Chapter Text
It feels surreal, like Mike’s split between two moments in time watching the same scene play out – Will with his arm out the window, riding the wind.
For a second he sees the boy he grew up with. They sit together in the back seat, driving home after a summer day at the lake. Will tilts his hand through the air like he’s steering it. Mike remembers wanting to copy him back then, sticking his hand out the window too. He remembers the way Will’s wonder at life made everything feel bigger, more fun.
Will has always done that to Mike’s world, made it more beautiful just by looking at it.
The memory fades and the present settles back in – it’s his Will sitting there in the passenger seat, glowing in the golden light of the hour before sunset, hair whipping in the warm highway wind while he sings along to the radio.
Mike grips the steering wheel a little tighter. How the hell is he supposed to hide this all weekend? He tries to remember how he used to act around Will before he became painfully aware of how hopelessly in love with him he is.
Mike reaches over and turns the radio down in the middle of the chorus.
“Hey!” Will protests, twisting in his seat.
“Will.” He glances over, giving him a look that’s half apologetic, half pleading. “I need a strategy.”
Will turns his whole body toward him and reaches over to rest a hand on the back of Mike’s neck. That’s not helping at all.
“Mike.”
“What?”
“We talked about this.”
“I know.”
“You’re just going to act normal,” Will says. “Like you’ve always acted around me.”
He groans, “I don’t know what that means anymore. I can’t remember.”
Will stares at him. “Mike. It’s been a week. You can’t remember last week?”
No, he can’t remember. Because last week he was a totally different person. Last week the entire shape of his life hadn’t shifted under his feet. Last week he wasn’t completely gone on Will Byers. Or at least he hadn’t realized it yet.
“I need like– actionable steps. ‘Act normal’ is too vague.”
Will sighs and reaches over to turn the radio down even quieter.
“Ok for one, stop staring at my mouth,” Will says.
Mike glances over at him automatically.
Will laughs. “See? That’s exactly what I mean. You’ve been doing it for years, but now it’s like…it’s a lot, Mike. People are gonna notice.”
“But I wanna kiss you,” Mike whines.
Will just laughs and rubs the back of Mike’s neck, slow and affectionate. That’s really not helping.
Mike exhales hard and looks back at the road just in time to catch a brown sign flashing past the trees.
Scenic Overlook – ½ Mile
He flicks on the blinker without another thought and turns off the highway.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m pulling over,” Mike says. “I need to kiss you.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes, I’m serious!” Mike insists. “We’re about to be surrounded by people.”
He pushes his sunglasses up and leans over the steering wheel, scanning the trees.
“I just need to get it out of my system,” he mutters.
He spots the overlook just ahead and swings the car into the gravel lot that’s mercifully empty. Mike throws it into park and cuts the engine. The sudden quiet fills in slowly with the thrum of cicadas and the sound of his own pulse.
Will looks at him, shaking his head. “You’re insane.”
“And whose fault is that?”
Will opens his mouth to answer, but Mike is already leaning across the console, capturing his lips in a kiss.
It doesn’t seem to matter that they’ve done this probably a hundred times already, it always has the same effect. It’s like his whole body wakes up all at once, a dizzying rush of warmth and buzzing nerves.
The armrest is digging into Mike’s ribs, but he can’t be bothered to fix the awkward angle. He just grabs the front of Will’s shirt and pulls him closer. Will’s hand slides up into his hair, fingers curling there, and Mike forgets every strategic thought he’d had about acting normal.
This is definitely not getting it out of his system.
Mike reaches blindly for the lever on the side of his seat, simultaneously trying to drag Will across the console and onto his lap. That’ll solve the problem.
Will makes a startled sound against his mouth before breaking the kiss with a soft laugh.
“Mike–”
Mike chases him for another kiss, catching him once more before Will manages to lean back out of reach. He presses a hand against Mike’s chest to keep him at bay.
“We’re already four hours late,” he says, a little breathless. “And that’s one hundred percent your fault.” He punctuates the accusation with a playful shove to Mike’s chest.
Mike groans and slumps back in his seat.
“Do I need to take over driving?”
No, that’s the worst possible plan. Because then Mike would have absolutely nothing else to focus on and he’d–
Oh.
Mike sits up a little straighter in his seat.
Will eyes him immediately. “You just had an idea.”
Mike keeps his face carefully blank as he restarts the engine.
“Tell me.”
“No.”
Will narrows his eyes.
“I’m saving that one for another time. Ok–” Mike lightly slaps himself in the face and takes a few steadying breaths. “I got this.”
***
They pull up to the house just as the sun is starting to sink toward the water, the horizon washed in orange and pink.
Will finishes his last-minute coaching. “Just be more miserable in general. You’ve been kinda…”
”…depressed?” Mike finishes for him.
“Yeah…and disinterested, lately. So people will notice if you’re suddenly happier than you’ve been in years after spending a week with me.”
Mike huffs out a quiet laugh. Anyone would be happy after the week he just spent with Will. Hell, he’s pretty sure he got laid more in the last six days than some people manage in a year.
“I can do that,” he says, nodding soberly.
Will smiles at him affectionately, “And just– keep your thoughts clean. I can read everything on your face. You’re not slick.”
Mike turns to him, tilting his head down. He drops his voice as deep as it can go.
“I find your lack of faith disturbing.”
Will snorts, and there’s a burst of laughter between them.
“Ooh,” Will says, grinning flirtatiously. “Now Force choke me when you say it.”
Mike’s laughter fades as an image flashes through his mind – Will riding him, mouth open, eyes dark and desperate, Mike’s hand around his neck.
“Why’d you say that, ughhh–”, he groans and drops his forehead against the steering wheel. The horn blares briefly but loudly.
They both freeze. Then they look up at the house. There’s movement inside.
A second later the front door swings open and people start pouring out onto the porch.
Will exhales through his nose. “Now you’ve done it.”
He unbuckles and climbs out of the car.
Mike stays where he is for a few seconds longer, staring at the steering wheel. He is absolutely not ready for this. But apparently it’s happening anyway. He drags a hand down his face and pushes the door open.
Maybe acting miserable won’t be so hard after all.
By the time Mike makes it around the car, Will is already being passed between Max and Lucas for hugs. Max is talking a mile a minute. Dustin barrels straight into Mike, nearly knocking the wind out of him. Then he pulls back and holds Mike at arm’s length, looking him over.
“Damn, took you guys long enough,” he says. “Car’s fixed then?”
Mike hesitates for half a second, almost forgetting. “Yeah.”
Mike may or may not have told Dustin he had to skip the planned stop at Princeton because his car broke down.
He barely has time to breathe before Steve pulls him into an even tighter hug.
“What was wrong with it?” Steve asks.
Mike opens his mouth. He should have thought of something. Shit.
“Car–” he stops.
Dustin and Steve both stare at him, waiting.
Mike blinks.
“Carburetor?” Steve offers.
“Yeah,” Mike says quickly. “That.”
“It took them a week to replace a carburetor?”
Mike shrugs helplessly. “They just kept finding new problems.”
Steve winces. “Shit, man. Hope you didn’t get ripped off.”
Mike gives a lopsided smile and shrugs again.
Jonathan steps out onto the porch, leaning against one of the posts.
“Alright,” he says. “Let’s let these guys get settled in.”
Mike and Will grab their bags from the backseat and follow the group inside.
The house they rented for the weekend reveals itself as they move through it – rooms branch off the hallway, a narrow staircase leads up to a loft, the entire first floor is one big open space.
It’s bright and airy in a way that feels completely foreign to Mike. Nothing like any house he’s seen in Hawkins – whitewashed walls and huge windows that look out toward the ocean, down a winding path off the backyard. It’s dark now, but he can still hear it, a constant restless presence beyond the glass.
“You’re in the last room on the right. Bathroom’s across the hall,” Jonathan tells them.
“Ok thanks. Is there food? We didn’t eat dinner,” Will asks sheepishly.
Mike’s stomach grumbles in response. It’s gotta be nine o’clock now, he can’t remember the last thing he ate. They were kinda…preoccupied trying to get out the door.
“Yeah,” Jonathan chuckles, his voice soft as he ruffles Will’s hair. “There should be some pizza left.”
Mike feels an unexpected surge of affection for Jonathan. He’s always been good to Will, looking out for him in that quietly steady older-brother way.
“And we’re making popcorn,” he adds as they walk away from him down the hall, “Probably gonna watch a movie before bed.”
“Ok we’ll join you in a few minutes,” Will calls back.
The room they step into is comically small. Just enough space for two wooden twin beds and a dresser with a mirror, barely any room to walk between them. There’s a closet in the corner, but the bed blocks it so badly, it’s impossible to open.
Will turns around just as Mike shuts the door behind them, and Mike immediately grabs his waist.
“Don’t shut the door,” Will hisses. “That’s so suspicious.”
Mike rolls his eyes and backs away, pushing the door open again with his hand behind his back. He drops onto the nearest bed. It creaks like it survived the Civil War. Perfect.
“What,” Will asks.
“Nothing.”
“Mike, it’s four days. You can survive four days,” he whispers.
Mike flops back and stares at the ceiling, pushing a long breath out through his nose. He knows he’s being melodramatic, but this sucks.
“I’m fine,” he says. “I’m in character.”
He meets Will’s gaze and flashes a grimacing smile.
Will breathes out a quiet laugh as he walks past and tickles the bottom of Mike’s socked foot. He jerks his leg away, kicking at Will’s hand like the miserable curmudgeon he is.
***
Mike steps into the main room and his eyes immediately find Will, curled up on the floor with a slice of cold pizza, talking animatedly to someone he doesn’t recognize. He grabs a slice of pizza from the box on the counter just as Dustin spots him.
“Mike,” he calls. “Come meet Emily.”
The girl sitting next to Will looks up. This isn’t a dig at Dustin – Mike knows perfectly well that Will is out of his league too – but she’s…surprisingly pretty. The kind of pretty Mike definitely wouldn’t have pictured when Dustin said she was in the physics program at Princeton. She has long black hair pulled into a loose ponytail, and there's a tiny silver ring through the center of her nose that gives her a cool, edgy look.
Mike drops onto the couch behind them, still holding his pizza.
Emily turns around and offers her hand, “The elusive Mike Wheeler.”
Mike laughs awkwardly and shakes it. “Hey. Nice to meet you. Sorry I had to bail on–”
They're interrupted by someone pressing a bowl of popcorn into her hands. Emily smiles like she’s about to say something else, but then the entire room’s attention shifts to Jonathan standing in front of the TV holding up two Blockbuster cases.
“Alright so, it’s between Dead Poets Society or When Harry Met Sally,” Jonathan announces.
Steve groans immediately. “Jesus Christ, dude.”
“What?”
“Dead Poets Society? What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Well don’t give anything away!” Jonathan complains.
Will perks up from the floor. “I’ve been wanting to see that.”
“Watch it some other time, ok?” Steve says. “Trust me.”
He gestures dramatically toward the other tape. “Let’s watch the rom-com. Come on, man. This is a wedding weekend.”
“What’s it about?” Emily asks innocently, not realizing she’s about to receive a full synopsis from a former Family Video employee. Mike’s just glad Robin isn’t here yet, or they’d never get the movie started. The night would turn into a full film discussion.
“It’s about two friends who take a stupidly long time to realize they’re in love,” Steve answers, “and it’s set in New York City, where apparently every romantic comedy has to take place.”
Mike stares at the back of Will’s head, wishing he’d turn around so he could see his eyes, share a knowing smile with him.
Lucas shrugs from the armchair with Max curled up in his lap. “Works for me.”
So they’re all in agreement, someone hits the lights and the movie gets popped into the VCR.
Mike would probably enjoy this movie under different circumstances, like if he and Will were tangled together on the couch sharing a blanket. Instead he’s sitting alone, boxed in by couples.
They’re not even doing anything over the top. Just leaning into each other. Quiet smiles, the occasional nudge and whisper – probably something like “aww, that’s us.”
Mike tries not to look, because it actually fucking hurts, but his eyes keep drifting to Will anyway. He’s sitting on the floor with his back against the couch, knees pulled up, one hand resting loosely beside him, close enough for Mike to reach.
Mike just wants to take it. Interlace their fingers lazily. Pull him back against his chest. Close enough to smell his shampoo. Close enough to press a kiss to the top of his head.
It’s such a small thing.
And he can’t have it.
On the screen, the main couple are in the middle of some weepy intimate moment.
Harry…could you just hold me a little longer?
Mike feels it come on suddenly, this nauseating mixture of anger and sadness. He can’t decide if he wants to scream or cry or punch a hole in the wall. He settles for leaving the room.
“I’m gonna go get some air,” he says quietly, to no one in particular.
Will looks up at him with soft, questioning eyes and Mike gives him a tight smile before looking away.
“Can’t handle a sex scene, Wheeler?”
He flips his middle finger at Max and heads for the backyard. Something catches the door just as he’s sliding it shut.
“Ok if I join you?” Jonathan asks, one hand on the door, the other holding a pack of smokes and a lighter.
Mike just raises his eyebrows and nods once.
***
He taps a cigarette halfway out of the pack and offers it to Mike, taking one for himself as he hands over the lighter. They take turns lighting up. Jonathan tucks everything into his back pocket, cigarette dangling from his lips, and gestures toward the dark stretch beyond the yard.
“Have you seen it yet?”
Mike shakes his head.
Jonathan jerks his chin toward the path. “C’mon.”
They head down the narrow trail that cuts through the dunes. Hydrangeas crowd the beginning of it, blue blooms catching the moonlight, and farther down the path tall beach grass leans in on either side, whispering in the wind.
Mike can hear the ocean before he sees it.
A low, constant roar.
The path opens and suddenly there’s nothing in front of them but sand and water stretching out into the dark. The moon hangs almost full overhead, silver light spilling across the waves. The tide rolls in and out in slow, endless lines.
For a minute they just stand there.
“So,” Jonathan says eventually. “How’d you like New York?”
Mike shrugs. “It’s…a lot.”
Jonathan laughs. “Yeah. Give it a year. The quiet starts feeling weird instead.”
Mike takes another drag, watching the waves roll in. “I decided I’m gonna transfer,” he says.
Jonathan glances over at him. “Yeah?” He bumps Mike lightly with his shoulder. “That’s great, man. I think you’re gonna love it.”
Mike smiles a little at that. He really likes Jonathan. When they were younger, he always saw him as Will’s cool big brother. But he wasn’t like a jerk or aloof the way big brothers so often are. He was sweet to them, always willing to play with him and Will when invited.
He's starting to realize they’re more alike than he ever noticed, or maybe he’s just grown into it. Jonathan’s a simple guy. Easy to be around. Mike likes that he doesn’t feel the need to perform around him.
They fall quiet again for a while, listening to the surf.
“You seem better.”
Mike looks over at him.
Jonathan flicks ash into the sand. “Will told me a few months ago he was worried about you. Said you seemed like you were…struggling.”
Mike huffs out a small breath of smoke. “Yeah.”
“He asked if I had any advice.”
Mike laughs under his breath. “Did you?”
Jonathan shrugs. “Mostly told him you’d figure it out.”
He glances at Mike again, expression easy but observant.
“But yeah,” he says. “You seem better.”
Mike looks back out at the ocean.
“I feel better,” he says quietly.
Jonathan blows out a slow stream of smoke into the breeze.
“Will can have that effect on people.”
Mike glances over at him.
Jonathan’s looking out at the ocean like he’s not thinking about anything in particular. For a second Mike tries to read him anyway, wondering if that comment meant something more than it sounded like. If maybe he knows something.
Jonathan flicks the last of the ash from his cigarette and drops it into the sand, grinding it out with the heel of his shoe.
“I’m gonna head back in,” he says.
Mike nods.
Jonathan gives him a small clap on the shoulder as he passes, heading back up the path.
Mike stays where he is.
He watches the ocean for a bit – the waves rise and fall in a slow, steady rhythm, like breathing – before he finally turns and starts back toward the house.
Mike slides the back door shut quietly behind him just as the credits start rolling across the TV.
There’s the overlapping sound of people stretching and grumbling, the disorientation that comes after a movie when it’s way later than anyone realized. They all step around each other in a sleepy dance, grabbing cups and blankets, calling out tired goodnights.
Mike ends up leaning against the wall outside the bathroom with Will while someone finishes inside. The door finally opens and they slip in one after the other.
Will leaves the door cracked behind them.
The bathroom is cramped, barely enough space for both of them at the sink, so Mike ends up a step behind Will, brushing his teeth while watching him in the mirror.
Will spits into the sink and lifts his head again. A little bit of toothpaste foam slides down the corner of his mouth.
Mike stops brushing. His mouth hangs open for a second, the toothbrush caught loosely between his teeth, and it’s stupid, but his heart rate kicks up a little at the sight.
Will notices. The corner of his mouth lifts in a small, knowing smirk.
Still watching Mike through the mirror, he leans down and spits again.
Mike’s breath hitches.
Will turns on the faucet and rinses straight from the stream of water, swishing before spitting one last time. When he shuts the tap off he finally breaks eye contact, grabbing a towel to wipe his mouth.
Will turns for the door. On his way past, he grabs Mike’s hand, the motion lifting it an inch before he gives it a quick squeeze and slips out into the hallway.
Mike’s hand drops back to his side, suddenly heavy.
He stares at himself in the mirror for another second, then quickly finishes up and hurries across the hall to their room.
Finally he's allowed to close the fucking door. He locks it for good measure.
***
Will is on the bed with his back to him, leaning forward to shove the window up a little higher. The curtain lifts and settles lazily in the breeze.
“Can you turn off the light?” Will’s voice is quiet, but not quite a whisper.
Mike reaches behind him and flicks the switch. The room falls into soft darkness, the only light now coming from the moon through the open window.
It takes three steps for Mike to cross the room, he stops beside the bed. Will doesn’t say anything, he just leans forward and wraps his arms around Mike’s middle, pressing his forehead against his torso. Mike exhales.
The house is quiet around them, the open window letting the night air drift through the room, cool and salty off the ocean. After hours of not touching each other, the closeness feels like relief. He runs his fingers slowly through Will’s hair.
Then Mike tips Will’s head back so he’s looking up at him.
“Am I allowed?” Mike asks, voice very low.
Will smiles and it makes Mike’s heart sing.
“Only if you behave yourself.”
Mike huffs a soft laugh.
He drops down onto his knees so they’re closer to eye level. “Promise–” he whispers.
Will leans down and presses their lips together softly.
“–to try,” Mike finishes deviously against Will’s mouth.
He gives Mike a light smack on the side of the head, but Mike can feel on his lips that he’s fighting a smile.
They kiss, and it feels like that first deep breath at the end of a tunnel, when you get to make your wish. Mike tries to move it to the bed.
Will pulls back and looks at him warningly.
“I just want to hold you.” Mike pouts.
Will lets out a hushed laugh, “I’m sure that’s all you want.”
“I’ll take more if I can get it.” He wiggles his eyebrows.
“Mike–” Will looks genuinely distressed at the thought. “No. There are people right next door.”
“Not yet. That’s Nancy and Robin’s room. I saw it, it’s still empty.”
Will pauses, watching Mike’s face as he slowly morphs into a pathetic puppy.
“Pleeeeease,” he whines, drawing the word out ridiculously long, a little too loudly.
Will immediately covers his mouth, one hand on the back of Mike’s head. “Stop it. Ok, fine. You can sleep here. Sleep.”
Mike grins like an idiot, very pleased with himself. He pushes all his weight onto the bed so he can hoist himself off the floor. The frame lets out a loud, conspicuous creak.
Will glares at him. “I’ll kill you.”
They both go still, listening.
The house stays quiet.
Mike exhales slowly and very carefully lowers himself the rest of the way onto the mattress, moving like he’s defusing a bomb. The bed lets out another tiny protest.
“Stop moving,” Will hisses, squeezing his eyes shut.
“How do you want me to get in the bed then? Levitation?”
It takes an absurd amount of time and a lot of bickering, but they finally manage to settle into the bed. It’s narrow enough that the only position they can reasonably lay in is Mike spooning Will. It's not ideal, considering he's supposed to be acting like a sleepy saint.
He's not a saint though – he's a nineteen year old boy, and obsessed with his boyfriend whose perfect ass is right there. Right up against him.
Will scoots back a little and the friction makes Mike’s breath hitch. Will notices and snickers quietly, rotating his hips just to tease him.
Mike groans a little. "You're evil."
"And hell-bent on torturing you."
Two can play at this game.
He waits until Will seems calm, his breathing slow and even like he’s trying to fall asleep. Carefully, Mike moves the hand resting on Will’s hip around to his stomach. He pauses. Nothing changes.
So he keeps going, shifting slightly and letting out a quiet breath like he’s just getting comfortable. He slips his hand under Will’s shirt and leaves it resting on his lower abdomen.
Will catches on immediately. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing. Just getting comfy,” Mike lies.
He waits a little longer before making his next move, letting just his fingertips brush under the waistband of Will’s boxers.
Will retaliates with another slow rotation of his hips, pressing back against him.
It’s really unfair.
Mike answers by running his hand across the bare skin of Will’s stomach, brushing up over his chest as he leans in and presses slow, hot kisses to the side of his neck.
“Mike,” Will breathes, already sounding turned on.
Mike keeps kissing his neck, letting his hand wander higher, lifting Will’s shirt with it. He traces up the column of his throat, slipping his hand out through the collar to cover Will’s mouth.
He leans in close to his ear. “We can be quiet.”
Will huffs out a breath against his palm. “Maybe you can. But we both know I can’t.”
Mike groans softly. His mind fills with the catalog of sounds he’s heard Will make over the last week. He’s starting to lose it. Whatever small amount of good sense he had is leaving him.
He wants to make Will loud. He doesn’t care if they wake the whole house. Anyone who complains is getting challenged to a fight to the death.
Will twists to look at Mike. “Bed's too loud,” he whispers, as if that settles it.
He’s right. Even if neither of them made a sound, there’s no way they can quietly do any of the things he’s imagining.
He misses their apartment. The neighbors must’ve heard them with the way Mike’s been putting Will through the mattress. But no one complains. New York is loud. You deal with it.
Mike closes his eyes and tries to force some of the blood back to his brain so he can think. After a few seconds, he taps Will on the shoulder.
“I have an idea.”
“Oh no. Not a Mike Wheeler idea.”
“I think you’ll like this one.”
Mike shifts forward, settling his weight over Will instead of beside him, one hand braced against the mattress near his shoulder.
Then he brings his other hand to his mouth.
And spits into it.
“Take your pants down for me,” Mike murmurs.
“Mike…”
“Mine too,” he adds quickly, laughing under his breath. “I got a little ahead of myself.”
He realizes he can’t actually do it himself, with one hand braced above Will, the other now holding a small puddle of spit.
Will shifts beneath him, obediently pushing his boxers down, and Mike lifts his hips just enough for Will to free him too.
It’s no surprise that they’re both already hard and leaking.
They fumble a little figuring out the angle. At first Mike sits back while Will’s legs stretch out straight, but it’s awkward, so Mike nudges him higher up the bed. Then Mike scoots forward and settles back on his heels so Will can drape his legs over Mike’s thighs.
Mike starts to move his hand down between them, but Will grabs his wrist.
“Wait.”
His eyes are heavy-lidded, pupils blown so wide they look almost black.
Still looking straight at Mike, Will fills his own mouth with saliva.
Then slowly – silently – he lets it drip into Mike’s waiting hand.
Jesus Christ.
A little of it still trails down Will’s chin. Mike slow-blinks.
For a second he almost forgets what he’s doing. Then Will lifts his oversized sleep shirt with one hand, exposing the flat plane of his stomach.
He wants to watch. The realization makes Mike’s head spin.
Mike’s hand is big enough to wrap around both of them at once, he reaches down and uses their mingled spit to slick them both.
Will’s head tips back and bumps softly against the headboard.
“Oh my god, Mike–” he moans quietly, but it’s still too loud.
Mike covers his mouth and Will lets out a muffled groan against his palm. Mike shifts his hand slightly, lifting it just enough to let Will breathe – but not enough that he couldn’t cover his mouth again if a sound slips out.
It’s so fucking hot. They’ve had sex so many times already, but this is making Mike dizzy – his ears are ringing, he feels his heartbeat everywhere at once.
He has to move agonizingly slow so the bed doesn’t creak, but there’s something about the forced control that makes it feel even better. And with every steady stroke, Will seems to unravel a little more.
He squirms beneath him. His voice coming out in the same ragged way, over and over, vibrating against the palm of Mike’s hand. Will’s eyes squeeze tightly shut, tears begin to leak from the corners. The sight of it almost makes Mike come.
Will’s trying so hard to stay quiet.
“Good, Will.” Mike whispers breathless against his ear. “You’re doing so good.”
Will whines at the words, still muffled by Mike’s hand. His eyes fly open for a second and meet Mike’s – wide and stunned – before losing focus entirely. They flutter, darting, rolling back as his entire body tenses and his orgasm crashes over him. Mike holds steady, catching the long, guttural sound that drags out of Will’s throat.
He has just enough sense left to bury his own face in the pillow before he groans and swears as quietly as possible, coming so hard it hits Will’s neck.
For a few seconds neither of them moves.
Mike’s forehead is pressed into the pillow, both of them breathing hard, trying to stay quiet even now. The house around them stays silent.
Eventually Will lets out a shaky little laugh into Mike’s shoulder.
“Holy shit,” he whispers.
Mike huffs out a breath that might be a laugh too. He shifts carefully, reaching blindly for the corner of the sheet to deal with the mess.
When they finally settle back down, Mike pulls Will against his chest, one arm wrapping around his waist. Will melts back into him immediately.
The sheets and blanket have that faintly sweet scent of their sweat now, something that probably only smells good to them. He shifts closer, nuzzling into the back of Will’s neck, breathing him in – warm skin and damp hair. It’s intoxicating to him.
“Are you sniffing me, you weirdo?”
“Yeah,” Mike sighs. “You smell comforting. Makes me sleepy.”
“Good." Will squeezes his hand and pulls it tighter across his chest. "Go to sleep.”
They drift off like that.
***
Seagulls calling distantly, bugs chittering in the grass below the window, waves crashing, faint voices, footsteps in the hall. Mike opens his eyes. He finds Will crushed up against the wall and lets out a quiet laugh.
He always does this, apparently even when there’s nowhere to go. At some point in the night he drifts as far away from Mike as the bed allows. Will loves falling asleep tangled together, but once he’s out he hates feeling hot and claustrophobic.
Mike could stare at a sleeping Will forever but he’s about to piss himself, so he works his way out of the bed as quietly as possible, trying not to wake him. He turns toward the door and catches sight of his own bed.
It’s still perfectly made, clearly not slept in, and compared to the disaster behind him, it’s extremely incriminating. He squishes his pillow and rumples the blanket a little. Still looks off but it's good enough.
Mike groggily shuffles across the hall toward the bathroom. The door opens just as he’s about to reach for the handle and Jonathan steps out, stopping short when he sees him.
“Oh– hey. I was just gonna try to wake you guys up.”
Mike rubs a hand over his face. “What time is it?” His voice comes out rough, the first time he’s used it today.
“Little after ten. Everyone’s heading down to the beach. Figured we’d spend the morning relaxing before we have to start getting shit done this afternoon.”
“Oh. Cool.” Mike nods once. “I’ll tell Will.”
Jonathan starts down the hallway, then pauses and taps a narrow door with his knuckles as he passes.
“Towels are in here.”
Mike gives him a small thumbs-up and pushes into the bathroom.
When he gets back to the room, Will hasn’t moved – he's still curled toward the wall, hair sticking up in every direction. Mike leans over the bed and presses a soft kiss to his temple. “Will,” he whispers.
Will makes a low, annoyed noise and swats blindly in his direction.
Mike smiles and tries again, another kiss on his cheek. “Will.”
Another half-asleep swat.
Mike knows what he has to do – he straightens a little, then bends back down and starts planting kisses all over Will’s face, wherever he can reach.
“Mmh–” Will tries turning his head away, but Mike keeps going. He finally cracks one eye open, glaring up at him with the most cartoonish grumpy expression Mike’s ever seen.
“Wanna go swimming?”
***
Mike doesn’t actually want to go swimming, so he stays on the beach. He stretches out on his stomach with his book open in front of him.
The late morning sun has started warming everything – the sand beneath his towel, the salty breeze, the dark hair on top of his head. Waves roll in and out in a constant rhythm.
Mike’s eyes drift over before he even realizes he’s doing it.
Will and Lucas are out past the break, taking turns with the boogie board. Will wipes wet hair out of his eyes, pushing it back with both hands before launching himself at the next wave. When he pops back up he’s grinning, bright and wide, laughing so loud Mike can hear it all the way from here.
God. He looks so good.
The sun has already deepened the tan across his shoulders. His hair is darker when it’s wet, curling slightly at the ends. Water runs down his neck, across his chest–
Mike lets out a quiet breath. His brain is extremely unhelpful. All it wants to do is replay last night.
The way Will looked under him. The sounds he made. The way his eyes–
“Your book that boring?”
Mike jolts.
Max is sitting under the umbrella a few feet away, knees drawn up, a copy of Wuthering Heights propped against them.
“Huh?”
“You’ve just been staring for like five minutes straight.”
Mike clears his throat. “I’m watching the waves.”
Max studies him for a second. Then she just nods and looks back down at her book.
Mike drops his gaze to his own.
He tries to focus on the page. Tries to immerse himself in a simpler world where clowns eat kids and there’s no one around to notice that you can’t stop staring at your secret boyfriend.
The waves keep rolling in. Will laughs again. Mike does not look up.
After a few minutes, Lucas and Will come running up in the sand. There's blood streaming down Will’s leg.
Mike’s stomach drops. “Oh my god– what happened?”
“I’m fine,” Will says quickly, breath a little uneven as he slows to a stop. “It looks worse than it is. I just wiped out and must’ve cut my knee on a shell.” He glances past Mike. “Jonathan, is there a first aid kit inside?”
“Yeah– let me– ” Jonathan starts to get up, but Mike is faster.
“I’ll help you. You’ve gotta disinfect that. The ocean is disgusting.” He’s already steering Will toward the path back to the house.
“In the linen closet!” Jonathan shouts from behind them.
“Grab the sunscreen too!” Max adds.
Lucas laughs and says something about how Mike is so dramatic.
He lifts a hand in a vague wave behind him. “Yeah,” he calls back. It works as an answer to all of them.
***
Mike is already thinking about it. Everything he’ll do once they’re alone. He gets Will into the bathroom and lifts him up onto the sink so he can look at his knee. It’s definitely overkill, but he doesn’t really care. He’s been dying to touch Will all morning.
“Gotta take care of this first,” he mutters under his breath.
He crouches down, trying to open the drawers beneath the sink, nudging Will’s legs aside so he can reach.
“Jonathan said the linen closet,” Will says, clearly amused.
Mike freezes for a second.
“Right.”
Will watches him the whole time.
Mike gently presses the wipe against the cut and Will winces.
“Sorry,” Mike says quickly.
Up close, the cut really isn’t that bad. It just looked worse with the seawater and the blood running down his leg.
Mike finishes cleaning it, carefully sticks the bandage in place, then finally stands.
He rests his hands on Will’s thighs and lets out a long breath, the last of the adrenaline draining out of him.
“Thank you,” Will says softly.
He’s looking at Mike with so much quiet affection it makes Mike’s chest tighten.
Mike doesn’t say anything. He just leans forward and kisses him.
Will sighs into the kiss, the sound breaking into a soft laugh against Mike’s mouth. He feels it travel down his throat and immediately expand into something dangerously hungry inside of him.
He deepens the kiss automatically, hands sliding to Will’s waist as his mouth trails down to his jaw, catching the faint taste of salt. Will tips his head back with a quiet moan.
Mike follows the line of his neck, slow and deliberate, pressing kisses along his sun-heated skin. Will’s hands slip into his hair, gripping lightly. Mike keeps going lower, until he’s between Will’s knees. He pauses there for a second, looking up.
Will’s eyes are half-lidded when they meet his.
“What are you doing?” he asks softly, voice already a little unsteady.
Mike doesn’t answer.
He just holds Will’s gaze and leans in again, pressing another kiss through the damp fabric of his swim trunks.
Will’s head tips back and knocks against the mirror behind him. Mike smiles.
God, they wind each other up fast.
He hears Will breathe his name. “Mike–”
There’s a soft thud out in the hallway, something hitting the floor.
They both go completely still.
For a second there’s nothing but the distant wash of the ocean through the open windows, faint voices from the beach.
Then–
The quiet sound of bare feet on hardwood followed by the unmistakable slide of the back door opening and closing.
“Shit.”
Mike peers out into the hallway.
Empty.
But the linen closet door across the hall hangs open, and a small avalanche of towels has spilled out across the floor.
Mike’s stomach drops.
He bolts down the hallway and presses up to the glass, squinting into the bright sunlight.
Mike almost misses it – already halfway down the sandy path, slipping below the dunes – the flash of wavy red hair whipping behind her in the wind.