Chapter Text
April 6, 2001
“Your friend-turned-traitor, Delvik Gloomroot, can no longer scamper away to carry your secrets to Tiamat. Bound by rope and gagged with the bard’s socks, he summons all his might to break free, and-” Mike exclaims before rolling a d20 for a strength check. His eyes twinkle at the result hidden behind the DM screen. “’Hummph-groffme-fu-‘ he cries, but it’s no use.”
“Suck it, Gloomroot!” Dustin cries.
Mike’s smile is borderline evil despite the fact that this NPC is cornered and restrained. He always has more tricks up his sleeve, but that’s not for the Party to know just yet. It’s already been such a good session, and the rest of the weekend will be even better.
He even plans to tell them the truth about himself at the end of the night once they’re inevitably too buzzed to continue the game.
“What do you do?”
“Now’s a good a time as ever, right?” Will asks the other two men at the table.
The pendant lights hanging over it are warm and moody, casting shadows over the beer bottles, battle miniatures, and dice littered there. The perfect ambience for an interrogation.
Dustin and Lucas nod enthusiastically, so Will pulls out a handful of decorated scrolls from a bag on the floor. The ones Erica picked up from the Renaissance Fair—it was a great gag gift, the stack of finely decorated homebrewed spells. Some girl dressed as a wench sold the stack of them to her for five bucks.
In fine print at the bottom of each scroll lays a disclaimer: Not associated with TSR or Wizards of the Coast. Use with Discretion.
“Zone of Truth,” Will declares before clearing his throat to read the amended description. “You create a magical zone that guards against deception. A creature that enters the spell's area must make a Charisma saving throw. On a failed save, a creature can't speak a deliberate lie.”
“That sounds almost exactly like the real D&D version,” Dustin interrupts. “What’s the catch?”
“Let me finish, Bard,” Will says with a pointed glare. “Additionally, an affected creature is open to suggestions and commands where it would otherwise evade telling the truth and makes all Charisma checks with disadvantage. The spell’s effects are permanent or until the spellcaster dismisses it.”
“Holy shit,” Lucas mutters. “This is a gold mine. Should we save it for Tiamat? We can only use the scroll once.”
Save it, Mike thinks as his eyes flitter observantly between the Party. It’ll be useless then.
“His charisma will be way too high to fail the saving throw,” Will complains. “This is our only shot.”
Of course. He should’ve known.
Will looks to him with wide, hopeful eyes, seeking approval from his Dungeon Master to cast this ridiculous spell. He knows better than to think the silent plea is innocent. The cleric will do anything for his Party and that includes derailing every last plan of his along the way.
No. I have to put my foot down. These aren’t standard edition spells.
But then Will takes it a step further. Something nudges Mike’s ankle, just a light tap that sends a shiver racing up his legs and straight to his groin. Will throws in a cherry on top of his Please, Dungeon Master sundae, biting his bottom lip and blinking a few times.
He’s playing dirty. It’s working.
Conflict roars through him; his inner DM tells him this is way too overpowered, that the campaign will be over in an hour if Gloomroot fails this saving throw. They’re only two hours into the adventure that should last all weekend. He’d carefully curated his session plans down to the hour, only allowing breaks for sleep and meals.
The gnome not only has key information about other upcoming combat plans but the location of the gate to the Nine Hells too. Then there’s the fact that if he fails, Mike can’t not commit—they’d rightfully earn whatever it is they can glean from the poor fucker. Rules are rules.
The other part of him that’s actually considering this, the one he’s safely tucked away since the last time he saw him a year ago, is eager to give Will the Wise whatever he wants. Last summer, really, but time always seem to stretch itself into longer bouts in his memory when they don’t see each other.
And that day… was awkward at best. Not Mike’s proudest moment, the way that night ended. He could make up for it now.
Of course that’s the part that wins out. He just tells himself this is for the Party. There’s no fun in magic if it can’t be used.
Nothing to do with Will’s hair that curls at the edges of his ear, slightly glistening and sweaty from the intensity of their last combat. It’s not his forearms either, tan and lean and so fucking sexy.
He just wants to be a good Dungeon Master. A good friend.
When Mike gives him a small nod, Will beams and curls the scroll back into his fist. “You’re the best. Alright, then. I cast Zone of Truth. You’re move, Michael.”
A shiver rolls down Mike’s spine at the provocative mention of his own name instead of the NPC’s, pulling him out of focus. Will leans over his character sheet and bites the edge of his pencil in anticipation. His necklace dangles in front of his chest, demanding Mike’s eyes to look at the smooth skin above the V of his shirt.
Fuck.
“Did you need something else before you roll, Dungeon Master? Or are you just gonna keep us strung out and waiting all night?” Will asks. It’s playful, teasing in an innocent way.
And yet. He’s already defiled Will in his mind thousands of times over the years. Will the Wise, though? The honorable, protective cleric who would do anything for his Party?
Jesus Christ.
Mike shakes his head, forcing himself back to the task at hand. This roll has to be good—the gnome’s charisma is shit. Minus two.
He picks up a black d20, shaking it in his hand for a moment before he’s overcome with a sense of dread. No, that die is bad. The yellow one is luckier today, much better for a saving throw like this one.
The die clinks across the table, practically rolling in slow motion before coming to a halt in the center.
“Yes!” Will cries, throwing his head back in a maniacal cackle and stretching his legs under the table.
Of course. Critical fucking failure.
Gasps echo around the table and at first, Mike’s too busy hanging onto his words to notice the sudden rustle of wind floating through Will’s apartment. Then he realizes it’s no longer Will’s reaction making him shiver but a swirl of shimmery, yellow sparkles floating around him, tickling his arms and sighing in whispers.
Submit, it tells him.
He ceases all control with a shudder. Like there was ever a choice.
His limbs are looser, the pulse in his temples from hours of focus dwindles to a faint ache. He doesn’t have to be in charge now.
The golden shimmers dust over his skin, pulling him away from coherent thought until there’s only the goosebumps trickling their way to his neck and jaw, reprieving him of the heat there.
The warm breeze is encouraging, safe, and if he just closes his eyes—yes, that’s so much better now that they’re fluttered shut—he might as well be standing on the beach like he did last August, inhaling the scent of sunscreen and digging his toes into the sand. The breeze picks up and it’s the most natural feeling for it to gently toss his hair around, to not fight it when the edges tickle his ears as they flow with it.
Meanwhile, panicked debate echoes around the table. It might as well not be happening to him, it’s so secondary when all there is to feel is this. He wants, oh God, he needs to tell them, like he planned—
“What the hell! Did someone bring a glitter bomb?”
“Are you guys seeing this?!”
“Where the hell did your sister get these scrolls, Sinclair?”
“I don’t know—Mike! Are you okay?”
The sound of his name breaks through to him and he snaps his head to Lucas, eyes flying wide open.
“I’m okay,” he spurts out. He wants to keep going, he has to. “I’ve just been feeling a little nervous about today. But this- this is good. Really good.”
“Dude.” Dustin’s eyes are wide open in shock, pointing to the sparkles still swarming around Mike, licking against his skin.
Skin.
Will’s skin is nice.
Lucas gasps, “What the hell did you just say?”
Fuck fuck fuck. Did I just say that out loud?
“Yes, you fucking said it out loud! You sound like a serial killer,” Dustin laughs.
“Shit,” Will mumbles. His skin erupts in the sweetest blush, crawling up his neck and ears and cheeks. “Mike—I’m so sorry, I don’t know what’s in this scroll, I should dismiss it-“
“No!” Lucas and Dustin cry out in unison.
Dustin continues, “This is the best thing that could’ve possibly happened! We can’t waste this opportunity now, just look at him!”
Mike almost feels like he’s underwater, like he’s drowning in the shimmery spell and Dustin and Lucas’ laughter. But then he looks back to Will and all he can think is one thing.
You’re so fucking-
His body must have other plans because his fingers pinch his arm in an attempt to stop the thought.
“I- I don’t know, I- ugh. Fuck!” he shouts, wide eyes darting around the table. “What’s happening?”
“Holy shit,” Lucas says. “It broke you, man. You’re in the Zone of Truth!”
“Obviously!” Mike shouts. It’s a bittersweet mix, the embarrassment flaming on his ears and the serene, calming effects of the spell hugging him everywhere.
“Seriously, Mike, look at me,” Will demands and he can hear his neck crack with the sheer force he uses to oblige. “I can dismiss it. If you want. I have the power to control it.”
Mike shudders, using every ounce of fortitude he has left to keep his thoughts to himself. It takes a few moments just to focus on his breathing, to remember that he’s not completely at their mercy. Just highly suggestable and unable to lie. He’s no longer drowning, just treading the shimmery waters, head above the surface. He can do this.
Testing, he thinks.
“Did you hear that just now? My thoughts?”
He lets out a whiney exhale when they all shake their heads. Okay. Good.
Look at me. I have the power. Look at me. I have the power. Look at me. I have the power—
Will’s words play on a loop in his mind, swirling around until nothing else is left. They feed the heat pooling in his stomach, that loud, secondary hunger that rivals his desire to be a compliant target of the spell.
Battle plans with Tiamat’s cronies? Abandoned in a ditch. Running a contested ability check? He doesn’t know how to do that. Answering their questions without spilling his guts? Impossible. Definitely impossible.
The instant Will said those words it left his blood practically boiling; he might as well have leaned a hand under the table and grabbed a fistful of his dick through his pants, the way he said it. Powerful. In control.
Dominating.
It’s a crumb compared to what Mike’s imagined over the years. The taste of it leaves him starving for more. Would that assertiveness go away if he told Will to dismiss the spell?
He doesn’t want to find out.
“No, it’s, um. It’s… it’s okay,” Mike says, looking down at his lap, cheeks fucking flaming. “Maybe… it’s like a game. I don’t have anything to hide.”
Except he does. He’s been a certified liar since he was eighteen years old and went off to college, only realizing then how gay and in love with Will he was. But it was too late—they went to different colleges. Will always had a boyfriend. And when he didn’t, Mike… didn’t know what to do then either.
Tonight is supposed to be different though. He wants to tell them. It’s time.
You turn thirty years old tomorrow, he tells himself. You’re not gonna spend another decade hiding.
“Seriously. It’s fine,” he squeaks out; his voice once deep and playful from the game’s roleplay turns cracked and pathetic as he looks back to Will. “Maybe I can cast a spell on you after.”
Dustin snorts. Mike didn’t mean for it to come out like that, he’s just confused, dangling at the mercy of his already half-hard dick. What the hell is he supposed to say?
“So,” Lucas says from the other side of the table. “Let the interrogation begin, Dungeon Master. My first question is a very simple one. Tell us all about Tiamat’s horde of riches. The relic is there, right?”
“The horde is in Avernus just west of the River Styx,” Mike blurts out. Now that his lips are moving he can’t stop himself from continuing. Lucas’ suggestion demands it. “Bahamut’s is there too. More than you can imagine. The relic you seek. It- it’s there.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Lucas laughs in delight before turning to Dustin and Will. “How should we do this, boys? One at a time? Go around the table?”
“I like the way you think. But I don’t want more any campaign spoilers!” Dustin says.
He strokes his chin, taking his time to come up with something. His casual, focused demeanor is a truck’s headlights, and Mike? He’s the deer.
“Why don’t you reach out to us anymore, Wheeler? Too good for us now?”
Mike winces at his words despite the fact that he’s absolutely right.
Things were good for a long time. They all actually stayed in touch for years, even after college. If this was another night he’d blame the distance. He doesn’t live on the east coast like them. Yeah, Chicago isn’t that far, but he’s busy. They all are.
It’s bullshit. Obviously. And that’s the thing about Zone of Truth—no bullshit allowed.
“I’m insecure,” Mike admits. It comes out more easily than he anticipates. “I get scared you guys have moved on, I guess… That you’ve outgrown the version of me you know. And… I just felt bad after, uh, last August. I ruined everything.”
There. He was careful—the version of me you know is a nice, little workaround. He avoids mentioning anything else about the real Mike, putting it like that. His big reveal doesn’t have to happen right this second. He can ease them into it.
And they might not know the extent of what happened last summer, Dustin and Lucas, but he prays the lingering awkwardness will keep them off his case about that too.
Despite the fact that it’s Dustin’s question, he’s looks to Will for his reaction. His frown deepens by the second.
“Oh, bud,” Dustin’s voice softens. “Of course we haven’t outgrown you. We just miss you. And I won’t speak for you two, but I just figured you needed space. Maybe made other friends in Chicago.”
Mike barks out a laugh at the suggestion. Sure, he’s made some other friends in the decade he’s lived in Chicago. But it’s not the same as his childhood friends, the ones he went to the Upside Down and back with. They saved the world together for Christ’s sake. They lost El together.
Just like none of the men he’s met at clubs and rec leagues are Will.
As his laughter settles, something lifts. The spell is still there, surely, but it’s less suffocating. He no longer has to tread choppy waters but can float at the surface. It’s more enjoyable now, a tingly buzz, the kind that makes him happy to entertain any suggestion or whim. The shimmers settle, nearly out of sight but lingering deep inside him, coursing through his bloodstream.
“This is the Party,” Mike says simply. “That’s it for me.”
“Cheers to that,” Lucas replies, holding his beer bottle out in a suggested cheers. They clink their drinks together and the chime of the glass is comforting. They’re not here to bully him or torture him. They just miss him.
Before he can allow silence to take hold of the room, he speaks up, maybe too eagerly. “Will?”
Mike can see the nerves evidenced by the way Will peels the sticker off the beer bottle and delicately twists it between his fingers.
God, his fucking hands. What he wouldn’t give to have them everywhere.
“Why didn’t you come to my thirtieth?”
Right. Just two weekends ago they all gathered to celebrate for a weekend. Not just the boys but Max, Jonathan, Nancy, and Robin too. There was no D&D involved; from Lucas’ recap it sounded like there was much more alcohol and fresh air involved. Mike said he was busy, but—
“I didn’t want to go,” Mike says. “Shit, I mean, I did. But I didn’t want to see him.”
Will’s eyes narrow on him. He already knows, but he asks anyway. “Who?”
“Your boyfriend,” Mike says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
Will flushes at his words.
“What the hell does that mean? You’ve never even met Mikey,” he says, and Mike snorts, because come on. He couldn’t even find a boyfriend that didn’t share a name with him? It’s not like everyone else thought it was normal either. He’s not crazy. “Maybe if you gave him a chance, you’d actually come to find you’re pretty similar, you’d probably like him-”
“I wouldn’t,” Mike interrupts. “I know I wouldn’t. I’m…”
Sorry can’t escape his lips. That would be a lie.
“Whatever,” Will scoffs.
Lucas shifts forward, eyeing the two of them. It’s smug. Maybe a little too knowing. “So what’s your dating life like these days?”
“Nonexistent.”
“What? No way, man,” Lucas says, sitting back in disbelief. “I mean, you look good! Why not?”
“Nobody else piques my interest,” he explains. “It’s like… I’m always looking for someone that’ll fit exactly what I need. They’re not in Chicago.”
Chairs squeak as they all scooch closer to the table, leaning in to take in his words. The time for waiting their turn is over—Mike can feel the way the three of them wind back, ready to pounce.
“Are you getting laid, at least?” Dustin asks.
Mike groans. “No, I, um. I’m not.”
Will’s turn. His question isn’t deliberate; more of a surprised reaction than anything else. “Really?”
“Yep,” Mike says. He can’t be bothered to feel too embarrassed right now, not when Will is suddenly showing interest in hearing about his sex life.
“How are you living like this, Wheeler?” Lucas demands. “When was the last time you hooked up with someone?”
“Nnn- ugh.” Mike bites his tongue, hard, to try and suppress the answer. It slips out anyway. “Never.”
“Never?!” The other three all shout in unison. Dustin adds, “Not even in college?”
It’s technically true, but the context swirls in the pit of his stomach, coming up, up, up until he word vomits.
“No, not then, but- shit. I do get off. With people,” he admits. “But not directly.”
Back to drowning. He resisted too much.
Dustin crumbles up a spare piece of notebook paper and throws it at him. “Oh, Mike. Mike, Mike, Mike. You can’t say shit like that and not elaborate. Pray tell, getting off, but not directly?”
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath. He tries to keep it in, but a tug yanks the words right up his throat and out of his mouth. “It’s not like it’s often. Just sometimes. But I have trouble, you know, finding people to connect with. It’s easier, when… when they just let me watch.”
“Holy shit! This is so much better than D&D,” Lucas cackles.
Dustin chimes in, pointing across Will’s living room to a tasteful, blue accent chair. “Will’s got you all set up, buddy. What do ya say, Byers? Can Mike use your cuck chair this weekend? He only turns thirty once!”
Mike squeezes his eyes shut, completely fucking mortified at the fact that he just admitted that. He really only did it twice. Well, three times. Then there was that other time when a couple watched him, but that doesn’t count since it was the other way around.
“I have issues, okay?” Mike blurts out. “With repressing myself. It’s… I’m working on it.”
He dares to sneak a glance at Will who’s almost goddamn blue in the face as he stares blankly at the chair across the room.
“Will.” Dustin snaps his fingers, bringing his attention back to the table.
“Right, um. You don’t have to work on it, if it works?”
Another tug pulls through him now, but not so he can speak. It yanks downward from his chest into the bottom of his stomach, a shove that tells him that he wants to answer but he needs more to go off of.
“Is that a question?”
“No, I guess not. You said it gets you off,” Will says casually, but he still noticed the way his hand twitches against his drink at the mention of it. Mike wishes his hands would twitch its way over to him, right around his cock. He winces—yep, fully hard now, hard and fucking aching. “Is it really a problem? If it works?”
It takes a lot of effort to swim beyond the blazing ache deep inside him to respond, but the spell helps guide him there eventually. “It… it works. But I don’t want it with strangers. I’d like… something more personal. Someone who knows me well. Like… they’d know me better than anyone.”
The spell isn’t satisfied with his explanation. His next works tumble out of his mouth. “It would work if they let me watch them. Fuck. Sorry. This is embarrassing.”
Lucas looks to Dustin, giving him a look that says, “Didn’t need to know that.”
“Alright, we get it,” Lucas says. “Is there someone? A girl you’d like to date?”
“Yes there is. But no.”
Lucas snorts, looking back to the other two in amusement. “Are we sure this spell is working? That’s not really a straight answer, Mike.”
“It’s the truth,” Mike insists. “But you’re right. It’s not… a straight answer.”
Dustin stands, making way for the fridge to grab another round of drinks. His movement pulls Mike’s gaze, ready to listen in case he has a question.
The open concept room is tastefully decorated. Of course it is; it’s Will’s. Paintings hang on the wall, the plants are perfectly hydrated and green, the countertops are clean with minimal clutter.
Then there’s the inviting, comfy couch and that fucking chair.
It’s an effort to drown out the buzz of the city outside the windows—a mere distraction should more questions arise.
Four bottles clink in Dustin’s arms as he shuts the fridge door behind him. “Talking in riddles now, then.”
Will reaches for a bottle first, twisting off the cap quickly to take a gulp. He looks like he needs it. He looks to Mike as he swallows.
He used to be able to read his best friend’s thoughts, he thought, but those days are long gone. Will’s eyes are intense, focused. It feels so good to be the sole object of his narrowed line of sight, even if Mike can’t pinpoint exactly what’s happening behind those twinkling hazel eyes. It’s scorching a blaze only passing between them for a moment.
Mike feels the beating in his heart, thump, thump, thumping against his shirt. It’s not erratic, just strong and present. Will’s eyes soften after a moment, like he’s really taking in the position he’s in. It suddenly feels like whatever’s been off with them this past year floats away. All that’s left is their shared eye contact and the weight of that burden lifting off his shoulders.
“It’s not a riddle,” Mike says, cautious with his words. He takes a deep breath in and exhales it along with his fear of their judgement. Of course they won’t judge—they’ve always been accepting of Will, even when they were all shithead teenagers.
“Like I said. It’s not straight.”
Will chokes. A stream of beer bursts from his mouth, spraying over his character sheet as his eyes go wide in shock.
“Finally,” Mike grumbles. “Knew you’d get it first.”
Lucas rolls his eyes. “Consider this me invoking the suggestion part of the spell. Speak plainly, please.”
“I’m not straight. Women don’t do it for me. I like dick, y’know, in a gay way,” Mike deadpans. “Is that plain enough for you?”
Dustin and Lucas shoot out of their chairs in shock.
“What?!”
“Hell yeah!”
“No fucking way-“
They turn to each other, jumping and smiling, and Mike can’t help but giggle at the sight of his friends so happy for him. A blanket of warmth falls over him through his arms and chest and everywhere in relief that it’s finally out in the open.
Arms wrap around him from both sides as Dustin and Lucas wrap him in a tight hug. It’s smothering, sitting here in his chair while they descend from either side.
“When did you realize?” Lucas asks from above.
“College. Freshman year.”
“What, nobody in Hawkins did it for you?” Dustin laughs, giving him a playful slap on the back.
Mike laughs as he looks up to his friend. “No, there was someone. I was just too blind to see it.”
“Was it me?”
“Dustin, you can’t just assume that,” Lucas bites back, leaning over Mike’s head to smack Dustin on the shoulder. “Besides if there was someone, it was obviously Will.”
When they pull away, Mike realizes over the noise of their bickering that Will hasn’t said anything. His eyes are suddenly shy as they peruse across the table, studying the loose dice and snack wrappers and empty bottles.
“Ah, shit. I owe Max fifty bucks for this.”
Then, when the anticipation is too much to bear, he looks at Will.
“No way, that was over seven years ago! Just don’t remind her about the bet when she finds out.”
Will is staring. There’s a mix of emotions on his face but when he realizes Mike’s looking back at him, they vanish.
“Lucas, help me cut the cake—we need to celebrate now!”
His eyes have a twinkle in them now, glowing and bright. More green than hazel in this lighting. Then, a soft smile. “I’m really happy you told us, Mike. I can only imagine it’s harder, doing it now. I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks. It feels good to finally get it off my chest,” he murmurs back. Low enough for this to stay between them as their other friends talk animatedly in the kitchen as they prepare the dessert. After everything… after last summer especially. He didn’t combust for coming clean beyond a drunken, pitiful attempt at a conversation. “It feels good… making you proud.”
Will quirks a brow in question. “Yeah?”
Mike nods eagerly. “Yeah. There were so many times… times I wanted to tell you over the years. And—look, I’m really sorry about-“
“You don’t have to explain. And just forget about last summer. It’s fine, Mike. Really. Everyone’s on their own time. I mean, yeah, I would’ve been thrilled to hear it when we were teenagers, but you’re here now,” Will says, smiling brightly.
He leans back in his chair and Mike’s eyes can’t help but follow the hem of his shirt as it rises with his stretch, to the skin that was hiding underneath it before. It sounds so easy for him to mention everything that happened when they were sixteen, like it’s ancient history.
Of course it is. He’s happily dating Mikey now. The stupid fucker.
He would’ve been thrilled, Mike thinks, eager to hang onto the more positive connotation of his words.
Of course Mike knew about his crush on him back then. As if he didn’t replay all the memories every day when he got to college, the subtle signals Will sent in the two years he lived in his parents’ basement. That’s when he realized he’d subconsciously flirted back all along. It was almost too easy, too natural not to. There was nothing to question—it was just them.
And now here they are, so many years later. No longer boys.
Mike watches with intent focus as Will takes a sip of his beer. When his lips wrap around the edge of the bottle neck, Mike’s own lips part.
A drop escapes the corner of his mouth, trickling down his chin and sticking to his bobbing throat as he swallows.
Mike’s tongue swells with the desire to lick the expanse of his neck, to kiss him there until he feels his pulse hot against his mouth. Then he’d move down, kissing and licking until-
“Mike,” Will says, his words barely registering with his exhale.
Mike looks back up to his eyes, narrowed and focused and God dammit, he’s fucking hard, still. It only gets worse when Will’s eyes narrow with intensity matches his own.
Will’s words are a whisper, barely audible over the chatter in the next room over where their friends bicker about where the plates are. “Do you… do you really like watching that much?”
Mike blinks. It takes a moment to process his words. The heat in his cheeks signals the exact moment the words register.
“Yeah,” he practically gasps. “Yes. I like it.”
Suddenly he imagines it, watching Will right now.
He’d strip himself first, down to his briefs. Slow, teasingly, never daring to look away.
Then he’d swipe a hand over the table, clearing off the notes and dice tray and DM screen in one swoop before hopping on the edge of it, leaning back and planting a hand against the table for support. Splayed out right in front of him, thighs parted, cock straining against his briefs; close enough to touch if he reaches out.
Mike wouldn’t. Not until Will tells him to.
“You want me to touch myself?” He’d say. When Mike would nod, he’d laugh. “Beg.”
And fuck, Mike would beg. He’d bark like a fucking dog if it meant Will let him watch while he touches himself.
He’d trace his collarbone first, trailing his fingers down, down while his eyes stay glued to Mike’s lips, the same way he’s looking at them right now.
Mike licks them, eager as ever to do something with his mouth. He can’t even spare a thought to wonder what Will is thinking right now, not when he’s getting to the good part of his own fantasy.
Will would shiver when the lightest touch tickles his stomach, flicking the trail of hair below his navel. And his briefs be would be unbelievably tight, stretching more and more as his—
Will clears his throat. The sound snaps Mike out of his fantasy, the way he was clearly eye fucking him as he imagined it all.
“It’s not polite to stare,” Will points out.
Mike’s head swirls in a daze, too clouded by his fucking hormones to conjure more than one word. “Sorry.”
“You were thinking about something,” Will says. His voice is calm. Still in control.
Mike shudders. It barely feels like it’s the spell pulling his response to the surface. His own desire is too hot, too consuming to even entertain the thought of magic.
“Yes.”
“Do you want to tell me what it was?” Will asks, as if the look on his face doesn’t completely give away that he obviously knows.
“Yes,” Mike admits. “But I don’t… I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.“
Will considers his words. He grabs a d20, absentmindedly rolling it between his thumb and index finger. “Maybe I want to ask anyway. Let’s roll for it.”
“I already have to tell you the truth if you ask,” Mike says.
“True,” Will smiles. “But this is more fun, right? A proper persuasion check?”
“Okay,” Mike breathes out. “I’m- I’m still the DM, so… You roll for persuasion. Let’s say the Difficulty Class is ten. That’s fair, right?”
It might as well be a five, hell, maybe even a two. Mike’s too eager, too fucking desperate to not be persuaded by any suggestion of his.
“Alright,” Will says, spreading his hand out over the table to gently clear some space.
Mike can’t quite see. The DM screen is blocking his view.
“Hang on.”
He gets up, walking over to stand behind Will’s chair to get a better view. Mike feels so dizzy, nearly wobbling on his unsure feet as he leans in. To steady himself he places a hand on Will’s right shoulder for support.
Mike doesn’t step in closer now because he’s lightheaded; he just wants to. Has to. His right shoulder presses into Will’s back as he settles in.
“Go ahead,” he murmurs over his shoulder.
Will picks up a sparkly blue d20 and shakes it in his hand. Shakes it more. And more, and Jesus Christ, what the hell is he waiting for?
“Please,” Mike says. It comes out desperate, like he’s not a DM asking his player for an ability check at all. “Roll it already.”
Will stops shaking the die. Instead, he slowly turns his head to look towards him. When their eyes meet, he smirks, as if to say I’ll roll when I feel like it.
He thinks of the last time he and Will were this close. Last summer.
Mike swallows, suddenly shy and overwhelmed by the heat in the eyes looking up at him. He almost withdraws, but Will turns back around and releases the d20 onto the table before he can.
Just as there’s a hitched breath and a die clattering on the table, he tightens his grip on Will’s shoulder to cope with the suspense.
This is a mistake. He has a boyfriend.
It’s too late—the die rolls and rolls until it doesn’t. Will groans before reading the result.
“Nine.”
Panic floods through Mike. He wasn’t exactly sure if he even wanted him to succeed the check but at the sound of Will’s disappointment, he realizes he absolutely wants to tell him what he was thinking. So badly.
“Wait-“ Mike starts, not sure where he’s going with this. His eyes search the table as if it has the answers.
His eyes land on Will the Wise’s character sheet. Bingo.
“You, uh, you have a plus one to Persuasion,” Mike points out. “You passed it.”
Heat radiates off of him, or maybe from his friend sitting below. They’re too close to tell.
“I’ll be right back,” Will says before promptly getting up.
Mike can’t help but look at his crotch as it moves closer to eye level. “Um. Yeah, no problem.”
When Will walks into his bedroom and closes the door behind him, he finally releases the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Jesus Christ.”
He has a problem. A very big, achingly hard problem.
The lights over the table flicker out. Footsteps alert him—he looks, suddenly disappointed as he realizes it’s not Will returning from wherever he ran off.
Dustin walks towards the table with a cake topped with way too many lit candles to be safe. Lucas is hot on his trail, still laughing from their conversation in the kitchen.
“Alrighty, on three, boys!” Dustin shouts, placing the cake on the table. “One, two—wait! Where the hell did Will go?”
“I don’t know—he left,” Mike says as he sinks back into his chair.
Fuck, did I scare him off?
“Sorry,” Will shouts from around the corner before emerging in the room. “Something came up, um. You guys have to go.”
“What?!” Lucas shouts.
Dustin is even louder, pouting as he yells, “But the cake-”
Will walks to the table in a few sure steps and leans over the back of Mike’s chair as he looks to the other two. He can’t see him—not when he’s preening with fucking embarrassment for thinking so hard with his fucking dick. Idiot.
“We’ll have the cake tomorrow,” Will tells them. “Lucas, Dustin, you need to go. I’m sorry.”
“Dude!” Lucas scoffs. “Where the hell is Mike supposed to go?”
He finally looks up, daring a glance at Will as he hangs over his shoulder. A firm handle settles there. Squeezes.
“We’ll figure it out,” Will says, voice filled with an authority he doesn’t recognize. “Go hang out with Max. She’s probably out right now.”
“But—”
“Get out.”
Lucas and Dustin look to each other in shock, clearly just as surprised as Mike to hear Will talk like this.
It only takes another minute for them to grab their jackets and upon second thought, Dustin circles back to grab the cake, candlewax dripping onto the frosting.
“Fine, asshole,” Dustin shoots at Will. “But I wanted cake. I’m taking the fucking cake.”
“Okay,” Mike says, voice practically squeaking with surprise. He has no idea what’s happening.
He can’t wait to find out.
When Will shuts the door and locks it, Mike finally lets out a breath and stands up. He’s restless, can’t bear this another second.
The chair groans as he pushes it back further to squeeze between it and the table. “What the hell was that?”
Creak. Creak. Creak.
Floorboards whine under Will’s steps as he carefully approaches and stops a few feet away. Looks down, lingers. Looks back up. Mike’s cock twitches against his jeans.
“I told myself there were two potential outcomes when I made the persuasion check,” Will breathes out, eyes narrowed. Predatory. “I passed.”
Mike gulps. A Dungeon Master no more. Outcome indiscernible.
“Yeah? What’s the outcome then?”
“Well,” he says, stepping forward to close the gap between them. Mike shivers when a finger traces his ear. His eyes flutter shut when hot breath tickles him there too. “I called Mikey. I told him things aren’t working out.”
Mike pulls back, only so he can look at him. “They’re not?”
“No,” Will shakes his head. “They stopped working the second you called for the check.”
“Oh.”
An arm wraps around his waist, pulling him in till their bodies are flush against one another. It’s unmistakable, the hardness pressing against his own. Mike bites his lip, desperate to cage the whine rising quickly.
“Yeah. Oh,” Will smiles.
It’s full of promise that Mike couldn’t be more ready for. Then, a hard shove pushes him away.
“Get on the chair, Mike.”