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There are certain conversations Will never wishes to have in his life.
In the oppressive humidity of the Hawkins summer season, the cabin’s atmosphere seems thicker than ever, every breath a struggle. Will can feel the beads of sweat pooling in the dip of his collarbone, the uncomfortable tackiness of his hands gripping equally sweaty skin.
First of all, coming out to his family and friends ranks pretty high in the list. All in different spots, sure, depending on the family or the friend.
Talking about his future is something he's not quite sure of, either. He was a boy lost in the past for so long, barely managed to turn into a teen stuck in his present, and now he's expected to decide his future path in a scant couple of years.
In a manic daze, breathing in the damp air, Will thinks that the ‘I’m fucking your cousin,’ conversation might be the worst one of all.
It’s honestly a miracle they haven’t been found out yet with Richie’s big, dumb mouth-
“Richie–” Will throws back his head against the arm of the couch with a gasp. A mouth that is being put to good use right now, he must begrudgingly admit.
Richie pulls off with a wet sound, and without even looking at him Will knows the smarmy little grin forming on his face preceding the:
“That’s my name, babe, don’t wear it out,” Will says, rolling his eyes, before Richie can even take a breath.
Will looks down for a second, small smirk pulling on a corner of his lips at Richie’s over dramatic expression of surprise.
“It’s not my fault you’re predictable,” says Will, pretending confidence as if his legs aren’t shaking on either side of Richie’s head. They don’t quite fit on the couch of Hopper’s cabin, Richie is lying on his stomach, knees bent and ankles crossed like a gossiping schoolgirl on a sleepover. “That’s practically your favorite line.”
“I’ll fucking show you predictable-” Richie mutters, before sucking an angry bruise on the dip where Will’s pelvis meets his thigh.
Will just laughs, before it morphs into a drawn out moan as Richie sinks back down, using his tongue in increasingly creative ways to make Will breathless.
(Add to the list of conversations, admitting to his friends that he broke the 'No sex in the cabin' pact.)
–
Richie’s visit comes as a surprise to the entire Party. Yes, Mike included.
When Mike asked his parents why his cousin, who he has seen at most maybe twice in his conscious life, was coming over to visit for the entire summer, Karen Wheeler just shrugged and mentioned something about familial bonding. From the couch, Ted Wheeler mutters something about discipline and small towns.
Mike recounts the tale the day before Richie arrives, pissy and nervous in equal measure. Lucas mentions he’s lucky he isn’t being sent away instead, but it does little to dissuade Mike’s disagreeable mood.
“He’s just an annoying little shit,” Mike mutters from where he’s resting against the couch arm. At this point he’s complained enough that no one is paying attention anymore. “He probably got sent here as a punishment for opening his huge mouth and now I'm expected to deal with him for the entire summer!”
“He can’t be that bad,” Will answers gently, only just holds himself back from rolling his eyes, because he loves Mike on several levels of the word, but his outbursts of dramatism come frequently these days, and even Will loses his patience sometimes.
–
A couple of days after he arrives, when they’re all trying to find their footing around Mike’s weird cousin who now resides in the Wheeler basement, they ask for Richie’s side of the story. Helpfully he just shrugs, and steals a bag of chips straight out of Mike’s hands.
“Fuck if I know, maybe they think going from Bumfuck, Maine to Nowhere, Indiana might fix me or something.” Mike tries to tackle him for the bag, but trips and falls on a loose corner of carpeting, falling right on his face. Richie laughs right in his face, a loud and unmistakable sound, but he still holds up his hand for Mike to take. Only to take it away once more, making Mike's hand meet air and stumble a bit on the carpet again.
Richie runs his hand over his medium length curls in a pseudo-sexy manner, winking at El in an exaggerated way. She giggles, much to Mike's obvious dismay.
“Maybe they thought the boring would stick on me, as if Derry didn’t fucking try."
Watching the exchange, Will privately wonders just what about Richie needs to be fixed.
–
Richie is the splitting image of Mike, in a freaky, Shining Twins kind of way.
If not for the marked differences in their wardrobe, hair and Richie’s awful coke-bottle glasses; if they both shut up for long enough, they might pass as identical twins. The year of difference between them only makes Richie look slightly more filled out, his face slightly more chiseled.
Richie also grows a tremendously patchy stubble that Mike envies terribly, even when everyone (even Richie) tells him he's better off having no hair than whatever disgrace happens on Richie's face when he forgets to shave.
Richie mostly just makes Will confused.
Because, yeah, for many years Will housed the biggest, fattest crush on his best friend, and just as he thought he was getting over it and trying to move on, Richie dropped on their lives like a bomb specifically designed to melt Will’s brain.
Being with Mike, it’s as easy as breathing, it’s in shared looks that say more than they ever could with words. It’s built on years of trust, of secrets and confessions; hours spent together in the Wheeler’s basement, playing D&D, talking until way past their bedtime or simply existing in each other’s company while they read comic books; riding their bikes around Hawkins like they’ve done a million times. Mike & Will, attached at the hip.
Richie was another business entirely; loud, brash and crude, but painfully funny, looking at Will’s neutral expression and taking it as a challenge, trying to make him laugh until he puked. Messing up his hair and begging him to just let Richie go to town on it with some kitchen scissors. Poking his sides, or pinching his cheeks with an inflammatory remark right on the tip of his tongue, everytime. Calling their campaigns ‘Nerd shit-’ but sitting in on their session, attentive to every single action taken, with colorful running commentary during it all. Being with Richie feels like fireworks are bursting right under his skin.
It doesn’t help that his identical features probably activate some fucked up hindbrain that will always have a thing for Mike and his freckles, Mike and his cheekbones, Richie and his lips-
Confusing, as he just said.
—
That brand of confusion doesn’t stick for very long.
Their similarities, except for some memorable exceptions, only run skin deep and it only takes Will about a week before the divide between them in his brain truly cements.
That brings in another, bigger problem. The realization that he’s attracted to Richie , not due to their resemblance but because of, and this is the worst part of it all, his personality.
God forgive him, Will might be going insane.
Despite all the complaints and groans from the Party when Richie is being particularly crass, all the griping from Mike about having him in the house, and all the jokes Richie makes at Ted Wheeler’s expense on being sent here to set him straight, Will immensely enjoys having him around.
It’s in the way Richie treats him, not like someone he needs to worry over, not like someone delicate, not as the friend who needs to be pawned off on Dustin and Steve or even Robin for babysitting, when the couples feel like having their dates, to make sure Will isn’t lonely.
(So that he doesn’t disappear, like November of ‘83.)
Instead he jokes around with Will, poking and prodding until he gets a reaction, pushes and shoves him around in a playful manner, calls him ‘Zombie Boy’ in a way that reminds him more of Eddie than Troy, makes fun of his hair, calls his clothes boring and tries to get him into one of his abominable hawaiian shirts, pulls out Will’s shirt from his pants to try and make him look like less of a stuck-up nerd-
That does things to Will, horrible things.
–
At some point, maybe a couple of weeks into the summer after hanging around with Richie nearly every day, the thought comes to him unbidden.
Is Richie flirting with him?
No, he thinks rapidly, he couldn’t be.
But somewhere between the first day, the Party gathered at the Wheeler house for emotional support, when Ritchie stepped out of the car, after the intense struggle he had with his massive bags, open bright orange and teal hawaiian flapping slightly with the summer breeze, and just pushed up his thick glasses and said: “What’s up, fucktards, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Then the second day, where Richie had taken one look at Will and said: “So is frowning, like, a hobby for you or is your face just stuck that way?”
The third day, where Richie ruffled his hair and asked him if he could pretty, please tell him where Will’s barber was located so he could burn the building down.
Then today, around the third or so week of the summer, after incessant teasing, with Richie lounging around on the floor of the Byler-Hopper household and whining about being sooo bored, William, pushing down his glasses with an excessive gesture down to the tip of his nose, Why don’t you entertain this ol’ thing, sugar?, in the most obnoxious southern accent he could muster, capping it off with a wink.
No, probably just ribbing.
-
Whether or not Richie is just being himself or if he’s trying to tell Will something, it’s not like Will is the most subtle person in the world anyway. If his friends never found out about his crush on Mike it was because they’re blind, or were simply too close to the problem.
It’s not that Will doesn’t try to be more subtle around Richie, in fact, it's a nagging little warning on the back of his mind every time he’s around. But everything he does is so instinctual, like there are magnets on the tips of his fingers that always move to attach themselves to Richie’s skin.
Doesn’t help that Richie is so physical.
A pat on the back here, a pinch to his arm there, a hand grabbing the back of his neck and shaking him around.
He just has to retaliate. He needs to. Friends roughhouse, friends tease, but he certainly never felt a rush of electricity whenever he brushes hands with Dustin, or Lucas.
So he grasps Richie’s arm when he loses balance from laughing too hard, or he pushes his shoulder when he says a lewd comment that makes him grin, and Will puts him in a headlock when he’s refusing to shut up, despite the non-insignificant height difference. It’s friend stuff, that’s what friends do.
But the expression on Richie’s face, the pleased, eye smile he gives Will whenever Will laughs at his impressions; not a grin, not a smirk, but an honest to god smile ; eyes tracking him like Richie wants to commit every moment to memory-
He almost convinces himself that it’s friendly.
-
It had to come to a head at some point, Will thinks, dazedly.
He was just meaning to show Hopper’s cabin to Richie. Truly, no ill intentions.
“We come here sometimes with the Party. Hopper told El about it at some point and she took it upon herself to clean it up.” He walks past the door to let Richie in, who seems vaguely awed at it. “I mean, Mike’s basement is still a regular spot but the cabin’s more private. Hopper’s practically given us free reign, so the place is…eclectic.”
That’s one way of saying it, there are old skateboard trucks and cans of spray paint on the table from when Max was replacing them on her board, and Will was customizing it for her, not a single chair around it matching the table or each other. Everyone has at least one poster that belongs to them hung up on the walls, and at least one change of clothes in the closet of the mostly unused bedroom. Cassette tapes and a player, a weirdly fancy couch that Steve dragged in from his parents house, an old TV and VHS’s tapes of varying tastes. Board games, snacks, an abundance of blankets and pillows.
It’s rickety, and drafty, but it’s all of theirs.
“It’s fucking sick,” Richie says, dropping down on the couch with confidence, fitting comfortably between the mismatched pillows like he’s meant to be there. “You know, my friends and I have something similar.”
Will hears bits and pieces of Richie’s life back home sometimes, about his parents and his friends. The Losers, Richie mentioned with fondness.
“What, an Evil Dead inspired cabin in the middle of the woods?” Will asks, sitting down right beside Richie. He is spread out, with his arms on the back of the couch. If Will leaned back, he would be resting right on Richie’s forearm. The thought makes the back of his neck prickly.
“It is in the middle of the woods, but it’s more like a burrow.” Richie muses, relaxing with his eyes closed, “Damn, this couch is comfortable.”
“A burrow?” Now Will is curious, but he’s always curious about Richie, and everything he is outside of Hawkins. “Sounds dangerous.”
“Okay, don’t ask me how likely it is to crush us all because I don’t know, and I don’t want to think about it, but I trust Ben.” At Will’s questioning silence, Richie just continues. “Ben’s my friend, he designed the whole thing when we were kids.”
At that, something clicks dully in Will’s brain.
“The aspiring architect, right?” Richie nods and smiles, like he can’t believe Will actually listens to him. Will, on his part, would never admit he hangs on his every word.
Richie just hums affirmatively, sinking into the couch even more.
“Don’t tell him I said this,” Will snorts, he doesn’t even know the guy. “-But he’ll be great. I just know he’ll be a rich, successful, hot-shot architect one day.”
It’s Will’s turn to hum, because he doesn’t know this Ben personally, but Richie says it with such a calm conviction, with such sincerity, that he believes it.
“Emotional vulnerability, Tozier?” Will teases, “You know, you’re allowed to like your friends.”
Richie’s ears redden a bit, but when he turns to look at Will, it’s with a soft smile.
“They can never know, those motherfuckers will lord it over me until I die.”
“But I can know?” Will asks, before he can think about it, before he can berate himself for being stupid. He sounded hopeful, and small to his own ears, proud that he’s one of the people Richie can tell these things to.
And the way Richie looks at him, bashful and surprised with himself, mouth closed for once and eyes flickering all around Will’s face, drifting down to his lips, over and over, like he just has to do it.
Will doesn’t want to be a coward, he’s afraid of losing a person that has been special to him, carved a place inside his life in a few short weeks, but he's much more afraid of losing what he could gain if he only took a risk for once, and he’s so nearly certain.
Jesus Christ, Byers, just do it, rings a voice in his head, Fuck it.
It sounds distinctly like Eddie.
Fuck it.
Just as Richie is opening his mouth in a panic, probably ready to deflect with a stupid comment- Will leans in.
Their first kiss is gentle, so much more gentle than he’d ever imagined in his head. Slightly wet, and slightly off, catching the corner of Richie’s semi-open lips. Just a peck, but Will’s first meaningful kiss anyway. He’ll remember this moment for the rest of his life, regardless of how this day ends.
Richie freezes, and Will pulls back enough to take a look at Richie’s shocked expression, mouth hanging open. A beat passes, then two, then Will hysterically thinks he might be the only person in the world who’s managed to shut Richie up for more than a second.
“Holy shit,” Richie wheezes, out of breath.
It crashes down on Will then, that maybe he is just as blind as his friends, that he was wrong, and Richie just was like that with all his friends. Heat builds in the back of his eyes, and he gets ready to bolt because he doesn’t think he’d be able to take it, to have Richie see him cry.
He took the risk but Will doesn’t think he was actually ready for the consequences.
I’m sorry, it’s on the tip of his tongue when Richie moves suddenly, hand on the back of the couch moving to grip the back of Will’s head and bring them in together again.
This is more like what he’d imagined.
It’s not perfect, but it is the most wonderful thing. Richie’s glasses are pressing into his cheek uncomfortably, Richie’s hand tangled in his hair like he’s afraid Will would pull back, he can feel the hard press of Richie’s teeth only separated by their closed lips. It’s not a deep kiss, but it is hard and demanding nonetheless.
They separate once more.
“Holy shit,” It’s Will’s turn to squeak, because. Hell of a second kiss.
“I- Will, man, I don’t- I’m so-” Richie stumbles and stutters, but he keeps looking at Will’s lips-
“Shut up, Richie.” Will moves his own hand to tangle into Richie’s curls, and he can vaguely hear a faint Aye, sir, before he’s moving in again.
The third time is no less amazing than the first two. It might be even better, if possible, because their lips are moving against each other in a clumsy, slow rhythm, Will dares to move his other hand to Richie’s chest, pinky and ring finger dipping slightly under Richie’s open hawaiian shirt, and palm pressing right above his heart, over his undershirt. It’s beating about as fast as Will’s, hearing the pounding in his ears.
Richie twitches like he was electrocuted, and he groans right on Will’s lips and he’s going to go insane, he just knows it, how his brain is steadily melting out of his ears and into a puddle on the ground.
He moves instinctually, breaking the kiss to a small whine from Richie that shouldn’t have heat crawling down his back, and places himself on Richie’s lap, desiring the closeness. He wants every possible bit of their bodies touching.
Richie tightens the hand on his hair and moves the other to grip at the outside of his thigh, hard enough to make Will believe he could leave bruises right through his pants. Will moans, without his conscious consent at the feeling and the thought. He doesn’t know if Richie does it on purpose, but Will kisses him again before he can make any sort of comment about it.
-
“We should do this more often.” says Richie, right into Will’s chest, too clear for Will’s taste. He lost the hawaiian at some point, leaving him only in his white t-shirt.
Will isn’t much better, in his sleeveless undershirt himself, Richie’s hands like a brand on his hips and waist, helping him control the movement of their grinding. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thinks he should worry about the pace they’re going at, from an innocent kiss, to a full on grinding make out in the span of about half an hour, but the feeling of Richie’s mouth sucking a bruise right above the stretched collar of his undershirt throws any and all thoughts out the window.
“We should have done this sooner,” answers Will, moaning quietly at a particularly sharp jerk of their hips, heat so intense he feels like he could explode at any second. “But you’re the worst at flirting, I wasn’t sure.”
Richie stops for a second, breathing wet air against the forming hickey, and he looks up at Will, glasses crooked and lenses dirty with sweat and fingermarks.
“I was flirting with you?” Richie asks, genuinely confused, and Will is so baffled he has to stop himself to look at Richie, because what.
“What?” Will says, and it sounds a little dumb even to him, but really?
“What?” Richie answers back, equally as confused, “I wasn’t flirting with you.”
That’s when Will goes cold, fingers clenching and unclenching from their spot on Richie’s shirt. Suddenly, despite all the clear, very clear signs of interest, he deflates.
“You weren’t?” It sounds too vulnerable, too raw. Maybe he had read Richie right in that he did like boys, but now he feels like something available. Maybe he shouldn’t take for granted what he has right now, but he was so convinced that Richie was into him. The thought of being just an unexpected, but convenient hook-up makes something in him still, settling heavy in his gut.
Realizing his mistake nearly immediately, Richie scrambles to sit up on the couch, jostling Will along with him. In this angle, Richie just has to slightly look up to meet his eyes.
“No, wait, fuck. That came out terrible,” Richie mutters, lips red and wet, and Will hates himself for how much that affects him. “Don’t listen to me- okay– Don’t listen to that part before, but listen to this,”
“Will, you are so fucking hot; mindbendingly hot, like whoa!” Richie’s eyes widen dramatically, hands moving from Will’s hips and gesturing at the whole of him, “Like, this is the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced in my life.”
He holds a denial on the tip of his tongue, but the corner of his mouth pulls up anyway, amused.
“I wasn’t flirting with you, promise- Not because I didn’t want to!” Richie adds hurriedly with wild gestures of his hands, “But because you are so out of my league!”
“That’s absolutely not true!” Will can’t hold back anymore, because if there’s anyone out of the other’s league it’s Will, with his outdated hair, his nerdy clothes. He’s no match to Richie, unfortunate glasses but cut face, tall and funny, black curls framing his face like an angel when he’s anything but.
“I couldn’t keep my eyes off you after I arrived! With your stupid broad shoulders, and goddamn delectable waist– Honestly, you were driving me fuckin’ bonkers, you were so pretty! ” Richie squeaks this last part out, can’t even believe he said it himself, blushing up to his forehead, “Don’t ever fucking change your haircut ‘cause you’ll be drowning in pussy, I swear to god!”
This is where Will laughs, unabashedly, relaxed once again.
“Richie, I know you’re a bit thick but what about this-,” Will grinds down in a slow, filthy movement that makes them both gasp, “Makes you think I’m aiming for that.”
“I’m just saying,” Richie grits out, hands scrambling for Will’s waist, holding on for dear life, “I was trying so hard to not be weird but you made it so difficult!”
“Now I’m difficult,” Will holds down a steady rhythm, biting back sounds for the sake of making a point, because Richie looks magnificent just sitting there and trying to hold on, “How about you pulling on my pigtails like a kindergartener every day from the beginning, and making weird sex jokes at me all the time-”
“That’s just what I do, I told you it was difficult!” Richie claims, panting harshly the entire time. If it was up to Will, he wouldn’t take another full breath for a while.
“Difficult for me to tell what you wanted,” Will moves close, hands holding Richie’s head still by the hair, “Maybe a compliment that wasn’t chased by an insult, every once in a while.”
“Whatever you want, Will, God-” Richie whines, gripping his waist harder, the idea of getting finger shaped bruises has Will shaking, “Just like that, don’t stop-”
Like Will could, when the heat licking up his back is getting more intense by the second, he’s left speechless, he has to close his eyes against the sensation because he can’t hold back anymore.
They come just about simultaneously, with a loud groan on Richie’s end drowning out Will’s soft whimper.
-
“You know, that’s really not how friends act.” Will mentions, in the aftermath. They’re sticky, sweaty and should probably move before their underwear dries down into a crusty mess. But for now, laying down on the big, comfortable couch, right on top of Richie’s chest, that can wait for a little longer.
“You’re never going to let this go, are you.” He doesn’t say anything but Will privately agrees. “I was nervous, damn, let a man breathe.”
He’s not used to the idea of making anyone nervous, at least not in that way, but it brings a slow curl of pleasure up his spine anyway. It’s a new, welcome feeling.
“You made me nervous too,” That’s true, and despite all they just did, it still feels daunting to admit. “You were just so…”
There are no proper words he can use to describe it, but Richie made Will feel wanted. Made him laugh and feel confident, funny. Showered him with undivided attention in a way that made him feel giddy, and not suffocated. He was unique, and foul-mouthed, and made Will feel like he could do anything, like fly, like kill a monster with the power of his mind.
Appreciated, not like a china doll displayed on a high shelf, but like a well loved book, worn from being thumbed through a dozen times, reading the lines twice, thrice and still finding something new to enjoy every time, highlighting favorite lines and passages to be revisited. Frayed, but sturdy, fantastical and creative, and so much more than its pages.
“Stupidly handsome?” Richie offers, distractedly rubbing his thumb against a sliver of exposed skin between the bottom of Will’s shirt and his pants. “Incredible, awesome?”
“Something like that.”
-
From then, Will shares many of his firsts with Richie. In a variety of ways.
They’re sitting in the quarry. Richie, who has no consideration or care for his well being, sits at the edge looking down at the pit, smoking. Will is a little further back, to his side, sketchbook and pencil on hand.
At first he deludes himself that he’s going to draw the landscape. He tries to put in the practice where he can, and he’s a little rough still on the finer aspects of natural portraiture and perspective. At some point, however, he finds himself sketching the elegant lines of Richie’s hand where he holds his cigarette, his wild curls and his animated profile as he recounts a story that Will is only half-paying attention to.
Whatever, figure drawing is practice as well.
“-and I had to jump out the window, just before she entered the room. I actually banged my head pretty hard while getting out, so it’s good that I have a tough skull. But Eddie’s mom heard it and Eddie had to lie and say he tripped on the rug. Can you believe he dragged him to the hospital for that?” Richie laughed, and Will hummed, smiling a bit. He knows Richie’s Eddie isn’t his Eddie, but hearing these stories amuse him beyond their purpose nonetheless, “He was super pissed at me, but Eddie’s always pissed at me, so he can go fuck himself.”
“You’re such an asshole,” Will says, with no real heat behind it, “I mean, just imagine living like that your entire life,”
“Oh, just seeing it second hand is good enough, thanks. So many anger issues in such a small body,” Richie laughs, taking a drag out of his cigarette, “The only doctor he truly needs is a psychiatrist.”
“Or maybe he just needs a punching bag,” Will answers distractedly, shading the curve of Richie’s jaw and thinking of his own brief stint with a therapist. It didn’t last very long, on account of being way beyond their budget and Will’s insistence that he was well and fine. “Perhaps a loud one that could use with getting shut up every once in a while.”
“Yeah, that’s going to go down well with the hag, bruises all over her precious baby's knuckles.” Richie turns to look at Will, and sure, he’s lovely, but it’s really ruining the reference for his sketch. “Besides, it’s not like he doesn’t try- He just can’t reach this perfect face.”
Richie puts out the cigarette on the ground beside him, and flicks the butt down the quarry.
“What are you even doing anyway, are you drawing me?” Richie digs around in his pocket, procuring a banged up box of Camels, and digging around even deeper for a lighter. “Was I too handsome for you to hold back? Can I see?”
The hopeful look on Richie’s face is too much for Will. Showing his drawings is always a challenge, at least, showing them to anyone that isn’t Mike, Dustin or Lucas. They’ve seen him progress his entire life, always wide eyed and flattering, with them it’s comfortable and natural.
Showing this to Richie, the lovingly rendered drawing on his sketchbook, it would be like baring his soul. The drawing itself would never be good enough to show Richie, as if Will is hard pressed to blame himself for not being able to commit Richie’s entire being to paper. It could never be accurate enough, it would never properly reflect the mischievous glint of his eyes, the subtle turn of lips when he sees an opportunity to make a joke, the way his hair curls behind his ears and on the nape of his neck with sweat.
Instead Will says, “How about you teach me how to smoke?”
Richie indulges with a look that promises that the subject isn’t completely dropped but he demonstrates how to light it up, how to hold the smoke in his lungs and how to slowly release it.
“Remember, you’re not meant to, like, eat the smoke .” Richie says, holding out the stick. Will gingerly holds it between his fingers, like he’s seen countless other people do throughout his life. “It’s like breathing through your mouth, you’ll feel it when it’s going down the right tube.”
Will anxiously brings it up to his lips and takes a drag way too fast, he believes it ‘went down the right tube’, as Richie put it, because it burns all the way down into his lungs, and the first reflex he has is to cough it back up.
It’s horrible, he can’t stop coughing, his eyes are watering and he can’t breathe, and it gets worse when Richie quickly scooches over to steal the sketchbook from his lap and pat him solidly on the back with the other hand.
“Sorry, forgot to mention reds are tough on beginners, you should have gone slow.” Richie says, flippant. He’s an asshole and Will hates him with every single fiber of his still coughing being. He tries to struggle against Richie, pry the sketchbook from his hands but Richie bats his fumbling hands away easily.
Once he can take a full breath and his eyes stop watering, he can see the look of sheer wonder on Richie’s face while he scans the drawing.
“Is this how you see me?” His hand hovers a millimeter over the surface, like he wants to feel it under the pads of his fingers but can’t bring himself to touch. “This is- I look so-”
There’s a thrum of pleasure sitting comfortably in Will’s stomach at being able to render Richie speechless.
“You’re very talented.” Richie concludes quietly, sincerely, a fond smile resting on his face. “I look fucking cool! ”
“ Can I see all of them?” Richie brings his hands together and bows his head, in a bastardized imitation of prayer. “Pretty please, Oh-Great-One?”
Will acts as if he’s still considering it, cigarette burning on his hand reminding him of Richie’s manipulations. But the way the other looked had made Will’s stomach flutter, and he looked so genuinely excited about it, Will was too weak to deny him.
“Sure, knock yourself out.” Will waves his hand around dismissively, heart beating erratically in his chest, careful not to let ashes drop on the sketches.
“Fuck yeah,” That’s the only thing that Richie says, settling with his legs crossed right beside Will, one hand drifting to settle around him and the other flipping around to the first page of the mostly full sketchbook.
Will leans his head on Richie’s shoulder and takes another, much shallower, much slower drag that goes more successfully, and he finds that the burn settles down some of his nervousness, from being seen by someone coming up the path, from being seen by Richie.
That’s where they spend the rest of the afternoon, sharing cigarettes and whispering words until the coming dusk doesn’t allow them to see the drawings on Will’s sketchbook anymore.
-
Will never understood that hormonal need of teenage couples that couldn’t keep their hands off each other.
With Richie here, he feels like a hypocrite for judging Mike and El, Lucas and Max- hell, even Jonathan, Nancy and Steve for so long.
They’re hanging out in the basement, at Will’s insistence because now he needs time to compartmentalize the memory of Richie’s moans against the backdrop of their regular hangout spot.
Not that they haven’t done anything else, of course, but the first time was so intense, he’ll need a good while before he can hang out there with the party without bursting into flames. They’re meaning to keep this a secret.
Forever, if Will can get away with it.
There’s an ardent round of Twister going on in the middle of the room, Mike and Richie fighting for their lives, a considerable feat, since they’re both so tall they’re barely managing to keep themselves inside the mat.
Will sat it out, content to manage the wheel, as the only relatively neutral party who wouldn’t manipulate the callouts in either’s favor; while the rest of the Party screamed for blood while trying to get either of them to topple all over themselves.
Max sat beside him on the couch, watching disinterestedly at the game while listening to some music, only vaguely grinning whenever Will manipulated some of the callouts to make them get as tangled as physically possible. The Party’s trust in Will’s honesty is well founded, but foolish nonetheless. It will be their downfall someday.
Besides, Richie sweaty and flushed, trying to get his left foot on a yellow circle without dislocating his knee, it does things to him.
He glances up after calling Right hand, blue, an honest result this time, to see El staring at him, through him, like she can see the marks of their hurried makeout session on their way here; hidden away in some woods right by Mike’s house; on his lips, his throat. He adjusts the collar of his shirt, even though he knows anything obvious is well covered by his shirt.
She gives him a small smile and the pair in the middle of the room topple to the floor with some colorful insults, arguing over who fell first and getting nowhere.
Will declares Mike to be the winner, just because he can. Richie boo’s him, calling him a dirty judge, threatening to report him to the imaginary International Twister Association for being biased.
Will just grins and tells him to stop being a sore loser, to Mike’s eternal delight and Richie’s enraged condemnation.
El claps for Mike, and Will rationalizes, She can’t possibly know. How could she?
He’s not particularly ready to change that either.
-
“So, I read something in a magazine,” tells of things to come, for Will, whenever Richie whispers those words to him in the privacy of his room.
Crazedly, he always ends up pondering about what kinds of fucking magazines Richie is reading.
“I’m going to suffocate you,” That is Will’s first response to Richie’s idea, “Don’t look so excited about it!”
“It would be the most honorable kind of death,” Richie replies, at first solemn, but then pleading. “Come ooooon. It sounds hot, I want to try it if you’re down for it. Hehe, down for it.”
The thing is, Will would probably trust Richie with his life, and it helps that his ideas are usually great. He has a great reserve of manic, horny energy that he loves expending on trying out new things between himself and Will, with a kind of focus and determination that always manages to get Will hot under the collar. Even when things don’t turn out too great, like the first time Will tried fingering Richie, they managed to just laugh it off and get off another more familiar way, embarrassment dissipating quickly. Will trusts that, one way or another, the night would end up with them satisfied and happy, even giggly. Richie just knows how to make sex fun instead of daunting.
But Richie seems so desperate to try it out and Will kinda loves seeing Richie desperate.
“Oh, I don’t know, Rich,” Will sighs, bringing a hand up to his chin as if he was deep in thought. He’s not the one for dramatics, but Richie starts squirming where he sits on Will’s bed and it’s bringing a building pool of heat on his lower abdomen, “I’m just not sure about it.”
Richie narrows his eyes, he’s too clever to not catch on to Will’s manipulations. He moves from his spot on the bed and plops down on Will’s lap like he owns it. At this angle, it’s nearly obscene how Will has to crane his head up to look Richie in the eye.
“I see what you’re playing, Byers, and I’m not a man that gives up so easily,” says Richie, bringing a hand up to cup Will’s cheek. “Would some incentive help you feel more…comfortable?”
“What do you suggest, Tozier?” Their lips are millimeters away from brushing against each other, but Will isn’t going to lose this little standoff.
“A bet!” Richie exclaims cheerfully, righting himself back up instead of towering over Will. “If I don’t rock your world when you sit on my face-” A blush rises up Will’s face at Richie’s explicit language, to the others delight, “You get to lay down, I’ll give you a nice blowjob for your troubles and you get to ask one favor of me, anything you want-” Will starts to open his mouth, “-within reason, Byers, don’t get too smart on me.”
“I’m guessing you get the same deal from me if I lose?” A dangerous contract, considering the kinds of creative ideas Richie gets sometimes.
“ Precisely, my dear William!” Richie seems way too excited about it, but by now the whole situation is getting to him, and Will’s head is starting to feel floaty with lust. “So what do you say?”
Will is not the one to walk away from a gamble, besides, just how good could it really be?
“Deal,” Will whispers, staring right into Richie’s mischievous eyes. He vaguely feels like he’s signing his soul away to the devil- but Will is a fool, and if Richie is actually the devil, he probably owns his soul already.
“Excellent!” Richie gets right off Will’s lap immediately, “Now go take a thorough shower, dear Will, and make it snappy!”
-
A strangled moan tore itself out of Will’s throat. He hates Richie, he hates him, so much-
His skin feels sensitive everywhere, and his hair is either sticking to his forehead from his recent shower or from the copious amount of sweat he is producing, he can’t be sure. His inner thighs are particularly sore and tender from Richie’s near obsessive use of his teeth, because to him it wasn’t enough to want to stick his tongue up Will’s ass, but he also has to mark him while he’s at it.
Richie and his stupid fucking oral fixation-
He’s been going at it for a while now, Richie moving his tongue in small, maddening circles, hands set on running the expanse of Will’s back, down to his sparsely haired thighs, and up to his nipples, flicking them with his nails and pinching them until he has his hips twitching, finding the patterns of tongue and hands that are going to make Will sob for him.
He’s too good at that, Will hates him.
Richie seems to be enjoying himself as well, thankfully, fingers digging into Will’s skin a little too hard in his excitement, shuddering every time Will slips and grinds down a little too hard on Richie’s face.
He’s beyond words at this point, managing only some heavy pants, and whimpers he tries desperately to bite back. They’re going to be alone in Will’s room for the foreseeable future but he doesn’t want to risk anyone coming into the house as a surprise and catching Richie trying his best to suffocate himself between Will’s legs.
But he can’t die before he gets Will to come, absolutely not.
Will’s facing the headboard, hands grabbing it like a lifeline, but he moves one down to tangle in Richie’s curls, clamping the strands tightly between his fingers. Richie moans long and hard, always an absolute slut for getting his hair pulled, and the vibrations feel godly against Will’s rim, losing control of his legs yet again and grinding down against Richie’s mouth and jaw. Perhaps that was the last straw for Richie, who quickly moves his hands to grab tight at the top of Will’s thighs, keeping him pressed close against his face, and Will doesn’t even have time to think on if Richie can't breathe properly, before he stiffens his tongue and presses it inside.
He feels dizzy, his thighs are shaking on either side of Richie’s head and all at once he realizes he’s going to come. Only from the feeling of being open and wet, the feeling of Richie’s short nails digging brutally into his skin, keeping him in place as he fucks Will with his tongue, a mild summer breeze caressing all his bruises, his leaking cock.
In the end it only takes Richie, moaning desperately against his skin while suddenly pressing the palm of his hand against Will’s cock, trapping it against his abdomen and rubbing it in a jerky motion back and forth, once, twice, before Will’s entire body tenses and like a thread snapping, he comes.
It’s ecstasy like he hasn’t known before, it’s the feeling of being small, taken care of and loved. It’s Richie’s big hand that continues grinding against him, his tongue that continues moving and licking to wring out every last pleasurable moment of Will’s orgasm, until Will’s thighs keep trying to close despite the obtrusion of Richie’s head, until his hips try to jerk away from Richie’s rough hand because it’s too much on the sensitive head of his dick, even as Richie’s other hand moves to his back to keep him still, until Richie’s satisfied with the sounds of Will’s tortured, pleasure-pained moaning.
Will sits back on Richie’s chest, hearing more than seeing the other take a huge breath, and trying to recover, still twitching from the zings of oversensitized pleasure running through his veins.
He looks down at Richie and he looks wrecked, half of his face covered in drool and curls sticking to his forehead with sweat. Will manages to uncurl his fingers from Richie’s hair, noticing he pulled some hairs from the follicle but he considers it fair enough retaliation, taking into account the bruised mess on the back and the inside of his thighs.
Richie’s hand reaches down to his own dick, and Will feels him stroke half a dozen times before he’s coming with a loud moan over his own knuckles, and Will swears he can even feel some of it land on his lower back, but anything below his chest is still pretty numb, so it could just have been his imagination.
They’re still trying to catch their breath, but Richie can only stay quiet in the post-orgasmic phase for so long.
“That was amazing! ” He reaches up with his clean hand to hook against the back of Will’s neck, trying to bring him down for a kiss, but Will resists.
“Go brush your teeth and wash your face, I'm not doing that when you’re this gross.” Richie’s pouting is borderline adorable, but Will is firm in handing Richie his glasses from the bed stand, getting off his chest and laying back against the rumpled sheets. Richie jumps up with an energy Will simply could not be able to manifest after such a mind-blowing orgasm, and rushes to the shared bathroom without clothes, with Will’s protests for him to at least put on some damn underwear falling on deaf ears.
He returns soon enough, hands clean, face fresh and breath minty, carrying a wet washcloth and taking his time to lazily make out with Will as he cleans him up.
Once they’re settled, Will resting against Richie’s bony chest, is when Richie talks again.
“So, was it good?” The bastard doesn’t even try to hide the smugness from his voice, “You liked it?”
“It was…serviceable,” That’s what Will settles with, because he doesn’t know if he wants to give Richie the satisfaction of knowing it was the most intense orgasm of Will’s life. At least not yet. “You were enjoying yourself more than me, I think.”
“It’s always a dream to be between your legs, baby,” Will can’t even hide the twitch of his cock against Richie’s hip at the nickname, he doesn’t even like it. “But I think I remember someone babbling and crying for me to go faster-”
“I did not!” The truth is he isn’t completely sure, at some point his mind just went fuzzy and he does not remember anything past the feeling of complete bliss. “At least I didn’t practically come from getting my hair pulled!”
Richie blushes a bit at this, but he’s not deterred. His hand, which was previously running absent circles on Will’s back, moves down to spread him, rubbing his index and middle finger slowly where Will is still distinctly loose.
“At least I’m not slut for taking it up the ass,” Richie’s mouth is right by Will’s ear, the small puffs of breath and the light brush of his lips have Will shivering. He feels himself growing hard, again. Damned teenage hormones. “How about I put my cock up here next time, maybe that will finally satisfy you.”
A bolt of heat rushes up his spine, he didn’t think that this would get him going so fast, but he finds that he does want to, really bad. That if the feeling of Richie’s mouth and fingers stretching him open was amazing, he could only imagine-
“Fuck you,” Will says venomously, red down to his chest. But he would, he would absolutely. But he won’t tell Richie this right now.
“Hey, I literally just kissed your ass, Byers, you’re so insatiable! ” Richie laughs near maniacally, before pausing for a moment and solemnly stating. “So, do you admit that I won our bet or-?”
Will makes his best attempt at smothering Richie with a pillow, talented mouth be damned.
-
Richie bullies his way into the house in the mornings with a loud Hey, Mrs. H, looking stunning today, and Good morning, Mr. H, looking as grumpy as ever, with a salute like he’s lived here his entire life instead of only about a month.
“Don’t they feed you at the Wheeler’s, kid?” asks Hopper, looking up from his paper with a raised eyebrow.
“Nothing as good as what Joyce makes,” He answers back with a smile, calling his mother by her name like he isn’t the spawn of Satan himself.
“You’re welcome anytime, Richie.” Will’s mother answers with a bashful smile. Will rolls his eyes at Richie’s act, it’s just eggs and toast.
Hopper just grunts, going back to his paper. Which is about as much approval as Hopper could ever give, and certainly more than Mike ever gets, or will ever get, with Hopper’s whole overprotective father business.
He wonders if Hopper would be as stern about him and Richie, as he is with Mike and El.
El comes rushing down the stairs in a hurry, meant to catch breakfast with Max today, giving all of them a kiss goodbye, including Richie.
“Stay safe,” says Richie in a falsetto, the same asshole who keeps sneaking into her room to move around her stuff just to be annoying and El just lets him, even when she can’t find her favorite tank top. Because she likes him, despite how much Mike complains about him stealing his best friend and his girlfriend.
As he sits down to have breakfast with his Mom, Hopper and Richie, talking about how Jonathan and Nancy will come down around the end of the week, Richie being surprisingly pure during the entire conversation, cracking jokes that make his mother and him laugh, Hopper trying to hide his smile behind his coffee and failing, Will finds that he’s happy.
Until Richie discreetly winks at him, making a flush rise high on Will’s cheeks, dropping his fork on the floor and hitting his head on the table as he was picking it up.
Nevermind, he’s a dick.
-
The ‘what-are-we?’ conversation is not something Will would like to face, but it is something that he is confronted with nearly daily at this point.
Everytime Richie places himself in his life like he was always meant to be there, everytime he interacts with his family and friends with ease, when they talk into the late hours of the night, when Richie is making Will’s brains out of his ears through an overwhelming orgasm; he thinks about it.
They’ve never said anything out loud, they’ve never needed clarification. They’re friends, and they fuck. Easy, simple. Maybe at the beginning it was enough. Attraction, a risky gamble and success.
Will doesn’t think he’s ready to gamble with what he has again.
-
Richie has a big, big mouth, and the world’s biggest oral fixation.
He likes kissing a worrying amount, always finding nooks and crannies to shove Will in and make-out for a couple of minutes, or memorably, a couple of hours. He sets his mouth and teeth against Will’s chest, his stomach, his hips, his thighs like a man on a mission, set on marking every single inch of Will’s body that he allows. He loves bullying his way between Will’s thighs, locking his hands against the crook of Will’s knees, putting them up against his chest and eating him out until Will is soft, pliant and desperate for a couple of fingers.
But most of all, Richie likes giving him vaguely illicit, semi-public blowjobs in the worst fucking places. They haven’t had a close call yet, but the worst part is that Will kind of likes it.
If there was any definitive proof that being around Richie for extended periods of time degrades your brain, this is it. Getting off on the risk of getting caught, receiving a blowjob from a boy. Even worse, Richie Tozier, notorious loudmouth and Mike’s cousin who could pass for his twin. There is an interconnected net of reasons why it’s weird and dangerous. It feels so unlike himself: shy, timid, quiet Will.
But these days he’s not quite shy or timid.
“I’ve created a monster,” Richie whispers, horrified and looking down at Will who’s kneeling on the bathroom floor between Richie’s knees. “What the fuck?”
“Revenge,” Will mutters, somewhat maliciously, quickly unbuttoning and undoing the zipper of Richie’s jeans. He shuffles them and his underwear down until he can just about free Richie from the confines of his underwear. Richie’s cock is already sporting a half chub just from Will manhandling him towards the guest bathroom of the Wheeler house, and the vision of Will kneeling between his legs.
“This feels suspiciously like a reward, actually,” Will remains silent, so what if he wants to give Richie a blowjob for his own gain and call it revenge. That’s no one’s business but Will’s. Besides, they haven’t gotten to the true surprise.
“We need to be quick,” Will mentions, delicately pressing his thumb under the head, and loosely closing his fist over the top. “They’ll expect us back in a couple of minutes-”
“You don’t have to worry about that,” Richie says quietly, choking back a moan and Will burns with the need to take Richie into his mouth and taste .
So he does, he leans in and takes the tip into his mouth, circling his tongue and licking, digging his tongue into the slit and tasting the accumulating precome. Richie chokes down another moan, much louder than before, and while Will gets off on the danger he doesn’t actually want to get caught. Will moves back from the head, a small string of saliva connecting them for a second.
“Shut up, Richie,” Will says, urgently. Richie mimes locking his mouth and throwing away the key but Will realistically knows Richie is loud and he always has a hard time holding back on his moans. It’s the reason why it’s so convenient that he likes using his mouth.
At least Will’s always been good at improvising.
Will stretches a bit, and rucks up Richie’s t-shirt, taking a bit of time to trace along the lean muscles of his torso, until it’s right up to his armpits- and then shoves the bunched up fabric into Richie’s mouth.
“There, something to bite down on.” Richie lets out a surprisingly high pitched whimper at Will’s words. But with that confirmation that he’s muffled enough, Will can continue as planned. “Try to stay quiet anyway, if you can.”
Richie nods frantically, knuckles completely white from grabbing the edge of the sink like it’s the only thing keeping him standing, he says something that sounds like a muffled You’re so fucking hot, but Will can’t really be sure. He feels flattered anyway.
Will, once again loosely closes down a fist on Richie’s dick, before leaning in and popping the head into his mouth. He can appreciate the heavy weight of it on his tongue now, more than decent, and maybe even overwhelming mouthful; savoring the taste of Richie, accompanied by his mostly quiet, pretty whines.
It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy giving blowjobs to Richie, in fact, he likes it a lot. However, Richie is so desperate for it most of the time, getting down on his knees before Will can even suggest anything else and it’s not like he’s going to deny getting sucked off. After, it only takes Richie a couple of strokes to finish off, so Will doesn’t have to use his hands or mouth for very long, anyway.
Will’s determined to enjoy himself for as long as he dares, show Richie what he can really do besides just a couple of frantic sucks after an orgasm. He luxuriates in his task, letting his tongue play with the underside, Will relaxes his throat and bobs his head, taking Richie deeper with every movement, and then a little more, and more, until he hears an urgent little whine from Richie, feels a twitch of his hips, like he wants to fuck Will’s mouth deeper still but is holding back.
That just won’t do. Will takes a deep breath through his nose and keeps going down and doesn’t stop.
Richie loved sucking dick, but his gag reflex was always too sensitive to do more than just take it in his mouth, handle the rest with hands and clever plays of his tongue.
It’s not the most useful of gifts, other than being able to shove food in his mouth at a superhuman pace, but his gag reflex has always been pretty subdued. Not gone completely but enough that it’s never been a problem at all.
After a tortuous couple of minutes, Will finally has his nose pressed firmly against Richie’s pelvis, cock reaching past his soft palate, into his throat. He can’t hold his breath for very long, but he takes the chance to look up at Richie through his lashes.
There’s a non-ignorable amount of drool wetting the shirt where Richie has it between his teeth, making it a shade darker. His eyes are half-lidded and dark, suppressed moans spilling out involuntarily when Will swallows to the best of his ability, and pulls off, greedily licking off precum from the head as he does, swallowing it and saliva as well.
“Good?” Will asks, and he finds his voice to be considerably deeper, scratchy from the unusual activity. He might even call it attractive, it’s more than a little surprising.
Richie nods, teeth digging deeply into the shirt. It would be a miracle if he doesn’t rip it. His hands detach from their stiff position on the sink and shakily move on to frame either side of Will’s head; big palms resting on his jaw, and thumbs digging into the joint of his jaw, where it’s just barely starting to get sore.
Richie moves Will’s head a little bit, pressing the tip of his cock against Will’s soft, red lips, painting them with a filthy mix of precum and saliva. Will darts his tongue out for a taste, again and again, every time the drops bead up.
“Gotta hurry,” Will’s breath barely ghosts against Richie’s sensitive cockhead, but the other jolts as if electrified, “You can fuck my mouth.”
Will opens his mouth, and barely sticks out his tongue, just enough to tease, before Richie bites down on a thick groan, and tilts his hip forwards just enough, moves Will’s head in a certain way, that way he’s taking the head into his mouth one more time. Will takes a deep, steadying breath through his nose and looking up at Richie, he subtly nods.
It’s the only permission Richie needs before his hold on Will becomes ironclad, and he’s thrusting forward, moving Will’s head down until his nose is pressed near uncomfortably tight against Richie. He keeps his eyes locked on to Richie’s for as long as he realistically can, until Richie keeps grinding forward, balls dragging against Will’s chin, and his dick is far down his throat but Richie tries to continue as if trying to see if he can get any deeper, or check just how much Will can take. It’s a combination of these thoughts that make Will’s eyes nearly roll into the back of his head, moaning softly.
Richie rolls his hips tightly against Will’s skull until he’s urgently pushing at Richie’s thighs to take a breath, digging in his nails. He keeps Will there down to the last second in which Will can reliably hold his breath, and then pulls him back just enough to let him breathe.
Will coughs a little, but that only makes Richie more aroused, makes him pant somewhat harder. There are tears gathering at the corner of Will’s eyes, ready to fall.
So pretty, Will believes Richie mumbles, Can I come down your throat?
Will nods again, wide eyed and almost too enthusiastic, taking another deep breath, as deep as possible. Richie just groans, and keeps muttering repetitions and variations of You’re perfect, you’re amazing, you’re so good-
Richie shoves back in with one long moan, whatever restraint he had completely gone, by now.
Before, the grinding was gentle, testing exactly how much Will could take comfortably, for how long, and when that proved to be a very generous limit, Richie deemed it good enough to let go.
Now Richie is taking the term throat-fucking too seriously. He pulls his hips back just enough for the head to brush against Will’s hard palate before he shoves him back down to the base over, and over again. Will is trying his very best to not gag, which he majorly succeeds in, but he can’t help small bouts of coughing whenever Richie bumps against his throat too hard. He’s openly crying now from the rough use of his mouth, tears running down his face with abandon, accompanied by the symphony of wet coughs and his choked out moans. He tries to swallow some of the excess spit, but most of it still runs messy down his chin.
He’s starting to feel fuzzy from the lack of oxygen, throat spasming erratically, and he needs Richie to come now, not because of anyone who could come looking for them, but because Will needs Richie to come down his throat more than he needs air. He looks up at Richie, eyes rimmed red, tears running down his cheeks and hair beyond messy, and Richie takes a single look at him, shuts his eyes tight, bites his shirt hard enough that Will swears he hears something rip before he buries himself to the hilt down Will’s throat and comes.
Richie is so deep down that Will can’t even taste it, and he barely feels conscious enough to help by swallowing, black approaching the edges of his vision. He feels weak when Richie starts pulling back slowly, and the first breath of cool, humid air has him seeing God.
There’s the vaguely salty-bitter aftertaste of cum in his mouth, and it only serves to highlight his desperation even more. In his pants he’s hard enough to pound nails, but Richie, knees weak and nothing to hold him up anymore, crumbles down on the floor, spitting out his ruined shirt in the process.
“ Richie-” Now Will is the one desperately pleading, he scrambles up to straddle one of Richie’s thighs, nearly shaking from need and Richie’s just brings him in tight, one hand pressing a mark into Will’s hipbone while the other pries Will’s mouth open, Richie’s thumb hooked over his lower teeth and Richie dives in, tongue first.
It’s not even a kiss, it’s too open and too messy, with Richie’s thumb still in the way, but he explores every inch of Will’s mouth; his tongue, his gums, running over his teeth; chasing the taste of his own release. With the other, he guides Will into a rough, jerky rhythm against his thigh.
Will doesn’t last very long after that.
–
For the first time since the start of the summer, Will and Mike are hanging out by themselves in Mike’s room.
It was long overdue, considering they’re about halfway over the break, and as much as he’s gone out with the entire Party, or sections of it, a needy part of him just craved some time alone with his best friend.
They’re just talking, about anything and everything. About the things they’ve been doing separately during the summer, a little about the Party and what they’ve been doing, discussing their latest respective postcards from Eddie, and resting with his eyes closed, in a room that’s essentially as familiar to him as his own, Will feels a sense of familiarity and comfort that is rivaled by little else in his life.
“So, you’ve been hanging out with Richie a lot.” Mike starts, and Will’s entire body goes cold all at once. He can almost feel the blush rising up his cheeks. He’s not ready for this conversation, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be ready for this conversation.
“I guess…?” As if Richie doesn’t spend more time in Will’s house than in his own bed at Mike’s. But playing dumb will only work on Mike for so long.
Mike just hums, he’s frowning a little bit, not in anger, but lost in thought with his eyes closed. So still that he could be sleeping, for all Will knows. He realizes Mike is chewing on something, that he’s organizing his thoughts in the best way possible so he can avoid sticking his foot in his mouth. Unbidden, the thought comes that Richie would have already spit it out, regardless of how incendiary his words were.
“I’m sorry if I’ve been distant all summer,” Will rolls his eyes, somewhat fond, somewhat frustrated because, of course Mike would automatically assume that Will hanging out with Richie most of the time is his fault. To some extent, perhaps, but maybe not as much as he thinks.
“Apology accepted,” Because Will loves Mike, but he can come across as somewhat aloof these days, spending whatever free time he can with El and the general attitude that came with being a hormonal teenager. Will has come to realize that it’s not a personal insult to him, but they promised each other to be honest. “But I missed you, you know? You’re always out or hanging with El, or there when the Party is all there, and I just miss- Mike and Will.”
“Will and Mike,” Mike agrees with a smile, but then his expression becomes conflicted again. “Sorry, I really wanted to, but Richie’s always around and Richie-”
“Gets on your nerves?” Even that is putting it lightly, Will figures.
“Like a bad rash that doesn’t go away.” Mike agrees, and Will laughs quietly because Richie is an acquired taste. Will knows that better than most.
Get your mind out of the gutter, Byers.
The voice in his head sounds distinctly like Richie, that asswipe. Not even away is he ever truly gone.
“Where did you even chain him up, I’m not sure if there are loudmouth parking racks in town-” Will swats at Mike’s arm good-naturedly, but he just moves on. “Really, he basically doesn’t go out unless you’re there but I also don’t want to think he’s sulking in the basement like a creep.”
“He’s out with El and Max, I think.” Both of them like him a surprising amount, able to at least hang out with him without Will to act as both a buffer and the main target of Richie’s stupid mouth. Will snorts at the thought of them acting like babysitters. “Shopping, or hanging out, or something.”
“I don’t know how you can stand him, honestly, he’s so- you know, he’s-” Mike waves his arms around but Will gets the idea anyway.
“An ass,” Will completes, succinctly. Mike snaps his fingers in recognition, with a muttered That’s one way to put it. “I mean you’re not wrong, but,”
That is where Will doesn’t know how to continue. How could he measure his words, combine them in such a way that it wouldn’t reveal the depth of feeling he has acquired for one Richie Tozier. In what way could he explain to Mike how they work so well without outing his exponentially increasing fondness, the odd beat of his heart when Richie looks at him. The way his stomach swoops when Richie strokes Will’s cheek with his thumb before a kiss.
“He’s funny,” That’s a safe bet, as far as an opening argument goes. “I know he’s inappropriate, and raunchy, but he’s genuinely funny. Like, uproariously funny sometimes, definitely not boring to be around.”
“Even I can admit that,” Mike says with a frown, like it pains him to agree.
“He’s a great storyteller, I think you’d enjoy some of the stories he has to tell from his hometown and his friends, they’re a lot like us, you know? He has his own Party of sorts.” Will smiles, thinking of the things he’s heard second hand from Richie. There’s no way to tell how overdramatized Richie’s stories are, but they are highly entertaining regardless. “They call themselves The Losers though, so either they’re more self-deprecating or reclaiming the insult.”
Mike laughs a bit, remaining quiet, waiting for Will to continue.
“He’s, well, surprisingly caring,” Will thinks of Richie, laser-focused on Will’s pleasure, of stolen kisses in alcoves and corners behind his friends backs, promises of things to come. He thinks of the beginning of summer, feeling moody and resigned, and the first time Richie insulted him, the first time Richie made him break out into a grin, looking at Will’s exasperated but entertained expression with a prideful one of his own, nearly screaming I did that, I made you feel better, never letting on from there on. “Observant too, he notices more than he lets on. I’m pretty sure he plays up how stupid he really is.”
“Oddly smart,” He remembers the time with the sketchbook, which was the first act of true cunning he’d seen on Richie’s part, even if it was for a pretty innocent thing. “He has good grades in school, did you know? Not better than mine, but definitely better than yours.”
He receives a smack back from Mike for his jab.
“I think you two are pretty similar,” There is a snort of disbelief from Mike, but it’s subdued, like he’s gotten less and less caustic about Richie as the conversation went on. “Kind, loyal beyond belief. You both draw people to yourselves like magnets, like there’s a bone-deep, instinctual knowledge that you’re different.”
“And you’re both, so, so dumb sometimes-” Will means to make a joke, but when he turns to look at Mike, he’s staring at Will. Nearly through him, with something in his eyes, like he knows. “So, yeah, I think you’d like him a lot more if you, uh, went past that first impression.”
Mike just keeps looking and looking at him, until the scrutiny becomes nearly unbearable for Will’s frayed nerves.
“Will- Do you- Are you–” Please don’t ask, Will thinks, Please, please don’t ask.
Again, Mike stops. Opens his mouth, closes it. Thinks, opens it again and closes it again. He takes a deep breath in and out, expression oddly determined.
“Does he,” Mike begins, outwardly nervous but with clear resolve in his voice, “Does he treat you okay?”
You don’t want me to ask, Mike says, But I need to know you’re alright, please.
It’s an olive branch and Will’s heart is fit to burst with how much love he has for his best friend. He could cry from happiness.
“He does,” Will confirms, whispering, holding back a huge grin. “More than okay.”
He’s great, Will says, He’s great for me, to me. I like him a lot.
And that’s all that Mike needs, nodding firmly once, and setting back against the bed.
Will complains often, about how his friends treat him like something frail, and they had good reason to, for a while. Will felt frail, for the longest time he felt anything could fracture him in a million, irreparable pieces and he was sick and tired of feeling that way. But then came Richie, and Richie made him feel strong, made him impulsive and brave. Now here’s Mike, who is giving him his privacy, trusting him to choose whenever and however he wants to say the words, trusting his judgment, regardless of how much it differs from his own. But Mike also cares, he cares so much and he needs to know if Will’s okay. Like this, in this room that’s essentially as familiar to him as his own, in this second home of his, he feels safe. Not smothered, not suffocated, but safe.
Mike’s hands tense up where they’re interlocked over his stomach, and he opens his eyes again, glaring murderously and meeting Will’s vaguely surprised gaze.
But if he hurts you, I swear to God- says Mike with his eyes, No one will ever find his body.
Then Will laughs, open and trusting and relieved, even after Mike’s quiet look of indignation. Sharing this untold secret with his best friend in the world, it makes something inside him bloom.
At least he knows Mike is in his corner, no matter what.
The knowledge has him feeling brave .