Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The music pounds through Will’s temple like it’s made itself at home there as he steps out of the claustrophobic, sweaty confines of the party and into the fresh air. It’s only when the door clatters shut behind him, softening the frenetic mix, that he can finally think again.

He hikes Mike’s arm further around his shoulders as he eases them down the porch. The beat still doesn’t relent, even outside. It escapes through the foundation’s cracks, travels underneath the supports, and vibrates through the wood, tingling through his shoes and up into the soles of his feet.

“You’re heavy,” Will grunts as he gets them down onto the cement, where the sounds thankfully can’t follow. “And so, so wasted.”

Mike sighs with a huff, his head flopping down against Will’s shoulder. “No, I’m not,” he argues. There’s the slightest roll of tongue as he speaks, betraying the slurring he’s trying – and failing – to hide.

“Uh-huh,” Will laughs, dragging him forward along the path, starting the twenty-minute trek back home.

He’s grateful that Mike is not totally useless in the herculean task of getting him to their apartment. His long legs are moving, guiding them along, almost faster than Will can keep up with. It’s just his head, it seems, that can’t stay upright, buried in the crook of Will’s neck.

Will knows, despite what he said, that Mike isn’t completely drunk. Because he’s seen Mike when he’s drunk. He’s very familiar with the sight, in fact, now that they’re in their junior year at college. Will’s held Mike’s sweaty curls back and rubbed soothing circles between his shoulder blades while he’s been bent over a toilet bowl more times than he can count.

Thankfully, neither of them has had too much tonight. Will doesn’t like to drink often, and doesn’t particularly enjoy the taste of beer, so he opted for a solo cup full of punch instead. The problem wasn’t the taste – it was almost good, actually. A nice blend of sweet, sugary mixers with a bit of a citrusy tartness to balance the flavours. The issue is that it was strong, way too strong for Will – far too much vodka that left an uncomfortable burn in the back of his throat. So, he’d swapped his punch for Mike’s half-finished beer (who’d grumbled but relented far too easily at Will’s proposed trade). By the time Will had forced himself to finish the rest of it, Mike was three cups of punch down and ready to go for a fourth. And that was about the time Will decided he didn’t want to hold Mike’s hair back tonight.

The first few minutes of the walk home are peaceful. It’s relatively early, by college standards – one in the morning, according to his wristwatch. There’s no cars or people around, just the endless stretch of night sky above them, barely any stars to be seen through the haze of polluting streetlight. He feels the heat of Mike burning into his side and neck as he holds him around the waist and attempts to keep him upright.

There’s a breeze that gathers the leaves high in the trees above in a fluttering dance, and Will enjoys the whispered sounds they make as they brush together. They’re in the tail end of spring now, but the full heat of summer hasn’t yet arrived, so the evening has cooled off enough for them both to still comfortably wear their jackets.

“Did you have fun?” Mike eventually asks, nuzzling his head further against Will’s shoulder. Will inhales the scent of cedarwood shampoo as dark curls tickle at his cheek. He rolls his lips together in consideration before he decides to do something incredibly stupid, like accidentally nuzzle back.

“Yeah, it was okay. Music was a bit too loud for me, but it was nice of Peter to invite us.”

“Mmm. Peter.”

Will rolls his eyes at the judging tone of voice. “What?”

Mike lifts his head now, peering down at Will. “He likes you.”

Will scoffs, shooting Mike a look back. “He does not. He’s my friend.”

“You’re always with him,” Mike accuses, standing a bit straighter and not bearing his full weight on Will anymore, and he’s starting to sound a little bit sulky.

“We’re taking the same classes! We’re both Art Majors!” Will gives him a sidelong look. “Besides, it’s not even true. How can I be with him all the time when I’m always with you?”

The sulking frown falls away almost immediately, replaced with something a little smug.

Faker, Will thinks, a little amused.

“Yeah, okay, maybe you have a point,” Mike relents, still with that self-satisfied quirk of lips. “He still likes you though. Did you see his face when you walked in with me? His smile fell into his ass. He did not think you’d bring someone.”

“He said I could bring a plus one.”

“He probably thought you’d bring Jane. Not another guy.”

Will exhales through his nose. “He knows— he knows that you’re not just another guy to me, Mike. He knows you’re my best friend.”

There’s a small silence, not exactly tense, but contemplative.

Will feels like they’re sharing the same thought, in that moment.

Maybe that’s worse.

“What does it matter, anyway?” Will brushes the thought off. “I don’t even like him like that.”

Mike’s walking straighter now, head tipped back to the sky like he’s trying to locate all the obscured stars. His arm is still slung around Will’s shoulders. His wrist burns against the side of Will’s neck, like a hot iron, branding ownership into his skin.

Will loves the casual touches more than anything. He loathes them just as fiercely.

Each one, the longer they linger, the stronger his want grows. They’re just cruel reminders of something he can never have. Something shared between best friends and nothing more.

Will thought he’d get over Mike once they entered college. Turns out, moving into an apartment with the guy you’ve loved for a decade is slightly counter-productive to that end. Especially when said guy is Michael Wheeler, who has never once heard of personal space or boundaries in his entire life – at least, not when it comes to Will. He’s always been that way, but now that they live together, it’s exponentially worse.

Mike exists in Will’s gravity as if he’s permanently affixed himself there for the sole purpose of torturing him. Folded over Will’s bed to chat while he paints; pressed against his side on the couch while they watch TV; flowing around him in their cramped kitchen while they tandem cook dinner; barging into the bathroom to wizz while Will’s halfway through a shower. If Will had known they’d be joined at the hip most days, he probably would have reconsidered living together. For his health, his sanity, and his constantly fraying patience as a result of his bottled-up sexual desire.

“Been a while since you went out with a guy,” Mike prods, slowly. Like testing the waters, if this is a conversation Will’s comfortable having.

It’s not. So, he deflects.

Will snorts. “Okay, Casanova. When was the last time you went on a date?”

He sounds normal, he sounds fine, when he asks. But it’s just years of practice, years of pretending his feelings are very platonic and that he’s not jealous at all about the prospect of Mike dating anyone who is not specifically him. Practice aside, his gut still clenches in anticipation for Mike’s answer.

Mike slows their pace to a casual stroll so Will isn’t being dragged along at lightspeed anymore. He glances down at him through dark lashes. “Last time would be Jessica Collins. Remember? She tried to shove her hand down my pants during the midnight screening of Silence of the Lambs.”

“Oh my God.” Will’s hand flies to his mouth. “I forgot about that.”

He hadn’t, actually. Well, in this exact moment he had. But whenever he sees her across campus? It’s back in the forefront of his mind like a vengeance. He can’t help but glare her down until she’s out of sight. He’s not sure if she’s noticed their one-sided rivalry, yet, and decides it’s probably for the best if she hasn’t. He really tries to avoid confrontation these days, after he spent his entire childhood confronting the monsters that once existed in Hawkins’ underbelly.

“Yeah, she was a real charmer,” Mike says, drily. “She dumped her coke on me, too. Right before she stormed out, all because I told her to knock it off.”

In retrospect, he could do with a little confrontation. He thinks he might take a leaf out of Jane’s book, try exploding Jessica Collins’ head with his mind the next time he sees her across the green. And if that fails, he could always just hit her with Mike’s car.

Doing time for vehicular manslaughter is a small price to pay, really.

Will’s starting to think he has a jealousy problem.

“At Silence of the Lambs, too? And they say romance is dead,” Will tries to joke, like he’s not constructing an elaborate murder in his mind.

It gets a laugh out of Mike, so he takes the win.

“Okay, I admit she’s clearly a terrible person. You definitely dodged a bullet. But… awful date aside, that was six months ago, Mike,” Will continues. “Surely there’s other girls you’ve… wanted to date since.”

Mike looks at him, eyes reflecting the dark window of night. It’s almost like they can see through every sliver of Will’s layered façade - the one he’s perfectly crafted and built up through a decade of unreciprocated love.

Finally, Mike shrugs, non-committal. “Nah. Not really. Haven’t been in the mood.”

Will has to hold off the full-body scoff that threatens to overtake him.

He still remembers the days of freshmen year, when Mike used to complain about not getting any girls since Jane and he had broken up. He’d flirt awkwardly with almost every girl at every party they’d end up at, make it a priority try to get numbers. To his credit, it did work sometimes – a little too often for Will’s liking. Mike is nothing if not passionate when he sets his mind to something, and when he’s not lost in one of his tempers, he can be funny, intelligent, and forward in a way that’s somehow charming. More importantly, he can be kind, even if he doesn’t always show it. Not to mention he is, in Will’s completely unbiased opinion, insufferably gorgeous. He’s grown into his features, once long-limbed and gangly, now he’s lean and deliciously lanky – all dark hair, sharp lines, toned arms and long legs, standing at about six foot these days, now that they’re twenty.

It was probably at the start of this year, around the same time Mike had come to Will begging him to move out of the dorms with him and get an apartment on their own for the second semester of junior year, that Mike had completely stopped chasing after girls, not even to hook up at parties.

It clicks, suddenly. It wasn’t just around that timeframe it had all stopped. That was exactly when it had stopped.

It all stopped, officially, the moment they moved in together.

They’d both spent their first two years of college separated due to bad luck with the terribly mishandled roommate matching system, living in their own dorms with complete strangers both times. The start of junior year was no different, and just as miserable. So, Mike had asked (begged, really – and Will is nothing if not a sucker) before the start of second semester, and they’d already saved enough between them in their respective part-time jobs to rent a tiny, two-bedroom apartment just for the both of them. They’d moved in a week after the fact. His last date, only a couple days before, had been with Jessica. Then, it all stopped. Like his libido had been left behind in the move.

Will hasn’t seen a single girl over at the apartment in the entire time they’ve lived together. To be fair, Will hasn’t brought any guys over either. Maybe it’s just out of respect, or maybe there’s something more going on. It’s not that he wants Mike to be dating all the time, but he doesn’t want him to be lonely, either. He decides to put a pin in it for later.

“Not in the mood? You?” Will teases. “For six months.”

Mike’s not looking at him anymore. “Yep.” He drags it out, the ‘p’ popping slightly at the end, and doesn’t offer anything more.

They walk underneath a buzzing streetlight, insects collecting around it, drawn to its flickering glow. They’re not far from home now. They’ve made it safely through the long, unnerving stretch of a dimly lit park, but now they’re entering into their familiar stomping grounds. The cheaply rented apartments that crowd above them now are mostly occupied by college students like themselves or smaller-income families.

The cool air is nice. His neck is still burning where Mike’s arm is resting against it.

“It’s hot,” Mike says, suddenly.

Will frowns and looks at him. “Are you sure you aren’t getting sick? It’s not that hot.”

“Says you.” Mike removes his arm from Will’s shoulders to shrug off his jacket. Will can’t help but look at the sliver of pale skin that appears when his shirt rides up. Mike sighs in relief once it’s off and the cool air hits him. “It was probably just that punch you made me drink. It was a fucking biohazard.”

Will ignores the barb and comes to a stop, frowning deeper, and Mike slows to his own stop when he notices Will has. Will steps up close, touching the back of his hand to Mike’s forehead.

Mike’s eyes widen, just slightly. His pupils seem to darken and expand, watching Will.

He’s hot. It’s hot.

“Mm, you are— you are a little, uh, warm,” Will muses, as calm as possible. Mike has this constant flush of red in his cheeks that hasn’t gone down since leaving the party. He touches the back of his hand to his cheek instead, and it’s somehow hotter. “We should get you home, okay?”

Mike’s gaze softens.

“Worry wart,” he says softly, bordering on affectionate. Will’s stomach swoops nervously in response.

Will goes to remove his hand, but stops when Mike’s eyes flutter closed, leaning into the touch. “Your hand is nice,” he murmurs, loosely wrapping his own fingers around Will’s wrist to keep his hand there. “It’s cold.”

Will feels his own cheeks start to burn.

“O-oh. Yeah, I guess my hands are kind of cold naturally. Sorry.”

Mike just shakes his head, nuzzling more into it. “Don’t apologise. I like it.”

Will feels like he had more than just a sip of that punch himself. He feels drunk on Mike’s attention, feels greedy with the longing of it. He wants to cradle Mike’s face in his hands, gently place kisses over his skin. Long ago, back in Hawkins, he would have thought this was a signal. A flicker of hope. But it’s not. It never is. This is just Mike Wheeler.

Will turns his hand over, pressing his fingertips to the hot flush. He swipes a thumb through the heat, watches how Mike’s eyes re-open, seeming even darker than before.

“Come on,” Will forces out, his throat tight. “Home. Now.”

His hand falls out of Mike’s loose grip and he continues to walk. Mike takes a moment to follow, but when he does he slips into step alongside Will with ease, long legs in front, jacket tucked through his arm, hands slipped into the pockets of his jeans, thumbs out.

They cross the street and are promptly bathed in the soft glow of the letters on the overhanging sign directly above them: Family Pool & Aquatic Centre.

Mike walks ahead on quicker feet, pulling his hands from his pockets to cage his face against the bars, peering between them. He whistles, low. “Damn, it looks nice. Look at that water.”

Will follows, glancing at the chained gate, then through the bars. The pool is set back a bit further beyond the entrance kiosk, partially out of view, but in the night-time, it’s a glowing beacon. The lights inside the pool gleam turquoise blue, dancing and creating a ripple effect along the concrete walls. It’s so much more beautiful in solitude. It looks quietly peaceful, as the water faintly laps against the pool edge.

Mike gives him a look, a mischievous little grin already starting to lift his lips.

“No,” Will says, firmly.

“Come on, Will. Don’t be a party pooper.”

“I just went with you to a party! Now it’s late and I want to go to bed.”

Mike turns to him fully, leaning in closer. His big brown eyes turn full puppy dog. “Will...”

“No! It’s breaking and entering, Mike. It’s a crime.”

“Only if we’re caught.”

“That’s not how crime works.”

Mike’s brows furrow further, and he leans closer into Will’s personal space. “Come on, Will. That punch – which I so valiantly drank for you, by the way – completely messed me up. It’s so hot. I just want to refresh, for like, a minute.”

“I didn’t make you drink three cups, Mike,” Will snipes back.

“Okay, so you hate me. I get it.”

Will pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a long-suffering breath. He already knows he’s going to regret this. But when has he ever been able to say no to Mike?  

“How would we even get in?”

Mike grins triumphantly. “I’m so glad you asked.”

He bends, arms scooping around Will’s thighs without warning. Will squeaks in alarm, smacking Mike’s shoulder as he’s lifted into the air. His butt is pressed against Mike’s arms, his crotch is alarmingly close to his face, and Will is going to have a panic attack and a potential situation downstairs if he’s not out of this position within three seconds.

“Put me down! Right now, Mike! I mean it!”

Mike grunts as he squirms and kicks his legs, catching him in the bone of his knee. “Ow! Dude, quit squirming. I’m trying to help.” He adjusts Will in his grip. One of his hands sinks into his thigh, just below his ass, to keep him steady. Will swallows his surprise, stiffening, trying to focus on anything other than Mike’s hands.

“Yeah, better. Just like that,” Mike hums, like he hasn’t noticed anything wrong about his hand placement.

He moves Will over to the lowest part of the fence, pressing him up as high as he can manage. “Hurry up or I’m gonna drop you,” he grunts.

Will blinks, calming a little, realising he’s trying to give him a boost, even if it is in the stupidest way possible. He grabs onto the top of the fence and pulls himself up with a bit of difficulty, but Mike holds his feet once he’s partially up and gives him another push, and then he’s climbing over the top, dropping down on the other side. A slight sting shoots up the soles of his feet and through his calves when he lands, a bit too heavily.

Will’s about to ask Mike how he plans to get over when he backs up a bit, runs, and jumps. His long legs knock against the bars and he swears loud enough to wake the whole neighbourhood, but he manages to reach on his own. He hoists himself up, swearing a bit softer once Will shushes him, and then awkwardly dangles over the side and drops down, almost crushing Will before he side-steps out of the way.

“Piece of cake,” Mike says with a feral little grin once he straightens, dusting his hands off on his knees. He’s breathing hard, a bead of sweat on his brow, but you wouldn’t know it from his triumphant demeanour.

“You’re a fucking menace, Michael Wheeler.”

Will turns on his heel, ignoring Mike’s spluttering in defence of himself, and walks over to the pool.

The water is crystal-clear and bright. The surrounding, dim lights hum faintly, and the overwhelming but nostalgic scent of chlorine floods his nose. Will glances out through the gates, concerned someone will walk by and stop them. Mike comes over to stand on the edge of the pool beside him, looking in.

He quirks a half-grin at Will, dark hair curling around the nape of his neck in the light breeze, and the turquoise water hits the angle of his cheek in such a way that all his features sharpen. Will thinks he’s never seen anyone so beautiful in his whole life.

He bumps elbows with Will.

“C’mon. We’ll only go in for a bit.”

He drops his jacket on the seats a bit away, lifting his shirt overhead. Will stares, like he hasn’t seen Mike shirtless countless times over the years. He’s pale, and he’s lean and long in a way that Will can’t help but devour every inch with his eyes. His shoulders have filled out since starting college, and his arms, while not exactly large, have slightly bulked. His forearms in particular are corded with lean muscle from lifting boxes at the convenience store he works at.

He half turns away as he kicks out of his pants, down to his boxers, and Will catches the expanse of freckles that cover the sharp line of his shoulders and scatter down his back like a constellation, a few dotting in the dipped arc of his spine.

Will swallows. Hard.

Mike kicks off his shoes and socks, too, until he’s just left in his black boxer shorts. He turns back to face Will, looking faintly amused when he notices him watching. Will snaps his head back to look at the water, pretending he hasn’t noticed the sparse, dark strip of hair leading into his underwear.

Mike crosses the cement, deliberately unhurried, before coming to a stop in front of him. He ducks his head slightly, so they’re face to face when Will’s eyes cut back to face him. Mike raises a brow. “You need some help?”

When Will doesn’t reply straight away, Mike reaches out, slowly nudging the jacket off of one of Will’s shoulders. It slides half-way down his arm, so it hangs limply from the other shoulder.  

“No,” Will forces out, a slight stutter in his voice. “I can do it.”

Mike’s eyebrow raises higher, but it’s still that mischievous, amused look again. “Yeah? You’re not moving, though.”

His other hand comes up, skirting along Will’s other shoulder, fingers sliding underneath the collar of it before pushing the material off. It slips down both arms, fully, now, until it pools on the ground behind him.

“I don’t need help,” Will says, weakly, and his hands move now, shaking, to grasp the hem of his shirt – but then Mike’s hands are there instead, covering his own, warm and steady. His fingers dip just slightly under the hem, ghosting against the plane of Will’s stomach.

“We’ll be here until sunrise if I let you do it,” is all Mike says, voice hushed as if they might be overheard, even though they’re alone. His fingers skim upwards, dragging over skin, leaving Will’s hands behind. He bunches the shirt up and without even thinking, Will raises his arms and helps Mike pull it over his head.

It drops to the floor, abandoned, beside them.

Will gives a small shake to his head, so his hair isn’t a complete mess. It sits differently on his forehead now, not in a full fringe, but styled more modern. His bangs fall a bit longer, in framing pieces.

When he looks, Mike is watching him. The smirk is gone. There’s no longer anything funny in his expression. His eyes are all-consuming, dark, watching Will with what he can only describe as intensity. His Adam’s apple bobs under the reflecting lights.

Will wants to ask him what he’s looking at, but his voice is lost somewhere between his throat and his ribcage.

Somehow, Mike shifts closer.

His fingers touch, experimentally, at the waistband of Will’s jeans, thumb pressing featherlight to the top button, in a question. Will’s lips part, breath shaky. His throat still isn’t working. His head won’t move. He’s just staring up at Mike like he might die on the spot.

Mike’s thumb presses, a bit firmer, into the button, pushing it through the hole.

It pops open.

Clarity rushes back into Will at once, and his hand clamps down on top of Mike’s in a firm grip, a sharp inhale tearing through him.

“I’m okay,” Will says, quickly, when Mike’s eyes widen. “I can do the rest. You go in, first.”

He pushes Mike’s hand off, gives him a nudge towards the pool, and stumbles away, collecting his clothes. He folds them neatly on the opposite chair from Mike’s own messy stack, keeping his back turned to Mike.

He can feel that he’s completely red, flushed down his neck and back up to his ears. He bites his lip hard, trying to control himself, when he hears the splash of water.

When he turns, Mike is gone. The water ripples, the top layer of it rolling with the intrusion, and he follows the dark, blurred shape that lingers underneath. He doesn’t come back up right away, and Will wonders if he’s sitting at the bottom – something they used to do all the time as kids, whenever they needed a moment to themselves. He manages to get out of his jeans, sneakers and socks and fold them all by the time Mike breaches the surface with a loud exhale.

Will rubs a hand down his face, collecting himself before walking over. He lowers himself on the edge of the pool, legs crossed underneath him.

“You took your time under there. Searching for mermaids?”

Mike looks at him through wet strands of hair that cling to his face. He ducks back under briefly, shooting through the pool to reach where Will sits and comes back up next to him. He throws his head back in a small motion, so the hair lands off his face. He runs a wet hand over it to get any strays, and Will can’t help his traitorous mind as it whispers, fuck, that’s really sexy.

With his hair slicked back, he’s all sharp cheekbones, red lips, and warm, soul-searching eyes. He rests his arms up on the edge of the pool beside Will, propping his chin on his forearm. “Mhm. None under there, I’m afraid. The only one around still has his human legs on.” He presses a fingertip to the outside of Will’s knee. “Coming in, or will you stay out here until you turn to sea foam?”

Will chews on his lip. He tentatively touches a foot to the top of the water, then pulls back slightly with a frown. “Sea foam sounds preferable. It’s cold.”

Mike watches Will with a slightly exasperated – and possibly endeared – smile. “Yeah, but it’s nice,” he insists. “Trust me.”

He pushes back from the wall, swimming back to give Will some room. He holds a hand out in open invitation.

Will glances around, like they’re going to be busted at any minute. But the streets are quiet. The night is (debatably) young. It’s just them, in this moment.

He dips his toes back in, feeling the cold liquid prickle at his skin. Pushing through, he sinks his whole foot in, then submerges the rest to the knee. He slides closer to the edge, to do the same with the other leg, until he’s sitting with both in the freezing water. The goosebumps ripple through him in a rolling wave.

He glances at Mike’s hand, still outstretched. Mike watches him, calmly, patiently. There’s always a little smile on his lips, but it’s never judging.

“I do. Trust you, I mean,” Will says, softly.

“I know,” Mike responds, and doesn’t say anything else. Just waits.

After a moment, Will reaches out, takes Mike’s hand in his.

Mike’s grip is gentle, yet somehow unyielding, as he pulls him in.

It’s a cold rush on his legs, his hips, his stomach, his chest. He’s pulled forward off the ledge, sinking in, and his legs scramble to find the bottom of the pool, but Mike’s hand is closed around his and then his arm is sliding around his waist, pulling him close.

Their stomachs brush, just once, under-water. Heat floods through Will. But Mike’s hand moves to his side, holding his hip securely, steadying him until he’s standing flat on the bottom. The water comes about chest-deep for Will. It’s a little bit lower on Mike.

“See? I’ve got you,” Mike murmurs, standing close. His hand is still on Will’s hip, even though he doesn’t need to hold him anymore. “You okay?”

Will nods. “Yeah… just cold.”

He looks up at Mike, trying to control his breathing.

“You know what would help with that?” Mike asks, just as soft.

“What?”

Mike leans close, his lips brushing Will’s ear. His hand tightens on Will’s bare hip. Will feels a shiver work up along his spine.

“Acclimatising.”

There’s no time to react before Mike’s pushing him underwater with a maniacal cackle. Will flails as he sinks, disoriented and submerged, bubbles spilling out of him. Mike follows him under in the glowing abyss a second later, dark hair floating around his face, smirking like he’s just won some sort of prize. Will glares at him through the rippling lights, and then Mike laughs, fighting to keep his lips closed, and for a moment, it’s like they’re the only two people in the world. They float, weightless, across from one another in the turquoise hue, as if suspended in a faraway cosmos, and Will feels himself smile without meaning to as he surges back up and gasps for breath.

Mike comes back up with that infuriating grin, raking a hand through his hair again.

“Asshole,” Will coughs, swipes a hand through the water, sending a splash back into Mike’s face. He splutters and coughs too and the grin is successfully wiped off. Will feels his own rush of victory.

“Wow, low blow, Byers.” Mike wipes his eyes, and then mischief lights him up again. “I hope you’re prepared for this fight, cause you’re so going down.” He starts attacking Will back with splash after splash of his own, and Will, fully invested now, dishes it right back.

They play-fight like they’re twelve again, swimming around and chasing one another through the water. They play marco-polo (Mike wins, because he cheats). They see who can hold their breath the longest (Will, obviously). They judge the best underwater handstand (Will, again, because Mike immediately folds in half as if he has no spine). Then they relax, and float on their backs, quietening down. For a time that feels loose and intangible, they just enjoy the cool water on their skin, the way the night air tastes, and the stars that seems to come back, just briefly, while the rest of the city sleeps.

Will feels all the tension fade as he drifts in the water, eyes closed. He thinks he could almost fall asleep there, under the moon’s rays, so long as Mike’s watching over him.

Mike’s quiet, too, as he floats nearby. It’s a little uncharacteristic, maybe, but it’s probably past two AM by this point, maybe even close to three by now, so he doesn’t blame him for being a bit tired. In all honesty, he’s just glad Mike seems to have sobered up, because he’s been— touchy. More touchy than usual. Somehow deliberate in a way it’s never been before.

His mind cycles back to their earlier conversation before he can think better of it.

He opens his eyes to the sky, licks his lips. They taste like chlorine – a bit metallic, bitter. “Can I ask you something?”

Mike laughs, softly. “Kind of a loaded question. I have no idea what you’re going to ask, so how could I be properly equipped to say no?” Will falls quiet at that, but he can almost see Mike’s eye roll without needing to. “The answer is always yes, Will. Of course, you can.”

“Okay,” Will starts. “Why exactly did you not let Jessica Collins give you a…” he pauses. “You know. At the movies?”

Mike is silent, and then he snorts. Will feels a disturbance in the water and looks up to see Mike’s stopped floating on his back so he can stand up again. He swims to the side, leaning his elbows behind him on the cement so his back is pressed to it. Will joins him but puts his chest against the edge instead. He leans forward on his arms, looking up at Mike.

“Is that a funny question?” Will prods.

“Kind of. You can’t even say what she was actually trying to do.”

“You know what I mean. I don’t have to say it.”

“Come on, Will. You’re a guy. You have a dick. You jerk off. It’s not that serious. You can say hand-job.”

Will makes a small sound, blushes harder when Mike looks at him and raises an eyebrow. “Sorry. I guess I just wasn’t expecting you to… actually say that.”

“What? Which? Jerk off or hand job?” Mike watches him, but Will just flounders, growing more embarrassed, not giving him an answer. “Jesus, Will. You do jerk off, don’t you?

Will is definitely going to die, now. He can’t fathom why they’re having this conversation – they were meant to be talking about Mike, not him. They’ve never gone into great detail about their sex lives before. They’ve never needed to, and Will’s never had the desire to ask until now.

He can read between the lines: he knows Mike’s had sex before, because Mike leaves behind context clues that are about as subtle as a sledgehammer to the skull. He missed a lot of their group hangouts in freshmen and sophomore year to go out on late night dates instead, never resurfacing until the next morning. Will’s also seen him slip away at parties, beelining for the nearest bedroom with a different girl on his arm each time. So, Mike’s had sex. Good. Fantastic. They don’t really need to talk about it. Likewise, Mike knows Will’s gone on a few dates, so he probably has his own assumptions, though Will’s never divulged any specifics as to what’s ever happened on said dates.

The truth is, Will has kissed boys. He’s kissed a few of them, actually. He’s made out, even, with a couple. But it’s never gone further than that. They always want more than he can comfortably give. The problem is – there’s only one person he wants to give it all to.

If Will were to answer Mike’s question, he’d tell him that he has jerked off. Too many times, probably. He’s a twenty-year-old virgin, of course he has. It’s almost laughable that Mike would think otherwise. He’s not that innocent.

But in all his fantasies, in all the times he’s touched himself, in all the times he’s been kissed – the only person he’s ever imagined doing any of that with has always and only ever been Mike Wheeler.

No other real, living person could ever compare to even the faintest, flimsiest of his dreams of Mike.

“I’m not answering that,” Will says in a tone that screams drop it, but his ears are definitely red. “You didn’t answer my question, still. She was out of line, completely, but—I guess I just thought that was every straight guy’s fantasy. For a girl to—you know. Do that. I don’t know. Maybe that’s not really a fair of me. Maybe it’s stereotypical to assume that. Sorry.”

“Hey, don’t apologise. You’re fine.” Mike bumps his foot into Will’s underwater, waits for Will to smile a little before continuing. “Look, I wouldn’t say that’s an unfair assumption to make. I’d wager it’s a wet dream for a lot of guys, especially in college.” He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, hesitating before answering. “I don’t know, I just didn’t want her to, I guess? I know it was a date and all, but I wasn’t really… attracted to her, to be honest. I was just totally enjoying the movie, I’d kind of forgotten she was even there. Next thing I know she’s trying to unzip my jeans and stick her hand in there while we’re two rows away from some geriatric-looking old couple, so it’s not like the mood was great, either. So, I politely told her to fuck off and got a coke thrown at my head for it—”

“I thought you told her to knock it off.”

“Same difference.” Mike waves a hand in the air and shakes his head, face contorting into anger now. “She deserved it, anyway. You wanna know what she said to me? She said any other guy would be all over her if she did that to them – that I should be so lucky. Can you believe that? And then, uh—she—” He flags a little, stuttering. “She called me something—something I’m not going to repeat— and left. Haven’t seen her since.” He shrugs, uncomfortably, now. Like he hadn’t meant to say that last part.

“Wait, what? You never told me that before.” Will frowns, turning slightly to face Mike more, to give him his full attention. “What did she say to you?”

“I’m not—I’m not saying it, Will.” His eyebrows furrow, expression darkening. “I shouldn’t have brought it up. I got carried away.”

“Mike.”

Mike groans. “Fuck. Look. All I’ll say is—she pretty much implied I prefer the company of—” he fumbles over it, “not women.”

Will tenses. He can guess the word she said now.

“Oh, Mike. I’m so sorry. That’s— that’s awful.” Will feels a little sick. “All of it is. She should never have touched you without your permission, and she definitely shouldn’t have ever said that to you.”

Mike softens, watching him. He taps his elbow against Will’s. “It’s okay. I’m okay. It was months ago, anyway. I just— I didn’t want to tell you, because I thought… it would upset you.”

“Well, yeah, it does upset me. But not for me. For you. It’s so unfair she would say that to you. You don’t owe her anything, okay? Your identity is your own. You don’t owe anyone that. You never have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with, and refusing something like that… that has no bearing on your sexuality or preference, okay? You can be the straightest man alive and still not want to touch a specific girl if you don’t like her or if you’re just not comfortable. You’re allowed to feel what you feel. God, that’s just so— that actually makes me so fucking mad—"

“Hey,” Mike says, softly. His hand reaches over, touching Will’s wrist, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “It’s okay. I don’t care what she said, alright? Her opinion means nothing to me. Yours does, though.”

Will looks at his hand, wrapped around his wrist. His heart is a muddled, beating mess.

“Besides, she didn’t even like the movie, and it kind of just pissed me off, because I wish I’d just gone with you instead. You actually would have appreciated it. We could have like, smuggled in snacks like we used to and theorised about it, and had actual fun.” Mike’s hand is soft on his skin, wet with small drops of water that glide down his painted freckles. The touch sends little pinpricks of electricity up Will’s arm. “I like discussing movies with you. You’re so good at like…” he gestures with his hands, and as soon as the movement is over, his hand drops back on Will’s wrist as if it never left, like it belongs there. “Picking up on symbolism and the deeper meanings behind certain choices. And you talk about lighting, and colour theory and costume and set design and stuff. No one else gets that but you.”

Will smiles a little, feeling warm and fuzzy in his chest. “I like that about you, too, you know? No one else is as fun to go with. I like how you dissect characters and motivations. I like when you talk about how the script could have been improved or what you’d have written differently.” Will lets out a soft, shy laugh. “I never laugh harder than when you make fun of cheesy dialogue. I love when you tear apart convoluted plot twists and bad endings because they’ve committed some cardinal sin I’m not aware of. I really… I just really like how your mind works, Mike. It’s the best.”

Mike’s staring at him now, stunned. Like he’s never seen him before.

Will lowers his gaze quickly, feeling like he’s said too much.

“I really am an idiot, aren’t I?” Mike blows out a breath, but his eyes never stray from Will. “I should have just asked you. You never let me down.” He shifts his weight a little against the edge. “Honestly, sometimes I feel like you’re the only one who gets me, Will.”

Mike’s thumb is still stroking over his wrist. Will watches the movement, the way his fingers settle over his pulse. He wonders if Mike can feel how fast it’s racing.

He wants to say, it’s because I’m in love with you, Mike.

I get you because I’ve watched you for years. Because I’ve grown with you, and I’ve become the person I am today because I’ve watched you grow into yourself, too.

I get you because I want to understand you, more than anyone else. I get you because I think you’re my soulmate, even if I’m not yours.

He doesn’t say any of that.

Instead, he says, “I hope your experience with her… I hope that’s not why you stopped dating. You deserve…” Will hesitates, and Mike watches curiously. “You deserve to find someone special. Someone who will treat you right, love you unconditionally. Someone who will enjoy your favourites movies with you and discuss all the hidden meanings and the artistic direction. Someone who you… want to touch you like that. I don’t want you to give up on love because of one bad date, okay?”

It’s not meant to be about him. He genuinely wants that for Mike. He deserves to be happy, and Will has already resigned himself to cheer from the sidelines as long as he is. But he’s still just describing himself, try as he might not to self insert.

In his heart of hearts, he knows he’d love Mike like he deserves to be loved. He would love him loud and proud. He’d do all of those things.

He’d still be his best friend, none of that would have to change; he’d just also be more.

Would it be so wrong?

“I haven’t,” Mike says, eventually. There’s a muscle in his jaw working, like he’s thinking about something. “I haven’t given up on it. I’m just… I’ve been reassessing, I guess. Rethinking what I actually want. I don’t want to rush into anything until I’m sure.”

Will waits for him to elaborate. He doesn’t.

“Oh. Okay.” Will cocks his head, a little perplexed, because he’s not sure what that could mean. “That’s… that’s good, then. It’s good to… think about what you want.”

“Yeah.”

They’re quiet for a moment. Mike’s fingers curl, wrapping loosely around his wrist.

“You deserve that, too, you know,” Mike eventually says, breaking the silence. “All of it. To be… loved in the way you deserve.” He pauses. When he speaks again, it’s much quieter, so quiet Will thinks he mishears. “To be touched the way you want to be.” Will’s mouth drops open, and Mike starts to stammer, like he’s just realised he’s committed some kind of faux pas, “I just mean—I hope no one’s… I hope your dates have all been respectful. Not like Jessica Collins. Assuming that’s what you want, anyway— Jesus, fuck, maybe I should stop talking.”

Mike is actually talking about his sex life, like it’s a thing Mike has actively thought about now, no matter how brief or fleeting. Will nearly chokes on his own spit.

“Um,” he says as his cognitive function begins to unspool rapidly. “Well, I mean, I do. I do want… that. But. It’s— it’s harder for me, Mike.” He looks away from him. “The dating pool’s already limited by trying to find guys that are out and proud. And… it’s not like most of them are interested in someone like… me.” Mike goes to argue, but Will rushes to clarify, “I’m jumpy. I take too long to open up. I don’t like strangers touching me after everything that’s happened, and I can’t even explain why I flinch when they try to hold my hand or touch my neck. It feels like… sex is all they’re interested in, not getting to know me as a person first, you know? I just… I want someone I feel safe with. Someone I trust, I guess, before… doing anything like that.”

You. I want you.

Mike makes a surprised noise that catches in his throat. “Oh. I thought… you’ve been with guys, before, haven’t you? I just assumed…”

Will swallows nervously. He really doesn’t know how to say it.

“Um. Actually, not really,” he admits on a breathless little laugh. “I’ve been on dates. I’ve… kissed, you know, a little bit. But nothing more than that. Every guy I’ve ever dated just wanted way more than I was willing to give. So, it’s not like I don’t want to… do all of that. Because I do. A lot. But I… like I said, I didn’t trust them. Didn’t know them. If I could meet someone and… be their friend for a while first, that would make it so much easier, you know? Less scary. I’d be able to relax and trust they’d… be okay with me. All of me.”

“Oh,” Mike says quietly, and Will doesn’t know what to make of that.

“Sorry, that was probably… way too much information. I didn’t mean to make it weird. It really doesn’t matter. I’ll find someone, some day. So will you.”

His gut twists at the words. Someone who isn’t me.

Mike’s hand is still on his wrist. Warm, a bit damp from the leftover droplets. Will’s pulse is rocketing under his skin. He really hopes Mike can’t feel it.

They stay like that, for a few seconds, not moving. And then, Mike’s grip tightens. Not hard, just firm, a squeeze that sends tingles through Will’s fingertips. It makes him look up.

Mike’s already looking back. But his focus is narrowed, intense – and low. Lower than Will’s eyeline.

Will’s breath catches.

“Well,” Mike starts, gaze flicking back up. “You trust me, don’t you?”

Will’s mind turns to slow-moving sludge.

“Um.”

Mike moves in closer, just a bit, the water rippling around them.

“Don’t you, Will?”

His eyes are dark, smoky liquid, searching Will’s for an answer.

“I, uh—I do. Of course I do. More than anyone, Mike. You know that.” Will’s trying to decipher Mike’s expression, but his brain isn’t functioning. He’s definitely misinterpreting this; he’s misreading signals, like always. “But… that’s not… you know, it’s not… the same…” he trails off, as Mike closes the gap, even more. He doesn’t know when it happened, but Mike’s suddenly shifted around, stepping in front of him now.

The hand on his wrist is now a weight, pinning it down onto the damp cement. His other hand reaches around him, palm flattening on the ground behind, caging Will in on either side.

“I trust you, too,” Mike says, quietly.

There’s a buzzing, like a siren, going off in his head.

“Mike?” Will whispers, looking up at him. His back is pressed back against the the wet edge. It bites into his bare skin, a sharp reminder that this is reality, not a dream.

“That’s why…” Mike’s eyes lower again, back to where it focused before, somewhere below his eyes. They flick up, just briefly, to catch Will’s attention, the brown swallowed whole by the blackness of his eyes. “I think I would have let you.”

“What…” All the air falls from his lungs, he can barely utter the words. “Let me do what?”

Mike’s voice is ragged, wrecked, when he next speaks.

“If you were there instead of Jessica. If you did what she did—”

He lets out a whistling breath.

“I think I would have let you.”

Something fundamentally, instrumentally important stops working in Will’s brain. His ears are ringing, repeating the words through the discordant static.

He parts his lips, working them open to try and say something, but only a quiet sound passes through as Mike presses him back into the tile, hips bumping together, and leans down over him.

“What about you?” His voice drops, lowers. “Would you let me, Will?” It’s barely a whisper now. “Would it be okay, if it was me?”

The water ebbs around them, slow and tranquil, but the storm raging inside Will is anything but.

All he sees are Mike’s eyes as he closes the gap. A drop of water rolls down his neck, disappearing into the naked line of his collarbone.

“Say no if you don’t want me to,” he murmurs. “Push me back.”

Will presses a palm against Mike’s stomach as the proximity shrinks. But he doesn’t push. It sits there, against his wet skin. Mike clamps tighter on his wrist. The gap closes more, his own hand pressing back into himself, caught between them.

Mike’s free hand rises, slides along his shoulder blade, up the curve of his neck, leaving a wet, dotting trail on his once cold skin, now burning under the touch. His palm cups the back of Will’s neck, fingers sliding into the wet strands of hair. Their chests slide together as they touch, a thin slick of moisture between them.

His thumb presses into the sensitive spot below Will’s ear, rubbing slow circles into it. He grips the back of Will’s neck just a bit tighter so he can tilt his head back.

Will can’t think. Can’t speak. Can’t breathe.

Mike fills his vision. There’s no smile. He’s focused, serious, as he drinks Will in.

Just like that, Will’s eyes flutter shut.

Hot breath fans over his lips, mingling in the space between.

Will digs his fingers into Mike’s waist, not knowing where else to put them. He’s frozen in anticipation. He doesn’t dare make a sound, in case he ruins it all.

His lips tremble, waiting. It’s long enough where he thinks the moment is over. That he was stupid for ever expecting something like that to happen. That he’ll hear Mike’s laugh, telling him it was just a joke.

He nearly opens his eyes, until he hears Mike’s sharp intake of breath as he sinks down into him.

There’s a light, almost floating pressure, before warm, chapped lips seal down over his, capturing his quiet gasp.

Will arches immediately, instinctively, curving into the long, angled slant of Mike’s body, but his mouth is frozen under the hot drag of his lips. His breath is stuck in his ribcage. His nails bite into Mike’s naked skin. Mike’s thumb drags smoothly against the frantic pulse point on his wrist.

It’s slow, tentative, hesitant, but so overwhelming that Will can’t think, can’t even move. Sharp desire drips into his stomach as Mike kisses him like he’s always imagined he would.

Will wants this.

He wants it so badly, but he’s so scared of ruining it. He’s so scared of what it means. Of what it could mean.

Mike’s other thumb brushes, searing, against his jaw – and somehow, it’s enough to coax him out of his reverie, to pull him back down to earth. Will finally lets himself enjoy, he lets himself take. He lets himself fall into it, lips starting to move under Mike’s in response, committing the shape and feel of them to memory—

Mike snaps back just enough to break the kiss, eyes fluttering wide. He’s breathing hot and erratic against Will’s lips. He’s still right there, he’s still so close, he hasn’t moved away – and Will’s head is a buzzing, hazy mess because he makes a desperate sound and lifts onto his toes to pull Mike back down, chasing the pressure before he can think to stop himself, kissing him the way he’s always wanted to.

Mike immediately stiffens under his mouth.

Dread spears through his chest like frostbite.

Will pushes off Mike’s chest as if he’s been burned, detaching with a wet smack and falling back against the pool side, bare skin cutting into the sharp edge. He yanks his wrist out from under Mike’s frozen fingers.

He regrets it. Mike regrets kissing him.

Will looks away, unable to watch it all fall apart. Unable to look and find the disgust on Mike’s face.

The arms on either side now suddenly feel like iron bars on a prison cell.

“Oh my God. I’m so—” He stammers, mortified, staring into the water, at his own horrified reflection. “I— I thought— I shouldn’t have…” his voice dies, trailing off.

Mike doesn’t move; doesn’t say anything. Will feels his stare burning into him like the sun, relentless, until he can’t stand it anymore. Against his better judgment, he peeks back up, braces for the worst — but Mike’s face isn’t angry, isn’t grossed out. It’s unreadable. His eyes are impossibly dark; all the light has bled out of them. They flicker across Will’s face as he breathes, shallow, and then dip low, his dark lashes obscuring where exactly he’s looking. His mouth twists in thought.

Will flattens himself to the edge, trying to gain as much space as he can. The embarrassment, the fear, it’s too much. But there’s nowhere to go, with hips still pinning his to the tiled wall, with arms trapping him to the edge. “Please, just… I’ll go, okay? Just, move back. Just let me out—" He’s near begging, but Mike’s thumb is suddenly there.

It drags along Will’s mouth, tugging the plump skin until his lips are parted, and the rest of the words are sucked into the void along with all coherent thought.

Will shivers, exhales against the pad of Mike’s thumb. Opens his mouth wider, presses wanting lips into seeking touch.

Mike stares through his lashes, and Will finally deciphers the emotions Mike’s been trying to hide.

Frustration. Intensity.

Longing.

“Mike—”

“Stop talking, Will,” he rasps. Desperate. “Stop.”

It’s all the warning Will gets before Mike’s mouth collides back down on his.

Before, it was a tasting. A timid exploration; a light, fluttery touch.

There’s no hesitation anymore.

Now — it’s a devouring. A carnal hunger, once dormant, now awoken.

Will makes a muffled, startled sound as Mike crowds him back against the wall, mouth hard, unrelenting on his. Will arcs off it, pushing up into consuming lips, dragging hot and slick against his. Mike kisses Will with a desperate kind of abandonment, groaning openly into his mouth so Will can taste every vibration and swallow every hitch of breath. He feels the heavy weight of large hands slide electric up his sides, then back down, settling over his hips to grip and squeeze and tug closer, closer.

There’s a hint of bitter chlorine and sweet punch, mingling between shared gasps. Will tastes both in equal measures as Mike swipes his tongue against his bottom lip and licks at the seam with a rough, eager sound, like he wants, needs nothing more than to explore every inch of Will’s mouth.

Will wants, needs nothing more than to let him.

He gives himself willingly, parts his lips to feel Mike’s bittersweet tongue slide and entangle with his own. It’s loud, wet, a little too rough— and then Mike curls his tongue around his and sucks it into his mouth, and Will feels the desire shoot up his spine, escaping from his throat in a heady moan. His fingers dig into Mike’s shoulders hard enough to bruise, but it’s no longer enough contact, so he winds his arms around his neck, pulling him down to kiss as deep as Mike will allow.

Mike allows.

He’s not just hungry, he’s starving. It’s not just a kiss, it’s a ravishing.

Mike licks deep into his mouth, charting a map with his tongue, tasting every inch of him as promised until the movement of their slotted lips is a familiar dance. Each stroke of Mike’s tongue elicits from him a shaky breath; each flick of his own has Mike moaning in return, sinking his teeth into Will’s lower, swollen lip. They exchange kisses until Will’s head is a broken record, chanting mikemikemikemike on loop.

They’re tangled together for so long that Will’s jaw grows sore. He’s never, in his entire life, felt anything like this before. It’s a powerful, intoxicating rush. Kissing Mike is like drinking ambrosia, a honeyed poultice to heal all of his years of unfulfilled longing. It feels like magic and tastes just as sweet.

The mouth over his finally pulls off, giving Will’s aching lips reprieve, giving him a moment to finally think – until Mike sighs and attaches to his neck, right under his jawline, instead, and Will promptly stops thinking again. Mike laves greedily up his neck, sucks the skin under his ear right where he has a small collection of moles. Will gasps, tipping his head back, fingers sliding up the nape of Mike’s to sink into his hair. He wraps the strands around his fingers and holds on.

Mike keeps sucking, open-mouthed and breathing hard, against Will’s skin. His thumbs press into his hips, rubbing against the sharp bones there like he wants to leave imprints. It’s like he’s trying to drag Will closer even though they’re already completely flush, stomach’s slipping wetly together at each movement.

He’s so caught up in Mike’s hot mouth leaving a wet trail on his skin, it takes him far too long to notice the slow, building need for friction below his hips. He feels it in the wet drag of fabric, pushed against his pelvis. His boxers are bunched high, rucked up along with Mike’s own. He feels the smooth brush of Mike’s thighs against his, skin hot despite the cold water. They’re not really moving, just pressed close, but it’s all suddenly too much. Will wants more, wants to move his hips and feel, and he bites back his building whine at the overpowering need of it all.

He’s very aware of the heat coiling low in his stomach, the growing tightness of his underwear. He shifts his hips as Mike nips and sucks his against his collarbone now, tries to move them away so Mike won’t notice – but Mike makes a displeased noise against his skin, hands sliding off his hips, fingers travelling down his lower back, until they settle purposefully over the curve of his ass to hold him firm and keep him close.

“M-Mike,” Will breathes, urgently. “Wait—"

A startled moan rips out of him as Mike’s large hand completely cups one of his cheeks, kneading hard into the flesh, and his hips involuntarily jerk forward, pushing up into Mike.

“Fuck,” Mike hisses, coming to a complete stop.

There’s a slow, dizzy moment, where Will thinks that was too far. That Mike’s about to pull away. That all of this is about to come crashing down.

Then, slowly, Mike rolls his hips back into his, a deep, experimental grind, and Will feels the hard length of him, pushing against his own. Their voices crack together in a combined, sharp groan.

Oh my God.

His throat is so dry he can’t even say it out loud.

After so long, an actual, coherent thought finally forms in his mind – but it’s fleeting as Mike dives back in for another intoxicating kiss. The panicked thought hovers, lingers, just long enough to be fully-fledged, even if just for a moment:

We can’t walk this back, if it all goes wrong.

The thought’s fading fast as both of Mike’s hands sink into the curve of his ass, squeezing firm, moulding the shape of it between his fingers – encouraged on by the soft pants Will’s making against his lips.

It disappears, completely, into the dark recesses of Will’s mind, going blissfully blank when Mike slots his thigh between his legs and grinds him down onto it.

Will lets out a shocked cry into Mike’s mouth. Arousal spikes through him, pulsing all the way through his hips, down his legs, into his toes.

Mike’s lips slip wetly from his again, and he pulls his head back to look down at Will. His eyes are blown wide, lips red, and he’s looking at Will like he wants to swallow him whole.

“Yeah?” Mike’s voice is a throaty rumble now. “You like that?”

Will barely finishes his shaky nod, barely gets a breath out – before Mike grinds him down again, pushing his thigh further up between Will’s legs.

Will throws his head back with another moan, squirming his hips for more, for that needed friction as his dick throbs, pulsing heat flowing through his gut, but he can barely move. He’s trapped between the wall and the hot press of Mike. His thighs twitch shakily around Mike’s. His arms are linked tight around his neck, clinging for dear life, nails digging red half-moons into his upper back. He’s never done anything like this before. It’s so intense. He’s so overwhelmed. He kind of wants to cry from how right it all feels. How much it all feels.

“Fuck. That’s so fucking hot,” Mike whispers roughly. His eyes haven’t moved from Will. They wander down his chest, to his stomach, roaming greedily, and he licks his bottom lip again, like he wants to bite and suckle and savour.

One of his hands slide from Will’s ass, shifting through the water, dragging over the flesh of his thigh instead. His thumb grazes inward, stroking across the wet fabric of his boxers, along the juncture between his thigh and the tightly straining fabric, so very, very close to his aching, untouched cock. “You’re so fucking hard,” he murmurs, voice thick, almost enamoured. His thumb drags, just around the swollen, trapped shape of it.

Will makes a high, desperate sound, tries to shift away from Mike’s touch. It’s too much, his senses are too overloaded – but he just ends up rocking his hips further into his, brushing against Mike’s own bulging length. They both hiss together.

“So—ah— so are you,” he somehow shoots back, a little deliriously, through ragged breaths.

Mike doesn’t respond, just wets his bottom lip, as he looks down between them, transfixed. His hand slides underneath Will again, hands returning to cup both cheeks – and his mouth, previously parted, closes. It twists up at the corner into a slow, calculating smirk; his eyes pierce, dark, up into Will’s. It feels like a warning.

The grip on his ass changes suddenly, fingers digging hard enough into the soft flesh to leave marks. Will barely gets a sound out, just a “Mi—” as Mike begins grinding him down onto his thigh at a sloppy, relentless pace.

The air in Will’s lungs is punched out of him. One of his hands pulls back to bury into Mike’s shoulder. The other slams down on the tiled edge behind him, grasping slippery and frantic for purchase, as Mike thrusts up to meet him, his lower back smacking against the tile.

His hips slide and grind as he bobs in the water, rolling in time with Mike’s guiding, sinful hands. He feels the press of Mike’s long fingers against the fabric between his cheeks, like they want to push between, slide inside of him – and Will can’t do anything but hold on, forced to move in tandem, making loud, whining sounds each time Mike drags him down. “F-ah—Fuck—ah-ah-ah-ah.”

Mike’s mouth is suddenly on his again, groaning into his parted mouth, and Will clings onto him like a lifeline.

Will’s head is completely blank with the lust, pulsing through his veins.

All he tastes are Mike’s lips and tongue, open and wet on his. All he hears is a chorus of hard breathing and muffled moans. All he feels is the grind of Mike’s thigh as he rides it; the swell of Mike’s throbbing erection, straining hard against his wet boxers, thrusting up into Will’s hip.

His own is painfully hard, trapped between taut fabric and Mike’s slickened skin, but the sliding friction eases the ache, spikes into something overly hot and tight. Mike keeps the rapid pace, grinding his thigh up against Will, rocks him back down onto it, water sloshing around them, pushing and flooding over the sides. They’re being far too loud now, tainting the otherwise peaceful night with the sounds of coming undone. Mike’s hips start bucking, stuttering wildly, now, as he ruts against him. Everything is buzzing, high-pitched, the tension in his stomach growing too hot, too painful, and Will thinks he’s going to lose it all over Mike’s leg, when—

“Hey!”

They snap apart, slipping off each other, and Will has to clamp a hand over his own mouth to stop the dizzy whine that almost slips out without meaning as he clings to the edge.

Mike’s eyes are wide, face flushed, hair sticking up at all ends and lips bruised red, slick with saliva. Will can barely think of how he must look. He was seconds away from coming. He’s breathing ragged, there’s barely any oxygen in his lungs. He can feel his cock twitching in its restraints, so swollen and desperate for release that it hurts. He knows he’s a fucking mess.

They both see someone at the gates, flashlight in hand. “You two! You better get out of there right now! We’re gonna have a chat, us three.”

Mike and Will look at each other.

Will looks at him in horror.

Mike looks at him, mouth pulling up, like he’s just gotten away with the funniest of crimes.

“Run!” he yells, grabbing onto the side and heaving himself out of the water. Will barely has time to catch up before Mike’s leaning down and grabbing his arms, tugging him out as well. He keeps his hand linked in his as he drags them to their clothes, only lets him go once he has to scoop up his discarded things. Will scrambles to do the same thing.

The security guard is struggling with the lock on the gate now, swearing. “Don’t you two go anywhere! Don’t you run away from me!”

“This way!” Mike shouts, sprinting off down the other side of the pool, past the building of the Aquatic Centre. Will follows, gasping, sprinting after him on wobbling legs. Mike throws his clothes over the fence, then grabs Will’s when he gets there, launching them over too.

“You first,” he says, and they hear the twang of the gate opening a second later. Will doesn’t argue. This time, Mike holds out his hands properly to boost him up, and he grabs onto the fence and climbs over, nearly screaming as his still-very-hard dick knocks hard against the bars. Awkwardly, he slides down to the other side, scooping his clothes and shoes back up. Mike follows and drops beside him a moment later, grabbing his stuff.

The security guard, light in hand, runs over just as they clear it. “Get back here now!” he screams.

They both swing around to look at each other again.

An unspoken agreement. Book it.

They hightail it down the street, to the sound of furious yelling coming after them.

They run fast and hard, clutching their belongings, the wind flushing their faces and whipping through their hair.

Will feels electric. His skin is on fire. His mouth kissed raw. He’s sopping wet, running across the road behind Mike. He’s half-hard and flagging, his boxers are bunched up painfully around it – but all he can do is laugh so hard there’s tears in his eyes, joining in Mike’s gleeful cackles all the way down the street, towards the direction of home.

●—————◦◉◦—————●

Mike’s nearly fully dressed by the time they make it to the front of their apartment building, as he’d managed to somehow yank his jeans up from his ankles to his hips at the same time as running. Will doesn’t have much luck doing that, so they pause in a bush not far away so he can yank them back on, and then they’re running again, shoes in hand.

There’s a moment of panic when they both think they’ve lost their keys in the rush but manage to locate both sets buried deep in pockets and enter the complex. Sopping wet, water pooling on linoleum, feeling the chill settle in and weigh them down, they wait for the elevator with only small, tapering-off chuckles now.

By the time they’re at level nine, and unlocking their front door, the chuckles have died off too.

The moment the door closes behind them, and they flick the light on, the harsh yellow washing over them like reality setting in too late, they’re dead quiet.

There’s a complete tonal shift between them, now that the adrenaline has worn off.

Will’s gone completely soft, at this point. He doesn’t need to look at Mike to guess he’s probably about the same.

Mike steps into the apartment proper, sagging down on the couch. He tips his head back on the cushion, breathing hard, closing his eyes. He can see the wet outline bleeding through his clothes, from his soaked skin underneath.

Will wets his bottom lip, turns away. He places his keys in their little key-bowl by the entry way. He double checks the locks, slides the security chain in, like he does every night.

“I’m—” he starts, voice cracking in the silent apartment. “I’m gonna go have a shower. Unless you need the bathroom first?”

Mike barely looks at him. “Uh, no. You go ahead.”

Will nods. He walks past him. Walks past the kitchen, where the time on the microwave glows bright green numbers saying 3:49 AM. He trudges further past, to their lone bathroom, swings the door shut behind him.

He falls back against it and breathes out loud.

What the fuck?

He holds his head in his hands.

Quietly, deliriously, he laughs.

He has no idea what that was. He can’t even begin to make sense of it.

Mike kissed him. Mike— Mike did more than kiss him.

They humped. Humped. It’s so ridiculous he nearly laughs again. Will now knows the shape and feel of Mike’s dick. How it feels pressed against his own.

It had been so intense, the way they moved against each other, hips colliding, rolling, at a rough pace. It had almost felt like they’d been having sex.

The thought is just as exciting as it is mortifying.

He pushes off the door, shaking his head, trying not to let the overwhelming situation overtake him, but all he can think of is what it all means. Does Mike like me? is Mike gay? If so, since when? They need to talk, but it can at least wait until he’s showered and thinking straight.

He peels off his clothing again, dumping them in the corner to deal with later. He’s back down to his boxers, and he leans into the shower, twisting the handle on. It sprays out, burning hot, and he adjusts it until it’s just right, steam starting to pour into the ventilation fan.

The door creaks open behind him. Will doesn’t even get a chance to turn around before arms slide around his waist, locking tight around him. He feels the hard outline of Mike, pressed into him from behind.

Will gasps, pressing his fingers against his mouth, stiffening in shock. He should be more surprised that he’s there, in the bathroom. But all Will can think is: He’s still hard.

Mike’s arm drags back, slightly, so his hand instead splays across Will’s stomach, low enough to make his cock twitch to attention again. Mike’s lips press into his shoulder. He’s breathing unsteadily. Like he’s just as overwhelmed as Will is.

“Mike?” Will asks, so quietly, but it comes out strangled. Mike’s thumb drags slow circles below his navel, just above the low waistband of his boxers, into the soft line of hair trailing down. “Mike.”

The hand stops.

“What are we doing?” Will asks, trying to keep his voice calmer than he feels.

He doesn’t speak right away. Will feels his chest against his back; something in it stutters.

“I don’t know,” Mike finally answers, voice quiet, but rough. It’s honest. Painfully so. “Do you want me to stop?”

Will doesn’t answer. Mike’s lips press to his neck, his tongue dragging over the skin there, sucking lightly. “Do you want me to stop?” he repeats, breath ghosting over his flesh.

Will trembles, his hand resting over Mike’s wrist. Then, just slightly, he shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”

“Gonna need more than that.” He sucks harder at his neck, pressing his tongue into the arc of it as Will throws his head back and gasps. “One more time. Do you want me to stop, Will?”

Will is feeling overly sensitive by each nip at his skin, but still, he manages to say what he’s always wanted to. “No,” he amends, through a trembling breath. “Don’t stop.”

Mike’s hand slips into the wet fabric of his boxers without hesitation, wrapping around him. Will’s back arches at the feeling of Mike’s long fingers, completely wrapped around the base of his cock, squeezing with just the right amount of pressure. He sucks in air through his teeth.

“Good?”

“Yeah,” he says, breathless.

Mike starts to pump him slow, almost teasing, as he continues with wet kisses to his throat. Will feels himself getting worked up again, far too quickly, panting into the steam-heavy air. He’s twitching and growing painfully hard under Mike’s undivided, devoted attention. Will’s nails dig into the flesh of his arm for purchase, but Mike doesn’t stop. Instead, he grows bolder. He stops just long enough to spit into his hand, and then it returns over him with a tighter grip, making the glide both smoother and faster, now.

He feels long fingers drag along the shaft, the soft pads of them grazing his sensitive underside, taking encouragement from Will’s choked-off moans as he steadily starts to leak. He spreads his thumb over the weeping slit, dragging pre-cum back down the length, until the glide becomes slick and wet and there’s no longer any resistance. There’s just wet, squelching sounds that linger as heavy as the steam, and the feel of Mike’s molten heat surrounding him entirely. The pace picks up, borders on relentless, as he starts to fuck Will into his fist, hand closing tight around him and thumb dragging underneath the swollen tip.

Will can’t hold back, hips thrusting in rhythm. Every pump of Mike’s tight fist drags a fractured whine out of him, legs trembling so hard he thinks he might fall. Mike shoves a knee in between them, prying them apart, so Will can rest his weight on him instead – which he does immediately, legs almost giving out. Mike keeps at it, breathing hard and open against Will’s neck, crowding him forward until he’s close to the wall. Mike presses a hand to the tile, to balance them both, the other working fast and hard over Will’s cock. He grinds his own erection into the swell of Will’s ass, rocking him back onto it with every pump.  

The shower continues spraying, steam curling into the air. Will can still hear himself over the noise, the embarrassing, choked sounds that pass between them. He’s gasping in short, rapid breaths, now, and he’s still rocking his hips in time with Mike’s hand, as everything swells, balloons, growing overly hot and tingly. He’s on the cusp of a climax, building low and blunt in his gut.

“Oh my God, don’t—ungh—stop. Fuck. Please. I’m—”

Will doesn’t even know what he’s saying, he’s babbling. The friction of Mike’s cock against his ass feels electric. A part of him wants to feel it without the layers, feel what it would be like to have him press the leaking head against his rim, to sink into him, inch by inch. He feels himself clench hard around air at the thought. His body is a trembling, sweaty mess, and Mike twists his wrist, squeezes the sensitive head of his dick and then stars burst behind his eyes and he’s coming, hard and fast against the bathroom wall with a stutter of his hips and a strangled sob, “M-mike—Ahnn—!”

Mike groans, shakily, into his shoulder – a pleased, syrup-thick noise. His hand doesn’t stop, though it slows. He works him through it, wrings him dry even as his legs tremble so hard they start to give. Quickly, just as he starts to slip, Mike takes his hand off the wall to grab him by the hip, holding him up.

Will thinks he blacks out for a moment, gasping wetly as he starts to regain cognitive function. He’s bent over now, and he doesn’t remember how he got into this position. But his arms are pressed against the cool tile wall, and his back is arched low, ass high and grinding back harder into Mike’s leaking cock.

Mike’s shoved his jeans down to his thighs, still tenting and pulsing in his boxers. He grinds the swell against the seam of Will’s ass, pushing between his clothed cheeks just slightly, over and over, hips bucking, and Mike’s gasping, “oh, fuck, Will. Fuck, fuckfuckfuck—”

He comes with a sharp moan, hand flattening against Will’s lower back, holding himself and Will up as best as he can as his boxers grow slick and hot with his release, sticky against Will’s backside.

Slowly, gravity takes its toll. Together, they crumble.

They collapse to the tile in a tangled heap. Mike’s forehead presses to Will’s shoulder, breathing ragged. Mike’s messy hand is still wrapped loosely around him, even as he softens in his grip.

They gasp for breath. The steam clings to them. The shower sprays in a hissing torrent.

Will can’t believe anything that’s happened in the last hour or two. He can’t think of even one single thought that’s not just a jumbled mess.

Mike’s forehead is sticky and warm against his skin. He looks down at him, feels the urge to push his fingers through dark, sweaty curls, but refrains. He waits for Mike to peel back, lift his head, before catching his eye.

His freckles are dark and beautiful against his flushed skin. His eyes have lightened to his normal warm brown, clear of the darkness that wanted to swallow him whole previously.

Something new flicks through Mike’s eyes when their gazes finally meet. Time seems to slow and still. They dart down to the evidence of what they’ve just done – and something forms in his expression, something a bit manic. Something overwhelmed, something scared. Mike’s breath hitches. It makes Will stiffen. He’s the deer, Mike’s the headlights. Or maybe it’s the other way around.

Time doesn’t slow, now; it ruptures. The spell shatters and breaks. The bubble bursts. Whatever had consumed them since the pool, it’s gone now. Reality is a swift and decisive stab through the heart as it returns in full force.

Mike lets Will’s dick go like he’s been burned by it, hand still covered in its evidence. He staggers to his feet, legs wobbly. He looks down at Will like he’s just committed some terrible crime, deserving of a punishment worse than death. His face is an undeniable mixture of dread and shame.

“I— I’m sorry,” he mutters, eyes wide on Will, as he backs up. “I’m— I—" His back hits the door and he flinches. He never finishes what he was saying. He just turns on his heel and leaves Will, kneeling in the bathroom, alone.

Will stares into the space where Mike just stood, listening to his hurried footfalls, feeling his heart split open. It’s as if someone’s taken a peeler to it, flaying the soft flesh into fine slivers.

Mike’s door slams shut down the hall. Silence rings loudly through the apartment.

The euphoric sense of release now turns into a cold pit in the middle of his stomach.

He gives it a minute. He gives it a couple minutes. He sits there, kneeling, in the steam, and he waits, naked and sweaty and feeling suddenly very vulnerable, to see if Mike comes back. To open his door again and rush back down the hall, re-enter the bathroom and say, I’m so sorry, Will. I didn’t meant to. I’m here now. I’m not leaving again.

He waits and he waits.

Mike doesn’t come.

Slowly, Will leans forward until his fingers press to the wood of the door, pushing it closed until it gives a soft click.

He’s alone.

Will presses a hand to his mouth and cries into it, muffling his sobs.

He knew rejection would hurt. He just never knew how much. He never knew it would be like this.

He didn’t think he would ever get a chance to have this. He didn’t think he would ever know Mike’s taste, the feel of his skin, the way he sounds. He wishes he didn’t know. It’s so much worse than never knowing at all. It’s cruel, to have what he’s always wanted in his grasp, only for it to be ripped away, leaving him with only the memory.

He knows he’ll think of this moment, for a long time. He’ll think of it whenever he gets off by himself, whenever someone else touches him, whenever he thinks of Mike, whenever he looks at Mike. It will live in his memory, playing on repeat, torturing him forever. He’ll remember this for the rest of his life.

He knows he’ll never get over Mike Wheeler. This love will wither away, rotting inside of him, until the day he dies.

He staggers to his feet after an eternity, when his sobs have finally slowed to a few hiccups. He removes his soiled boxers, and steps into the blistering heat of the shower. He lets it wash the evidence away, down into the drain. Every fingerprint or kiss left on his skin, he scrubs it raw, so that there is no proof that Mike Wheeler ever touched him there.

When he climbs into bed, clean and in his pyjamas, he doesn’t sleep.

The first spears of morning light start to bleed through his curtains. The soft twittering of birdsong filters, muffled, through the glass, announcing the day’s oncoming arrival. He stares at the ceiling, listening to his slow breaths, trying not to feel like his life is falling apart.

Where do they go from here? How does he go on existing? How exactly does he move on, when the object of his affection, the one who branded him with burning hands, is in the room right next to him – wishing he’d never done it all? How does he wake after this and see Mike, and just pretend everything is okay?

Will doesn’t sleep – and the silent walls, caging around him, don’t provide him with any answers.