Chapter Text
“Mike! I swear to god, stop putting the empty milk back in the fridge!” Will hears Max shout from the kitchen. Here we go. It’s late morning; Will’s working on a painting on the floor of his and Mike’s bedroom.
“It wasn’t me!” He hears Mike yell back. Mike’s in the living room, probably shuffling through the TV trying to find something to watch. Mike said he was going to do homework, and they both knew he was lying. Will can imagine his laptop abandoned on the couch.
“I’m on the phone with my professor! Stop yelling!” Lucas yells from his and Max’s room. Will shakes his head and sighs. They’re all starting to go a little crazy. It’s been almost a month since quarantine started. At the beginning of their sophomore year of college, they all decided to move out of the dorms and rent an apartment together. It was cheaper than living on campus. It’s a two-bedroom close to school, with Max and Lucas sharing one room while Mike and Will share the other. Then a few months later, the world blew up, and now they’re all trapped together.
It’s not all bad; the weather’s starting to lighten up, and Mike’s birthday is in a few days. But the tension between everyone has been growing as they have to spend more and more time together. This isn’t the first time Max and Mike have fought; in fact, they’re usually the ones butting heads. They get into it at least a few times a day now.
Will quietly adds milk to his internal shopping list. They each go out once a week to get groceries, and that's the longest break they get from each other besides walks. Which they all take a lot of. Will has a painting due tomorrow. Classes got moved online a few weeks ago.
Will is irritated lately; everything feels a little off, which means collectively everything feels very off. He’s irritated at Mike specifically. The sound of Mike’s voice makes his body feel hot. It’s driving him a little insane. He assumes it’s partly because he hasn’t left the apartment in days.
He and Mike also share a room, which means he hasn’t had a moment to himself in days. Sure, he’s in the room alone now, but he can still hear Max and Mike bickering through the walls, which are unfortunately thin. He’s heard Lucas and Max having sex through the walls more than once.
Will thinks they're lucky to have that option. He hasn’t gotten off in almost two weeks now. There just hasn’t been an opportunity for it. He can feel the hot pressure building in his body. It threatens to boil over every time Mike groans in a certain way, or when he stretches his arms and a little peek of his stomach is revealed. What’s worse is sharing a room with Mike. He can’t escape him. He’s so in love with Mike and so attracted to him he wants to scream.
He’s at the point where just thinking of Mike gets his whole body thrumming. He feels dizzy when they make eye contact for too long. His skin burns when they touch. His mouth goes dry when Mike’s gaze flicks to his lips.
The door opens and Mike walks in. None of them really wear real clothes anymore; Mike is still wearing what he slept in last night. He’s got on a pair of sweatpants with their college’s obnoxious branding on the side along with a blue sweatshirt. His eyebrows are furrowed together in frustration.
“I’m going to kill her, I swear to god,” Mike grumbles, closing the door behind him. His laptop is shoved underneath his arm, and he has a vape in his hand. Mike started the habit a few years ago. He quit when they started college this year but got back on it when the world fell apart. Will doesn’t love it, but he can’t be mad at him.
They’re all still taking classes, though they’ve all been moved online. When Mike isn’t doing homework, he’s usually sleeping or scrolling on his phone. Mike looks tired; his dark circles defined with the irritation of life. Will tries not to pay too much attention to him; he has to finish this painting by midnight. Will doesn’t know if he’ll make the deadline; the printer paper-sized canvas only has a blue base layer. It’s a contrast assignment, the only colors in his palette being vibrant blue and stark red. He’s been procrastinating it for days, and now he’s regretting it.
“It would help if you stopped leaving empty containers in the fridge,” Will comments. Mike groans and puts his laptop on his desk, which is cluttered to hell and back. Will doesn’t mind since Mike makes a conscious effort to keep his disorganization on his own side of the rain. Mike sucked as a roommate when they first moved in together. He got better; Max berated him like it was her full-time job. He still slips back into old habits every once in a while, clearly.
“It was Lucas!” Mike tells him, climbing into bed. “Are you taking her side?”
“No, Mike, you’re arguing about containers in the fridge. I am not taking sides because this is stupid.” Will replies, tossing the brush he was using into the water. Mike huffs and buries himself under the covers. They’re the same ones he’s had since he was a kid, blue and red plaid with matching pillowcases. Mike’s attachment issues are a little too obvious sometimes.
Will’s eyes are refusing to focus on his painting; he feels like he’s being absorbed by the deep blue pigment. Will decides he needs a break before he loses his mind. He rubs his eyes, getting up off the floor, and heads into the kitchen. Max is standing by the counter, mixing the beginnings of some sort of baked good. “Are you baking?” Will asks, opening a cabinet and digging through the snacks they have. Their kitchen is falling apart just a little; all of the doors of the cabinets are just a little loose. Most of their apartment got the landlord special, a coat of thick white paint, including the insides of the kitchen drawers, so they stick when you try to open them. Will has spent more time fighting the drawers in the kitchen than he likes to admit. Sometimes they’re so stuck they shake the floor when they finally pop open.
“My therapist says I need an outlet, and I should try some hobbies. Jane suggested baking, and unfortunately I have nothing better to do because I am trapped in this apartment,” Max grumbles, a bit of flour spilling over the side of the bowl as she jams the whisk in particularly harshly. “So cookies.” Max gestures to the mess around her, her phone open to the recipe. Will won’t complain about free cookies. He’s glad she’s trying to find healthy ways to cope; she’s been through a lot of shit; they all have.
“Hey, do what you have to,” Will says, pulling out a bag of off-brand potato chips. Will grew up with them; his mom couldn’t really afford name-brand prices when Will was growing up. Will thinks they taste the same, just two dollars less. He doesn’t really need to save as vigilantly as he did when he was younger. When his mom married Hopper, things got easier. He has a high enough salary that his mom no longer has to work. It’s a habit, at least at this point, and Will doesn’t see the appeal in wasting extra money.
“When was the last time we left the apartment?” Max asks. Will sits on the side of the counter Max isn’t working on. She dumps the half-full bag of chocolate chips into the bowl.
“Uh, last week maybe.” Will can’t really remember. He’s losing track of the days. Max shakes her head. “Lucas and Mike were the ones who went shopping last week.”
“Trust me, I remember,” she says, gesturing to the avocados that sit on the counter, finally getting ripe in the mesh bag they sit in. They were rock solid when Mike and Lucas came home with them. Mike thought the firmer they were, the riper they’d be. Max chewed him out for a solid ten minutes over that. Will thinks he should make tacos for dinner tomorrow; he makes a decent guacamole thanks to Mike’s mom, who taught him how to cook while he lived with the Wheelers. Will usually makes dinner for everyone; they can all cook, but Will actually enjoys it, so he usually volunteers.
“Come to the pharmacy with me tomorrow; I have to get my meds,” Max replies. It’s not a question. She knows they’ve both been in the house too long. “We can stop for lunch too.”
“Please. I need to get out of here before I lose my mind,” Will tells her. Max huffs in agreement.
“You’re the only one in this fucking apartment that doesn’t make me want to rip out my own hair,” Max admits, stirring the dough again. Will raises an eyebrow.
“Are you and Lucas having issues?” Will asks, voice low. Max tenses up. They used to fight a lot when they were younger, so it wouldn’t surprise him. Max lets out a heavy sigh.
“I mean, not really, but kind of? I don’t know; it’s stupid. I think I’m just mad at the world,” she explains. She’s abusing the cookies at this point, the whisk getting stuck when she smacks it down too hard, which makes her even more frustrated. Will gets it. It’s like they all have this pent-up energy they can’t get rid of. The whole apartment is buzzing at some weird frequency. It’s enough to be noticeable but not enough for Will to decipher it. Will hears the faint sound of music in the background. It sounds like it’s coming from Lucas’s room.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Will asks. She opens her mouth to answer.
“Lucas! Turn down the music! I’m trying to sleep!” Mike’s yell cuts through their conversation. Will and Max both roll their eyes.
“Why are you sleeping? It’s almost noon!” Lucas yells back.
“Both of you shut up before I nail your dicks to the wall!” Max shouts at them. There’s a resounding groan from the both of them. Max sighs; she’s fighting against the whisk like she has a grudge against it. “I miss Jane. She’s so much more pleasant to live with,” Max comments. Dustin and Jane live on campus, which is thankfully still open. Max was roommates with her last year.
Max’s phone vibrates from where it’s sitting on the counter. Jane’s name replaces the once-open recipe; speak of the devil. Max always keeps her ringer off; she doesn’t like the noise. Will is the same way. Lucas and Mike can’t stand it, usually having to call them a few times before they answer. Max reaches over and picks it up. She stands the phone up against her abandoned mug of coffee, which is still half full. Max can’t finish a full cup before it gets cold, but she refuses to make a half one. Will’s glad they buy the cheap coffee too.
“Jane, I think I hate cookies,” Max says. Jane giggles. She’s in her room, which isn’t a shock; there isn’t anywhere else to go. Everything is closed. Her room is well decorated, her walls covered in memories. She hangs up every card, every letter, even the post-it notes Will has left for her.
“Do you hate cookies, or do you hate the world?” Will asks, popping a chip into his mouth.
“Both, definitely both,”
“Is Will there?” Jane questions. She’s at her desk, her homework abandoned on it. She’s studying to be a play therapist for kids. She got honors last semester, and Will was so proud he almost cried.
“Hi Jane,” Will says, popping his head into frame for a second before going back to the chips. They’re kind of stale, but he’ll take what he can get.
“Hi Will,” She has a bright smile on her face. Will loves her to pieces. She’s the best sister he ever could have asked for. They got especially close again during freshman year of college. “I’m just calling to check in,” Jane tells them. Since the world blew up, Jane makes a point to call them every day, even if it’s just for a few minutes. Thankfully, Dustin is in her bubble. Will is glad she has someone to keep her company. He’s been worried about her; she always feels her best when she’s around her friends. She doesn’t like being isolated.
“Mike left an empty milk jug in the fridge again,” Max comments. Will nudges her with an elbow.
“He said it was Lucas,” Will replies. Max raises an eyebrow.
“You think I’m going to believe that evil little man. I know it was him,” Max points the whisk at Will accusingly, a glob of cookie dough falling onto the counter. Will swipes it off of the counter with his finger and eats it. It’s pretty decent actually.
“He is not evil, Max.” Will rolls his eyes at her. He can’t help but defend Mike. He feels stupid for it, but it’s an instinct now. Mike probably did leave the empty milk bottle in the fridge. It is something Mike would do.
“No, he is evil,” Jane chimes in from the phone. Will laughs. She’s kinda right, but Will still loves him. Maybe that’s one of the reasons he’s so irritating.
“How are you?” Will asks her.
“Good,” she replies, picking at the polish on her nails. It’s a bubble gum pink color. It looks like one Will gave her as a gift a while ago. “Dustin is worried about them closing campus.”
“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that too,” Max admits. “Worst case scenario, you can come stay with us for a bit.”
“Do we still have that air mattress?” Will asks. Max shrugs. It’s probably buried in the hallway closet, which is a safety hazard to even open. She’s decided the cookie dough has been beaten enough, pulling a baking tray out of one of the cabinets. It clatters around loudly as she does.
“Dustin thinks we should leave before they tell us to,” Jane comments. Her eyes give away her anxiety about the situation despite her monotone expression. As much as he loves his sister and Dustin, they can’t fit two more people in here long-term. The apartment isn’t big to begin with. The four of them are already stepping over each other to get around the house.
Will also thinks the dynamic would be a little overwhelming for Jane. She’s gotten pretty good at regulating herself, but the tension in the apartment is a lot for anyone. Will doesn’t want that for her, but he knows she’s lonely. She has a single room, and Dustin is the only one to keep her company physically.
Will’s also concerned about their bubble. Will knows, based on the science, that this shit is bad. He’s spent too many nights researching like he’s getting paid for it. He’d pick at his fingers, reading article after article about the effects of covid. Max and Will both struggle a lot when they get sick. A cold knocks down Will for a week, if not longer, and Max isn’t any better. She ended up getting pneumonia after picking up an infection in the dorms. Will had to take her to the ER because she couldn’t catch her breath. He really doesn’t want to do that again.
Mike walks into the kitchen, his expression a little more pissed than before. His hair has gotten really long, enough for it to touch his shoulders, his gentle curls a little looser from the weight. Going out for haircuts isn’t exactly an option right now, and Mike always neglected them before anyways. Will lets Max trim his hair; it bothers him when it gets too long. Mike won’t let Max near his head. Will thinks he’s afraid she’ll stab him with the scissors.
“What’s happening?” Mike asks, rubbing his eyes. Will doesn’t mind his hair. He kind of likes it, actually. The dark of his hair letting his pale features pop. Will wants to run his fingers through his curls. He wants to scratch his fingers along Mike’s scalp and listen to him sigh against the feeling of it. He wants to pull at it.
“I thought you were napping,” Max says. Mike shrugs, walking over to where Will is on the counter. Mike takes a hit of the bright blue vape he’s holding. It smells like blueberry as Mike blows the vapor away from Will.
“Changed my mind,” Mike replies, stealing a chip from the bag. Mike leans his hip against the counter facing Max. Mike is standing close enough that Will can feel the warmth radiating off of him. Will wants to draw him from this angle, his side profile strong and sculpted. Will’s hands twitch. He wants to touch him.
“Can you go, like, exist somewhere else maybe?” Max asks, the parchment paper crinkling as she fights to rip off a piece that will fit the tray. Mike flips her off. Will can’t believe they aren’t related sometimes from the way they argue.
“Be nice,” Jane says to Max. Max sticks out her tongue, and Jane giggles. “Hi, Mike.”
“Hey Jane,” Mike greets, waving even though she can’t see him.
“Where is Lucas?” Jane asks since he’s the only one missing.
“Probably studying,” Will replies. Max nods in agreement.
“It’s all he does lately,” she says, sounding exasperated. Will is going to ask her about that tomorrow.
“I miss him,” Jane comments. Max looks like she misses him too.
“You can have him,” Mike tells her. Will elbows him.
“See, I told you, he is evil,” Jane states. Will laughs, and Mike raises an eyebrow, confused about the context of this conversation.
“Who is evil? Will?” Mike asks, sounding ready to get defensive.
“No, god no, that boy is like a lost angel. He’s about as evil as a cotton ball,” Max says. Will can’t believe he just got compared to a cotton ball of all things. Max forgoes the spoon, using her hands to make balls of cookie dough. “You are the evil one.” Max points to Mike with a cookie dough-covered finger, who scoffs at the accusation.
“Max, I am right here!” Will reminds her.
“You won’t even kill a spider; you insist on rehousing it.” She places each ball of dough in a line of three, with some space between each. She isn’t wrong about that. Maybe he is a cotton ball.
“I am also right here! And I am not evil!” Mike yells. Will opens his mouth to defend Mike, but that's when he feels a hand press against the small of his back. It’s Mike’s. Mike flicks his gaze towards Will and doesn’t falter, going back to arguing with Max like nothing is happening. His hand is over Will’s clothes, but it’s hot even with his t-shirt separating them. Max can’t tell that Mike is touching him from the angle she's at.
Mike’s touch always makes his breath hitch no matter how many times it happens. Just their knees bumping together makes Will’s heart stutter.
“You’re definitely evil,” Max states. Will is starting to agree with her; he can feel Mike’s thumb playing with the edge of his T-shirt.
“What did I ever do to you?” Mike’s thumb slips under the hem, resting against the bare skin of his back. Will’s cheeks are hot, probably flushed red, but neither of them are paying attention to Will as they bicker.
“Do you want me to go through the list?” Max asks, sounding irritated. She puts her wrists on her hips, waiting for Mike’s answer. Will can’t focus. All he can feel is Mike’s hand as it rests on a sensitive spot. The pressure is gentle, and the touch is almost casual, like Mike does this all the time. Will hates how easily they fall into rhythm with each other. There’s this firm push and pull between them that’s gotten stronger over the years, a dull buzz that turned into a loud hum. They’re both dancing around talking about it. It’s a conversation that could get uncomfortable, and the apartment already has enough weird tension.
“Yeah, actually I do!”
“Guys,” Jane groans, dragging out the word. They fight like siblings. Will usually steps in when it’s over something stupid, like this, but Will can’t move. He feels pinned down, despite the touch being light. He doesn’t want to move. He wants to soak up the feeling of Mike’s hand on his lower back. It’s an intimate place to touch; Will knows that. Only Mike touches him there. He rarely gets the feeling of Mike’s bare skin against his.
He thinks about Mike’s hands a lot. More than he’d like to admit. Especially his fingers, which are long and slender. Will wonders what they’d feel like inside of him and how deep they’d be able to go. Will can’t ever get a good angle on himself; his fingers are not quite big enough to get it. Mike picked up guitar a few years ago, and the pads of his fingers calloused from the strings. Will craves to know what they’d feel like against his prostate. The thought of Mike gently pumping his fingers in and out of him, dragging his fingers slowly and smoothly along the insides of him, making the room feel hotter than it is.
“That is not a real reason for me to be evil! Will, tell her I’m not evil.” Mike moves his hand off of Will’s back, tugging at his sleeve to get his attention. The action broke him out of his train of thought. There’s a dull ache in his body from the pent-up arousal.
“What?” Will questions. “Are you guys seriously still arguing over this?” They both look at him expectantly, awaiting an answer. Will scrubs his hands over his face and groans.
“Yes, they are. I think they forgot I was here,” Jane answers for them. Will sighs in disappointment. They’re both just in a mood to fight. They get like this sometimes when there isn’t a better outlet for frustration.
“Mike, go take a walk,” Will tells him. Mike looks up at him with wide eyes.
“What?”
“You both are only bickering because you have nothing better to do. And I know you’re not going to stop unless you get physically separated,” Will explains to them. They both look at him like he’s lost his mind. “And if I have to listen to you fight about this for another twenty minutes, I’m going to jump out the window and run away." They live on the first floor so it would be easy. Will’s not sure if he’s actually kidding or not at this point.
“Why can’t I just go back to bed?” Mike whines. Will wants to smack him.
“Michael, it is almost noon. You also have excess energy you need to burn off. So please, for all of our sakes, go take a walk.”
Mike doesn’t look upset. Will isn’t mad at him. They just aren’t regulating well. Will’s been in therapy for years and has picked up some helpful things from it. Mike doesn’t argue for once; he just grumbles as he walks to the door and slips on his sneakers.
“It’s like herding cats,” Will sighs, mostly talking to himself, his body relaxing a little finally as the tension eases.
“You sound like Mom,” Jane says. He tightens again at the comment. He wasn’t expecting it. His mom has been… Interesting since quarantine started. She’s trying to take care of Will and Jane even though she’s far from both. It’s like she forgot they’re both adults. Will doesn’t blame her, though; the whole situation sucks.
“That’s really not something I want to unpack right now,” Will tells her. He doesn’t need more things to worry about, like turning into his mother.
“I’ll be back,” Mike says as he walks out of the apartment. The door shuts, and Will sighs in relief. Max shoves the pan into the oven, a dozen cookie balls on it.
“Dustin is calling. I love you. I will call you later,” Jane says, hanging up the phone without waiting for a response.
“She seems excited to talk to him,” Will comments. Will thinks she has a little crush on him. He gets extra giggly around him, laughing and smiling at all his stupid jokes. It started a few months ago, after they came home from break. Max closes the oven door and goes to wash her hands in the sink.
“Will,” Max says over the sound of the water.
“Yeah?”
She turns off the sink.
“Go jerk off,”
Will flinches so hard he almost falls off the counter. His face flushes again after it just got back to normal. He coughs, inhaling his own spit in shock. “Sorry?” Will asks as if he heard her wrong. He definitely heard her; she said it with intent. Max and he have talked about sex before; they’re pretty close, so that isn’t a shock. But ordering him to go jerk off is definitely new.
“I know Mike might not pick up on it, but I can tell you’re irritated as fuck.” Max explains, drying her hands off on the kitchen towel hanging on a bar screwed into the cabinet under the sink. Mike can always sense when he’s irritated; Will hates it. He can’t hide anything from him. Besides the fourteen years that he’s spent in love with Mike, he thinks he’s hid that pretty well. “You need to blow off some steam, like now, or you’re going to end up exploding on someone you don’t mean to. And it’ll probably be Mike.”
Will opens his mouth to protest, but he honestly can’t. She’s right. He feels the annoyance building up more and more as the days go on. “And he kind of deserves it, but there’s already enough tension clearly.”
“Can you stop psychoanalyzing the household?”
“Mike has the stamina of a wet pasta noodle; stop wasting time.” Max reminds him, pointing towards their bedroom. Will doesn’t argue, leaving the room with a grumble similar to Mike’s.
Will doesn’t know what’s wrong with him. Maybe it’s spending every day in such close proximity to Mike. Maybe he’s just turning into a perverted sex freak. It’s weird to get off after someone explicitly tells you to. He tries not to think about it as he gets comfortable in bed.
This isn’t the first time he’s tried to get off in the last two weeks. He’s tried in the shower a few times, but every time he does, someone knocks on the door and tells him to hurry up. And he can’t jerk off when Mike’s asleep. Some days he really wants to, but the repercussions of getting caught are too scary. Even though Mike probably wouldn’t mind, it’s not worth possibly losing their friendship over.
It’s a little awkward. It’s only like noon, and he’s about to touch himself. It feels dirtier in broad daylight. Will sighs, trying to settle in and relax. He locked the door, so he goes without blankets, pulling down his sweatpants and kicking them off. He’s naked from the hips down. He’s sensitive enough that the exposure to the cool air makes him shiver and makes his cock twitch.
It feels really good to get a hand around himself after this long. He doesn’t know if two weeks is a normal amount of time to get this pent up. He can still feel Mike’s hand against his back, like he’s been branded.
Will would let Mike mark him, let him suck hickeys into his neck and collarbones, high enough for people to see, for them to know who Will belongs to. He wants to be able to press his fingers against the bruises, the sore spots being a reminder of Mike’s mouth on him. He wants to be marked in places only he can see. His inner thighs and stomach. Quiet, intimate reminders of actions that took place in the past.
He thinks Mike would tease him with them, brushing against them with his fingers. Mike loves to push his buttons. It pisses him off but turns him on at the same time. Maybe he really is a perverted sex freak. He’s fully hard in his own hand, breath starting to get heavy as he jerks himself off. He pushes his shirt and hoodie up, pressing a thumb into his nipple. He shutters at the feeling, imagining it’s Mike’s instead of his own. He probably looks like a wreck, back flat on the mattress as he gets himself off.
He itches to have something inside him. He wants Mike inside him specifically. It doesn’t matter what it is—his fingers, his cock, his tongue. That thought makes Will let out a sigh that sounds more like a whimper.
Will has lube in his nightstand; he could do it to himself in theory, but he doesn’t have time. He just needs to get off; that's his focus right now. Will’s whole body is trembling; he’s not super close, but he’s getting there. He feels embarrassed about the lack of time this is taking. He’s already leaking all over his hand.
He would give just about anything to have Mike’s fingers inside of him right now. The thought of Mike curling his fingers, drawing noises out of Will. Mike holding his hips down when he tries to grind down on his touch, telling him to be patient. Mike praising him for taking his fingers so well. Mike, Mike, Mike, Will thinks about him so much it's mortifying. He can’t help it; it feels like heaven every time.
Will bites down a moan as his hips start to falter, off rhythm. He’s so close; he needs this so badly.
His fucking phone starts vibrating against his bed. He groans, picking it up to see who it is. It’s his mom, the sweet photo of her during his graduation staring back at him. Will feels a rush of shame as he declines the call. He can’t stop; he’s right there, standing over the edge of his much-needed orgasm.
The phone rings again, the same name and face popping up. His whole body protests when he lets go, his cock twitching violently against his abdomen. He’s so frustrated he wants to cry. She’s calling twice, so it must be an emergency. He takes a few deep breaths before picking up.
“Oh, there you are! The first time I called, it sent me straight to voicemail! How crazy is that!”
“Yeah, is everything okay?”
“Of course! Why wouldn’t it be?” His mom questions. Will is holding the phone so tight he’s denting his fingers. He pinches the bridge of his nose, keeping a frustrated noise from jumping out of his mouth. He forgot that his mom doesn’t have basic phone manners. He must have died at some point recently, and this must be hell.
His mom keeps him on the phone for a full hour. Will can’t be mad at her; it’s just her and Hopper, and he can’t come visit. He’s pissed in general, though; he has to keep reminding himself to take deep breaths as little inconveniences pop up through the day so he doesn’t scream.
He cooks dinner that night, some pasta with whatever pesto sauce was left over from a few days ago. They all gather around the TV; they’ve unconsciously started movie night together. They started eating dinner this way, and it quickly became a habit, with the days of who picks the movie rotating nightly. Will likes the little routine; it gives some structure to the nothingness.
It’s Max’s turn to choose. She picks some random action movie. They’ve started running out of things to watch. Will isn’t paying close attention. His thigh is pressed up against Mike’s, and he can’t think of anything else.
After his failed attempt to get off, he changed into a pair of black shorts. He can feel the fabric of Mike’s sweatpants against his skin. Mike’s sweatpants are gray—of course they’re fucking gray—with the logo of their college on the side of them. They’re both under a blanket, with dinner plates stacked together and placed on the floor. None of the plates match; most of them were stolen from their families. Will recognizes one that belongs to Mike, the blue edges familiar.
“This movie is terrible,” Max comments. She’s not wrong; everything about it just doesn’t hit correctly, like it’s missing the mark on what it could be.
“It’s not even good-terrible,” Lucas says. Max raises an eyebrow at him. “Y’know, like a dumpster fire you can’t look away from because it’s just fascinating? That’s good-terrible.” Lucas explains.
“Oh, yeah, this is not good-terrible. This is just bad-terrible.”
“So are we still going to finish it?” Will questions.
“Do we have something better to do?” Max replies. She’s right; their focus shifting back to the movie.
Then, Mike rests a hand onto Will’s thigh under the blanket, just below where his shorts end. Will takes a deep breath. His touch feels like hot iron on his skin. Will wants more.
He feels Mike’s hand twitch like it wants to move. Will lets his thighs drop open a little further, barely noticeable. He knows Mike notices from the way his breath falls off kilter for a moment. Mike slides his hand under Will’s shorts. Will shifts in his seat, and Mike lifts his hand off of Will’s thigh slightly. Will presses Mike’s hand back down. A silent confirmation that he’s okay with what’s happening.
He shouldn’t be okay with it. He should make Mike stop and move his hand away. He should get up and bring the plates to the kitchen. He should put some distance between them.
Mike’s hand is creeping further up. Will can feel the heat of his arousal against his stomach. Will silently panics; he’s half hard in his shorts now. Mike’s pinky slips under the edge of Will’s boxers, and Will has to bite back a noise. His hips twitch. Mike lazily fidgets with the hem of Will’s boxers. Will’s glad he has some sort of poker face, but his flushed face probably gives him away.
The gentle movement of Mike’s fingers bumping against his thigh is enough to make him fully hard. The blanket is thick enough to not give Will away. He wants to thank God for that right now. He wants Mike to go further. He doesn’t care that Lucas and Max are sitting six feet away.
Mike does it the entire movie, sometimes dipping a little lower at especially boring points. Will swears Mike can tell when his breathing isn’t steady.
There’s a problem though; the movie only has like twenty minutes left, and Will is still hard enough for it to be painful. Mike’s hand is still there; that’s the other problem. He could move Mike’s hand, but the touch is so addicting after so many weeks; he wants to savor every moment of this he can.
So he closes his eyes and lets his body relax, letting his head fall onto the back of the couch. He can’t believe he’s twenty years old and faking being asleep because he is too hard to get up. His face burns with embarrassment now too. He wants a sinkhole to open up and swallow him and maybe the entire world too.
Eventually, Will hears the movie credits play, some awful pop song that sums up the movie perfectly. Will’s heart drops when he feels Mike pull away. His hands twitch, resisting the urge to reach out and pull him back. Mike gets up, and Will can hear Mike picking up the dishes.
“Woah dude, are you actually doing the dishes without someone having to ask you?” Max says, tone condescending.
“Oh, fuck off,” Mike yells back from the kitchen. Will smiles as he hears the sink turn on.
It takes him longer than he’d like to admit to get off the couch; his body is getting persistent. Mike is still in the kitchen when he does, washing the pot Will used to make dinner, headphones on. Will doesn’t say anything, just quietly heads back to his room, and gets situated in front of his painting, putting his headphones on.
After a while, Mike comes back in. Will flinches at the door but doesn’t look up at him, pretending to be zeroed in on his painting. He’s not; he’s still thinking about what just happened. He thinks his face is permanently flushed at this point.
He’s able to ignore Mike for a while, but his arousal is starting to turn back into anger as it gets later into the night. He’s getting too into his own head, replaying all the things that pissed him off recently. Mike is on the list a lot. Mike can sense it, the demeanor change in the room.
His painting is due in a half hour, and he’s just now starting with the contrasting color. The vibrant red accidentally reflects his frustration. His hands are stained with it, physical proof of his annoyance.
“Will, what is going on with you?” Mike asks from the bed. It’s late, close to midnight, and Will’s on the floor painting again. He’s being particularly rough with the painting. It’s only been a few hours since Mike slipped a hand onto Will’s inner thigh. Under his shorts. The spot he touched still burns, like his fingers are still there.
“Nothing is wrong,” Will lies, smacking the paintbrush particularly hard against the canvas.
“Dude. You’re holding that paintbrush like it killed someone,” Mike points out. He’s not wrong, his fingers gripping the handle so hard his knuckles are getting sore.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Will tells him, teeth gritted with tension. He can feel the heat of his anger bubbling inside him. It settles low, the line between frustration and arousal starting to blur.
“So there is something going on?” Mike sits up, putting his phone down to give Will his full attention. Will continues to beat paint onto the canvas like it owes him money.
“I said I don’t want to talk about it,” Will says firmly. He needs Mike to drop it. He needs Mike to stop talking. Mike pulls himself to the edge of the bed, legs crossed as he looks down at Will on the floor. He hates how small it makes him feel, Mike’s eyes investigating the anger in Will’s.
“Will, you’ve been a prick for days. Why won’t you talk to me?” Mike asks, that stupid look on his face. The sad puppy dog eyes. His words aren’t meant to be sensual, but it doesn’t matter. They fall on Will’s ears like they’re sticky with honey. It’s like Mike’s every word clings to his skin. Will’s face is pink, and he’s already half hard again in his shorts. Mike needs to shut up.
“Because I don’t want to talk about it. Drop it.”
“Will—”
Will throws his brush into the cup so hard, the murky purple paint water splashes on the floor.
“Mike. I said, Drop it.” Will’s words are firm. Mike flinches at them, like he’s surprised Will’s upset that he won’t stop pushing. He’s so stubborn. Will stands up, grabbing a tissue from his nightstand to clean up the mess he made. They can’t lose the security deposit to stains on the floor.
“I’m really worried about you,” Mike tells him.
“For the love of God! Mike, I haven’t had an orgasm in like two fucking weeks! That’s what’s wrong!” Will snaps. Mike’s eyes go wide. He opens his mouth to reply, but he closes it again. The silence between them is heavy for a moment. Like they’re both weighing what Will just admitted. “And you have been driving me fucking insane with all this touching. I don’t know what’s happening, but it needs to stop.”
“Will—” Mike starts again. Will doesn’t answer, leaning down to wipe up the water. He feels so embarrassed he wants to cry. Mike gets off of the bed and walks over to Will. “Will, stop.” Mike bends down to meet him where he stands, trying to take Will’s hands as he wipes the floor down. Will swats him away. Mike tries again. “Will please.” Will lets him this time.
“No, Mike! I’m losing my mind; this isn’t fair! We’ve been locked in this apartment for weeks, and I can’t get a minute to myself without you guys yelling at each other, and I’m so fucking pent up!” Will practically sobs. Tears are pricking at the sides of his eyes. He feels like an idiot. He’s so horny he’s crying about it. He wants to die. “I didn’t fall asleep on the fucking couch; I got hard and was trying to hide it from you!” Will admits. His face is flushed, and he knows he should shut up, but he can’t stop talking. The words keep spilling out of him. He’s just so pissed. “And you only make it worse! So please, either stop or fucking do something about it because I can’t take it anymore.” Will hates how defeated his words sound. He gets up on the floor, breaking away from Mike, tossing the wet tissue into the trash. Mike pops up with him.
“You didn’t hide it very well,” Mike tells him.
“What?” Will feels confronted, like he’s just been caught in a lie.
“Earlier. On the couch. I just—I didn’t think you’d let me go further.” Mike’s voice drops a little lower when he says that. Will can already feel the hot tension settling lower than it was before. The feeling has been so insistent the last few days it’s starting to get uncomfortable. Mike slips his hands around Will’s waist. His fingers practically touch. Will’s torso is small, and Mike’s hands are big, annoyingly so.
“I would have let you do anything to me.” It slips out before Will can stop it. He’s not kidding; the idea of Mike taking him on the couch is still floating around in his mind. Mike glances at him, a gentle question in his eyes. Are you okay? Will nods in response.
“Does that offer still stand?” Mike’s breathless; their lips are practically already touching. It’s just a matter of who cuts the rope first, whose desire for the other burns hotter.
“Mike, if you don’t kiss me—” Will doesn’t get to finish his threat before Mike kisses him. It’s hot and messy, and Will doesn’t fucking care. He needs Mike so badly he feels like he’s dying. He’s fully hard at this point, rutting against Mike’s hip. Part of him wants to be embarrassed, but the feeling of Mike’s hands hot against him makes everything else melt away. Mike grabs the back of Will’s shirt, fabric bunched up into his hands. He’s kissing Will like the world Will end if he stops. Maybe it will. It feels so good he can barely breathe. Will throws his arms around Mike, a hand sneaking up into the back of his hair. He lets his fingers loop through Mike’s soft curls while his other hand rests on Mike’s neck.
Will can barely get a breath in, dizzy from the lack of air and the faint scent of Mike’s shampoo and cologne mixed together. It’s gentle on his senses, welcoming, and inviting. Will yanks at Mike’s shirt, hiking it up against his chest. Mike breaks apart just long enough for Will to tug it off. Will presses their mouths back together, the kisses now open-mouthed and desperate. Mike pants hard against the kiss, gentle little whines slipping out. Will shoves a thigh between Mike's. He’s hard in his sweatpants. He’s bigger than Will. Not by an extreme amount, but enough to be noticed. Will wants to know what it feels like sliding against the pads of his fingers, what it would feel like inside of him.
Mike presses his thumbs against the little dimples on Will’s back. A moan forces its way out of Will’s lips. Thankfully Mike was there to muffle it. Mike twitches against him. Will didn’t know that spot was sensitive until Mike started touching him there. None of his other partners bothered to find his sensitive spots. He’s dated some assholes.
“Will, take it easy,” Mike says, reaching down and doing it for him.
“Mike, I feel like I’m fucking dying. I need you to touch me,” Will states. “I will leave right now and finish in the bathroom because, god help me, if I don’t cum soon, I am going to kill everyone in this apartment and then myself.” Will doesn’t know if he’s kidding at this point. Mike chuckles, and Will gives him a glare that shuts him up.
“No, no, I got you. Let me take care of you, please, I want to,” Mike pleads, holding Will firmly by his hips. Mike grabs the bottom of Will’s shirt. Will lets him pull it off, tossing it down on the floor. Mike kisses him again, sliding his hands up Will’s sides, letting them rest on Will’s ribcage. Will never thought he’d be this easy. He’s melting in Mike’s arms with every little touch. He’s never been like this with anyone else. The few guys he has been with made him tense and on alert.
Mike presses a thumb into Will’s nipple, rubbing a gentle circle into it. Heat sparks through Will’s system, his hips jerking against Mike’s. He whimpers against Mike’s lips. They’re sensitive; Will knew that much, but he didn’t know that they were that sensitive. He feels a bead of precum soak into his boxers as Mike does it again.
Will dips two fingers into Mike’s waistband, pulling at it. Mike gently backs them both up until the back of Will’s legs hit his bedframe. Will lets himself be pushed down by the shoulders. He sits down. Mike wastes no time, climbing back on top of Will and guiding him to lay the rest of the way down.
They adjust so they’re both on the bed; Mike takes care to make sure Will is comfortable as he leans back against the pillows. It makes Will smile.
“Doing okay?” Mike asks, pressing a kiss on Will’s cheek. Will nods. “Words, baby.” Will can feel his ears go red. The words are enough to get a little whine out of him.
“Yeah, I’m good,” Will tells him. Mike leaves a peck against Will’s lips. Mike pulls on Will’s shorts, tugging them down. Will lifts his hips up to help him. Mike leaves his boxers on, which is almost worse than having them off. The thin blue fabric hides almost nothing; in fact, it almost highlights how turned on he is. There’s a small wet spot forming at the peak of the tenting fabric. Mike presses a thumb into it, and Will keens.
“Jesus, Will, you weren’t kidding,” Mike says, dragging his thumb down the head, massaging the bottom of it. Will’s eyes go fuzzy as his back arches up. He doesn’t understand how Mike finds his sensitive spots so easily; everyone else he’s ever been with was clumsy and uncoordinated in bed. Will thought he was broken for feeling indifferent about sex. Max looked at him like he was insane when he told her.
“Fuck, Mike—” Mike touches him like these parts of Will are familiar to him, like his hands have been there before. Mike takes his time, even with Will’s pushes for him to go faster. Mike slowly strokes Will through his boxers. It feels like torture as Will’s body burns with need. He wants it quick and dirty, and Mike won’t let him have that. Which only riles him up more, knowing Mike has this level of control over him.
“You poor thing, I wish you came to me sooner,” Mike tells him.
“And how the hell could I have done that?” Will asks, breathy and desperate, hips bucking against Mike’s touch.
“You could have just asked me for some privacy,” Mike replies. “I’m kind of glad you didn’t, though.” Will lets out a shaky sigh, trying to steady his voice.
“Why?” Will asks.
“Because now I get to touch you like this,” Mike says. Will doesn’t know why he’s fighting to have a conversation as Mike steadily jerks him off. Will goes to argue further, but Mike shushes him. “Let me make you feel good.”
Will lets himself relax into the pleasure. Mike leans down, forcing his nose into the crook of Will’s neck. Will lets him in, tilting his head to the side to give Mike more room to kiss along his pulse point. Apparently that's sensitive too, trembling at this feeling of Mike so close to the blood that's rushing through his veins. Mike licks a stripe up Will’s skin, the tip of his tongue pressed against Will’s carotid. Will’s eyelids flutter as he does it, dragging his nails down Mike’s shoulder blades, pressing hard enough to sting. Mike’s breath falters at the feeling.
Mike lets go of his cock, and Will twitches at the loss of stimulation. Before Will can protest, Mike pulls down the waistband of Will’s boxers, just enough to get a hand around him. He picks up at the pace he left off at. The sudden movement makes him gasp.
“Please, Mike, please.” Will doesn’t even know what he’s begging for at this point; he can’t keep the words in, and he’s so desperate he can barely think.
“I’ve got you; take it easy, baby, take it easy.” Mike soothes him, rubbing a thumb against Will’s cheek. Will’s hips are starting to falter; he’s so close he thinks he’d actually start crying if Mike stopped now. “You’re doing so good.” Will shudders at the praise, twitching in Mike’s hand. It feels like all his nerves are live wires, buzzing inside him against his skin. It feels like Mike is touching them directly, every touch sending violent electricity down his spine.
Will’s orgasm hits him hard and fast. He doesn’t expect it, a full moan falling from his lips. Mike puts a hand over Will’s mouth, silencing his cries as he starts to spill over Mike’s hand and his own stomach. His eyes screw closed as the orgasm rips through his body with a vengeance, like he’s being punished for waiting so long.
It almost hurts, edging on painful as Mike works him through the orgasm. “That’s it, let go, baby, I’ve got you.” Mike whispers, nipping the shell of Will’s ear. Will whines at the pet name. He’s never going to forget the way it rolled off of Mike’s lips so effortlessly, like he’s been waiting to say it. He arches up into the touch, Mike sliding a hand against his spine when he does so. Will’s body finally starts to ease up, Mike gently guiding his hips back down onto the bed.
Then Mike’s finger catches a sensitive spot on an upstroke, and Will’s body completely betrays him.
He practically sobs as another orgasm tears through him. He didn’t know this was possible for him. He’s heard stories of the ecstasy of an orgasm sending someone into a second one, but he didn’t believe it. He’s so oversensitive already; tears slip down his cheeks as his body throws him into wave after wave of pleasure. It hurts a little this time, the edge of the stimulation sharper. Mike doesn’t let up, continuing to jerk Will off through it. Will’s hands shake violently against Mike’s shoulders.
The pain mixed with the pleasure feels better than Will could have ever imagined. He’s never had a desire to be in pain for sexual pleasure, usually making other partners stop before he gets to this point, but this is different. Mike holds him as he comes undone in his hands, giving him quiet praise. He feels so safe with Mike; his whole body has unraveled for him.
Will’s hips eventually start to still. Will hisses as the pleasure fades and the jolty pain hits. Mike stops his hand, letting Will adjust to the lack of stimulation before letting go completely. Mike’s breathing heavily above him, pupils blown so wide Will can’t see his iris. Will is the one who just came in his hand, but Mike looks fucked out too, messy hair framing his face. Will reaches up and tucks a strand of it behind Mike’s ear.
“You’re crying,” Mike tells him. Will chuckles a little.
“I’m okay. It felt good.” Will reassures him, wiping the half-dry tears off his cheeks to prove it.
“Fuck,” Mike groans, biting his bottom lip to try and keep his voice down. Will watches with wide eyes as Mike yanks down the waistband of his sweatpants, wrapping a hand around himself. Mike shudders, head dropping in a whine as he finally gets some friction. He doesn’t waste time, jerking himself off with the same hand covered in Will's cum. He tries not to think about the fact that Mike is using his cum as lubricant. He's failing. “Fuck, sorry,” Mike apologizes as he ruts into his own fist. He looks so desperate, sharp breaths making his chest rise and fall hard.
Will can’t believe this is actually happening. Mike’s whimpering against his own touch on top of Will. He studies the way Mike touches himself, trying to memorize all the spots that seem to be sensitive. Mike is big, not huge but big enough to make Will feel dizzy. He wants to know what it’d feel like inside him. He wonders if he’d actually be able to take all of it. Max has joked about Mike having a small dick. Will doesn’t know how he’s going to break the news to her.
“Will—fuck, you’re so pretty.” Mike tells him. Will holds the sides of his face. Mike relaxes into his touch. He looks so pathetic like this, and it makes Will’s stomach flip. He wants to make Mike beg, make him understand what it felt like to be edged for days on end.
Will didn’t expect Mike to be so vocal; quiet strings of whimpers and whines. Will can feel the vibration of each noise against his palms. His Adam's apple bobs with each moan. Will runs his fingers over it, feeling the movement against his fingertips. “Will, Will, close—I’m so close, please—please,” Mike pleads. Will doesn’t know what he’s asking for, so he reaches down between them and grabs Mike’s wrist. Mike’s hand stills instantly, hips still bucking up. Will pulls his hand away and wraps his own around Mike.
Mike is slick against his palm, the weight of him hot and heavy in his hand. “Will, fuck, don’t stop, please don’t stop,” Mike whines. Will isn’t even moving, Mike’s hips doing all the work as he thrusts into Will’s grip. Will starts to move his hand in the tune of Mike’s hips, meeting Mike where he is.
Will loses his grip on a particularly hard thrust. “Fuck, sorry, sorry,” Mike apologizes, trying to still his hips as Will readjusts. He continues to grind against Will.
“Don’t apologize. Take what you need.” Will presses a kiss against Mike’s forehead through his bangs, picking up the pace where he left off, which makes Mike’s eyes flutter.
“Will—Will—” Mike chants his name like it’s a prayer, like Will can save him.
“I know, I’ve got you,” Will whispers, and that sends Mike over the edge. His rhythm falters as he starts to spill over Will’s hand and onto his stomach, adding to the streaks of spend already coating his abs. Mike’s able to bite back any loud noises but he can't contain the little whines. Will can’t believe he’s watching Mike cum-- making Mike cum. He jerks him off through it, stopping once Mike’s hips still.
“Jesus,” Mike breathes, looking down at the mess the both of them have made. “Did you, um, cum twice?” he asks, referring to the previously demonstrated back-to-back orgasms. Will’s lip catches on his teeth as he nods.
“Yeah. I’ve heard of it happening,” Will tells him.
“But not to you?” Mike questions. Will shakes his head.
“I didn’t think it could happen to me,” He admits. Mike lets out a huff in response.
“Christ, Will, are you even real?” Mike replies. Will smiles up at him. “You were not kidding about being pent up, huh?” Mike reaches for the tissue box on the nightstand, pulling a few out.
“No, I wasn’t,” He replies. The weight on Will’s shoulders has eased up, at least for now. Some of the tension he was holding finally relaxing now that he's been wrung dry. Mike cleans off his own hands before tending to the mess on Will’s stomach. He blushes as Mike does it, embarrassed at the mess he managed to make.
“I didn’t even know someone could cum this much,” Mike remarks as he takes Will’s dirty hand to clean it. Will lets his head fall back onto the pillow.
“Shut up.” Will shoves him with his clean hand. He almost bites the inside of his cheek when he feels Mike’s tongue licking up his pointer finger. “Oh my god! Mike, what are you doing?”
“Cleaning up the mess I made,” Mike says casually. Will tries to pull away, but Mike is insistent, taking two of Will’s fingers into his mouth. He shutters, cock stirring at the feeling. Will can’t believe his body is still ready to go after all of this.
“You can use a tissue!” Will points out. Mike shrugs.
“This is more fun,” Mike tells him. Will doesn’t protest any further, letting Mike lick him clean. There are other places he’d rather have Mike's tongue, but he keeps that to himself.
The post-orgasm bliss is falling over Will, his eyelids starting to get heavy. Once Mike decides Will’s hand is clean enough, he tucks himself back into his sweats and gets off the bed. Will misses his warmth.
Mike grabs a pair of boxers from the pile of clean laundry in Will’s hamper, which he hasn’t bothered to fold. Will isn’t sure how Mike knows the clothes are clean. He’s too fucked out to care.
Mike doesn’t bother to put a shirt on before climbing back on top of Will. “I can dress myself, Mike,” Will tells him as Mike slides the boxers onto Will.
“You’re barely awake; let me do it,” Mike replies. Will hates that he’s right; his limbs feel like lead against his mattress. Will grumbles in response, letting Mike pull them the rest of the way on. Will expects Mike to get up and go to his own bed. His heart aches with the thought of being abandoned so soon after sex. He’s used to it, from before the world blew up. He hooked up with a few guys, using sex as a placeholder for the love he keeps hoping to find.
“Scoot over,” Mike says, grabbing Will’s blanket, which was balled up at the end of his bed. Will does as he’s told, turning onto his side. Mike slides in next to him, pulling the cover over them both before his arms slide around Will. He holds Will close, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. Mike's bare chest is warm against his back. Will knows he shouldn't relax so quickly but he melts into Mike on instinct.
He promptly falls asleep getting spooned by his best friend. He’ll deal with the emotional turmoil of this event tomorrow.