Chapter Text
Mike never should have asked the question.
It’s all he can think as the weeks pass, and the pain swells in his chest, and the longing festers in his stomach like a tumour.
It was because of the whisky. It was because of the long night of dancing at Joyce and Hop’s wedding. It was because of the elation of being with the full Party again after a year away at college.
It was because Will looked so pretty and flushed. Because he was giggly as they stumbled around their college dorm together. Because his face twisted into cartoonish, exaggerated expressions of horror when he knocked things over.
It was because the night was brimming with joy, and hazy with alcohol, and because Mike felt safe, and he fell into it.
No matter what it was, Mike never should have asked it.
Mid-laugh, breathless. “It was me, wasn’t it? The crush in Hawkins when we were kids. It was me.”
The smile had died from Will’s face, and nothing has been the same since.
Mike has had many phases of friendship with Will Byers. Solid, childhood best friends. Trauma-bonded possessiveness. Long distance, aching silence and uncertainty. Intense, mind-fuck longing and jealousy. Less than lovers, more than friends.
At the start of their second year of college, Mike’s now hit a new phase: the one that got away.
It’s all far too late. He just didn’t know it until he asked the question. Didn’t really grasp the extent to which Will had released him. As per, Mike is playing catch-up. Lagging behind Will by years and years.
It’s over now, Mike. I’m over it, he’d said. Yeah, it was intense for years, and God I—I longed for you. But you don’t have to worry. It’s done.
Don’t have to worry.
Mike is worrying, though. Worrying because he should have been worrying years ago. Should have noticed when Will was slipping away for real. Not just a bit of distance to explore college. Not just some experimental ventures into new avenues of his life. But whole new corridors, new rooms, new spaces.
Spaces into which Mike isn’t allowed to follow. Which he doesn’t think would hurt so much if he had realised it in the moment. If he hadn’t suddenly come to from that question, from Will’s dismissal, looked around and noticed that Will was leagues ahead of him.
Will’s popular in college. Well-liked by everyone. Friendly and outgoing. A new hairstyle, a new ear piercing. New boyfriend. New dopey grin on his face. New glow to his cheeks.
A whole new attitude.
One that’s a little mean.
One that seems to want Mike to feel agony to unbearable levels.
Which brings him back to: he never should have asked the question.
“But….” Carlton whispers. “He’s literally right there, Will.”
Mike is sprawled on his left side, with his eyes shut tight. His right arm is still curled against his chest, clutching the blanket close.
“Oh, it’s fine,” Will answers. “I’ve known Mike for years. He’s dead asleep.”
It’s true—partly. Will has known Mike for years. So Will does know when Mike’s dead asleep. Which means Will knows that Mike is most definitely not dead asleep right now. Frankly, he thinks Carlton must be dumb as a box of rocks to not notice that Mike is most assuredly not asleep.
Mike may have his eyes closed, but he’s breathing hard, despite himself. His heart is beating too fast for him to control it. Has been since they tumbled into the door less than ten minutes ago, which jolted him out of his deep slumber.
“Babe,” Carlton murmurs, “he’s literally facing us.”
Will sighs heavily. There’s a rustle, and Carlton gasps raggedly. It sends a hot, painful spike through Mike’s abdomen. It’s a pleasure-soaked gasp. Mike can’t bear to think what Will’s done to invoke it.
“Don’t you want to fuck me?” Will breathes.
Yes, Mike thinks, shamefully. Yes, so why are you doing this to me?
“You’re so filthy when you’ve had wine,” Carlton mutters back.
There’s a wet smacking of lips, and Mike lies incredibly still. Will’s sick for putting him in this position.
But Mike’s also sick for staying in it.
He could shift onto his back, freak Carlton out. He could pretend to wake, also freak Carlton out. Both have merit. He could kick up a storm about the whole thing. Their beds are mere feet apart; they never do things like this. It’s wrong. It’s spiteful.
It’s the only time Mike will ever get to hear Will moaning.
Which he’s doing now.
The sound is low, like Will’s trying to keep quiet. Mike knows that’s a show for his insufferable boyfriend. Knows Will knows Mike’s awake. Knows this is all one big game, one cruel punishment. For being late. For asking the question.
Mike also knows that he’s not allowed to freak Carlton out. That he’s not allowed to leave. That he has to endure it; has to burn with jealousy that feels like a physical weight on his chest.
The fingers twined in the fabric of his blanket keep twitching. He can’t stop it, his body flooding with adrenaline.
The space between beds is so scant he could stretch out his arm, with a slight lean and make it. Has done many times, in fact, when Will’s been thrashing through a nightmare.
Because of that, Mike can’t move one single inch. Can’t even have his own sick, twisted pleasure from this hellscape. Can’t touch his semi, can’t relieve the aching throb of his balls.
Will and Carlton’s breath gets heavier, and Mike’s stomach twists into knots. His eyelids keep twitching. The urge to open his eyes is so strong that an itch begins at the lash line. He keeps his breathing steady, his muscles locked. Resists the urge to swallow, even though there’s an itch at the back of his throat.
The sound of kissing is ongoing. Mike thinks if he’s going to do it, then it has to be now. He gears up, knowing he has to be quick; that it has to be a snapshot moment of viewing. That he has to prepare his eyes to train on Will and not waste a precious second on Carlton.
It is quick.
So quick, he doesn’t catch anything at all.
He tenses all over, wondering if he’s been seen. But no, the couple are still kissing. Though now, clothes are coming off. Mike can hear the teeth of zips and the thwomp of shirts hitting the floor. He waits a second longer, heart pounding. There’s the wet cling of lips, the low groans under the breath.
Again, he’s quick. But not too quick as to ruin it again. Mike hurriedly screws his eyes closed to process the image. Will is a dark blur in his bed, covered by a hulking shadow. His hair is in disarray, and under the moonlight, his cheeks are a dull pink.
He’s naked.
Mike’s cock twitches desperately. Begging to be in the mouth, he saw locked to the shadow of Carlton. Begging to be aligned with Will’s dick, like Carlton’s must be. Their bodies are so closely twined. Their hips tucking neatly into each other.
Moving.
That’s what the breathy gasps are that Mike can hear. The pair of them grinding against each other.
Meanwhile, Mike has to resist the urge to grind down on his fucking teeth.
The cocktail of hormones he’s experiencing makes him feel like he’s vibrating. The anger, the arousal, and the jealousy all mingle until he feels about ready to start levitating off his bed.
In this moment, Mike hates Will for doing this to him.
And in the next, when Will moans quietly, Mike hates Carlton for being the cause of it.
“Want you inside me, baby.”
Will’s voice is so low it’s essentially vibrations. Ones that traverse the ridiculously small gap between their beds and ride Mike’s flesh down to the nerve endings.
“You’ll get it,” Carlton promises.
Mike’s leg twitches.
It takes everything in him not to shoot out of bed and rip Carlton off Will. Rip him to pieces with his bare fucking hands.
Get off him, get off him, get off him, Mike chants deliriously.
None of it makes it past his lips. He boils instead, inside and out. It’s unbearably hot. Mike fell asleep in a sweater and briefs. The blankets are swaddled around him, cuddled up to his chest. His curls are clinging to the sweat of his brow; his scalp damp.
“I want it now,” Will whines petulantly. “Please, baby.”
Carlton laughs. It’s half aroused-half fond, and Mike wants to rip his voice box out.
Wants to rip his own fucking self out of this timeline and throw him back to a point where this doesn’t happen. Where Will is in bed with Mike. Where Will is begging and pleading with Mike to fuck him like that. All high-pitched and desperate.
Mike hates with every fibre of his being that Will can feel anything like that for Carlton.
“Fuck, okay,” Carlton gasps.
There’s some rustling, and Mike tenses. He’s done a good job, he thinks, of keeping still. Even if his veins are thrumming. Despite this, there’s a heavy sensation of eyes on him, and he knows this is the moment. The moment he gets caught or not.
He wonders if they were caught, who Carlton would be angrier with? Mike, for pretending to sleep? Or Will, for knowing it?
“You’re sure he won’t wake?”
There’s another weight added to him. One that hitches his chest. Not visibly, he hopes. Will’s eyes. He can always feel the difference when it’s Will’s eyes. It disappears as quickly as it came.
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
The second weight lifts, and Mike’s breath stutters. It sounds like a snore.
It must not bother Carlton enough, because he says, voice teasing, “Can you keep quiet?”
Will scoffs lightly. “Can you?”
“Let’s find out.”
There’s more rustling. The rasp of a pillow against the sheet. The dry brush of skin. Mike’s heart careens in his chest. He has the sudden realisation he’s about to descend a layer deeper into hell.
An opening of a drawer, and then the snick of a bottle cap comes next. Then Will’s muffled moan.
Fuck.
Mike can’t resist. He does a snapshot again. Closes his eyes with a stuttering pulse.
Will is bent over. Face down in a pillow. Back perfectly arched. Spine glorious under a streak of moonlight. Hair a dishevelled mess. Ass cheeks spread apart. By hands that are attached to muscular forearms, which lead to the shadow of Carlton.
Mike’s cock is leaking. He can feel it, a damp spot growing inside his briefs. There’s a slow, delicious tug in his lower stomach. One that pulls bit by agonising bit as Will’s breathing starts to stutter.
“Shh,” Carlton whispers. “You don’t want to wake your roommate, do you? Get caught getting fucked out by big dick?”
Mike’s hand trembles, and he subtly clenches it tighter around his blanket. He hates that he doesn’t know if Carlton’s feeding his own ego or not. Whether Will really is getting fucked out by big dick.
He fucking sounds like it.
He sounds like a ruined, sobbing mess.
How Carlton thinks Mike is sleeping through this, he has no idea.
“I don’t care,” Will gasps. “Let him see.”
Carlton laughs.
How Mike’s going to survive this psychological torture much longer, he also has no idea.
Mike is either going to die or come in his fucking pants. He’s not sure which. It’s all so confusing, the intolerable levels of jealousy and pain alongside the ache in his balls.
Christ, Will’s ass looks amazing bent over.
It’s been an obsessive thought of Mike’s, and he absolutely didn’t need it confirming. He can hear it so intensely, though. The clap against Carlton’s hips. The wet smack of their fucking. Will’s deep, satisfied groan into the pillow.
A hot rush of prickles descends from Mike’s scalp all the way to the balls of his feet. His dick is aching to a point he’s never before experienced. He’s never had to suffer like this in his lifetime; to feel so aroused and not do anything about it. To be so jealous, and so angry, and not do anything about it.
There’s a smell beginning to filter through the room. A smell of sweat and sex and lube. A smell of bodies meeting desperately, and intermingling. It’s disgusting. It turns Mike’s stomach. It makes his aching hard cock pulse obscenely. His dick dribbles precum. He stifles a despairing whimper.
“God, you fuck me so good,” Will gasps wetly.
“Shh,” Carlton laughs.
“Come here,” Will groans back.
The rustling of the bed is almost as loud as the pair of them. Mike’s heart continues to beat erratically as he gears himself up for another snapshot.
When his eyes open, he doesn’t shut them. He doesn’t shut them because he’s not in danger of being caught. Carlton is hunched over Will, his face tucked over Will’s right shoulder. Will has his head turned toward his boyfriends, and their position completely angles away from Mike.
It allows him an extra luxurious second.
He can only see a sliver of Will’s body. Can see he’s propped on his elbows, with clenched fists braced on the bed. Can see the beautiful line of Will’s side. The bunch of his thigh. The curve of his ass where it fits into Carlton’s hips. They barely separate, the pair of them in a deep, slow grind.
Carlton’s dark hair is lost in Will’s shoulder, his back a powerful slide of muscles. His own ass flexes as he rolls his hips in a fluid, smooth motion that makes Mike’s stomach flip over. It looks practised. It looks good. Like he really knows what he’s doing. Like he’s fucking Will with everything he’s got.
With their faces tucked together like that, and their skin glimmering with sweat, it’s the most intimate thing Mike’s ever seen.
More intimate than he’s ever been with a person in his entire life. And it makes him deeply, grotesquely ill. Because he never can be that intimate, not with Will. Not ever. His chance is gone. He only gets this. Only gets the scraps. The broken pieces that Will wants Mike to purposefully pick up and allow to cut him.
Carlton mumbles something into the skin of Will’s he’s lost in. He pushes his hips in tight, evidently burying his cock deep. Will groans throatily, and his head drops between his arms. Carlton rears up. The last thing Mike sees before he hurriedly shuts his eyes is Carlton’s hand on the back of Will’s neck.
It’s not hard for Mike to still see them, though, with his eyes closed.
Not when he can hear the urgent slam of hips. Can hear Will’s broken, breathy gasps into his pillow. Knows now how Will looks all stretched out. Can vividly picture what he would look like bent underneath Mike.
The head of Mike’s cock is so sensitive. Every time it twitches inside his briefs, his toes curl. That slow tug in his stomach is so incredibly tight now. He feels concaved, like he’s folding in on himself.
“God, right—right there, baby,” Will sobs. “Please, I—I’m gonna come so hard.”
Me too, Mike thinks dizzily.
His balls tighten, his head swims, his eyelids twitch; his breathing stutters. He tries to lock all his muscles. He feels the mattress press into his hip, feels his back muscles tighten. Bizarrely, this seems to turn him on more. Or maybe he’s just hyper-sensitive from Will’s aborted sobs of pleasure.
“I know, sweetheart,” Carlton coos. “I know.”
It says something to how far gone Mike is that Carlton’s voice doesn’t douse his arousal.
It’s overridden by the desperate, nauseating urge not to scream aloud. Both with frustration and the heavy pleasure that’s clenching his stomach. He’s never come untouched before. He’s not quite sure if it’s about to happen, or if he’s just slipped into a fevered state of consciousness.
There’s an overwhelming desire in this mindless state to watch Will come.
It’s so, so risky. Carlton is destroying Will; Mike can hear it. He’s up on his knees; he could see Mike easily, clearly. Mike decides that if Carlton can’t keep his eyes on the art in front of him, that’s his problem.
With his cock swollen and dripping, Mike opens his eyes.
Will is looking at him.
Mike’s heart explodes in his chest. Butterflies fling themselves against his stomach lining and perish in agony.
Will’s head is flat into the pillow; Carlton’s hand pressed down on it. He’s turned Mike’s way. His mouth is gaping open, his face flushed. His eyes are dark and heavily lidded. He’s gasping, shuddering under Carlton’s thrusts. Vibrating with the strength of them.
He doesn’t hold Mike’s gaze for long, because they roll back in his skull. His fist clenches in the sheet. In the dim light, in the obscure shadows, in the stretch of space between their beds, they don’t look normal white.
They look Sorcerer white.
Mike’s cock gives one last desperate lurch. Come spurts inside his briefs, his dick throbbing with its own heartbeat. He slams his eyes shut and tucks his face down into his blanket. He doesn’t even care if Carlton sees anymore. He can’t think of anything. His head is a hot, heavy thing on his shoulders.
The intensity of his orgasm shuts down all other functioning parts of Mike’s body. For the briefest of seconds, Mike is dead. His heart doesn’t pump, his brain doesn’t produce thoughts, his limbs don’t move, his lungs don’t function.
Then it all comes roaring back into functionality in one overwhelming rush. There’s heat and sweat and heavy gasps, and he doesn’t know who they’re from anymore.
“Fuck, you’ll kill me one of these days,” Carlton laughs.
It’s the first thing he and Mike have ever agreed on.