Archive of Our Own

“It’s not fair,” Mike mumbles, twenty-five minutes into this house party Dustin coaxed them all into joining him at. He’s three-quarters of a drink down sequestered with Will in a crowded hallway because Will stopped to tie his shoe around the time Mike discovered that knocking back most of a drink very quickly is a great way to get dizzy so they paused there. They’re pausing. The house they’re in is not big enough for all the people currently in it, and the hallway is kind of a bottleneck, but the indistinct chatter and low light overhead is soothing. Also, Mike has officially found out what his alcohol tolerance is. It is: pretty much nothing.

“What’s not fair?” Will asks. He’s been looking around, taking it all in. Always curious, observant. Mike wonders how differently they see what’s around them. For example, Mike can’t help but notice two sophomores from his fifth period study hall kissing like they’re completely alone and not approximately three feet away from them. Will appears to be examining and mentally critiquing the wall art.

“That you can’t,” Mike gestures vaguely in the direction of the couple making out. “You know.”

Will laughs a little. “I mean, I could. I’m capable.”

“Yeah, but.” Mike’s hair falls into his eyes and he shakes his head, irritated. “You should be able to, with somebody. Some super hot guy.”

Will raises his eyebrows.

“Who’s nice,” Mike adds. Will would want a nice guy. He’s not shallow. But he does also deserve a hot guy. A dreamboat. A Tiger Beat pin-up. Will should be the gay Steve Harrington, he should be a babe magnet. For guy babes. With excellent personalities.

“Yeah.” Will shrugs, mostly looking amused, which is great. Mike was afraid this would be awkward, but they can talk about this stuff like it’s normal. Because it is. It’s totally normal. “Well, let me know if you know of anybody you could set me up with, Mike. I don’t think my odds are very good here in Hawkins.”

“Well, everyone here is stupid,” Mike grumbles. “Any guy would be lucky to have you.” Mike sways closer to him, feeling so insistent about it that he doesn’t even realize he’s raised his voice until Will, with a look of mild alarm, lifts up a hand like he means to steady Mike on his feet and then halfway through, like he’s rethought it, lets it become a kind of shushing gesture, two fingers up like he’s going to press them to Mike’s mouth to quiet him.

Somebody jostles Mike from behind and it knocks Mike straight into him, Will’s fingertips brushing his lips and then catching his cheek. A plastic cup falls to the floor and Mike startles at the flash of red in his side vision, the tiny clatter of the cup hitting the baseboard. He looks at his own nearly-empty cup still in his hand as he gets his balance back, helped by Will’s other hand anchoring his waist.

Will is so close, everything in Mike’s field of vision narrowing down to just Will’s face, his bright startled eyes, the flush on his cheek. Will drops his hand from Mike’s jaw, steadies it on his shoulder. “You okay?” he asks.

“Sorry,” Mike says. “Your drink. Did you drop it just so you could catch me?”

Will’s fingertips flutter against Mike’s waist and then disappear. “I guess so. It was empty anyway.”

Mike bites his lip, a press of teeth where Will had just touched. “Good reflexes. You’re like. Clark Kent.”

“You’re like.” Will laughs, a soft exhalation. “Drunk already, somehow. And we just got here.”

“No,” Mike pointlessly denies. He finishes his drink, a half-swallow at best of a gin and tonic, which sounded interesting and appropriately adult when it was offered to him but tastes absolutely godawful. He’s unable to control his wince. Will laughs again, definitely at him, but that’s completely fine. It feels good to make Will laugh. “Do you want another one?”

Will looks indecisive, so Mike grabs his wrist and hauls him through the crowded hallway and back to the kitchen before he can say no. Will says hello to a few classmates on the way, but Mike doesn’t stop. They’re on a mission. “I don’t know that a party is the best place for us to be trying alcohol for the first time,” Will says, observing the spread of bottles on the counter.

“Wait,” says a girl next to them, pouring her own drink. “Are you guys virgins?”

“What?” Will asks, his cheeks coloring.

She looks delighted. Her name is Ellen, and Mike keeps ending up in math classes with her. She is better at calculus than he is but he sets a very low bar. “With booze, I mean. Here.” She neatly pours up a trio of vodka shots, sliding two over to them as Mike says, “Thanks,” and grabs his shot, and Will says, “Oh, no thank you,” and Mike grabs Will’s shot and puts it in his hand, and Will says, “Well, okay.”

They clink their shot glasses, Mike gets vodka on his fingers, and then he takes a shot of what tastes and feels like swallowing lighter fluid. He tries and fails not to cough. Will, being a good friend, also chokes on his shot. “Try to take it easy after this,” Ellen says, patting Will on the shoulder and then letting it turn into rubbing his back a little, like she’s not the one who just tried to murder two virgins with alcohol poisoning. She throws her shot back casually, like it’s nothing, before one of her friends appears behind her and pulls her back into the scrum of the party as she laughs and waves goodbye to them.

“I hate calculus,” Mike says. He licks at the vodka that spilled on his fingers, pressing on his lower lip a little, remembering Will’s inadvertent touch there. It occurs to him that for the first time since—what he’s not thinking about tonight—that he wants to be kissed. Wants to kiss.

“Water,” wheezes Will, watching him.

Mike gets him some water, ignoring the way he can still feel the booze burning in his chest and also specifically his lungs somehow. Will takes slow sips of it like he’s back in the hospital sucking on ice chips, a memory which Mike also feels in his chest, a place where he wishes it wasn’t. “This is great,” Mike says, manifesting. “I like this party.” He pours them both screwdrivers, which seems safe enough, and waits patiently for Will to finish his water. “Let’s go somewhere quieter.”

“Like not a party?” Will asks, following him nevertheless. “Why don’t we go find everybody else?”

This wouldn’t be too difficult—last Mike knew Dustin had gotten deep into a conversation with one of his Physics classmates and was excitedly using very long words, and Max was whipping everyone’s ass at beer pong in the backyard while Lucas cheered her on. “No,” Mike says, since Will phrased that as a question and not a request. “Just you and me.”

He peeks into a series of cracked open doors down a less crowded hallway until he gets to the last one, which has a pile of coats on the bed and, concerningly, a few candles lit, like this is the place to go for anyone who wants to get romantic in a nest of winter jackets. Still, it’s empty, and the candlelight is nice.

“Here,” Mike decides. He slides down against the wall next to an open bathroom door through which he can see a small walk-in closet and a shower curtain patterned with bright orange fish. Sitting here they’ll be just out of view behind the bed. And it’s quiet. Mike doesn’t really want to be at this party, but peer pressure is a bitch and his continued moping three months after—everything—was starting to get him some concerned looks from his friends. So, he said yes. And he’s here. Good for him. When Will joins him, Mike asks, making conversation, “So what do you think your type is?”

Will gives him a long look. “O negative.”

“You know what I mean.” Mike shifts over, bumping their elbows. “Blonds, brunets? Tall, short? Big and muscular?” He squints, trying to think of other guy types. “Kinda scrawny? Fem, I guess?”

“Why are you so worried about this?” Will asks. “I’m not really looking right now, Mike.”

“Yeah, but,” Mike says, unable to actually answer Will’s question but sallying forth anyway, lowering his voice to ask, “don’t you want to?”

Will takes a drink, leans his head back against the wall. Mike watches him swallow. “Of course I want to.” His closes his eyes, breathing in deep and undoing the top button of his shirt, his cheeks and throat flushed from liquor. In the candlelight he looks lovely, gold and shadows flickering over his long eyelashes, the soft curve of his mouth. Mike’s always thought he was nice-looking. Pretty, even, if he had to describe him.

Another slow sip and Will looks over at him. Mike looks back, at his hazel eyes that have fascinated Mike since he was a child, bicolored to Mike's pure brown. At his mouth, pink and shining. Will tilts his head a little, like he’s seeing something on Mike’s face that he doesn’t quite understand, and—

The bedroom door abruptly swings all the way open. The sophomore couple from the hallway, still making out like they never stopped and somehow just kiss-stumbled all this way, make their way with eyes closed to the bed, landing hard enough to send a small avalanche of coats to the floor.

“Um,” Will says very quietly, but Mike’s already tugging at his sleeve, gesturing at him to crawl into the bathroom out of sight. Then they’re in the dim bathroom, more candles on the counter sending light coruscating off the mirror, Will looking at him with concern. “What if they come in here?”

“Closet,” Mike says, hushed. The couple is moaning loud enough for it to be audible even in here, sounds Mike realizes he’s never heard in person nor made in his life. Would he be loud too, doing that? Would Will?

Mike very carefully closes the folding doors behind them once they’re in the closet, peering out through the angled slats. There’s enough room in here that it’s not too claustrophobic, enough light getting through that it’s not scary. He’s not stepping on or bumping into anything, for the most part. There are worse places to hide.

“I think we had an opportunity back there to just apologize and leave,” Will points out in a whisper edged with mild bafflement, like he’s not entirely sure how they got here.

“Yeah, but it’d be weird now.” Mike shrugs.

“It is weird now,” Will says, distressed. “We’re trapped in a dark closet until they finish doing whatever they’re doing out there. If we get caught they’re going to think we’re creeps, or.” He swallows, looks away. Takes another drink.

“Or doing the same thing.”

Their eyes meet.

“You should get to have it,” Mike says. He hears it like it’s someone else saying the words. Someone else offering something they have no idea how to give, something they’ve only thought about very late at night, or in the last trembling moments before coming. “If you want it.”

“Mike,” Will says, strained.

Mike asks, “Do you want it?”

This could end right here. Will could say no, and Mike would shake it off, he’d be cool about it. Abandon the subject. Leave Will to it, to get what he needs on his own time from some random guy who would hopefully treat him well, take the care with him that Will deserves. Just because Mike wants to do something like this for the first time in his life it doesn’t mean that he has to. He just wants to do it for Will. If that’s not what Will wants, that’s fine. It’ll be fine.

Minutely, Will nods.

Okay. So—okay. Mike’s only ever kissed one person in his life, and he can’t—he can’t think more about that right now. Will’s looking at him, waiting, all familiar curiosity and strange desire. First kisses should be with somebody you really want, Mike thinks, but there are other things you don’t need somebody special for.

The couple on the bed are really going for it, moaning and making a racket, and this makes Mike feel competitive. With more grace than he expected he’d be capable of, Mike drops to his knees.

“Fuck,” Will says, looking down at him, stunned. Mike waits for Will to change his mind, to call it off, and the longer he waits the more he wants, until he has to touch Will, has to slide his hands up Will’s thighs, feel the warmth of his body through denim.

Mike wasn’t raised religious but his grandparents on his father’s side were devout; they insisted he say his prayers before bed when his family stayed there, his grandmother telling him to get down on his knees by the bedside and apologize to God for his sins, that he could ask God for what he wanted only if he’d been good. Mike tries so hard to be good. With his fingertips at the waist of Will’s jeans, he asks, “Do you want me to?”

Will hesitates, and Mike can’t stand it. If the problem is that it’s him, that’s not unsurmountable. That can be surmounted. “You don’t have to look,” Mike says. Desperation’s stolen over him. If he can’t have this he doesn’t want anything. “You can pretend I’m somebody else.” It’ll hurt if that’s what Will wants, but it’ll hurt worse if Will says no. Will’s hard for him, he can see it. Mike chances more touch, untucks Will’s shirt, gets close enough to feel denim against his face.

“I don’t think,” Will says with obvious difficulty, “that I could ever…” Mike looks up at him, pleading, his cheek pressed to the hard length of Will’s dick straining behind his zipper. It’s good when Will trails off, forgetting what he was saying. It means that he isn’t telling Mike to stop, that Mike can keep touching him, rising up on his knees a little to press his forehead to Will’s bare stomach where Mike’s rucked up his shirt to get at him. He’s so warm, always so warm. Mike runs cold, he has since he was a kid, and Will’s never minded the way Mike gravitated towards him, drawn helplessly to his warmth.

Mike nuzzles just above the waist of Will’s jeans, looks up at him and licks a little. Taste of denim on his tongue, the cool metallic button, the hot skin above it. His mouth waters. Things always felt vague, theoretical before when he thought about sex, the acts fuzzy in his mind. It’s all so clear now. He wants to suck Will’s dick. He wants this, now, specifically, so he stops making it a pitch for why Will should let him. He just begs for it.

“Please, can I?” Mike says. He tugs at the waistband of Will’s jeans, fingertips pushing between denim and skin. “I want to.” Drags his thumb over the button, wet with his spit. “Please, Will.” So easy to undo the button, to pull at the tab of Will’s zipper. Just the two of them in here, the sound of zipper teeth parting, Will’s stuttering breaths and Mike’s own heart beating.

Will’s hand winds into Mike’s hair, tugging him back a little, and it makes Mike moan, surprising both of them. He looks up at Will through fluttering eyelashes, and Will looks back at him with such raw want on his face that Mike knows, at least, that he’s not alone in feeling this way. “Are you doing this because you’re drunk?” Will asks.

“No,” Mike says, though he understands now why they call it liquid courage. “Are you letting me because you’re drunk?”

After a pause, Will says, “No,” on an exhale. His hands cover Mike’s and there’s one horrible moment where Mike thinks he’s being pushed away until Will takes over and finishes Mike’s slow work, taking his shorts down, revealing himself. He has a nice dick, for what values of nice Mike has to judge with, those being a couple of porno magazines they found in the woods once and that’s just about fucking it. Mike licks his lips and leans in.

He’s never done this before, obviously. Never had it done to him either, but he can imagine what would feel good so he proceeds on that theory, opening his mouth and taking in as much as he can. It makes Will swear, makes him slip his fingers back into Mike’s hair not to direct him but because it seems as though he likes the way it feels. Mike tilts up into his touch, liking it too, looks up at Will with a mouthful of his cock and starts to suck.

Mike’s the supplicant on his knees but Will looks at him like he’s the one seeing the face of God and it makes Mike take him deeper, greedy for more of all of it. He goes too far and makes himself gag, tears coming unbidden to eyes, but he presses on, working his tongue over the underside of Will’s cock. It feels good, the way it fills his mouth, shockingly good. He rolls his hips mindlessly, trying to get a little friction for his hard cock pressing against his zipper. He wants to touch himself but resists, reaching for Will instead to feel more of him.

Will’s skin is so warm, soft where Mike splays his fingers over Will’s hip, rubs his thumb over the curve of his hipbone, slides his hand further back and squeezes a little at Will’s ass. The touch makes Will groan, telling him, “You look so good like this,” and it pleases Mike, makes warmth spread through him at the rare compliment. He goes back and forth on how he feels about his own looks on a day-to-day basis; depending on how much sleep he’s gotten and how much his hair is cooperating with his wishes his opinion of his face ranges from too angular and weird to interesting in a pleasant way. Now at least he knows he looks pretty sucking cock, or at least Will thinks so.

With his hand on Will’s ass it’s easy to guide him to thrust forward a little, to give Mike more of his cock. When he pulls off again to breathe he licks at the tip, at the whole length of him, trying to get it wetter, sloppier, watching Will as he does it. Will’s hand is still in his hair, stroking through the strands like he’s petting Mike just for the sake of it and that’s lovely, genuinely, but Will should get to take what he wants, too. Mike gropes for Will’s wrist, slides his fingers over the back of Will’s hand and urges him to push forward.

“You can,” Mike tells him, but loses his nerve to finish the sentence, swallows Will’s cock back down instead and just shows Will what he can do, guiding Will to push his head up and down, to thrust. Even thinking about telling Will that he could fuck his mouth if he wanted, that he could just use Mike to get off, makes Mike feel like he could come in his pants without even touching himself. Will understands him, though, and there’s a sweet relief in letting him take over, in that freedom from having to improvise and fumble through it even though Will clearly wasn’t complaining. He tilts his head back, keeps his mouth open wide and his eyes on Will, and takes it.

It doesn’t take Will very long to start going a little harder, and Mike welcomes it, relaxing into the rhythm so Will has to grip his hair more tightly to keep him all the way up on his knees. Mike tries to breathe around him and then stops doing that, too, focusing on Will above him and letting everything else go fuzzy. There’s only Will in the flickering dark, blurring through Mike’s wet eyelashes, the hot streak of tears down Mike’s temples when Will hits his gag reflex, Will’s cock filling his mouth over and over.

“God, Mike, I’m close,” Will says, his voice breaking with need. He’s being polite, which Mike appreciates, but this is no time to be squeamish in Mike’s opinion so he just levers up and takes Will as deep as he can. He hollows his cheeks and sucks hard until Will shudders, his hand tightening involuntarily but enjoyably in Mike’s hair, and comes down Mike’s throat.

Mike swallows and swallows, doesn’t pull off until Will pushes him a little with a hand on his shoulder. He falls back, lightheaded, tries to focus on breathing. He doesn’t want to stand up, he doesn’t know what’s going to happen when he does. He’d rather stay down on the closet floor with what he just did, with tears streaking down his cheeks from gagging on cock. His head hanging, trying to get his breath back. He’s trembling a little and he doesn’t know why.

It’s only the worry in Will’s voice that brings him back from the spiral he was riding downwards, Will saying, “Hey, Mike, come on,” and trying to tug him up by his sleeve. Mike sniffles a little, tries to wipe the tears from his face, lets himself be hauled up even though standing makes all his blood rush to his head, makes him need to brace himself on Will again. “God, are you okay? Was I—too rough? Did I hurt you?”

“No, I’m alright,” Mike says. His voice is fucked, scratchy. “Was I good?”

“Were you—yes, you were good,” Will says. “Mike. Look at me.” He cups Mike’s face in his hands, thumbs away the last few tears. Will leans in and it’ll kill Mike, right there on the spot, if Will kisses him out of some weird sense of obligation, so he ducks away, his back colliding with the wall. He lets it hold him up, his hands flat on cool plaster so he won’t reach for warm skin.

“You don’t have to,” Mike says quickly, can’t even look at Will’s face, can’t do anything but stupidly, selfishly want. “It should be meaningful, your first kiss with a guy.”

“Are you,” Will says in disbelief, “Are you fucking kidding me right now?” There’s nowhere Mike can go, nothing he can do but look back when Will pins him to the wall, hands on his shoulders. Mike licks his lips, can still taste what he did, how it felt to swallow Will’s come. Even as Will moves in closer Mike expects him to quail, pull away. Even just turn around and run. He just did that with, to his best friend. Euphoria, fear, need, shame, triumph are all crashing together in his mind. He wants to leave, and he wants to stay, and he wants to melt into Will and be held and drown himself in the familiarity of him.

“Alright. If you don’t want me to kiss you, then tell me to stop,” Will says, touching Mike’s throat, his cheek. Rubbing his thumb over Mike’s lower lip, swollen a little from what he did, how roughly he let Will take his mouth. “Tell me to stop.”

Will’s touch is so tender after all that, careful with him. Like Mike’s something delicate, something to be cherished. Something he would never let shatter if he were only allowed to hold it.

Mike doesn’t tell him to stop.

When Will kisses him it’s slow, hesitant, a soft press of lips like he’s afraid Mike will pull away, and it’s instantly not enough. The kiss is a spark, a match, and before he can think it through Mike’s reaching for him, pulling him in as close as he can. Their bodies press together, Mike’s hands stealing under his shirt, needing skin, needing as much as he can get. Will arches up into him, his hands winding into Mike’s hair, gripping hard enough to angle him just how Will wants him. It feels right, instinctual, the way they open up for each other, Will’s tongue meeting his. Hot breath and the purity of hunger, the memory of liquor, Mike drunk and dizzy on it. He’d felt such clarity when he first got down on his knees, being there only to please Will, to give him something he deserved. With Will’s mouth on his everything goes hazy again, Mike unsteady with only Will to anchor him to the earth.

Will’s teeth drag over his lower lip, sucking, licking, biting at him. When he curls his hand around the back of Mike’s neck, kisses Mike’s jaw, his neck, Mike just tilts up into it, lets himself be consumed, devoured. Will has him pinned and it feels really fucking good, his back to the wall with Will’s body pressed to his, Will’s mouth on his throat, Will’s tongue and teeth, Will sucking hard enough to leave a mark. It’s going to be a hickey, Mike can tell despite never having gotten one before, and the thought makes him moan, fingertips digging into the bare skin of Will’s back under his shirt, sliding from his waist and to his hips to drag him forward, get some friction.

The moment Will feels how hard Mike’s gotten he reaches down between them, fumbling to get Mike’s jeans open and touch him. He has to pause the kiss to do it, and the loss of it is crushing, too much to bear, then worse as Will moves to get on his knees.

“No, please,” Mike blurts out, not letting Will go far, still present enough in his mind to feel embarrassed about it but not enough to not say it: “Please keep kissing me.”

The torn expression on Will’s face has Mike just about to tell him nevermind, he can do whatever he wants, forever, but Will’s mouth is wet, pink, swollen, and Mike did that, he made Will look like that and it makes him ache, needing to keep doing it. He grasps Will’s wrist between them, pulls his hand up and away from his cock even though it’s torture losing Will’s hot grip for even a second. He has to close his eyes, can’t look at Will as he kisses Will’s wrist, then licks over his palm, up the bases and undersides of his fingers. “Like this,” he mumbles, giving a brief suck to Will’s fingertips before guiding his hand back down.

“Mike,” Will says, something desperate in it, pleading like he’s lost, like only Mike can find him. He gets his hand around Mike’s cock and it feels so instantly fucking good that Mike thrusts into it, helplessly, realizing stupidly in that moment that no one’s actually ever done this for him either, that Will’s his first whatever-this-is too. And he’s glad it’s Will, that they can share this, until all sentimentality gets swallowed up by the surety of Will’s grip, the awkwardness of the angle smoothed over by Will’s spit-slick palm and the way he rubs his thumb over the head of Mike’s cock like he’s exploring him, learning him.

He seeks out Will’s mouth again, needs to come kissing him and he is going to come very soon, couldn’t stop himself if he tried. His hands tighten on Will’s upper arms, he thrusts up into Will’s hand just tight enough around him, and it happens, his little cry getting lost between their lips.

It feels like that all took just about everything out of him. He lets the wall hold him up, pants for breath, fumbles around for the remainder of his drink and only avoids completely knocking it over by the grace of gravity on his side for once.

“Oh my god,” Will says. He’s right.

Mike finishes his drink, which was mostly melted ice by now because he did go extremely easy on the pour after the shots. “We should get back out to the party,” he says, having absolutely no clue what else to say at this point. He waits for Will to also get his pants zipped back up before he pulls open the closet doors and peers out. Silence from the bedroom, and the coats have all been picked up off the floor, so at least the sophomores were polite about it.

Even in the dim candlelight Mike can see the hickey Will left on him in the mirror, brushing his hair back to get a better look. Will’s still straightening himself up after following him out of the closet, but his eyes go wide when he sees what Mike’s looking at. “Oh shit,” Will says. “Sorry. I know you bruise easily, I should have been more careful.”

Rather than acknowledging the truth of those statements—because Will sure the hell did know that Mike’s blood vessels are always eager to break under any application of force from a light fall, to the corner of virtually any piece of furniture including heavily upholstered ones, to a particularly mean look—Mike just says, “I liked it.”

He leaves it at that, takes a quick peek out the door to check that the sexy coat bed hasn’t been claimed by a vastly quieter couple, and then leads Will out. The lights, noise, close and crowded air of the party are all sobering in their strangeness, all of it suggesting that what happened in the closet was a dream. Mike doesn’t like parties very much.

When Will tentatively suggests they find the others, Mike tells him to go ahead, that he’s going to cut out early. Will’s immediately lost expression sucks to see, so Mike chances grabbing his hand and squeezing it, trying to be reassuring. “We’re cool, right?” he asks.

This clearly wasn’t the exact right thing to say, but Will doesn’t look quite as crushed as he did before the handhold, so Mike’s taking it as a win. “Yeah, we’re cool,” Will says.

“Cool,” Mike echoes. So everything is fine. He bikes home, he makes himself come again on his back on his bed thinking about Will’s hand on his cock, and he falls asleep.

-

They don’t talk the entire next day, don’t see each other again until AP English on Monday after he caught up with Dustin, Max, and Lucas first thing in the morning and Max immediately clocked the hickey he failed to hide with a collared shirt and a not-good-enough attempt at creatively brushing his hair to curl against his throat. His determined reticence regarding the hickey-leaver only got him promises of future truth extraction via whatever means necessary along with accusations of having a vampire girlfriend.

Mike slides into his seat next to Will. His extensively workshopped big conversation opener is, “Hey.”

“Hey,” Will says. He looks straight at the unhideable hickey, and Mike would swear he feels it heat up under Will’s intent gaze. Like his blood’s screaming for Will. He wonders how hard Will would have to bite to break skin.

His hand curls around his pencil. He tries and fails not to obviously squirm. “You should come over after school,” Mike says. He had not planned on saying this.

“Okay,” Will says, easy as that.

He may as well have skipped the rest of the day for all he managed to learn. Will falls into step with him as naturally as always on the way home, and they chat about their classes like nothing happened, so much like normal that by the time they reach Mike’s house he’s half-convinced it really was just a dream or a left-field fantasy or simply so unremarkable as to not bear further mention. A gay little blip in their friendship. Fun, but meaningless.

When Mike idly scratches his neck the bruised skin of the hickey throbs.

Will calls his mom as soon as they get in, letting her know he’ll be at Mike’s for awhile. It’s quiet in the house otherwise, Mike’s dad still at work, Holly at dance practice. He’s pretty sure his mom is at her bridge club.

Mike doesn’t really have a plan at this point. If Will wants to act like it never happened, then Mike will go along with that. If Will wants to talk about it, Mike will do his best, which will probably suck, but he’ll try. If Will wants to apologize again for the hickey, that would be fine, because it did invite some inquiries he could have done without. He’s preparing himself for all possibilities.

“Is anybody else home?” Will asks casually as they head into Mike’s room, setting down their backpacks, toeing off their shoes.

“No,” Mike says. “Just you and me. For a couple of hours, I think.” He slips out of his jacket, drapes it over the back of his desk chair, turns to Will to see him taking off his own.

Will says, “Oh.” And then his eyes drop to Mike’s mouth, and heat floods through Mike so fast it feels like he just took a shot, like he’s back in the kitchen at the party. This actually isn’t an option he’d considered, that Will would want him again without even talking about it, but Will’s not saying a thing, just stepping closer with clear intent so Mike goes with it, meets him in a kiss that he realizes he’s been waiting for every hour since their last.

That he ever considered denying himself this, the fierce and hungry press of Will’s mouth to his, feels so foolish it’s almost impossible to fathom now. Will’s always been so smart, sensitive, always known Mike better than he knows himself and so it’s no surprise that he knew better than Mike how good this would be. Mike loves kissing, even thought for awhile that he loved it to the exclusion of all else. He kept waiting for the moment that he’d want more, want to touch, want all the things he was supposed to want with El instead of the idea exciting in him only a faint nervous dread. But it’s like his body finally knows what to do now; every inch of him feels magnetized, drawn helplessly to the gravity, the anchor of Will.

They land on his bed, trying to situate themselves in an ungainly tangle of limbs until Mike accidentally elbows Will in their brief and ridiculous struggle to figure it out and Will breaks into laughter with Mike following him right after. This is for Will, it’s all for Will so Mike lets himself be manhandled onto Will’s lap, straddling him and then leaning down to kiss him again.

Will’s eyes go dark when they alight on the hickey, and he threads his fingers through Mike’s hair and tugs so Mike’s forced to arch toward him, to offer his throat so Will can look at what he’s done. It makes Mike want to go entirely limp, to make himself malleable in Will’s grip for whatever else he wants to do. It feels so good to be something Will wants. “Sorry again about this,” Will says, gravelly voiced and with the expression of a person who’s never been less sorry for something in their whole life. “Did anybody notice it?” He smoothes his fingertips over the mark, a slow caress, a gentle pet.

“Yeah, everybody,” Mike says, gasping when Will presses a little harder. Will looks up at him, and Mike angles himself into Will’s touch, his shirt collar falling open further, bared collarbone and throat there for the taking. Mike’s learning new things about himself with every successive minute. Will’s breath is coming faster, his cock hard against Mike’s, an irresistible pressure for Mike to grind against. So he does, cupping the back of Will’s neck, guiding his mouth to where he clearly wants to put it and saying, low and hot into his ear, “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

He’s learning new things about Will every minute too. With a groan Will sets his mouth to that stretch of bruised skin, biting down just hard enough to make Mike’s hips buck against him. Will’s fingers work at his shirt buttons with greater dexterity than Mike could manage right now so he just holds on and lets Will handle it until Will releases his aching throat with one last scrape of teeth and pushes Mike’s shirt roughly down his shoulders. It hurts a little, fabric abrading his skin, but the pain feels good too, the warm sting of friction meeting the momentarily trapped feeling of his shirt around his forearms and making him shiver.

When he untangles himself from it and tosses it aside the look on Will’s face is so openly hungry that Mike’s just about ready to give up anything Will wants. “You too,” Mike says, tugging at the hem of one of Will’s shirts, then the other. Will may be very warm-skinned not due to a physiological quirk but because he’s just constantly in layers. He obliges Mike even though it obviously makes him blush to do it, sitting up enough under him that he can strip them off with Mike’s help, Mike getting in a feel at his shoulders, his upper back before casting the shirts aside. “You look good,” Mike says when he’s bare, hair ruffled and cheeks flushed. He touches Will’s chest, runs his knuckles down his stomach. “Gonna make the guys go crazy.” Not that Mike necessarily knows what boys like, but he’s pretty sure he’s right. Looking at Will all pale and solid and lean under him has Mike feeling a little crazy already himself.

“Guys?” Will says, pleased but a little bashful. “I’ll settle for one at a time.”

“Don’t sell yourself short.” He puts his hands on Will’s chest and pushes him down on his back because he thinks it’ll look hot, and it does. So hot he has to bend low and kiss him again, bracing himself above Will as Will touches his waist, gently enough that it almost tickles, and then firmly, with more confidence. His hands roam up and down, exploring the curves of Mike’s ribs, his hipbones, his fingertips tracing Mike’s spine. “Not much to me,” Mike says, feeling genuinely a bit apologetic about it. He has vague ideas of gay guys liking muscles, mustaches, what else? Different types of hats? Whatever guys prefer, whatever Will prefers, it’s probably not somebody like him.

Will’s eyes flash hot with something that looks shockingly like anger. “Mike, if there were any more of you you’d need to come with a warning label,” he says. “You’re beautiful.”

“You have to say that because you’re my best friend,” Mike says. It’s a token protest. He’s basking in that compliment like a lizard in the sun.

“I have to say that because I’m an artist,” Will shoots back. “It’s an aesthetics thing.”

“I’ll take it,” Mike says honestly. Will drags him back down into another kiss. This one gets fiercer, faster, like Will’s trying to prove something to him, so Mike just goes along for the ride, lets Will feel him up as he sees fit. Will’s hands grip his thighs, drawing him closer to grind up against him, and the pressure against Mike’s cock pulls a high little needy sound from his throat. He wants Will back in his mouth, wants to feel that again, his fingers working at Will’s button and zipper before he has to climb off Will’s lap to rest between his legs.

It occurs to Mike at the last second that he should ask, check in, and when he looks up he’s glad he paused as he catches the overwhelmed look on Will’s face right before he manages to hide it. Mike’s trying, he’s trying to be considerate, even though he’s so hard he feels like he’s going to pass out, but, “Should we,” he swallows, trying to clear his throat so he doesn’t sound so hoarse, so obviously wanting, “should we slow down?”

Will shakes his head, bites his lip, looking like he’s trying to get ahold of himself as much as Mike is. “Not unless you want to.”

Mike doesn’t fucking want to. He keeps his eyes on Will as he pulls Will’s boxers down, as Will’s cock springs up hard and bumps against the hollow of his cheek, as he follows the feeling and opens his mouth and then swallows Will down. The hot, helpless noise Will makes at that goes straight to his dick, spurs him to take more, as much as he can before it hits the back of his throat and he has to pull back a little with a long, maybe slightly showy lick. He’s Will’s first at this, number one of many he’s sure but he wants Will to remember this, wants Will to think about him when the next guy is sucking his cock, and the next, and the next.

He wants to go slower, take his time now that he has Will really at his mercy and in the daylight but he can’t help just losing himself in it. He likes it too much, Will’s hands in his hair, Will’s cock down his throat, feeling surrounded like this. He can’t get enough air and he wouldn’t want it anyway, woozy with his mouth full, going lightheaded except that doesn’t seem like the right term for it, this heavy tingling like static in the front of his skull, this velvet-wrapped buzz of neurons as he sucks Will down, his throat working not to gag.

His cheeks are hot, tears streaking down them every time he takes Will too deep, but he can’t stop himself from falling into the choking rhythm of it. He takes too much and Will’s fingers wind in his hair and try to tug him up but he just looks at Will through hazy eyes and goes back down, his hand fisted lower and lower around Will’s cock until his lips meet the skin between his forefinger and thumb, his hand splayed out over Will’s groin. He pushes down that much farther, past what his body is telling him his limit should be, and it’s perfect, it hurts and he can’t breathe and he doesn’t want to, there’s only Will now, Will saying his name, Will filling him up, Will right here with Mike where he always should be.

He’s swallowed Will so deep that he can’t even taste it when he comes, Will’s cock pulsing on his tongue as he shoots down Mike’s throat. It makes Mike come back to himself, finally, blinking like he’s just woken up from a long sleep as he pulls off slow and finally lets Will go, his shoulders and chest heaving, body greedy for air.

“God, Mike,” Will says, wrecked-sounding, like he’s going to cry. He sits up, reaching for him, and Mike knows he must look a sight, his hair tugged into a wild mass of curls, his cheeks flushed and salt-wet, mouth slack as he tries to remember how to breathe. Will touches his cheek, thumb stroking the corner of his used mouth, and Mike just turns instinctually into it, licks at the tip of his thumb, kisses and suckles at it. “That was so good, but are you okay? I don’t want to hurt you. You don’t—you know you don’t have to do it like that, not if it’s too much.”

“I know,” Mike says. It comes out wet, rusty. “I wanted it, though.” Will still looks concerned, but Mike’s too high off the feeling to do anything but let himself savor it, nuzzling into Will’s hand on his cheek, his eyelids fluttering shut. Will keeps up his slow stroking over Mike’s cheekbone, a soothing touch as Mike gets his breath back until he can look at Will again through clearer eyes.

What he sees on Will’s face has him shaking the rest of the clouds and stars out of his head so he can focus again, so he can touch back. He crawls up onto Will to get himself a kiss and Will just grabs him and pulls him all the way down, their bodies colliding and knocking a gasp of Mike. They lie there kissing for a blissful run of minutes until Mike starts to squirm atop him, needing more attention.

Will’s grip on him tightens, feels like he’s bracing himself and that is in fact what he’s doing as he then manages to roll them both over. Mike lands breathlessly on his back, discovering that maybe it’s good actually that he’s a little easier to throw around, and then finds himself immediately arching up into Will’s mouth on his throat, Will trailing kisses down his torso.

He stares up at Mike from between the sprawl of Mike’s open legs, bent low so Mike can feel his hot breath on his stomach hovering above the waist of his pants. “Do you want me to?” Will asks, fingering the button, and the fact is they could stop right here because Mike is fully confident already that Will is going to be able to handle himself sex-wise. He’s going to be fine out there, in fact he’ll have guys lining right up just to get a shot at him, because god. God. Mike has never wanted anything more in his life. He nods shakily and Will lowers his mouth to brush a gentle kiss over the few little curls of hair under Mike’s navel leading south, then licks at them. “Say it.”

Mike is going to fucking pass out. “I want you to,” he says, then adds, “please,” because it can’t hurt to be polite and he thinks Will might like to hear it, and also, please please oh god please. He lifts his hips to help as Will tugs his pants and underwear all the way off, kicks them away, and instantly feels any remaining insecurities vanish as Will looks him over with such unmistakable want that Mike can’t help but feel as beautiful as Will said he was.

Will doesn’t make him wait any longer, just closes his eyes and swallows Mike down. That already has Mike crying out, the wet heat of Will’s mouth and how he goes right for it, so loudly that he immediately gets self-conscious and slaps a hand over his own mouth even though they’re alone. Will pulls off of him only to grab Mike by the wrist and tug his hand away, saying, “No,” and then, “Let me hear you.”

Mike gives into him. Will licks at his dick like he’s tasting him, and Mike swears and whines his name. Will takes in as much as can, and even just the half he can manage makes Mike gasp and whimper. When Will sucks hard, stroking what he can’t fit in his mouth, Mike moans high and needy and tries not to thrash around too much. Will pins his hips down and holds him there with absolutely no effort and Mike begs him and begs him, Will’s name slurring into pleas. Mike wasn’t exactly in a position to keep track but he’s pretty sure he lasts way less time than Will did before he’s coming in Will’s mouth after some mewled syllables that he hopes were enough of a warning.

Mike’s as winded after as if he just had to run the mile in P.E. except instead of feeling tortured and ready to die he’s almost giddy, his body tingling all over. Even staying slightly braced up as he was to watch Will suck him is too much, and he falls back, his head hitting the pillow. Will joins him like that, mirroring Mike’s position flat on his back contemplating the ceiling as he catches his breath too.

They’ve managed to kick the bedcovers down and Mike’s a little cold now without Will touching him. When he shivers, Will sits back up to grab the sheets and cover them both. This floods Mike with all sorts of very fond feelings. Their Sex Ed class had been surprisingly not completely conservative about sex being evil until marriage at which point it suddenly became fine; having one of the better science teachers at the school handle it meant they got a decent rundown on teenage hormones and how sex bonds people together via natural chemical reactions meant to ensure the furtherance of the species. The point is, Mike’s feeling like he’s supposed to feel after this, probably. Even though nothing they could do with each other would actually further the species.

“What are we doing?” Will asks, not looking at him. His voice sounds a little rough, and it does not prime Mike for a conversation that isn’t about what they’re going to do next sexually.

But he can do this. “I don’t know,” Mike says. He can sort of do this. Two days ago he had just felt very intense about how Will should get to experience things with a guy, and it made sense at the time with some booze in his system that the guy should be Mike himself, because Mike was there, and also a guy, and frankly he didn’t really trust anybody else to treat Will right. Post-orgasm lying next to Will in bed in the bright sober light of day he—well, still feels the same, actually. “It’s good though, right?”

“It’s really good,” Will sighs. After a pause, sounding like he hates to say it, he asks, “You’re not just doing this because you feel sorry for me, are you? Because I can’t do all this stuff in the normal way, like with a boyfriend?”

Well when he puts it that way it sounds terrible. “No,” Mike hedges. “You should able to do this stuff, but that’s not why. I don’t want you going out there into the gay world unprepared and ending up with some guy who sucks or is mean to you. You should get to do this with somebody you trust. A friend. A best friend.”

“But you’re not,” Will frowns, “also gay, right?”

It would make Mike feel like kind of a dick to be casual about his sexuality when Will’s had such a hard time with his own. It’s not like Mike hasn’t had a slur or two thrown his way from time to time, he’s too skinny and arguably girly-looking for a classic high school bully not to scent potential blood in the water. But there are also about a hundred different things that make him weird other than him apparently liking to give blowjobs. The idea of wanting to fuck guys doesn’t send him into an existential crisis or anything. It’s not just guys, anyway. It’s Will. “Indeterminate,” he says.

“Okay,” Will says, like he doesn’t necessarily love that answer but also doesn’t know how to argue against it. Mike flutters his fingers against the sheet between them, wanting to touch. Then, because they just did sex stuff so it’s probably fine, he reaches over and covers Will’s hand with his, threading their fingers together. Will squeezes his hand, finally looking over at him. His tentative little smile does things to Mike. Heart-melty things.

“I think I’m going to freak out if we can’t cuddle right now at least a little,” Mike admits.

“Thank god,” Will says, exhaling hard. “Please come here.” He opens his arms and Mike practically throws himself into them, draping himself over Will’s warm naked wonderful body and clutching at his waist like he’ll float away if he doesn’t hold on as tightly as he can. Will holds him back just as hard, urging Mike even closer, tangling their legs together, his heel running up and down Mike’s calf, one hand rubbing his back while the other strokes his hair, his cheek, his throat. He kisses Mike’s forehead, and Mike snuggles into him like it’s his job. It feels absolutely incredible, his whole body singing with oxytocin, dopamine, serotonin, all the other ones the Sex Ed teacher mentioned that he’s forgotten. Endorphins? Sex amphetamines? “Just,” Will hesitates, then continues, “you want to, right?”

“Yeah I fucking want to,” Mike says, no hesitation on his end. “You’re great at this. You’re doing me a favor, I’m learning all kinds of shit. You’re also super hot, did I mention that? You’re super hot.”

Will laughs low and soft, delight glowing in it, and Mike feels it all through his body, Will’s chest shaking with that laugh. Mike likes it. He really, really fucking likes it.

-

The fact that their talk clarified very little does not stop either of them from continuing on with their experimentations in various states ranging from warm enthusiasm to hot desperation for the next several weeks. Every day Mike feels cheerful, electric, alive. He’s falling a little behind on some homework but he is learning plenty, that’s for sure.

“We’ve been seeing a lot of you lately, Will,” Mike’s mom says when he’s at their house for the fourth afternoon in a row. The Midwestern passive-aggression makes Mike feel automatically a little prickly, not helped by the way he’s been feeling slightly guilty for always asking her to set out another plate for dinner. He’s also mildly overheated due to the turtleneck he’s wearing which he absolutely stole from Nancy’s room. The forest green color does look nice on him. Underneath it Will’s marks on him burn like he’s been branded.

“We’re friends,” Mike says defensively, at the same time as Will says, “He’s been helping me study for a chemistry test.”

“He’s so bad at chemistry,” Mike says, nodding.

“I’m so bad at chemistry,” Will agrees.

Mike’s mom gives him a look suggesting that Will staying for dinner every night due to chemistry-related issues is not a good enough excuse. It was a long year and a half of Will’s family staying with them for her. On Mike’s end, every day he kicks himself for not taking advantage of the fact that he could have been sleeping with Will every single night that whole time. Of course, he hadn’t known that Will was gay then, and he hadn’t yet had his first experience with alcohol making him also gay, in action if not entirely in spirit. Still. The missed opportunities.

“The test is pretty soon,” Will says, clearly feeling very bad about being a bother. “My mom wants me home for dinner tonight anyway. Sorry Mrs. Wheeler.”

“Of course you’re always welcome, honey,” she says, patting Will’s shoulder.

They retreat to Mike’s room. “I don’t know how she does it,” Mike says, shaking his head as he closes the door behind them. “She should teach a masterclass in seeming nice while telling somebody to fuck off. Can we hang out at your house?”

“With my mom and Hopper there?” Will winces. “If we got caught he’d probably shoot you for defiling me.”

“Hey!” Mike protests. “I think we’re defiling each other, if anything.” He still has some virtue left. He’s not proud of it, but it’s there.

This was the wrong thing to say with the remaining twenty minutes or so of time they have left before Will should probably get going. “Yeah,” Will agrees, his eyes going dark. He tugs at the hem of Mike’s turtleneck. “Take this off.”

This is for Will, so it makes sense to do what Will says. Mike takes it off.

Under Will’s eyes he feels like an art piece, like something Will has painted. Fading marks on his throat because they’ve been trying to be good, Mike can’t really keep getting away with scarves and high collars and the concealer he gave in and bought from the drugstore. Dark bruises between his neck and shoulders where Will can suck harder, a deep purple-black circle marking the time Will made him come pathetically fast with his fist tight around Mike’s cock as his teeth broke skin. Hickeys on Mike’s chest, under his ribs. Thumbprint bruises on his hipbones where Will held him in place so they could thrust against each other.

Mike thinks sometimes of Will saving him from the demogorgon, Will breaking the creature apart right there in front of him just with his mind, the crack and splinter of bone. How good Will looked doing it, powerful. It used to make him feel lesser, with El, too many insecurities in the way to see beyond the magic of it and through to her, the person behind it all.

He still feels lesser, in a way, with Will. It’s just that he can acknowledge now that it turns him on.

“You’re going to have to let me draw you like this,” Will says, advancing on him. When Will pushes him down to sit on the edge of the bed, Mike goes. When Will gets down on his knees, Mike spreads his legs for him to kneel between.

“You think you could manage to keep your hands off me for that long?” Mike asks.

Judging by the way he looks like he’s going to eat Mike with a knife and fork even as he unzips Mike’s jeans, the answer is a solid no. Will doesn’t even dignify it with a response. “Fast, alright?” he says, lowering his mouth to Mike’s cock, which is already outrageously hard just from Will looking him over like he’s what’s for dinner.

“That won’t be a problem,” Mike murmurs. Will has proven to be a very quick learner these last couple of weeks. Mike’s going to send him off to the wider gay world ready to impress.

For the first time that thought makes him feel a little uneasy, possessive, so he tucks it away, sliding his fingers into Will’s hair as Will takes care of him. Will looks up at him with his mouth halfway down on Mike’s cock and then takes it farther. He’s been very determinedly working on this, even though Mike told him he didn’t have to. That was a very short conversation that ended when Mike said, “That’s just how I like doing it, I really like choking on your dick,” and they both got so hot for it that Will had practically written his name across Mike’s thighs in bitemarks by the time they were done. It hurt to wear pants the next day. It was awesome.

Will’s doing all the things they’ve recently discovered Mike likes, which is making it very hard to keep quiet, so Will helps him out, offering his hand so Mike can suck on his fingers. This newfound oral fixation has been a disaster for Mike’s pencils but otherwise he’s having fun with it. Will strokes his tongue, making him gag a little, and Mike says Will’s name garbled around his fingers and comes in Will’s mouth.

Will lets him go and then sprawls backward onto the floor, breathing hard. He’s pink-cheeked, wet-lipped, and his hair is thoroughly ruffled from Mike’s fingers running through it. Will’s evolution from cute kid to teenage sex demon is truly one for the books. It is in fact taking everything Mike has not to clamber down off this bed and pin Will down and keep him right where he is, at Mike’s mercy.

“You gonna manage with that?” Mike pants, looking at Will’s obvious erection. He tries not to look as hungry for it as he feels.

“I’m thinking really hard about being a bad houseguest,” Will says, looking up at the ceiling. “I don’t want to be an imposition.” He closes his eyes tightly and repeats, “I don’t want to be an imposition,” several times like he’s writing it on a chalkboard during detention while Mike tries not to laugh.

After Mike gets his clothes back on and helps Will up off the floor he tries to pull him in for a goodbye kiss but Will sets his hands to Mike’s chest, pushes him back. “I just got this under control,” Will says sternly. “Stop it.”

“You know you’ll just keep thinking about it if you don’t kiss me right now,” Mike says. He pouts, and Will narrows his eyes, knowing Mike’s trying to lure him with masculine wiles, or feminine wiles depending on his mood. “It’ll haunt you. It’ll be the only thing you can think about.”

“It already is the only thing I can think about.” He grabs his stuff, staying smartly out of Mike’s reach. “I’ll let myself out.” He blows Mike a kiss like a fucking tease and leaves.

Mike’s fine. He’s so fine, he really is. All he needs to do is stand calmly in the middle of his room for a couple of minutes, breathing in and out. Gathering the pieces of himself that only Will can scatter like a tornado sweeping right through the center of him. He clenches his fists at his sides. Calm. Normal. Fine.

A few minutes later he hears the front door open again, Will’s voice calling out an apology to Mike’s mom that he forgot something. Footsteps outside his door, then Will appears, cheeks flushed enough that he must have already been on his way home on his bike and yet still turned back around anyway.

“You were right,” Will says, pushing the door closed behind him, backing Mike up into the wall until he collides with it, Will cupping the back of his head protectively at the very last moment. “You were right,” he says again, hot and close, and then takes Mike’s mouth, Mike’s hands slipping around his waist and pulling him in, Will’s whole body pressed to his as he kisses Mike so hard that all Mike can do is give in, melt into him helplessly.

Will’s wind-chilled skin heats up more with every second, and Mike thinks wildly that he would give him all the warmth he has if Will only asked for it as he reaches up to touch his cool cheek, opens for him and gives as good as he’s getting. Under his hands Will is every version of himself that Mike’s ever known, his brand new friend on the swing set, his childhood best friend that he knew was never really gone no matter what everyone else said, the boy he did everything he could to save, over and over again. The boy he’s doing all this for because he’d do anything for Will, fucking anything. What’s the harm if that also means he can have this part of Will for himself for at least a little while before Will gives it all away to someone else. Mike’s no saint. Love makes him selfish.

Will pulls back and all Mike wants to do is follow, wherever he goes. “Alright,” Will says. He at least looks as wrecked as Mike feels in this moment. He slips his fingers through Mike’s where they rest against his cheek, kisses the base of his palm. Swallows hard. “I’ll see you at school.” One more brush of lips against Mike’s and then he turns around and is gone again.

Mike’s back is against the wall already, which is lucky because he feels too weak to continue standing. He slides down it slow, settles on the floor and wraps his arms around his knees. Reassembling himself might take a little longer this time.

-

It takes some adjustment, living with this constant low buzz of want. They both get suspiciously attentive about parental schedules, trying to carve out any time they can to be alone. They hang out together with their friends, playing DnD, going to the arcade, studying. Will is somehow much better at acting normal and like nothing’s changed at all, which makes Mike feel insane about how hard he finds it to resist getting grabby with Will whenever he’s within touching distance.

Anytime Mike thinks about trying to explain things to their friends so he wouldn’t have to emotionally handcuff himself every time they do anything he just gets a pit in his stomach imagining how it would go. Like, everyone be cool, he and Will are just casually fucking. Why? Oh, because when they disappeared during that house party months ago it was so Mike could hit on him with, in retrospect, stunning success considering the clumsy insistence with which he and the gin and the vodka went about it. Is Mike gay too? Great question. Are they boyfriends now? Terrible question. Nobody theoretically ask Mike anything ever again.

Also, technically, they’re not actually fucking fucking. Mike’s afraid to even bring that up for several reasons, not the least of which is that if it’s really good, which he vividly imagines it would be, that’ll be another thing he has to think about constantly to the exclusion of almost everything else. When he teased Will about being unable to stop thinking about kissing him that was eighty percent just Mike projecting, even though he was ultimately correct. Anyway, maybe that’s not even a thing guys do when they’re just practicing sex stuff as friends. Maybe that’s advanced level gay sex stuff that you can’t reach unless you do some mysterious gay ritual first. Maybe gay people are like wizards. In Mike’s defense, his favorite gay person is a real life sorcerer, so this is not an impossibility.

Mike spends maybe a week trying not to brood about this while brooding about it anyway before Will pulls him aside at school one morning, gets his back to the brick wall on the deserted side of the building, and asks, “Do you want to have sex?”

“Yes,” Mike says, very quickly.

Will raises an eyebrow at him. “I mean…you know. The kind of sex we haven’t done yet.”

“Yes,” Mike says again, adding a nod to really drive the point home.

“I kind of thought I’d have to convince you more,” Will says. Mike has no idea why he would have thought that. He has engaged with heartfelt enthusiasm in everything they’ve done so far. They could probably get freakier, even. He welcomes all suggestions.

“You don’t!” Mike says. He does the whole palms up shrug thing to acknowledge his own wackiness. Then he shoves his hands behind his back, which is his admittedly weird-looking but effective method of keeping his hands to himself when he’d rather grab Will and have his way with him no matter the inconvenience of their present location. “So, when?” Mike, not classically the rebellious type in this particular way, is considering skipping school for non-monster related reasons for the first time in his life.

An extremely fetching pink blush lights up Will’s face. Mike crosses his hands behind his back at the wrists, pretending he’s been tied up and there’s no way to escape. He can’t touch Will right now, or kiss him, or sway closer just to be in his space. It’s very powerful, his invisible bondage. “Hop and my mom are going up to Indianapolis today, it’s kind of last minute. But they’re staying overnight. So I thought…”

“Tonight,” Mike says, pressing his wrists together hard enough to grind bone. “Yeah, that sounds great.”

-

Mike’s thought about fucking Will and Will fucking him just about equally, which is to say multiple times in detail each, so he’s ready for anything when they get to Will’s house. It’s Will’s rodeo, so to speak. He probably won’t be putting it that way to Will.

Given all that, Mike’s surprised to hear uncertainty in his voice for the first time in awhile since they’ve been doing this when Will says, “So, you’re fucking me, right?”

“Yeah, sure.” Mike looks up at him from where Will already has him down on his back on the bed. They’ve gotten each other naked with great expediency despite having the whole night ahead of them. “What’s up?” he asks, because Will looks awfully conflicted for a guy who asked Mike to have sex with him tonight and got a big enthusiastic yes in answer.

“Just.” Will sighs, and then rolls off of him, taking away all his wonderful body heat. He lays on his side, head on the pillow, and Mike turns to face him, shuffling closer and sliding a leg between his. “I know you agreed already, but it’s kind of a big deal, right? We’re virgins. You don’t have to do this with me if you’d rather save it. I’ll understand. The first time should be with someone you,” he swallows, looking pained, “someone that’s important to you. So just…don’t feel obligated, I guess. You’ve already done a lot for me.” Then, like he just can’t stop himself, he adds, “And your feet are really cold.”

“Well, it’s cold in here,” Mike complains, pressing his feet further into Will’s shins and calves where he has in fact been trying to siphon away some of Will’s warmth. “Hey,” he says, tilting Will’s chin up so they have to look at each other in the eye. “You trust me, right?”

“Yeah.” Will sighs, settling a little when Mike switches to stroking his cheek, slow and calming.

“Then believe me. I want to do this, and I want to do it with you.” He leans in and kisses Will, soft and serious. Not going far when their lips part. “You’re the most important person in my life, don’t you know that?” Will’s shuddery little exhale at hearing that gets Mike’s nerves going, then, makes him worry he’s said too much, so he pats Will’s cheek, kisses his nose. “Now warm me up already so I can show you a good time, beautiful.”

“Oh my god,” Will says. He pushes at Mike’s chest, laughing a little, then ducks down and gives the covers a firm tug so he can pull them all the way up over their heads. “Nobody else knows what a princess you are. Nobody else has to carry this cursed knowledge.”

“I’ll completely deny it if you ever say a word,” Mike promises, shuffling downward to get nice and cozy as Will straddles him. Will shakes his head, backlit by pale sunlight through a tent of blankets. He’s still laughing as he ducks down and kisses Mike in the cloistered warmth. It makes Mike remember blanket forts they built as kids, crawling around under tables curtained with old sheets. Playing house and bickering over who got to be the wife because neither of them wanted to have jobs. All the little worlds they made just for each other. He lets his hands roam over Will’s back, slip down further to his ass, then inward. It makes Will gasp, arching into it, and it hits Mike all at once, how badly he wants this. “Show me how to do it, I want to be inside you.”

Will lets him watch, first. When he slicks his fingers with what he got from a tube in the drawer it’s with some familiarity, and when he touches himself it’s almost teasing, rubbing in circles over his hole before pushing a finger in. His head falls back, his eyes closing, losing himself in it so quickly and easily that it makes Mike feel twitchy, almost jealous that he’s not a part of it yet.

“You’ve done this before?” Mike asks. “On your own?” Will’s on his hands and knees like something pretty on display, something just for Mike, and all Mike wants is to open him up like a gift. To keep him like a promise.

“Yeah,” Will gasps. Mike can’t choose where to look, at the pink stretch of his hole as Will pries into himself or at the pleasure written all over his face as he does it. “Thinking about you. Wishing it was your fingers in me.”

When Mike’s able to speak his voice sounds raw, wrecked. “Let me. Please, I need to feel you.” Will nods, but Mike can’t wait, touching him there already with carefully slicked fingers as Will withdraws, sliding in so for a moment they’re inside him together. It makes Will moan, his fingers slipping free only so he can spread himself for Mike, hands on his cheeks pulling himself open so he gapes a little before Mike fills him up with one finger and then two. Will’s so soft inside, hot and easy for him, and when Mike teases a third Will pushes back into his touch like he can’t get it fast enough.

A careful twist of his fingers and Will’s crying out his name, reaching for him, asking for it. Mike strokes himself wet one more time, then pushes in slowly with a steadying hand on Will’s back.

It’s immediately overwhelming. Will’s so tight, fever hot around Mike’s cock, and Mike’s inside him, as close as he can get when his hips hit Will’s ass. He thrusts once, twice, and then Will starts thrusting back to meet him. It’s enough for Mike to feel Will wrapped around him, knowing it’s Will that he’s fucking, Will that’s giving him this. So he lets Will guide it, gives himself up to Will and does what he says when Will tells him more, deeper, harder, when Will growls at him to get closer, bending himself into positions that Mike has to follow him into. Mike can jerk him off, he has enough coordination for that and knows how to do it right, so he focuses on that while Will rides his dick until Will comes in his fist and Mike remembers he’s still technically the one doing the fucking.

He’s nearly there, draped over Will’s back luxuriating in the feel of him when Will demands, “Come in me.” It’s that easy, Mike thrusts deep and fills him up like doing it right then was his own idea.

Will’s the one that has to ask if he’s okay, though it’s a fair question given the way that Mike practically collapsed down on him after, too spent to do much more than wrap himself around Will’s back and hold on. “I’m fine,” Mike mumbles against the back of his neck. “Are you okay? God, you were amazing.”

“You too,” Will says. Mike can hear the smile in his voice, which is great because he’s already closed his eyes in hopes of maybe a little five minute nap until his brain starts functioning again.

They both wake up about an hour later. They have to let each other go for some much needed stretching, but pretty soon they’re shifting back into each other’s space again.

“You take orders really well, you know that?” Will tells him, snuggling into Mike’s chest. He’s a little heavy but Mike loves the weight of him, it makes Mike relax so completely feeling pinned down and secure. Mike rubs the back of his neck, traces down his spine. It makes Will shiver.

“Well, you have good ideas,” Mike says, and then, lower like a secret, “You know you can do whatever you want with me.”

“You say the sexiest things so casually sometimes,” Will says. It has the cadence of a complaint, but Mike feels completely fine about that. Will should also be tormented thinking about sex with him all the time. Welcome to Mike’s world.

It’s still a school night. Mike’s mother was not thrilled about this when he asked if he could stay over at Will’s, claiming a project they needed to do some last-minute work on. He had to listen to a lecture on getting things done in a more timely fashion, and trade this one night for dinner at home every night for the rest of the week, no guests. Since getting attacked by a monster it seems like she’s trying to be extra, extra Mom about everything. It’s annoying, but Mike also feels bad about it, since it was all kind of his fault.

He tries to imagine a future like that, being the disinterested husband to a directionless housewife, being like his parents. It sounds like a fate worse than death. He’s just not entirely sure what the alternative would be.

He and Will order pizza with the money Hop and Joyce left for dinner. They eat it on the couch, barely dressed and sitting a little too close to eat entirely comfortably but it’s not like they aren’t getting distracted grinning at each other every couple of minutes anyway. They get ready for bed together, something they’ve done with each other a hundred times before, switching off brushing their teeth at the single sink. They shower together because the hot water runs out pretty quick, and also why not. It’s giggly but efficient, even though the water is cold by the time they’re done and they have to tumble into bed immediately afterward to warm each other back up.

They finally settle down after some lazy making out and a minor argument over who gets to be little spoon. Mike loses, but big spoon is still pretty good, and it feels really nice either way when they can both be naked anyway.

It just all feels really nice. Everything.

They’re tucked up together with the lights off when Mike asks, after sleepily revisiting some memories of the nights they’ve spent with each other over the last several months, “Do you ever have nightmares anymore? You can wake me up, you know. If you do.”

After a pause, Will says, “I still do sometimes. Not when you’re here, though.”

Mike closes his eyes, wraps his arms tighter around Will. Breathes him in. Everything he could offer Will is an impossibility: more nights together like this, a future where Will would never have to sleep without him. That’s not what this is. Will’s going to have someone new to sleep next to who’ll keep his bad dreams away. It probably won’t even take that long, once he’s left Hawkins behind. “Sweet dreams, then.”

Will sighs, long and low. “They always are when I’m with you.”

-

They’re at the arcade when Mike realizes it’s just habit now, keeping his hands behind his back. It’s improved his posture, certainly, forcing him to stand up straighter instead of slouching around with his hands in his pockets, and he likes feeling the little bit of pressure against his wrists.

He realizes it’s habitual, anyway, because Will comes up behind him while he’s watching Max and Lucas face off in a game of cutthroat air hockey and slides one hand down his forearm before curling tight around both his wrists, leaning in over his shoulder and asking, low enough not to be overheard, “How come you stand like this all the time now?”

Mike flexes his wrists in Will’s grip, not trying to get away but Will tightens his hold anyway. He’s ignoring several desperate urges simultaneously: to lean back into Will and let Will take his weight, to roll his head back against Will’s shoulder and offer his throat, to go to his knees right there.

Dustin, wandering back over from losing another game of Galaga, frowns when he sees them. Mike can only imagine how he must look, because it’s enough for Dustin to ask him, “Dude, are you alright?”

“Fine,” Mike gasps. Will releases him, finally, but Mike’s voice doesn’t even sound a quarter of the way back to normal when he says, “I just need some air. Be right back.”

“I’ll go with you,” Will says easily, one hand still out of sight on Mike’s back and pushing him forward a little towards the back door of the arcade.

“You guys are weird,” Dustin says, and apparently it’s been enough of a distraction that they’ve caught Max’s attention too, making her look up and miss the puck sliding straight through into her goal. Lucas whoops in triumph, Max shrieks in outrage, and Dustin laughs at everybody, so at least Mike and Will can slip away without further notice. Or be herded away, in Mike’s case, because Will’s still jabbing him in the direction of the back hallway.

“Hey, hey,” Mike says, a pretense at this point of keeping his dignity intact but it’s the principle of the thing, okay, he’s not Will’s dog on a leash. They reach the cracked open door to the men’s room and Will gently pushes him through it while Mike’s suddenly busy imagining the weight of a collar around his neck.

It’s a surprisingly nice bathroom for a grubby arcade, single person occupancy with a wide counter around the sink. Will locks the door behind them, then turns and crowds Mike into the counter until he can feel the edge of it cutting into the backs of his thighs and he has to sit down on it to make room for Will. Not that Will needs Mike to bother to try to accommodate him with the way that he’s pushing Mike’s thighs roughly open so he can stand between them. Mike wavers backwards and Will catches him with a firm hand at his lower back, urging him forward until their hips meet.

“You can’t,” Mike says, simultaneously desperately hard for the manhandling and profoundly aware of how reckless this is.

“Sure I can,” Will tells him. “I can do whatever I want with you.” In any other situation that could be throwing Mike’s words back in his face. In this one, it’s more like Will holding his words up to his mouth and making Mike eat them out of the palm of his hand. He cups the back of Mike’s neck, strokes Mike’s jaw with his thumb. Leans his forehead against Mike’s but, so very cruelly, doesn’t kiss him. “Tell me what I want to know.”

“I’m being good,” Mike says. It comes out whinier than he would like. “I’m keeping my hands to myself. It’s hard not to touch you when we’re out with everybody. So I just pretend that I physically can’t. Like I’ve got rope around my wrists, you know, like my hands are tied behind my back.”

“So you’re telling me you just stand around thinking about being tied up all the time?” Mike wouldn’t phrase it that way, but technically yes, so he gives Will a tiny nod. His voice softening, Will asks, “It’s that hard for you to keep from touching me when we’re all out together?” Mike nods again, and Will breathes out, says, “Okay. Well we’re alone now. Touch me how you want.”

Given permission, Mike unclenches his hands from where they’d been gripping the edge of the counter and reaches for Will the way his body always tells him to. He cups Will’s face in his hands. Will’s eyes slip shut as he relaxes into Mike’s touch with a sigh, the tension going out of him, easing his grip on Mike’s thighs until he’s just resting them there. Mike lets himself look at Will, lets himself explore. His thumbs stroking Will’s cheekbones, his temples, the soft curl of his eyelashes. Leaning in to gently kiss Will’s eyelids, his forehead, his mouth. Will doesn’t try to kiss back, just opens for him, the tender give of his mouth so impossibly perfect as he yields to Mike’s touch, lets Mike suck on his lower lip, accepts Mike’s little kitten licks. Mike trails kisses over his jaw, threads his fingers through Will’s hair, rubs little circles over the soft skin behind his ears so Will shivers like he always does when Mike strokes him there. It’s something Mike’s so grateful to know, all these tiny parts of Will that love a touch.

If they had hours, if they were alone, Mike would strip him bare and take his time with every inch of Will. But they don’t, so Mike just puts his arms around him and pulls him in to his body, to the home he hopes Will finds there. Will hugs him back but it’s not enough, Mike needs more of him, always more. He wraps his legs around Will’s waist, heels digging into Will’s thighs, and buries his face in Will’s neck, clinging to him, breathing him in. With their bodies pressed together like this nothing could ever be wrong. Will’s here. He’s here, and he’s safe. Nothing else can touch him when he’s in Mike’s arms, when Mike’s holding him this close.

Will just rubs his back, rests his face in the curve of Mike’s throat, breathes with him. He slips one hand under Mike’s sweater to feel the bare skin of his waist but otherwise doesn’t try anything. Mike’s settled down now, the urgency of his want quelled by the immense comfort of getting to have this. He could stay here forever. He wishes he could just be allowed to stay here forever.

It’s the fine tremble in Will’s shoulders, the way his breathing changes a little, the damp flutter of Will’s eyelashes against his skin that gets Mike to pull back, his hand on Will’s face to tilt it up so he can look at him. The stricken look in Will’s eyes makes his heart lurch in his chest.

“Hey,” he says, rubbing away a tear with his thumb. “Was that too much? I’m sorry.” Maybe he’s crossed a line, finally. Maybe this’ll be what makes Will realize how badly Mike’s betrayed him with this—this thing. This thing that was supposed to be casual between them, except that Mike’s never been casual about Will even once in his life.

“No, no, don’t be.” Will shakes his head, blinking away the tears from his eyes. “Sorry. It wasn’t too much. Just—I guess it’s not easy for me either. Hiding this from everybody. Not that I think we should tell them, but. Yeah, I get it.”

There’s an ache in Mike’s chest, like his insides are trying to regrow around an absence, something that’s been carved out. The hollow space in him where only Will could ever fit. He kisses the tears from Will’s cheeks, then his temples, his wet eyelashes when Will bows his head and closes his eyes. “Crazy together, right?” Mike says. He nudges Will’s hip with his thigh, wanting to make him laugh. “Struggling together. Suffering together.”

“Yeah.” It works, Will laughs a little. “Fighting monsters together, defeating evil together. Normal high school stuff.”

“We have fun,” Mike says, as pleased as he can be to have distracted Will from the catastrophe of his own neediness. “Come on, we should get back out there. I probably looked like I was going to swoon right into your arms before. Because I was. You have to be careful with me, I’m kind of easy for you.”

“Easy is the last thing you are, Mike,” Will says, but he backs up, gives him enough space to hop off the counter. Mike takes that comment as reassuring. It’s nice to know he’s still retaining some element of mystery here when most of the time he feels like an open book begging Will to scrawl all over the pages of him.

Will still pushes him against the door and kisses him hard before they leave, so. Crisis averted. No feelings inadvertently revealed except for a possible interest in bondage that Will says he won’t be forgetting about. It’s a success. Mike just wishes he could understand why it doesn’t feel like one.

-

They’re still careful, as often as they manage to be together. They’ve learned to be quiet. They’ve learned to sleep close when Mike stays over at the cabin, tucked up together in Will’s smaller bed with a sleeping bag made up on the floor just in case. Everything’s going really well, and if there’s one thing Mike’s going to do, it’s never, ever try to talk about it. Their discussions of what they’re doing stay logistical, even administrative: figuring out when and how exactly they can ever be completely alone, gambling on when they think they can get away with falling asleep naked with each other without anybody trying to wake them up in the morning. The only one who sort of knows is Jonathan, who brought Will a few things back from a shop on Christopher Street when he came home from NYU for the holidays, so at least they have lube. Even then Mike was too scared to ask Will what exactly he’d told Jonathan about it, if he admitted he was having sex with Mike or if he made up a lie about it being somebody else.

It’s not like they’re going to be boyfriends, not like that’s what Will would ever want from him, anyway. They’re best friends, and they’re having sex. That’s all. Not much has changed between them, except that they spend more time together than they used to. Except that Mike knows what Will feels like inside, and the sounds he makes when he comes, and the taste of him, and what it takes to make him moan.

The night before graduation Will comes over for one last sleepover as high schoolers. They have the whole summer ahead of them still, three months before they both have to pack up for college, but it’s still big, it’s still something. They survived high school, both of them, which was for a run of years not a guarantee. It’s only been a year and a half since—everything. Since El.

Six years since Mike watched a body that looked like Will’s get pulled out of the water. The memory still makes his hands clench into fists echoing the feel of his ribcage closing in on his heart, crushing his lungs and stealing the breath right out of him. He should have never taken Will for granted after that, not even for a minute. He should never have let him go, not even for a minute.

But he’s going to. He has to; Will’s going to art school in Indianapolis, and though Mike could have followed Nancy out east, he didn’t want to go too far yet, not with Holly still in high school. So he’s staying in Indiana too, going to a small liberal arts college upstate with a well-regarded writing program. He’ll still be able to come home during breaks. Will’s school is a couple of hours away, which isn’t an impossibility as Mike has a car now, but still. Will’s going to be busy, finally on his own in the city. Mike looks forward to meeting Will’s future cool, smart, handsome boyfriend and then eventually dying alone.

Not that he’s getting maudlin about things already. Just trying to prepare himself for possible eventualities. Being realistic.

He hears Will’s familiar step coming through the hallway and looks up from where he’s sitting on the floor going through some notebooks when the door creaks open. “Hey,” Will says, smiling at him. He closes the door behind him, quietly turning the lock. Mike’s parents and sister are pretty good about knocking first, but better safe than naked and sorry. Will drops his overnight bag and tumbles gracelessly down onto Mike’s bed, as comfortable there as in his own.

Mike is going to miss him so, so goddamned badly.

“What are we doing tonight?” Will asks, pillowing his head on his hands and gazing down at Mike. He’s close enough to kiss with Mike sitting leaned up against the side of the bed, so that’s what Mike does, brushing his fingertips over Will’s cheek, pulling him close. Will falls into the kiss as easily as he always does, like it’s all he’s been waiting for. Mike’s trying to decide if he wants to crawl up onto the bed or coax Will down to the floor with him when Will breaks the kiss, laughing against Mike’s mouth. “I mean other than this.”

“I was thinking you could fuck me,” Mike says.

Will blinks at him. “Oh. So. Just this.”

“We could watch a movie after,” Mike adds.

It turns out Mike doesn’t have to make the bed vs. floor decision, because Will clambers off the bed, landing a little hard but shaking it off so he can resume looking at Mike with very wide eyes. “Are you sure?” he asks.

“Well, if there’s something good on TV,” Mike says. “Or we could go to the video store.”

“Shut up,” Will tells him, knocking his hand against Mike’s shoulder. “You know what I mean. You really want to do that?”

Choosing gracefully to discontinue being annoying even though he’s enjoying himself, Mike says, “Yeah. You seem to like it.”

“Well, yeah,” Will concedes. “But you don’t have to. I’m pretty happy with how we usually do it.” He’s giving Mike that look again, the one that always makes Mike feel like he’s more to Will than he knows he is. Like he’s not just a stopgap in Will’s exciting future gay life once he leaves behind his small town and traumatic memories and emotionally inconsistent best friend and temporary sex partner. Mike hates that look. Will’s going away and they never really discussed it, Will just told him what art schools he was applying to so Mike started looking at colleges. No talk about staying close to each other. Mike figures he would just get in the way.

“Are you,” Mike bites his lip, forges on, “saving that for somebody else? That’s fine if you are. I don’t need to take all of your first times.”

Another look Mike hates, like he’s accidentally said something devastating. He didn’t mean to. He’s always just trying, despite how it might come off, to be good to Will with all this. With everything. His voice raw, hurt, Will tells him, “You haven’t taken anything from me. Please don’t say it like that. I’ve given it to you. All of it.”

“Okay,” Mike says. He reaches for Will’s hand, pulls him close so he can kiss him, trying to put all his reassurance into it. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs against Will’s mouth. He slides their fingers together, palm to palm in a handhold, and squeezes. “You never brought it up, so I wasn’t sure. Because, Will, hey, listen to me.” Leaning back enough to look him in the eye, Mike says, “I have been dying for it over here. Seriously. I love fucking you, don’t get me wrong, but please give me your dick already. I’m going insane.”

“I didn’t think you’d be into it!” Will protests. Off Mike’s skeptical look, he says, “Okay, I thought you might be into it, maybe. But you’re a wildcard. Indeterminate sexuality despite having a lot of sex with a guy—”

“I like having a lot of sex with a guy who is you,” Mike says. Obviously, he’s given this more thought by now. “I’d probably also like it with David Bowie.”

“Anybody would like it with David Bowie.” Will shuffles over so he can sit pressed up next to Mike against the side of the bed. Mike offers him his hand back, and he takes it. “I don’t know. Maybe you’re going to go girls-only after this. Unless Bowie’s in town.”

“Wait, what have you heard?” Mike says. “Did he say something to you? If David Bowie told you he wants to fuck me you have to tell me.” Will frowns at him and tries to take his hand away, but Mike doesn’t let him, hanging on tight and then using his grip as leverage to swing his leg over and sit right down on Will’s lap. He gives Will a kiss on his huffy little face. “But I’d rather it be you. Will you fuck me, please? Please?” He bounces a little on Will’s thighs.

“Yes, alright. God.” Will sighs at him, but he kisses Mike back when Mike swoops in for one, so Mike’s taking it as a win.

-

They can’t get out of dinner with Mike’s parents, it being graduation tomorrow and everything, but it’s still light out by the time that’s wrapped up, sunset an hour off but the sun behind the trees already, washing Mike’s bedroom in gold. Will clicks the lock behind him and Mike turns to say something to him but forgets what it was when he sees the look in Will’s eyes. The intensity of it, the need.

Will kisses him before he can speak anyway, his hands cupping Mike’s face, Mike stumbling backwards towards the bed until he half-falls back onto it, only caught by Will’s hands on his waist easing him the rest of the way down. Once he’s there sitting on the edge Will stops, already breathing hard, Mike still holding onto him. Will touches his cheek, looking down at him, searching his face until Mike closes his eyes, turns into Will’s touch, kisses the base of his palm. Trying to hide, for one last moment, until he lets Will see all of him. “Are you sure?” Will asks, cracked.

Mike nods, sliding his hand up over the back of Will’s, threading their fingers together and squeezing. “Yeah,” he says, meeting his eyes again. “I want you to.”

Will is so, so careful with him when he gets Mike ready. Mike didn’t experiment with this too much on his own, not wanting to get too addicted to it in case Will turned him down, so he’s eager for it, pleased to be getting what he wanted. Will kisses his thighs, his tummy, fingers him open slow and deep until Mike’s stretched enough for it, restless with want. “Now,” he says, and Will nods, withdraws his fingers slowly with one last circle of his thumb over where Mike’s soft, open, ready for him. “How do you want me?”

Will swallows, looking him over like he needs to steady himself as Mike lifts up onto his elbows, prepared to roll over, to offer himself that way. But Will says, “Like this,” one hand on his thigh guiding him to spread open so Mike does, lets Will move him how he wants. “I want to be able to see you,” Will says, breathed out quiet.

Mike nods, willing. He spreads his legs wide, lets Will hitch him up into his lap, wraps his legs high around Will’s waist. Mike’s been bared for him like this so many times, but it all feels new with Will bending low over him, the head of his cock slipping against Mike’s hole before, with a firm push, it’s in him.

“Oh, fuck,” Mike says, startled at how big it feels, even as open as he is. When Will goes still above him, starts to speak, Mike says, “It’s okay, just. Slow, please.” Mike squirms on him a little, trying to adjust, trying to relax into it. He’s keenly aware of how small he is, bent in half under Will, how much stronger Will is than him now.

This actually helps. It’s alright. Will has him. Will is going to take care of him.

“Are you alright?” Will asks. Everything feels better when he’s looking into Will’s eyes. His best friend. Mike could get lost there in soft green and amber. He’d do anything for Will. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” Mike tells him, settling into it, calm now. “I want you to fuck me.”

Will keeps it slow. He kisses Mike when he drives deep, swallowing each of Mike’s little cries. The initial burn of being stretched so wide has faded into an ache, steady and hot, pulsing inside him like a fresh bruise. He’ll feel this tomorrow. He’ll remember how it felt to be under Will, to be full of him, with every step. Like a sore throat that lingers after Will’s fucked his mouth as roughly as he likes, he’ll keep Will with him.

“More,” Mike says, letting it shift into begging. “Harder, please.” He reaches a lazy hand down to fist his cock, but Will takes over immediately, stroking him and kissing him again. Telling Mike he’s beautiful, that he feels so good. It sounds like music in the dreamlike haze of Will fucking him like this. Mike loves him so much. “Do it like you want,” he tells Will. “Make me yours.”

“God, Mike,” Will says, the sweet overwhelm there another music note. He does what Mike wants, fucking his ass the way he fucks Mike’s throat, hard and steady. Every roll of Will’s hips hits something inside him that makes his whole body feel lightning-struck, electricity sparkling through him. Will’s fist tightens around him, rubbing at the spot just under the head of his cock that always makes him go weak, and he comes with Will’s name on his lips, Will inside him buried deep.

The final slam into him makes his whole body shake. Will kisses him and Mike returns it lazily, adrift and just needing to be close now, needing to rest wrapped up in Will’s arms where he belongs.

They’re quiet for awhile. Mike can’t tell how long it takes for him to swim up from wherever he was, tiny points of sensation getting brighter as he comes back to himself. Will spooned up behind him, arm wrapped around his waist, holding him close. The used ache of his insides, wet with come. Heat pooling in the corners of his eyes. And everywhere, in every inch of him, the feeling that he’s been changed, irrevocably and forever. He’s trembling. The tears gathering in his eyes fall. “Will,” he says, something young in it, lost, and Will immediately comes to attention, leaning up to check on him, his hand on Mike’s cheek so Will can look at him.

“What is it? Are you okay? Oh god, did I hurt you?” He’s frantic, searching Mike’s face, stroking his cheek, and Mike realizes what he’s done, that he’s scared him, struggles to get himself together so he can fix it even as he helplessly lets out a sob.

“Sorry, fuck,” Mike says. His voice shakes as he tries to wipe the tears off his face, uselessly because he’s still crying. “It was good, I really liked it, I’m sorry.”

“Was it too much?” Will asks. “It’s okay if it was, we don’t have to do it again.”

The pain on his face is agonizing to see. Mike reaches clumsily to touch him, to reassure him as he tries to put what he’s feeling into words, syllables stumbling and slurring into each other. “Not too much, I just,” he says, but he doesn’t know how to go on, because maybe it was, maybe Mike wasn’t ready for it.

Maybe he never would have been, because he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to do this. How he’s supposed to live without Will when Will leaves him. He’s so in love with Will that it’s killing him not to say it, and all he can do is let it kill him. He can’t put this on Will. Not when Will’s going away.

He pulls Will’s face down to his, kisses him desperately. He’s lightheaded by the time he lets him go, begging him, “Please, just hold me.” He tucks himself back into Will’s embrace, and it’s a relief when Will brings him in close, holding him tight. It lets him breathe again. “I just didn’t know it would feel like that. Having you in me. Does it always feel like that? When I do it to you?”

Will nods against his shoulder. Kisses him there, his mouth so hot against Mike’s skin. Like a brand. His voice is low, wet, when he answers, “Every time.”

It’s too much, knowing that. Mike brings their curled hands to his mouth, kisses Will’s knuckles, his fingers. Burrows back into Will as he pulls him in closer, needing to feel Will against every part of him that he can. He tangles their legs together, touches every inch of him in reach and it’s still not enough, he still isn’t close enough. He wants to bury himself in Will, crawl inside his chest and curl up against Will’s beating heart. Enclose himself in Will’s ribcage and stay there, an inextricable part of him.

If he could do that, maybe then he’d be safe. If something happened to Will, it would happen to Mike too. He’d never have to live without him.

“I just want you to know, I’m glad it was you,” Will says, after Mike’s breathing has evened out, after he’s finally stopped shaking. Mike can hear him swallow, feel the movement of it he’s so close. He pushes his face into Mike’s throat like he’d hide himself inside Mike too, if he could. “For all of it. I wouldn’t have wanted it to be with anyone else.”

“Me too.” He squeezes Will’s hand. “I gave it all to you too. I wanted it to be you.” He closes his eyes tight. He can’t fall apart again. “So you’ll always have it, you know? This part of me will always be yours.”

His own tears wet on Mike’s skin, Will echoes: “Always.”

-

They’re sitting on the floor in Mike’s room, packing up his stuff to leave for college next week after they did the same for Will because they have barely done anything without each other for the entirety of August. Mike’s in the midst of the difficult work of considering if he wants to pick out a couple of Will’s drawings for his dorm room walls or just take the whole binder so he can switch them out as he likes.

If it’s just a few drawings he could roll them up with the painting. Which he’s staring at, wondering why he’s even bothering to think about this when obviously he’s going to take the whole binder and probably needle Will into making something new and pretty for him before he leaves forever and Mike can only buy his work in galleries, when something occurs to him.

“I have a stupid question,” Mike says. Will raises an eyebrow at him from where he’s going through a pile of Mike’s clothes and choosing his favorites for Mike to take to school with him, despite the fact that he’s probably never going to see Mike again after this because of the series of boyfriends Mike’s imagined he’s going to have, all of whom will be better dressed than Mike is anyway. Whatever. “When El commissioned this from you. Was it just a favor, or did she pay you? And if so, how? It’s not like she was working. I guess she could have saved up if Hop was giving her an allowance. What are your rates, anyway?”

“Oh.” For the first time since Mike asked Will to fuck him, Will looks truly flustered again. “Yeah. I…lied about that. I’m sorry. I just painted it for you because I missed you. And then things were weird between us when you came to California, and I didn’t know what to do, so I didn’t give it to you at the airport, I just carried it around, and then you were having all those problems with El, and I. God.” Will closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. “It’s ancient history at this point, right? So it’s fine. I just wanted to help, and I knew El needed you as much as you needed her. So I said what I said about how she felt about you, but I was still pretty deep in my feelings for you, which we don’t have to talk about, and I couldn’t really see beyond that, so I guess I just told you how I felt about you. Sorry I lied about the painting. But it turned out okay, didn’t it? What I said helped you get through to her. And I dealt with all my feelings, you know you don’t have to worry about that. I know we’re just…having sex.” He still has trouble just calling it fucking unless they’re actually in the middle of the act. Even saying it out loud like this comes with a small but visible wince. “Sorry,” he says again.

After a long silence, during which Mike just sort of stares at him, trying to recalibrate his entire understanding of the last several years, Will adds, “And I don’t know what my rates would be. I guess maybe somebody at school could help me figure that out.”

“What?” Mike says finally.

“Well, it’s a bunch of other artists,” Will says. “Some of them must be getting paid already.”

Mike is about to commission him to start making any sense at all. It’ll have to be an IOU. “Everything you said in the van. That was just you telling me how you felt about me? El never said any of that stuff to you?”

For a moment, Will looks like a kid again, twelve and confused. Sad. Scared. “She wasn’t really one to talk about her feelings like that. But I know she loved you. She always said she did. And you loved her.” Shifting uncomfortably, he says again, “We really don’t have to talk about this.”

“Yes the fuck we do,” Mike says. “Were you never going to tell me that you had feelings for me?”

“I mean, I did,” Will says. “Or I guess I thought you knew when I told everyone that I don’t like girls. Obviously you were the one that made me realize that. Because I liked you. You were my Tammy Thompson.”

“I,” Mike says, feeling slightly insane, “still do not know who the fuck that is.”

“It’s—okay,” Will takes in a deep breath and then moves right past that one, so it’ll remain a mystery, apparently. “It doesn’t really matter anymore, does it? I mean, of course it was you. You’ve known me for basically my entire life. Who else would I have fallen in love with?” Will’s visibly trying to get ahold of himself now. Mike cannot say the same. Absolutely fuck this whole situation. “I’ve been good about it, haven’t I?” he says plaintively. “I’ve tried really hard not to put this on you. How I feel about you shouldn’t be your problem. You made it pretty clear you were just helping me out.”

“Will.” Mike’s voice, humiliatingly, cracks right through the center of Will’s name. All of him is cracking open. His ribcage, his soul, his heart. “You were in love with me?”

“Come on, Mike,” Will says. He sounds impossibly young, then, a small and vulnerable thing. As breakable as Mike feels. “You know I was. Didn’t you know I was? That I’m still.” Tears shine in his eyes. “I’ll always.” He shakes his head, clearly can’t bring himself to say it. “But that’s not what you want. It’s okay. I don’t need you to.” He stops again, choked up. The tears fall. “I can just love you.”

Will doesn’t look away from him. He never does, not even when he’s saying the hardest things he’s ever had to say to Mike. He’s the bravest person Mike’s ever known, the best friend he’s ever had. If Mike’s the heart, then Will is what makes it beat. Mike looks back at him and sees the day they met, Will alone on the swings. His kind, young, sweet face smiling back in that open-hearted way that made Mike know, right then, that he’d made the right choice. That he was safe with Will, that he wasn’t alone.

“I love you,” Mike says plainly. It’s the easiest and most difficult thing he’s ever said, his voice trembling, his hands shaking seismic with the beat of his racing heart. “I loved you the day we met, and I love you right now, and I’ve loved you every day in between, even when I didn’t realize that’s what it was. I’m sorry it took me so long to figure it out but I swear, I didn’t know you felt the same way, I never thought you were talking about me when you said what you did. I thought I was being selfish, being with you this way knowing you’d wanted somebody else, and that you couldn’t wait to leave and find a real boyfriend and live your real life without me and all the ways I’ve hurt you. I just wanted anything of you that you’d give me.”

Will reaches for him, takes Mike’s trembling hands in his and squeezes. The hope in his eyes is the loveliest thing Mike’s ever seen on his face, but before Will can speak Mike shakes his head, holds his hands like a lifeline so he can keep going. “Please, let me say this.” He has to, even though he’s knows it’s just going to make him break down worse than he already has, finally confessing what he’s always felt. “Seeing your body pulled from the lake was the worst day of my life. I felt like I died right there and I would have gone with you, I tried. But I knew, somewhere deep down, that it couldn’t be you. Everyone said that you were gone but I would have known, I would have felt it if half of me had been ripped away like that, and when I heard your voice again I knew I was right. That I could still feel you, that you were still out there. And then I got you back.” He inhales, uneven like he’s just surfaced from a long time underwater, his lungs aching from the lack of oxygen.

“I don’t think I ever got past it,” he continues, still ashamed to acknowledge it, to put words to the weakness he’s felt inside him for so many years, the fear he’s carried. “Knowing that I could lose you again, knowing what that felt like. So I threw myself into things with El, because I knew that someday you would do the same, that you would find somebody outside of me you’d want to be with. Even when you told me you wouldn’t, I couldn’t believe it, because it was you, and I knew somebody would come along and see what I saw in you, and they should, because everybody should see what I see, how amazing you are. And then you went away to California, and I know it wasn’t your fault, but it felt just as awful as I’d always known it would. I thought if I just pulled away right then, that I could make it easier on myself when you were gone for good. That it wouldn’t hurt so much if I didn’t even let myself touch you again. But it was still awful, every minute of it, and even worse when I saw how much I’d hurt you.

“And when we were finally out of danger, all I could do was try to hold onto you as tightly as I could. Because I knew that I was finally going to lose you too, just like I always thought I would. You’d go away to school, and you’d grow up, and you’d find the love of your life, and it wouldn’t be me. But you’d always be that for me, no matter what. You’ll always be the love of my life.”

Will lets go of him and for a moment there’s only the feeling of freefall in Mike’s body, the rush of air around him and inevitability of drowning, until Will takes his face in his hands, traces the tears on his cheeks with an unsteady touch, and says, tear-bright hazel eyes holding his gaze: “Mike. All I have ever wanted is you.”

“Then I need you to know,” Mike says, his hands around Will’s wrists, his heart in Will’s hands, “that every part of me is yours.”

And Will kisses him, and holds him, and Mike knows his heart is safe.

-

After Indianapolis, after Mike transfers second semester to a college closer to the city and he and Will spend a good four years there, they move to New York. It’s an easy call to make: Nancy’s already been there for awhile, living in a two bedroom apartment in Brooklyn Heights that nonetheless houses her, Jonathan, Steve, and Robin all together in unclear sleeping arrangements. Hop and Joyce aren’t too far being in Montauk, and Holly’s in and out of the city too doing modeling jobs since she got scouted while visiting Nancy.

Mike and Will get a place in the Village that’s only medium-shabby and an easy subway ride up to the DC Comics offices where Will’s been freelancing and a few blocks away from the White Horse Tavern for when Mike needs a break from banging away at the typewriter to commune with the spirits. Between the two of them and Steve they finally managed to wear down Dustin’s resistance to moving to the city, so he’s starting at Columbia in the fall to get his Master’s. Max and Lucas are next on the list for wheedling to get them at least as far east as Philadelphia. Hopes are high that they’ll succeed.

Mike’s at his desk when Will gets home, his glasses on and a respectable amount of new pages stacked next to the typewriter. Well, a respectable amount of new pages underneath their cat, Marianne. Hopefully editors don’t mind the occasional fang mark on the corner of a manuscript page.

“Which one are you working on today?” Will asks, dropping his keys onto the table and coming in for a kiss and a pet to be divided between Mike and the cat as he sees fit. He peers at the latest half-typed page as Mike tries to cover the words with his hand. No sneak peeks at the rough drafts. “The great American novel or the sci-fi epic for the ages?”

Mike gets the kiss this time, so he makes it a good one. The cat meows jealously. “I’m combining them,” Mike tells him, once he’s let go of Will’s collar and Marianne’s getting her scritches. “A coming of age story with monsters.”

“Yeah?” Will smiles at him. “Sounds pretty cool.” He heads to the kitchen, so Mike gets up to follow him, mostly done for the day anyway and hungry now that he’s thinking about it. And he just likes to go where Will goes. He watches Will rifle through the refrigerator, patiently waiting for him to get out some things to cobble together into an acceptable dinner. Once everything’s on the counter Will turns to him, then makes a surprised noise when Mike slips a finger through one of his belt loops and drags him into another kiss. He catches up pretty quickly though, always amenable when Mike’s gotten deep into storytelling mode and then emerges randomly frisky. He lets Mike have his fill, holds him close. Kisses Mike back like he’s precious, even after all this time. When Mike lets him free, he asks, “You wanna tell me all about it?”

“Mm-hmm,” Mike says, strongly considering suggesting abandoning dinner for the moment in favor of other activities. “It’s gonna be a long one. Lots of trials and tribulations. Action, romance. The drama of the human experience. Personal growth. Light emerging from the darkness. People finding each other despite all the odds working against them.”

“Are you going to tell me how it ends?” Will asks, his arms settled around Mike’s waist, eyes on him, always excited to listen. Invested in the stories Mike wants to tell.

“Happily,” Mike says, looking back at Will. Seeing his forever. “It ends happily.”