone down, reaching to fill a glass with ice-cold water from the tap.
He slowly descended the stairs, carrying the box of chocolates, listening to the sounds of the basement. Mike was still lying on the couch, arms spread and slightly slumped to the side, like a cat that didn’t understand what was happening. Will carefully sat next to him, quietly putting the box into his bag.
“Mike…” He ran a hand in front of his friend’s eyes, catching his attention. Mike immediately brightened, eyes focused. “Drink some water. It should help.”
Mike grabbed the glass instantly, not taking his eyes off Will. He downed it in one gulp, then placed it on the floor, tilting his head slightly. What is happe–
“When did you get that hairstyle?” he suddenly asked, slyly twisting his lips in a hint of a smile.
“I… I didn’t do anything,” Will mumbled, trying to regain control of the conversation. Mike was now fully smiling, but his gaze remained sharp and insistent:
“They’re lying… like clouds in the sky… I want to touch them.”
He slowly ran a hand over Will’s head, as if checking the texture, not hiding the slightest hint of tension or desire. Will lifted his eyes, completely unaware of how close Mike’s face was to his. Suddenly, Mike sat upright, resting elbows on either side of Will’s knees, speaking with the confidence of a normal conversation:
“Your scent turns me on.”
Will jerked as if struck with a whip. Mike’s nose bumped unexpectedly against the hollow between his collarbone and neck.
“You… what?” Will managed, voice trembling, right hand clutching the edge of the couch. Mike leaned even closer, soft contact of lips brushing the exposed skin.
“You smell… so… ridiculously good,” he murmured, corners of his lips rising. “Hell, I want to eat you instead of these chocolates.”
Will gritted his teeth, trying to restrain himself on the couch. He felt Mike’s hands slide across his knees, slowly, as if testing boundaries.
“Mike… stop,” he managed, but his voice was weaker than he wanted.
“I can’t… you’re too hot… too close… too mine,” the words flew from his mouth on their own, without any filter. The breath on his neck moved higher, singeing his ears. “I want to press you into this old damn couch and take you right here.”
He immediately whined, and only then did Will feel it. Mike rubbed against him, clearly in a huge, growing arousal. His eyes widened as he tried to pull away—but to no avail. His hands were behind his head, now pinning him firmly to the edge of the sofa.
“Going somewhere?” the whisper came again. “I'm begging you, help me. Damn, I'm going to burst, I need...” Mike's other hand reached down, apparently touching his crotch. A drawn-out, agonized groan escaped his lips, drowned out by another whine from the beaten dog.
“Will... Will, please, it hurts so much. I'm so turned on by the way you're lying underneath me and the way you smell, I'm begging you, just do something...”
Will’s eyes darted around the ceiling, feeling utterly lost. It was over. The self-control Robin had so fiercely insisted on had melted away in the moment of hot, close breathing. Suddenly, foreign teeth sank into his neck. He let out a loud squeak, arching his back.
“Mike!” the cry tore from his lips. He pressed himself involuntarily against the heated body. Hard arousal hit him right in the crotch.
“Fuck, Will,” Mike growled softly. “Why are you so fucking hot, lying like that under me...”
Mike's pelvis slammed into his groin again, tightening the friction they'd already created. Fear crept into Will's throat, and he tried again to free his hands. How much aphrodisiac did it take to achieve this effect? What was Mike like right now, doing such things to him? Rubbing against him like a hungry animal, eliciting garbled moans?
He realized with horror that the grip on his arms had only tightened. Mike bit him painfully on the collarbone, thrusting his hips forward again.
“I'm so hot... God, I'm so hot...” he whispered desperately, leaning his forehead down and placing it on Will's chest.
“Please, stop. You don't know what you're doing. You need to calm down,” Will choked out, trying to look into his friend's face. But when Mike looked up, he saw only two emotions: pain and wild arousal. Under the angle of the basement light, Mike's eyes seemed even wilder than before.
“I can't. God, Will, I can't!”
His raised tone broke as he gave another long thrust and shook, lips parting slightly.
“Fuck, fuck...fu–” like a prayer escaping from the throat. Mike rolled his eyes back, the right arm that was holding Will loosening a little. Hair stuck to his forehead, making him look even more tired and no less desirable.
Will had no choice but to watch. Watching Mike during an orgasm could be compared to looking at the stars scattered across the sky that only appear at night. This broken and desperate look was imprinted in his mind, and he knew for sure that he would never be able to forget it.
“Mike.” Will whispered quietly, finally freeing one hand to place it under his friend's cheek. “I’m sorry. I beg you, I’m sorry. You must be in so much pain.”
He gently ran his fingers along his cheekbone, wiping away the beads of sweat that rolled down his face with renewed vigor. The body on top pressed against him again, and he felt Mike's pronounced arousal, which was clearly growing again.
“Don't–be sorry.“ he said, swallowing saliva heavily, placing his forehead against the forehead opposite. “Please, just help me. I'm so–agh–”
Will decided to take matters into his own hands. He wasn't very experienced in sex–he wasn't very experienced in giving pleasure to someone, but now it felt like a need. A natural need that needed to be filled, like a gaping hole. He pressed down on the shaking Mike's shoulders, sitting him down on the couch. He himself quickly slid to the floor, ending up on his knees right in front of his friend’s gray lounge pants, which were soaking wet.
Mike finally took off his sweater, breathing heavily as if he had asthma. He casually tossed it somewhere to the side and immediately bit his wrist, only to keep from moaning protractedly when Will touched the bottom of his thigh.
“Will... Will, I want to feel your lips... I beg you, just suck me...” he whispered deliriously, grabbing the upholstery of the sofa.
He had no choice but to carefully lift up the elastic band of his pants along with his boxers, finally freeing Mike completely.
“Fuck, it's so hot... Will, why are you so fucking hot...”
Will's jeans felt even tighter. He had never come yet, but looking at Mike, so open and needy, he felt like he could come without having to touch himself. For a second, he again began to be tormented by the thought that he was using Mike against his will. It's all candy, and how disgusted he will be after he wakes up the next morning and realizes what abominable things they did.
His stomach twisted painfully.
A picture has already flashed in his imagination: morning light through the basement windows, silence, tension. Mike looking away. Awareness. Disgust is not for oneself, but for the situation. Because his vulnerability was exploited. How he was used by a nasty gay man, like a pawn for his dirty game.
Will felt his insides tighten even more.
He didn't want it to be like this. Didn't want their first real turning point to be something dirty, something wrong, something accidental. He didn't want to win at the expense of someone else's weakness. Even if this weakness said what he had been dreaming about for years.
He closed his eyes for a second, letting the panic subside. Breathe. Just breathe. If this is love, it should not be born out of the fog. Shouldn't rely on anything artificial. It must withstand a clear gaze in the morning.
But the way Mike looked at him now–the way he whined, begging for Will to ease his pain–teared him in two. There was no burning disgust in those eyes yet. Only a naked, almost painful need to be closer.
“Mike...” he said quietly, and there was more feeling in that name than in all the confessions. "Please tell me to stop. Please.” He carefully placed his palms a little lower, on his knee, to fix an adequate border. “Look at me,” he whispered. “Just... look.”
And when their eyes met, he choked on air as the next sentence went straight past his ears:
“I want your sweet lips stretched around my cock.”
This is Mike. The real, confused, vulnerable Mike, who trusted him enough to let him be there in that hot, deafening intimacy. He extended trembling fingers to Will's chin and lifted his face upward, as if examining him.
“I only want your lips on my dick.”
Will gasped at the sensation as Mike's thumb slipped into his mouth and a small, guttural sound escaped him. Mike, whose eyes had been carefully examining him all this time, again groaned protractedly. His dick trembled slightly, bending to the side. Will still didn't break contact with his eyes, accepting what he was given. Until the end.
“What a naughty mouth you have. Fuck.” Mike said as he finally pulled his finger out.
His gaze glanced down at his hot thighs. He had seen Mike naked over so many years of friendship. He had seen it more than once: but it never felt like this. He never sat on his knees in front of him, as ready as ever to take him into his mouth.
Will leaned closer, rising a little. First, he took the full length in his hands, testing it with his palm down. Mike let out a guttural groan, immediately covering his mouth with his hand. Another wave of trembling struck him, causing him to impatiently raise his hips to meet the grasp of his fingers.
“Please... please...” it seemed like he was going to choke while he whispered these words. Will couldn't torture him any longer, finally taking him into his mouth.
At first, he only took the tip. Only for testing, since the sensation as such was completely new: Will had never given anyone a blowjob before. He felt Mike's fingers on his hair before he had time to think about anything: they began to forcefully push him down, which made him desperately choke.
“Shit... Will, I'm so sorry, it's just your mouth, ahh...I'm about to–” Mike's apology was lost in a new moment as Will more forcefully lowered his mouth onto Mike's cock, pausing to get used to the feeling of fullness. He forced himself to clear his mind of any extraneous thoughts, focusing on the salty taste on his tongue and the soft flesh under his lips. His eyes dared to look at Mike, and at the sight, his larynx unconsciously shuddered, clenching around his dick even tighter. Mike's hand squeezed his hair stronger, and he leaned back in a desperate groan. A vulgar smile played on his lips as he closed his eyes in insane pleasure.
“Fuck... how long have I... dreamed about this...?” another roar. "Your mouth is even better than I imagined..."
Will raised his eyebrows in surprise, but did not stop, continuing to thrust himself in a measured rhythm. After several sharp movements, he reached the end with pain, feeling the pubic hair with his nose. Mike grabbed his bangs with a death grip, tears of pain flowed down his cheeks, mixing with his own saliva on his chin and the penile fluids. A few seconds later, Mike's hand lifted him up; A loud and flimsy sound echoed through the room as the cock finally left my throat. He immediately began desperately gasping for air, trying to catch his breath. Someone else's lips found his chin, passing smeared kisses along it, and then his mouth was abruptly shut with a desperate kiss.
"We've never kissed on the lips before," Will realized distantly, immediately surrendering completely to the sensations. The throat of his t-shirt stuck to his sternum due to a mixture of sweat and saliva, making everything around him even more tangible and alive.
Never in his life would he have thought that their first kiss would be like this. Not gentle, not expected or random; after which they could pretend that nothing happened, no. This kiss took place in the basement of the Wheeler house, while Will, sitting on the floor, leaned forward. While Mike continued to hold his hair in a tight grip, leaning forward from the sofa. Damn, this is so hot and humiliating at the same time.
“I want to fuck you.” was heard between kisses, mixing in the air along with intertwined tongues. It began to seem to Will that the effect of the aphrodosiac was transmitted through airborne droplets. As he himself predicted, he managed to cum in his pants without touching himself at all. The arousal grew not by minutes, but by seconds. Mike pulled away sharply, taking Will by the edges of his t-shirt and clinging to it: with such a grip that it began to crack under his fingers. No one had time to utter a word before he finally tore it right in the chest area. Quite consciously and deliberately.
“Mike!” Will cried out in surprise, not expecting such a move. He loomed over him again.
“Sorry. I can't control myself, I want you so bad. Damn, I've been dreaming about your beautiful ass for too long. No clothes will hold me back anymore.”
Will thanked himself for taking off his shirt beforehand while watching the movie. All those events were as if in a past life and completely not with them: that evening, which began so sweetly and innocently, turned into this. An animal desire that consumed them both headlong, leaving nothing behind. Just a ragged instinct. Hot touches. No barriers that have been built over the years. All his life.
“Mike...” escaped his lips again as tenacious fingers removed the remains of the t-shirt (if you could call it that) from Will’s body.
"Shh... shh..." Mike's hands were at Will's fly, desperately trying to unzip it. "I will sue the creators of jeans. What an idiocy–"
A tired laugh escaped from Will's chest, which was mixed with another wet kiss into which Mike pulled him into.
“I don't allow any guy to touch your body anymore. You're only mine. Only mine.” he whispered, falling with kisses lower and lower until he reached the left nipple. “Tell me that you are mine.”
Will panted heavily before a quiet “Yours.” escaped his lips.
“Louder.” Mike rolled his tongue demandingly, pressing his other hand into the thigh under him.
“Yours.” Will said louder, and then Mike’s hot lips finally descended to his chest. “Yours. Only yours, Mi-Mike, fuck.”
His hands themselves found the resin hair, pulling it in different directions. He tried to control himself, just so as not to start arching towards him in the crazy rhythm of a trapped snake.
“Don't hold back, baby.“
It was enough to make him whimper again as Mike moved to the other nipple. He felt like he could finish right now.
“Your smell is like a drug. Like damn nicotine, Will. Why are you so perfect. Why.”
He couldn't answer. He only bit his lips until they bled, continuing to squirm under the boy he loved the most. Which he has desperately wanted all his life. There was still a painful pang his chest of the fact of why exactly this was all happening.
Tomorrow they will most likely go their separate ways. Maybe they'll never see each other again. Will will finally pick up his documents and go back to New York, where he will be kissed by many more curly-haired guys. But they won't be Mike. Never Mike.
He himself didn’t understand how he sharply pulled his friend’s head up, forcing him to look at himself.
“I want to fuck you so bad, baby.” Mike said in a whining voice, looking at him pleadingly. Will had to gather all his confidence into a fist before again focusing the attention of the opposite eyes on his face and only his face. Nothing else.
“Answer the question first. Answer me very honestly, and... I should have done this earlier, damn it.” his already burning cheeks glowed even more intensely. “Are you doing this because you want it? Do you really want me?“
Mike's eyes became less cloudy in a second, as if his head had suddenly brightened.
“Will...Of course I want to do this with you, hell. You have no idea how much this arousal hurts me right now, but I'm so...” he choked on the words before continuing his speech. “I wanted it to be you. I always wanted to. I was afraid of myself. And my desires. But God is my witness, I want to fuck you more than I've ever wanted to fuck any girl on the cover of a porn magazine."”
Will himself did not realize that his eyes were watering from such a confession. He propped himself up on his elbows, drawing Mike into a slower, more sensual kiss, as if to say, we don't have to rush. Or be slow. Take me.
“Fuck me.”
Mike seemed to have lost his grip. His insane heat in his eyes returned to an even more agonizing degree, making him forget about everything in the world. This time, his fingers skillfully worked with the clasp of his jeans, pulling them off along with his underwear. Now they are naked. Completely naked of both bodies and souls.
The burning boner was finally released, causing Will to desperately suck in air.
“Have you ever done this before?” Mike asked not very loudly, simultaneously examining Will from head to toe. “So perfect. All for me.”
Will blushed again, trying to cover his face.
“Hey, no, no. I want to see you.” Mike bucked his hips against the leg below him, rubbing his heavy cock again impatiently and letting out a viscous sigh. His hands found Will's wrists, pushing them to his sides.
“No. You will be the first.” Will admitted with a heavy gulp, looking straight into the eyes opposite him. Honestly and passionately.
“Mother of God...” the brunette whined, and then moved his hands to Will's hips, slowly moving to his buttocks. He grabbed them and squeezed them gently, drawing a soft moan from his chest. “I love your ass. Why is it so perfect?”
Will bit his lip playfully.
“The secret of beautiful boys.”
“You are more than just beautiful. I am ready to put an altar on your hips if necessary. Damn, if you only knew how many years I looked a little lower than I should have... if only I could draw...”
Will, as if to confirm his words, teasingly moved his butt from side to side, to which he received an agonizing look full of desire.
“Have you already tried...”
“I put my fingers inside myself.” Will admitted quietly, finding Mike's dick with his hand and gently began to move it up and down. The painful expression on his face and the crease between his eyebrows immediately softened.
“Fuck...um...I don't have any lube or condoms.” Mike admitted, defeated. “But I could–”
He looked with such a look as if he was up to something. Will did not interrupt him, still waiting for continuation.
“I could prepare you myself. I want to taste you.”
Oh. Oh, well–
Will definitely didn’t consider this option, his mouth slightly opening in surprise.
“I...”
“It won't be long, I promise. My dick will explode if i don't put it inside you as soon as possible. But I don't want to hurt you.”
His words were too gentle. Too plausible. Especially for the situation they found themselves in.
"Fine."
Mike didn't wait to see what happened next. He placed a soft kiss on the middle of Will's stomach underneath, causing the muscles to clench at the sudden contact with someone else's wet lips, and then pressed down on Will's side as if encouraging him to roll over. He still did not completely confidently obey, immediately embarrassed by such an adventure. Mike could see him, and see him in all his glory, but he could see nothing. He didn't have to wait long.
He gasped at the sharp sensation of penetration, immediately scratching the surface of the sofa with his nails.
“Mike—” he whined protractedly, hiding his face. He felt as if he could die right here and now: in Mike's parents' basement while their son was eating him out. From this thought, he groaned even louder, but was immediately interrupted by a quiet one:
"Shh...you don't want everyone in the house to rush here now, do you?" a bitter whisper was heard on his skin.
Who was even home? Fuck it. He wanted to try things out with Mike; everything - and at once.
The kisses moved a little higher, to the buttock, knocking all the air out of the lungs. Mike replaced his tongue with a finger, pushing it deeper and deeper. It was a completely different feeling of fullness. Will had forgotten how long his friend's limbs were. He pressed himself even harder into the sofa, almost suffocating from lack of air when the finger began to move.
“Mike... Mike...” the finger sped up, picking up a faster tone.
"Fuck, Will, it's so hard for me to control myself–it's so hard for me–" he felt Mike rest his cheek on his tailbone, as if he was trying to hold himself in place.
“Add a second finger, I can already…” a sharp pain struck his body, immediately weakening.
“Shit-shit, I'm sorry. F-fuck...” the soft whimper from behind him broke his heart. He wanted to ease Mike's pain as quickly as possible.
He pressed himself even harder into Will, holding his waist with his other hand. It was impossible to endure. He needed Mike. All and without a trace.
“Please enter me. Enter me.” Will repeated as if in delirium when the waiting became unbearable. Mike let out a sigh of relief, suddenly flipping him onto his back.
Will froze, feeling Mike settle neatly between his legs. His movements were confident but strangely soft, as if he was both in control and allowing himself to be fragile. Will could see purple stains forming on his cheeks and another line of sweat running down his forehead. God, how he suffered. Mike suffered only because of him.
He reached up with his hand, running his fingers over wet lips. Mike immediately lowered his gaze, swallowing heavily.
Will wanted to put the whole world under Mike's feet. Become anything, just to lie here like this. Always.
And then, he felt how he slowly began to be filled. He let out a strangled sigh, squeaked, grabbing Mike's right arm with a death grip. Everything swam before his eyes. The stars were playing somewhere in the distance, dancing marvelous dances like white spots. This pain was like nothing else. He never thought he would like pain like this.That he would call himself a masochist without any doubt.
Mike's gaze remained motionless, as if studying every nuance of the reaction of the face beneath him, and the air between them became noticeably thick. Will didn't understand how Mike was still holding back. How Will became more needy than someone who was literally stuffed with half a box of stimulants. He looked at him too carefully and too responsible for this moment. It was so wonderful.
“You're so tight.” Mike sighed and then hissed, stopping in his tracks. “You are so desirable. God, how badly I want to fill you.”
Will groaned heavily, lifting his grip on his arm towards the hint of a bicep.
“Fill me up. Don't hold back. Fill me up–fuck.” Mike leaned forward sharply, knocking all the words he was going to say out of his chest. Small trails of tears gathered in the corners of the eyes again, flowing freely down, mixing with sweat. The basement no longer seemed as cold as before. He was hot. Hot as hell. But he liked it.
“Spit in my hand, baby.” there was a half-whisper before Will obeyed and spat into Mike's palm as carefully as possible. He, with mechanical movements, smeared everything all over his dick, emitting another guttural sound.
He felt Mike's breath envelop the space around him as he made another, sharp thrust. Every slightest gesture - a light touch, a bend, a glance - seemed to throw sparks right under the skin. The whole body was filled with a strange, tense warmth, and Will understood: there was no place for ordinary logic here. He loved, and unconditionally. He didn't let Mike go, and he never did. Love held him like a prisoner, every now and then expanding its handcuffs, from which he could have escaped many years ago - but he never did. He didn't want to.
Even if this is not true–this moment will be the best in his life. It will be the one and only that he can never forget.
The thrusts were increasing with every second at an insane pace, and Mike wasn’t lying when he had previously whispered dangerously about how much he wanted to take him on this sofa: the poor structure was desperately creaking under them, starting to shake. It was no longer tender love, maybe it wasn’t love at all–just a stupid hormone - but he felt like he was the only one in this little world of Mike.
Each new push, each involuntary touch, each of his words, floating out without a filter, blurred the boundaries between reason and sensation, between fear and desire. They did it. They really did.
Mike looked too sexy as he whined over him, squeezing his eyes shut as tight as possible. At one point, it began to seem as if he was going to gouge the damn soul out of him: as if with every push, he was losing himself even more, dissolving into Mike. Mike, Mike, Mike–
He didn't even realize how they both began to reach their peak, desperately clutching their bodies with their hands. Will managed to scratch the back of the boy above him, and received a painful bite on his second collarbone. Never in his life had he experienced a more violent orgasm. This could not be compared with anything. Just nothing.
Mike was panting above him as he finished straight inside. He remained silent for a long time, being only a few centimeters from his face. Will couldn't hold back any longer. His trembling fingers went up, examining the tired stars on the cheeks of his beloved. He can't do this anymore. He can't.
“I love you.” as if the hot truth that burned his mouth escaped his lips. He didn't realize what he said until his eyes met Mike's. Something new was read in them–a mixture of surprise, confusion and that same bright, inexplicable spark that made Mike so alive, so real. For a moment, the whole world around disappeared, leaving only a trembling, a look and words that hung between them, as if the air itself had become dense and warm.
“I love you too.”
These words sounded full of pain and despair. They were not random. Mike released them from his chest as if they had been lurking inside him for a very long time.
A happy laugh escaped Will's lips. Mike smiled slowly, still not looking away. He ran his finger over Will's cheek, as if checking that this was really happening, that this was not a dream or a hallucination. Will felt the warmth of the touch and allowed himself to take a deep breath, feeling the tension finally begin to subside.
“Sorry for feeding you the aphrodisiac.”
Mike snorted in surprise, with a slight smile and his voice still slightly slurred:
“Damn, so that's what it actually was–”
Will's heart sank somewhere in his chest. Now, this is definitely the end.
“Come on... you have no idea how much this helped me completely understand what I want... and who.”
He looked at Will again, and there was a surprising mixture of gratitude and defiance in his gaze, as if all this chaos was finally making sense. A wet laugh echoed through the room again.
“The only downside is that I'm again... ahem...”
Will curled his lips together, ready to burst out laughing.
“And who's to blame for this, hmmm?” Mike continued, biting him somewhere in the neck area. The laughter faded into a desperate groan of desire, after which Will heard only:
“That's better.”