Archive of Our Own

It was three in the morning, and Will Byers had been staring at the same paragraph of his textbook for forty-five minutes.

He wasn’t reading. The letters blurred together in front of his eyes—meaningless lines of black on white. None of it was reaching his brain. Abstract Expressionism, Kandinsky, Composition VIII—it all blended into one useless blur.

Across from him sat Mike Wheeler, hunched over his own psychology textbook. His bottom lip caught between his teeth in concentration, one hand propping up his head, fingers tangled in his dark curls.

Will tried to look away. He really did. But his eyes kept drifting back—drawn to the faint crease between Mike’s brows whenever he hit a difficult passage, to the tip of his tongue slipping between his teeth when he focused, and to the long fingers turning the pages of his book, gentle and certain, like every movement was a small ritual. An invitation Will couldn’t ignore.

Stop, he told himself. You have an exam in five hours. Stop thinking about his fingers.

But it was too late. He was already thinking about Mike’s fingers—about how they knew every inch of his body, how they could be both gentle and firm at the same time, how they moved over his skin, sliding through his hair, into—

Will shifted in his chair, suddenly aware that his jeans had become uncomfortably tight.

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to focus on his notes, but every movement Mike made kept pulling his attention back. His art history exam was in five fucking hours, and he couldn’t even remember the most basic dates.

He glanced at the clock—3:07 a.m.

They’d been here since nine in the evening.

Six straight hours of studying, surrounded by textbooks, piles of notes, and empty cups from the vending machine coffee downstairs.

Six hours of sitting across from Mike and pretending he could focus on anything else.

The university library technically ran 24/7 during finals week—an oasis for desperate students. In practice, at three in the morning, it was nearly empty. Will had spotted maybe six other people scattered across different floors, each one sealed inside their own little bubble of academic despair.

He and Mike had chosen the third floor, the advanced textbooks section—the quietest, most isolated corner of the library. Tall wooden shelves formed a maze of narrow aisles. Old desk lamps cast warm, intimate pools of light, and the silence was almost oppressive—broken only by the occasional turn of a page or a quiet sigh.

In that silence, every movement Mike made seemed louder. Every shift, every breath drew Will’s eyes, making it nearly impossible to focus on studying.

He looked at Mike again. He couldn’t help it.

The last three weeks had been a nightmare. Not the kind with fights or problems between them—just the nightmare of having absolutely no time for anything except studying.

They’d been living together for a year now, renting a small apartment near campus. One bedroom and a bed barely big enough for both of them—but neither of them complained, because it meant they always ended up tangled together anyway.

Usually, they were practically inseparable—cooking together, studying together, falling asleep in each other’s arms after long days.

But for the past three weeks, they’d barely seen each other. They came home at different hours, one going to bed while the other was just waking up. They passed each other in the doorway with quick goodbye kisses and the same promise every time.

“After finals, it’ll get better.”

And absolutely zero sex.

Twenty-one days. For them, that was a record—an absurd, frustrating record.

Will felt it in every nerve, in every glance they exchanged.

In the way Mike’s hand would brush his arm when he reached for a book—and that alone was enough to send a spark racing through Will’s whole body.

In the way he sometimes caught Mike looking at him with that particular expression—hungry, wanting—before Mike quickly dropped his gaze back to his book.

In the way they had to stand back-to-back in the bathroom while getting dressed in the mornings. Because if Will happened to see Mike stepping out of the shower with a towel slung low on his hips, hair still wet, droplets of water trailing down his chest…

They would never make it to campus.

Now they sat across from each other, close enough that Will could reach out and touch him at any moment—and at the same time impossibly far away, because one touch would mean the end of any studying for the night.

And Will wasn’t even sure that would be a bad thing.

“Will?”

Will jolted, pulled out of his thoughts. He realized he’d been staring at Mike for the past—what? A minute? Two?

“What?” His voice came out a little too high, slightly strangled.

Mike was looking at him with one eyebrow raised. A small smile lingered at the corner of his mouth—that smile that said, I know exactly what you’re thinking. Will felt his heart speed up, a strange warmth blooming low in his stomach.

“I asked if you could pass me the yellow highlighter,” Mike said, amusement threading through his voice. “Three times.”

“Oh.” A flush spread across Will’s cheeks, hot and unmistakable. “Sorry. I got distracted.”

“I noticed,” Mike replied, reaching for the highlighter. His tone was light, teasing—but there was something else in it, too. Something warm, aware. Something that made Will want to lean closer, brush his hand against Mike’s, and feel that closeness between them in the impossibly quiet world they’d carved out around themselves.

Their fingers brushed as Will handed over the highlighter, and he felt it like a spark—shooting from his fingertips, up his arm, straight to his spine. A small touch, innocent—and yet enough to make his breath hitch.

Mike’s face betrayed him almost immediately. His eyes darkened slightly, and a hard swallow moved his Adam’s apple along the length of his throat—and Will knew Mike had felt it too.

For a moment, they just looked at each other in silence. The desk lamp cast shadows across Mike’s face, tracing the line of his jaw, the curve of his cheekbone, and the shine in his eyes. Suddenly, Will felt a sharp, almost aching urge to lean across the table and kiss every one of those shadows—drag his tongue along Mike’s jaw and feel the pulse beating beneath the skin of his neck.

“Get back to studying,” Mike said at last, though his voice was rough, lower than usual.

“You too,” Will replied, which was ridiculous, because neither of them had been studying since their fingers had touched.

For the next five seconds, neither of them moved. The desk lamp cast a small circle of light around them, isolating them from the rest of the library. Will could hear his own heartbeat and could watch the way Mike’s chest rose and fell just a little faster than it should.

Then Mike cleared his throat quietly—the sound far too loud in the silence—and dropped his gaze back to his textbook.

Will let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding, feeling some of the tension inside him ease.

He tried to read. He really did. He opened his textbook to the page on Kandinsky, forcing his brain to focus on dates, movements, and definitions.

But his eyes kept drifting.

His gaze drifted to Mike’s hands—long fingers spinning a pen, rolling it between his knuckles in that nervous habit he had whenever he was deep in concentration. Will remembered those fingers on his skin, remembered the way they held him, the light pressure of them, the way they moved through his hair, inside him.

Then to Mike’s mouth—slightly parted in focus, still damp from where he’d licked his lips a moment ago. Will remembered the taste of those lips, the way they felt against his own, and the way they looked when they wrapped around him completely.

Then to his neck—the long, striking line from jaw to collarbone, shifting every time he swallowed. Will remembered leaving marks there, sucking and biting softly, claiming him in ways only the two of them knew.

Will shifted in his chair, trying to find a more comfortable position. His jeans had become uncomfortable, the fabric too tight, restricting every movement.

Fuck.

This was not a good time. This was the worst possible time. He had an exam in five hours—one he’d been preparing for for weeks—and he could not afford to be thinking about—

His leg brushed against Mike’s under the table.

Will froze.

Mike did too.

There wasn’t much room under the table—barely enough for their legs—so after so many hours, the contact was unavoidable. Their knees had bumped before, feet brushing occasionally. Normal. Innocent.

But this was different.

Mike didn’t pull his leg away.

If anything, he shifted it slightly closer—calf pressing against Will’s—with full awareness of what he was doing.

It wasn’t accidental.

Will looked up. Mike was still staring at his book, but the tension in his shoulders was obvious. His fingers had tightened around the pen, knuckles gone pale. A faint flush had crept onto his cheeks, visible even in the soft glow of the desk lamp.

Will took a slow, quiet breath.

This was a game. A dangerous one. They were in the library, surrounded by other students, and if someone noticed—if someone saw—

But there was also the part of Will that had gone three weeks without Mike. Frustrated. Starved. That part wasn’t paying attention to anything else.

He slid his foot a little higher. Just slightly, testing it. Along Mike’s calf, slow and deliberate.

Mike sucked in a breath—a soft, barely audible sound, but Will was so tuned in to every movement he made that he felt it through his whole body. Heard it and felt a small flash of triumph.

He did it again.

This time, his foot moved higher, from Mike’s calf to his knee, gliding along the inside of his leg where the denim was thinner, softer.

“Will,” Mike whispered in warning, still not looking up. “We’re supposed to be studying.”

“I am studying,” Will replied innocently.

But his foot kept moving—now from the inside of Mike’s knee up his thigh, slow and relentless.

“You’re not studying,” Mike said, his voice lower this time, rough.

Will watched as Mike squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying to hold himself together. He could see the tension in his jaw, the muscles working under the skin.

“Maybe I need a break,” Will suggested, sliding his foot higher, up to the middle of Mike’s thigh.

Mike finally looked up. His eyes were dark, pupils dilated, and the way he stared at Will—hungry, desperate, like he wanted to devour him—made something coil tight in Will’s stomach with anticipation.

“A break,” Mike repeated flatly, though his voice trembled just slightly.

“We’ve been sitting here for six hours,” Will said, not pulling back. He moved his foot even higher, now clearly on the upper part of Mike’s thigh. He felt the muscles tense beneath his touch. “It’s not healthy to sit so long without moving.”

“Uh-huh.” Mike tilted his head, not once taking his eyes off Will’s face. “And what do you propose?”

“We could… take a walk,” Will said, trying to sound casual, though his pulse had spiked and the heat between his legs was impossible to ignore.

“A walk?” Mike echoed. His hand suddenly closed around Will’s ankle, holding it in place. Not painfully—but firmly, possessively. “Will, you do realize the library is a public space, and there are other people here, right?”

“It’s three in the morning,” Will countered, breath quickening under Mike’s fingers on his ankle. “Almost nobody’s here, Mike.”

“Almost,” Mike emphasized, dragging his thumb along the inside of Will’s ankle through the denim. A simple touch, and yet sparks shot up Will’s leg. “Kevin from our year is sitting two rows over.”

“With the headphones on,” Will said, trying to sound normal, though every nerve in him was on fire. “He won’t hear us.”

“He won’t hear us… Doing what exactly?”

It was a challenge. Will heard it in Mike’s voice—the dangerous, teasing tone that said one thing loud and clear: Mike was thinking about it too, feeling the tension too, teetering on the edge just like him.

“I don’t know,” Will answered, trying to sound innocent, though his heart was hammering in his chest. “What are you thinking?”

Mike’s fingers tightened on his ankle.

“I think…” Mike said slowly, his voice low, full of promise. “…we should both get back to studying. Because if we don’t… I might do something stupid.”

“Like what?” Will leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. The movement made his burgundy sweater—oversized, borrowed from Mike a few months ago and never returned—slip off one shoulder, revealing his collarbone, pale skin, and a hint of chest.

Mike’s eyes followed instinctively, lingering on the exposed collarbone, tracing the pale, soft curve of skin with an expression of pure hunger.

“Like…” Mike began, his voice rough. “…dragging you between the shelves and—”

He cut himself off suddenly, biting his bottom lip so hard Will could see the mark of his teeth.

“And?” Will prompted, feeling warmth spreading through his body.

Mike shook his head, as if trying to clear his thoughts.

“Exam,” he said, though it sounded more like a reminder to himself than to Will. “We have exams in five hours.”

“Four and a half,” Will corrected.

“That doesn’t help.”

“Mike.” Will tilted his head, letting the sweater slip even further, exposing more skin. “When was the last time…?”

He didn’t have to finish the sentence. They both knew.

“Twenty-one days,” Mike said quietly, eyes still locked on the exposed skin of Will’s shoulder. “Twenty-one fucking days.”

“Exactly.”

“That’s not an excuse to—”

“It’s not?” Will slid his free hand across the table, brushing his fingers against Mike’s. The touch was light, barely there, and yet enough to make Mike shiver. “Because I feel like I’m going to explode.”

Mike closed his eyes. His jaw tightened, and the fingers of his other hand clenched the edge of the table.

“Will.”

A sigh, a plea, and a warning all at once.

“Come,” Will whispered, interlacing his fingers with Mike’s. “Just… a moment. Quick. Please.”

“Quick,” Mike echoed, opening his eyes. He looked at Will, and the intensity in his gaze nearly knocked the breath out of him. “In the library. Where someone could see us.”

“In the section nobody comes to,” Will corrected. “Kevin has headphones. The nearest other person is a floor down.”

Mike stared at him for a long moment, clearly fighting with himself. Will saw the instant his resistance broke—Mike’s shoulders slumped, his gaze drifted to Will’s lips, tense and hungry, and stayed there.

“You’re impossible,” he said, but there was no anger in his voice—just amusement, tenderness, and a trace of desperation.

“But you love me,” Will replied with a small, playful smile.

“Unfortunately,” Mike agreed, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile.

For another moment, they sat in silence—just their breathing and the distant ticking of the wall clock. Will felt the tension between them like something tangible—dense, electric, filling the tight space around the table.

“Advanced math,” Mike said suddenly.

“What?”

“The advanced math section.” Mike nodded toward the deeper stacks, where the shelves grew thicker and darker. “The farthest corner. Nobody goes there.”

Something tightened in Will’s stomach at the anticipation.

“You know this place,” he remarked with a hint of amusement.

“Checked it out earlier,” Mike admitted, not looking at him. His thumb traced small circles over the back of Will’s hand—soothing, though unconsciously. “When you went for coffee. Thought… just in case.”

“Just in case of what?” Will asked, though the answer was obvious, felt in the way Mike’s fingers tightened around his hand.

Mike finally looked at him, and the intensity in his eyes made Will forget how to breathe. There was desire there, so bare and honest he could feel it like a physical touch.

“Just in case you were looking at me exactly like you are now,” Mike whispered. “And I couldn’t hold back any longer.”

Will swallowed, mouth dry.

“And?”

“And what?”

“Can you hold back?”

Mike stared at him for a long moment, fighting himself. Then he slowly shook his head.

“No,” he whispered. “I can’t.”

Will felt a rush of triumph mixed with desire.

“So… we’re going?”

Mike glanced around quickly, cautiously. Kevin was still buried in his notes, papers scattered across the table, pencil in hand, head bent over the sheet. No one else in sight.

“We’re going,” he agreed, rising from his chair so quietly that they barely heard a creak.

Will stood behind him, legs a little wobbly, knees weak from a mixture of nerves and tension. Mike moved toward the back stacks without looking back, but Will knew to follow.

He waited ten seconds, counting silently—every second stretching into an eternity—so it wouldn’t look suspicious if anyone happened to glance up. Kevin didn’t.

Finally, Will stepped after Mike, matching him stride for stride, feeling every second of the tension pulsing between them.

The advanced mathematics section was exactly the way Mike had described it—the far corner of the third floor, the farthest point from the main study area, surrounded by shelves packed with thick, dusty textbooks that looked like no one had opened them in a decade.

The lighting was dimmer here; only faint glows from the main room slipped through the gaps between the shelves, casting long, angular shadows. The air smelled old—dust, paper, and the wood of the bookcases. It was cooler than the main hall, the air conditioning more noticeable back here, but Will felt heat pulsing beneath his skin, sharp and electric.

Mike stood between two tall shelves in a narrow aisle, barely five feet wide. He leaned back against the bookcase, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie.

When Will stepped closer, the look on Mike’s face made his knees weaken.

Hunger. So raw, so unmistakable, it almost felt tangible in the air between them.

“Hey,” Will whispered, stopping about half a meter away, suddenly unsure. Now that they were actually here, this close—when they could get caught—

“Hey,” Mike answered softly.

For a moment, they just stood there in silence, looking at each other. Will could hear his own heartbeat racing, feel the pulse in his throat, his wrists, low in his body. The sight of Mike—his chest rising and falling faster than usual, his fingers clenched inside the pockets of his hoodie—made the rest of the world fade away.

“This is stupid,” Mike said. “Really stupid.”

“Very,” Will agreed, still not moving.

“We could get caught.”

“We could.”

“And we both have exams.”

“Yeah.”

Will stepped closer, shrinking the distance between them to barely a foot.

“But I need you,” he whispered, his voice just slightly unsteady. “So much, Mike. I can’t anymore.”

Something in Mike’s eyes flared—dark and intense.

“Come here,” he said, reaching out his hand.

Will didn’t hesitate. In a single step, he closed the distance, and Mike pulled him in immediately—one hand gripping Will’s hip, the other tangling in his hair. Their mouths met, and the world around them vanished, leaving nothing but the hot pulse between them.

The kiss was desperate from the first second.

Three weeks of frustration broke all at once. Mike kissed him like he was drowning, and Will was air—water in the desert, everything he needed to survive. Mike’s hands were everywhere at once—on Will’s back, in his hair, at his hips—dragging their bodies together until there wasn’t an inch of space between them.

Will met that desperation with his own. His fingers twisted in the fabric of Mike’s hoodie, bunching it, pulling him closer even though closer was already impossible.

Mike tasted like coffee, like mint, and like something that was fundamentally him—something Will remembered from thousands of kisses, and yet after three weeks without him, every touch felt like the first time.

“Fuck,” Will breathed when they had to pull apart for air. “Mike…”

“I know,” Mike murmured against his mouth, not really stopping. He brushed the corners of Will’s lips, his jaw, then returned to his mouth again. “I know, baby, I know.”

When Mike’s tongue traced Will’s lower lip, asking for more, Will opened immediately, letting him in and letting out a quiet, shaky sound—half a moan, half a breath—that Mike swallowed like a secret.

“Quiet,” Mike whispered against his mouth, the word shaped right against Will’s lips. “You have to be quiet, baby.”

Will nodded, but when Mike caught his lower lip between his teeth and tugged lightly, a sound slipped out anyway.

Mike’s hand came up at once, covering his mouth and muffling it.

“Quiet,” he repeated, firmer this time. His eyes were almost black in the dim light. “You can’t be loud here. Understand?”

Will nodded again.

There was something unbelievably intoxicating about the way Mike held him like that—steady, controlling, reminding him where they were. The risk of it. The possessiveness in Mike’s touch. The way his fingers closed around Will’s jaw, not painfully, but firmly.

Slowly, Mike moved his hand away, replacing it with another kiss—this one slower, deeper, and more deliberate. His hands slid beneath Will’s sweater, fingers brushing the bare skin of his back. Will shivered at the contact.

“Cold?” Mike whispered.

“N-no,” Will breathed. “Just… touch me. Please, Mike.”

“Where?” Mike pressed kisses along his jaw, down to his neck, finding the pulse there and sucking lightly. “Here?”

“Everywhere,” Will whispered, sliding his hands under Mike’s hoodie, finding warm, smooth skin. “Anywhere. Just—fuck, it’s been so long…”

“I know,” Mike murmured against his skin, his mouth lingering just below Will’s ear—the spot that had always made him melt.

His hands kept moving beneath Will’s sweater—up along his spine, tracing each vertebra, then down to his hips, fingers pressing into the soft skin just above the waistband of his jeans. They paused there, drawing small circles against the sensitive skin, patterns Will couldn’t follow but felt in every nerve.

“Mike,” Will breathed when Mike’s teeth found his collarbone, biting down just hard enough to leave a mark. “Mike, please…”

“What do you want?” Mike asked, lifting his head to look at him. His lips were swollen and red, his eyes dark and full of promise. “Tell me. I want to hear you say it.”

Heat rushed up Will’s neck and across his cheeks. Even after a year together—even after all the times they’d slept together—he still felt shy saying things like that out loud.

“You know what I want,” he muttered, unable to hold Mike’s gaze.

“I do,” Mike agreed, not letting him off the hook. His hand slid down Will’s stomach, stopping just above the button of his jeans. “But I want you to say it. I want to hear the words from your mouth.”

“I want—” Will started, but his voice caught when Mike’s fingers drifted lower, brushing through the fabric where he was already half hard.

“You want what?” Mike pressed, leaning closer, his breath warm against Will’s skin. “You want me to touch you? Want my mouth on you? Want my cock? Tell me, Will.”

“Everything,” Will breathed at last, giving in. “I want everything, Mike. I want—I want your mouth. I want you inside me. I want to forget we’re in a library, that someone could hear us. I just want you.”

“Fuck,” Mike swore quietly, resting his forehead against Will’s shoulder for a moment. “Okay. Okay, yeah, baby.”

His hands moved to the button of Will’s jeans—slow, deliberate—then the zipper, the sound loud in the silence like a dare.

Will sucked in a sharp breath.

Instead of continuing right away, Mike paused.

“What?” Will asked impatiently.

Mike smiled slowly, deliberately, and began unzipping his hoodie. In one smooth motion, he shrugged it off—now left in only a thin T-shirt, dark and fitted, outlining every subtle line of muscle, every shape beneath the fabric. He handed the hoodie to Will.

“Hold this,” he said, his voice low, almost purring. “You’re going to need something to bite if you want to stay quiet.”

Will nodded, taking the hoodie.

The fabric was warm from Mike’s body and smelled like him—deodorant, laundry detergent, and something deeper that was just Mike. Will breathed it in before he could stop himself, and he saw Mike’s eyes darken even further.

“Good boy,” Mike murmured, and before Will could respond, he kissed him again.

This kiss was slower, like Mike wanted to memorize it—how Will’s mouth fit against his, the taste of him, the rhythm of his breathing pushing Mike’s name between their lips.

Mike’s hands returned to Will’s jeans, slipping inside this time, beneath the waistband of his boxers, and—

“Fuck,” Will whispered when he felt Mike’s warm, steady hand wrap around him.

“Quiet,” Mike reminded him, though there was amusement and warmth in his voice.

His fingers tightened once, then again, moving slowly, and Will had to bite down on his lip to keep from making a sound. He’d already been half hard from the kissing alone, and now, under Mike’s hand, he hardened quickly, pressing into his grip.

“So sensitive,” Mike murmured, watching Will’s face, catching every tiny shift in his expression. “I barely touched you, and you’re already this… ready for me.”

“Your fault,” Will breathed. His hips moved almost on their own, pushing into Mike’s fist. “Three weeks…”

“I know,” Mike said softly. His hand sped up just slightly, his thumb sliding over the tip, gathering the moisture already there, and spreading it to make the motion smoother. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I made you wait that long. I’ll make it up to you now. I promise.”

He kissed him—softly, tenderly, completely different from before, when everything had been desperate and feverish—and Will felt something warm spread through his chest.

“I love you,” Will whispered, because it was true. Because even in this reckless, dangerous moment, he wanted Mike to know it.

Mike smiled—that small, intimate smile meant only for Will.

“I love you too,” he said.

He kissed him again, then added quietly,

“Now let me show you.”

Slowly, he sank onto one knee on the dusty library floor, tugging Will’s jeans and boxers down just enough—exposing him, but not pulling them off completely, so Will could get dressed quickly if he had to.

The cool air of the library brushed over his heated, sensitive skin, and Will shivered, his cock twitching slightly.

“Mike—” he started, looking down at the boy kneeling in front of him.

The sight was… fuck.

Mike was on his knees between the shelves—on the dirty library floor, his jeans already picking up dust—and he didn’t seem to care in the slightest. If anything, he looked exactly where he belonged. Like it was the most natural thing in the world: kneeling for Will, looking up at him through his lashes, lips slightly parted in anticipation.

“Remember,” Mike said. His hands slid over Will’s thighs, steadying him, grounding him. “Not a word. Understand?”

Will nodded, not trusting his own voice. He already felt like he was teetering on the edge—ready to explode from the sight alone.

Mike smiled. Slow. Promising. Then he leaned down.

The first touch was barely more than a brush of breath—warm, teasing against the tip of Will’s cock. Mike exhaled slowly and deliberately, and Will felt it like a flame: hot air against sensitive skin.

“Mike,” Will whispered, the sound almost pleading.

“Patience,” Mike murmured.

And then his tongue—wet, perfect—dragged from the base all the way up in one slow, deliberate stroke. At the last second, Will bit down on Mike’s sweatshirt, smothering the cry that tried to tear out of his throat.

“Shh,” Mike soothed, glancing up. His eyes glinted in the dim light. “Remember where we are. You have to stay quiet for me, baby.”

He licked him again, this time pausing to trace a slow circle around the tip, gathering the moisture there. Will watched like he was hypnotized—mind gone blank, completely focused on the way Mike’s tongue moved: precise, patient, like he was rediscovering every inch even though he knew this map by heart.

For a moment, Mike closed his eyes, like he was actually savoring it. A quiet sound of satisfaction slipped from his throat.

“So good,” he murmured against Will’s skin. “Always so good for me. I missed this, Will. I missed the way you taste.”

Will couldn’t answer. He could only watch. Only feel.

His free hand found Mike’s hair, fingers sliding into the dark curls—not pulling, just holding on, needing the anchor.

Finally, Mike wrapped his mouth around the tip and started to suck—lightly at first, almost experimentally, like he was just testing Will’s reaction. 

Will felt every detail: the warmth of Mike’s mouth closing around him, the slickness, the way his tongue moved along the underside, finding that sensitive spot just beneath the tip that always made Will see stars.

Mike took more, sliding down slowly. His lips stretched around the width of Will. He didn’t take him all the way—never could without warning—but deep enough for Will to feel the hot interior of his throat: tight, wet, perfect.

He had to close his eyes, overwhelmed by the intensity. The sweatshirt in his mouth was soaked with saliva, teeth biting into the fabric, trying to stifle the sounds that desperately wanted to escape.

“Look at me,” Mike said, pulling back for a moment. A thin string of saliva stretched between his lips and Will’s cock. “Open your eyes. I want you to watch, Will.”

Will opened his eyes, fighting the urge to shut them immediately—to escape the intensity of it all. Mike knelt on the floor, and everything he did was just look at Will with such hunger that Will felt it in every inch of his body.

“Good,” Mike praised, wrapping a hand around the base, holding him steady. “Don’t look away. I want you to see every detail of what I’m doing.”

And then he took him deeper.

Will saw everything: Mike’s lips stretching around his width, his cheeks hollowing slightly with each suck, and his jaw working to take more and more until the tip of Will’s cock hit the back of his throat.

Mike began to move—up and down—building a rhythm, slow and deliberate at first. His hands gripped Will’s hips firmly against the shelf, keeping him from pushing forward, even though every instinct screamed: more, deeper!

It was torture—wanting more, craving more movement, deeper friction—and yet perfect. Mike controlled everything: pace, depth, and intensity. Will could only stand there, take it, watch, and feel, fighting every cry that wanted to escape.

“Fuck,” Will breathed, trying to stay quiet, even as his whole body screamed to moan, to tell Mike how good it felt, how perfect. “Mike, this is…”

Mike quickened slightly. Each upward motion became firmer, the tongue actively gliding along the underside, seeking out every sensitive spot. One of his hands slid lower, cupping Will’s balls, massaging them in rhythm with the sucking.

Will was already on the edge. Three weeks without this—three weeks of lonely showers, where his own hand had never come close to Mike’s mouth, where fantasies could never match reality—and now Mike was between his legs, kneeling in the library, the risk of someone hearing or finding them only making it hotter.

“Mike,” he whispered, trying to pull him back, gently tugging at his hair. “Mike… close… if you keep going…”

Mike just took him deeper, clearly ignoring the warning. His eyes, meeting Will’s gaze, were full of determination and hunger.

“Almost—” Will gasped desperately, his hips trembling from the effort to hold back. “Mike… I’m… you need to—”

Mike pulled back only slightly, speaking calmly:

“I know.”

His voice was rough, low—and then he was back, taking him almost to the hilt, sucking harder than before.

It was too much. Will came with a muffled cry into the sweatshirt, his body tensing, knees nearly giving out beneath him, held upright only by Mike’s firm grip on his hips. His eyes squeezed shut despite the effort to keep them open; light exploded behind his eyelids.

He heard Mike swallow, taking everything Will gave him—and it stretched his orgasm out, wave after wave of pleasure hitting him until he was hypersensitive, every touch almost too much.

When Mike finally pulled back, Will sagged heavily against the shelf behind him—legs trembling, chest heaving. Mike stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, looking at him with an expression of complete satisfaction and triumph.

“Fuck,” Will muttered, finally finding his voice again. His breath was still uneven.

“Was that good?” Mike asked, though the tone—satisfied, confident—made it clear he already knew the answer.

“You know it was,” Will replied, handing him the sweatshirt. The sleeve was damp with saliva, but neither of them cared.

Mike took it and tossed it casually onto the shelf beside them, then immediately pulled Will in for a kiss.

Will tasted himself on Mike’s tongue, salty and slightly bitter, and even though he’d just come, another wave of warmth rippled through his body, low in his stomach.

“I want you,” Will murmured as they pulled apart. His hand slid down, finding a definite bulge in Mike’s jeans. Hard, tense—and Will felt a spark of triumph at the thought that doing this for him had gotten Mike like this. “I want you inside me, Mike.”

Something in Mike’s eyes darkened.

“Here?” he asked quietly. “Now?”

“Here,” Will confirmed, undoing the zipper of his jeans. He heard Mike’s breath hitch. “Now.”

Mike glanced around quickly, checking the aisles between the shelves.

Silence. Absolute silence.

“Got anything?” Will asked, though he already knew the answer. Mike was always prepared.

He reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a wallet. From inside came a small package—a condom and a sachet of lube.

Will raised an eyebrow, unable to suppress a small smile.

“Turn around,” Mike said, though it wasn’t necessary—Will was already moving. “Face the shelf. Hands on the edge.”

Will turned, pressing his hands against one of the lower shelves for balance. Behind him, he heard Mike slide down his jeans, the quiet zip of the zipper, and then the rustle of the condom wrapper.

A moment later, Mike’s hands were on his hips, sliding his jeans and boxers down a little further, to mid-thigh. The cool air of the library brushed against his bare skin, and Will shivered, his cock—which had just softened—hardening again from pure anticipation.

“Okay?” Mike asked softly. One hand moved soothingly over his back, under his sweater, warm and reassuring.

“Y-Yeah,” Will replied. “Just… quick. Someone could come.”

“I know,” Mike murmured, kissing the back of his neck. “I’ll be quick. But tell me if it’s too much, alright? Promise me.”

“I promise.”

Will heard the rustle of the lube packet opening, and a moment later felt the cool slickness spread between his cheeks. Mike applied it slowly, methodically, despite the urgency—making sure there was enough.

“Breathe for me,” he said softly. “Take a deep breath.”

Will obeyed, and then felt the first finger.

Mike eased it in confidently, no fuss. The moment Will drew in a sharp breath and tensed reflexively, Mike immediately paused.

“Hey,” he whispered soothingly, sliding his free hand back under Will’s sweater to find bare skin along his back, massaging gently. “Hey… relax for me. I know we’re in a rush, but I don’t want to hurt you. I never want to hurt you.”

He kissed between Will’s shoulder blades through the fabric of the sweater—a tender, calming gesture. Only then did he start moving the finger slowly.

“Good,” he praised, feeling Will’s body begin to yield. “So good, baby. See? Your body remembers me.”

Mike added more lube—generously, without holding back—and after a moment, Will felt a second finger join the first.

The stretching was intense, but before Will could tense again, Mike’s hand returned to his back, pressing lightly, steadying him.

“Breathe,” he reminded him. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

His fingers moved quickly—methodically stretching, preparing, not wasting a second—but the way Mike’s other hand stroked Will’s back, the way he kissed the nape of his neck between breaths, checking every reaction… it was all tender. Desperately tender.

Mike scissored his fingers, twisting them, stretching Will in quick but confident motions. Will could feel sweat gathering at the back of his neck, his legs beginning to tremble, yet Mike’s hand on his back never stopped—gliding up and down his spine, tracing little circles, reminding him that Mike was here for him, that he cared.

“How’s that feel?” Mike asked softly. “Good? Want me to give you more?”

“Yes,” Will gasped. “Yeah, I can take more.”

This time, before sliding in the finger, Mike leaned closer, his chest pressing gently against Will’s back.

“Sorry, we have to rush. Sorr,y I can’t do this as slowly as you deserve. But I promise—tomorrow night, at home, I’ll take care of you properly. For hours. Okay?”

“Okay,” Will whispered, feeling warmth spread through his chest.

The third finger was intense—Will drew in a sharp breath; his body tensed instinctively. Mike immediately paused.

“Hey, hey,” he murmured soothingly, not moving his fingers an inch. His free hand slid from Will’s back to the front, finding his stomach under the sweater and pressing gently. “Too much? Be honest with me.”

“No,” Will gasped after a moment. “Not too much. Just… intense.”

“I know.” Mike kissed his arm, then his neck—small, tender kisses. “But you’re doing so well. Taking me so beautifully. Another moment, and you’ll be ready, I promise.”

He waited—ten seconds, maybe more—giving Will’s body time to adjust. His hand on Will’s stomach stroked and pressed soothingly. Only when he felt Will beginning to relax did he move his fingers again.

Quickly, methodically, but not roughly. His other hand stayed with him the entire time—sliding from stomach to hip, pressing lightly, reminding him he was there. He kissed the back of Will’s neck between breaths, murmuring soothing words.

“So good,” he whispered. “You’re taking this so well. I know it’s a lot, I know we’re in a rush, but you’re amazing, baby. So strong.”

Then his fingers found the prostate.

Will whimpered. His knees nearly gave out, but Mike’s hand tightened on his hip, stabilizing him instantly.

“I’ve got you,” Mike said firmly. “I’ve got you. You won’t fall. I’m right here.”

He did it again—deliberately this time—and Will had to bite down hard on his lips to keep from crying out.

He was fucking him with his fingers fast—true—but the way he held Will with his other hand, kissed his shoulders, and checked every reaction despite the rush…

Will felt seen. Safe. Loved.

Even here, in the library, with the risk of getting caught, Mike was taking care of him.

“Ready,” Will finally gasped. “I’m ready, Mike… please, I can’t wait any longer. I need you inside me now…”

Mike kissed the back of his neck before slowly withdrawing his fingers.

“I know,” Mike murmured. “I know, baby. Soon. I’ll fill you up, I promise. Soon you’ll have everything you need.”

He held Will’s hips with one hand—a firm, steady, grounding grip—and guided himself with the other. Will felt the tip of his cock pressing, circling slowly, lining up perfectly at the entrance. Even through the latex of the condom, he felt the warmth, felt Mike pulsing with tension and anticipation.

“Breathe for me,” Mike whispered, his voice taut with restraint. “Deep breath, baby. Yes… just like that.”

Will drew a trembling breath, trying to relax his muscles. His body remembered the feeling, remembered Mike, craving him despite three weeks apart.

“Ready?” Mike whispered, leaning so his chest pressed against Will’s back.

“Yes,” Will gasped. “Please, Mike… now. Don’t make me wait any longer…”

And then Mike pushed.

He slid in with one long, sure, relentless thrust.

Not slow, like in their bed, where they had hours to savor each inch. Not cautious, with pauses so Will could adjust. He just went—decisively, deeply, completely—filling Will in a single motion, and Will saw stars exploding behind his eyelids.

“Fuck!” he cried before he could stop himself. His voice echoed between the shelves, too loud, too clear.

Mike immediately pressed a hand to his mouth. His other hand gripped Will’s hip so hard he could feel every finger digging into his skin—surely there would be bruises shaped like Mike’s fingers, a mark he would carry for days.

“Quiet,” Mike whispered sharply into his ear. His own breath was ragged and heavy, his voice trembling. “I know it’s a lot, baby. I know it’s intense after so long. But you have to be quiet. You can do this for me, can’t you? Please, Will… tell me you can.”

Will nodded desperately, tears stinging the corners of his eyes from the sheer intensity. Mike was everywhere—stretching him to the limit, filling every inch, pulsing inside him. Will felt him completely: the way his body had to stretch to take him, every muscle screaming at the sudden intrusion.

After three weeks without this, his body was hypersensitive, overreacting. Every nerve screamed, every point of contact burned. Will felt everything in excruciating clarity—the thickness stretching him, the length so deep he could feel it in his stomach, and the heat even through the condom.

“Good,” Mike praised, voice taut, barely under control. He kissed the back of Will’s neck, his throat, every place he could reach—small, soothing kisses contrasting with the brutal invasion of his cock. “Such a good boy. Taking me so beautifully. All of me. Remember how this feels, yeah? Remember me inside you?”

Will tried to respond, but all he could do was whimper into Mike’s hand. His hips trembled, his legs barely holding him up. Only Mike’s grip on his hip and the weight of his body pressing him against the shelf kept him upright.

“I’m about to move,” Mike warned, though his hips trembled desperately to thrust right then. “Tell me if it’s too much. Nod if you understand.”

Will nodded, though he knew that even if it was too much, he wouldn’t tell Mike to stop. He needed this too badly; he had missed him too long.

Mike didn’t wait any longer. He pulled back—so slowly that Will felt every inch leaving him, a nearly painful sense of loss—leaving just the tip inside.

And then he drove forward again.

Hard. Deep. Hitting Will’s prostate on the first thrust.

Will cried out into Mike’s hand, his hips jerking back involuntarily to meet the next push. White light exploded behind his eyelids; the pleasure was sharp, almost painful.

“Shh,” Mike soothed—but he thrust again and again, finding a brutal, immediate rhythm. Short, hard strokes, each deep, each hitting that one spot that made Will shatter.

“Mike…” Will murmured, gripping the edge of the shelf.

“I know, baby, I know it’s intense. But I feel you so perfectly around me. So fucking good. So tight after three weeks. Like you were made just for me. Like your body remembers exactly how to hold me.”

His hips slammed into Will’s ass with every thrust—the loud slap of skin against skin, rhythmic, almost obscene in the overwhelming silence of the library. Will could hear it—smack, smack, smack—and prayed no one could hear, that Kevin stayed buried in his headphones, and that no one came to the third floor right now.

But despite the risk—or maybe because of it—it was the most intense thing they’d ever felt together. Every thrust electrified him. Every shared breath, every gasp, every shiver heightened it. Desperation, rush, the danger of being caught—everything sharpened every sensation: every touch burned, every kiss felt like fire.

“How long…” Mike gasped between thrusts, his voice raw, broken, barely recognizable. “How long have you been thinking about this today? Sitting across from me, pretending to study? I know what you were thinking. I saw the way you looked at me. I saw your eyes wander. I knew exactly what you wanted.”

Will couldn’t answer; he could only whimper into Mike’s hand. But Mike didn’t relent—not now, not when he finally had Will exactly where he wanted—spread out, trembling, completely at his mercy.

“Tell me,” he insisted, thrusting particularly hard, drawing a muffled cry from Will. His hips froze, cock buried fully inside him, pulsing. “I want to hear it. Since when today have you been thinking about this? When did you decide you couldn’t wait anymore and wanted me to fuck you?”

Mike pulled his hand from Will’s mouth—a risky, dangerous act—and Will immediately bit down on his own arm through the sweater, teeth sinking into the wool and the skin beneath, stifling every sound.

“All the time,” Will finally gasped, barely able to form words through the haze of pleasure. “All the fucking time, Mike. From the moment we sat at that damn table. From the moment I saw you in that hoodie. Saw you bite your lip when you were concentrating. I thought about your hands. Your fingers. How badly I wanted you to touch me. I wanted to reach across the table and just…”

He broke off with a moan as Mike thrust again, rewarding his honesty.

“What?” Mike encouraged rebuilding the rhythm—slower this time, deeper, more deliberate. “What did you want to do?”

“I wanted to kiss you,” Will admitted. “I wanted to climb onto that table and kiss you in front of everyone. I wanted to slide my hands under your hoodie and feel your skin. I wanted you to touch me like this, to fill me, to make me forget my own name.”

“Fuck,” Mike cursed, his thrusts briefly chaotic, more violent. “Me too. Fuck, Will, me too. I’ve been thinking about it all the time. Watching you in my sweater, that exposed collarbone, that pale skin glowing in the light. I wanted to bite you. I wanted to mark every inch of that skin so tomorrow everyone could see and know you’re taken. That you’re mine.”

His teeth found the spot where Will’s neck met his shoulder, and he bit—hard, almost painfully—sucking and nipping the skin between his teeth, leaving a mark that would be unmistakable tomorrow, one no turtleneck or scarf could fully hide.

Will whimpered, his hips jerking back, even though he had no control over his body, instinctively meeting every thrust, helping Mike drive deeper, harder.

“Mine,” Mike repeated possessively, pressing the word against Will’s skin.

His hands roamed over Will’s body, as if he wanted to touch every inch at once. One slipped under the sweater, finding bare skin on his back; nails scratching lightly—not enough to hurt, but enough to leave red lines Will would feel later. The other gripped his hip, fingers digging in so hard that every point of pressure burned into Will’s skin.

“Only mine. No one else can have you like this. No one else can see you like this. Say it. I want to hear you say it.”

“Yours,” Will gasped immediately, without hesitation, the word escaping like a prayer. “Only yours, Mike, always only yours. No one else, never anyone else, can make me feel like this… only you, only you can…”

“Good.” Mike picked up the pace; his control began to slip under the weight of need. His thrusts grew faster, deeper, and more chaotic. “Fuck, Will, when you say that… I can’t… I can’t control myself when you’re like this…”

He shifted the angle slightly; his hand on Will’s hip lifted him higher, tilting his body, and the next thrust hit the prostate at an absolutely perfect angle.

Will screamed—high, loud, his voice carrying between the shelves—forgetting entirely where they were, completely consumed by sensation.

Mike covered his mouth again, this time with his own lips. The kiss was brutal, desperate, and full of teeth, tongue, and tension. He swallowed Will’s cries, breathed his breath, took in every sound, and gave back his own—low moans vibrating from his throat into Will’s mouth.

Will opened himself under the kiss, letting Mike take him completely—his mouth, his body, everything. Their tongues fought and slid against each other, tasting, claiming.

“Baby, you have to be quiet.”

“I can’t be quiet,” Will moaned into his mouth as they had to pull back for breath. “Fuck, Mike, I can’t… It’s too much. You make me feel too much… I can’t…”

“You have to,” Mike said firmly, though his own voice trembled, cracking at the edges. “Bite your sweater. Or my arm. Whatever, baby, but you have to be quiet—otherwise someone will hear us, and I’ll have to stop. And fuck, I can’t stop now, I can’t… I need you too much…”

Will bit down on his forearm, and Mike growled. A low, animal sound that ran through Will from the back of his neck to his toes.

“Yes,” Mike encouraged, his voice dark and dangerous. “Just like that. Fuck, just like that. You can leave marks on me. I want to feel them tomorrow. I want to look in the mirror and see your teeth on my body. I want to remember it every time I move. I want everyone who sees me to know that someone has marked me… that I belong to someone.”

His thrusts were now completely chaotic—the rhythm gone, only the desperate need to be closer, deeper, more mattered.

Will was utterly wrecked. Sweat glued his sweater to his body; strands of hair stuck to his forehead. His legs trembled so hard that without Mike holding him, he would have fallen. Every nerve screamed from overload, every muscle taut to the limit.

“I’ve missed this,” Mike gasped in his ear, words broken between thrusts. “Fuck, Will… I’ve missed being inside you. Feeling you around me. How you clench when I’m deep. The sounds you make just for me. How your body trembles when you’re close. Three weeks was too long. Fuck, it was an eternity. Never again, you understand? I’ll never let us wait that long again. Even if I have to take you to the bathroom between classes. Even if I have to fuck you in the car in the parking lot. Anywhere. Anytime.”

Will could only whimper into Mike’s shoulder, utterly unable to form words, think, or focus on anything beyond sensation. His world had narrowed down to Mike—how he filled him with every thrust, stretched him to the edge, and pressed him against the bookshelf with his weight. To the hard wood digging into his chest, the hot breath on his neck, damp with sweat.

After three weeks without this, every nerve was raw, pulsing. He felt everything in excruciating, beautiful detail: how Mike stretched him with every movement, how each strike against his prostate sent sparks up his spine, and how their bodies slid together from sweat with every motion.

“Touch yourself,” Mike commanded suddenly, grabbing Will’s hand and guiding it to his own cock. “I want you to touch yourself for me. I want to see you come while I fuck you. I want us to come together. I need to feel you clench around me when you do.”

Will wrapped his hand around himself the best he could—shaky, clumsy—and whimpered at the sensation. He was hard—painfully hard—tight and pulsing; pre-come was already leaking from the tip.

“Fuck—” he moaned, curling his fingers around himself. “Mike, it’s too much… I can’t…”

“You can,” Mike said firmly, though trembling with his own need. “I know you can. You’re so strong, baby. You can take it. You can take it all.”

Will’s hand started moving quickly over himself—tight, sure strokes, perfect pressure—while Mike’s hips continued the brutal rhythm. Will was trapped between his own hand in front and Mike’s cock behind him, and it was perfect.

“Look at yourself,” Mike murmured in his ear. “So desperate. So needy. Fucking between the shelves in the library because you couldn’t wait. Because you needed me now. Do you know how hot that is? Knowing you want me so badly, you’re risking everything?”

Will shook his head, completely overwhelmed.

“It’s—” Mike continued, hot breath on his ear, “fucking intoxicating. Knowing you crave me like this. That your body needs mine. That you can’t function without my touch.”

His teeth found another spot on Will’s neck—this time the other side, for balance—and he bit again. Sucking, nipping, leaving marks. Tomorrow, Will would look like he’d been attacked by a vampire, but Mike didn’t care at all.

“Mike,” Will whimpered, feeling the orgasm building low in his stomach. “Mike, I’m close… I’m so close, please…”

“Not yet,” Mike rasped. “I want to feel this longer. I want to remember you like this. Around me. Begging. Completely undone by me.”

He slowed his movements, torturing Will, teasing the pleasure higher and higher without letting him finish.

“Please,” Will begged, tears stinging his eyes from frustration and intensity. “Please, Mike, I can’t… it hurts, I need…”

“Tell me what you need,” Mike whispered. His voice was soft now, almost tender, despite the brutal rhythm of his thrusts. “Use your words.”

“I need to come,” Will moaned, trembling. “I need to feel you. I need you to come inside me. Please, Mike, I can’t wait any longer… please, I beg you…”

Mike pressed himself even closer; his chest sank against Will’s back, and his mouth found Will’s ear.

“Do you know how beautiful you look right now?” he whispered. “Spread out on my cock, trembling, crying, begging me. If someone walked in… if they saw us like this… they’d know immediately. They’d know you’re letting me do whatever I want with you, that you’re giving me complete control over your body. And a part of you wants that, doesn’t it? Wants them to see.”

Will made a muffled sound—half denial, half agreement—because it was true. A dark, secret part of him wanted to be watched, wanted them to see Mike taking him, making him completely helpless.

“I knew it,” Mike said, satisfaction dark and heavy in his voice. “Felt you move at that thought. My dirty boy… my beautiful, dirty boy who wants to be seen.”

He picked up the pace again—fast, merciless. His thrusts were killing in their intensity.

“Mike…” Will tried to warn him, but it was too late. He was too close, too long on the edge.

The orgasm hit him like lightning, like a wave, like everything all at once. He exploded, every muscle in his body tensing so hard it hurt, clenching around Mike like a vise—so tight that Mike whimpered.

Will moaned loudly, and Mike’s hand covered his mouth again, muffling the sound, while his other hand gripped his exposed hip.

Will came so hard he saw stars, entire galaxies, and the whole damn universe. Wave after wave of pleasure tore through him; his cock pulsed, and his cum spattered across the shelf in front of him, onto books, onto his fingers—hot and sticky.

“Fuck,” Mike cursed, feeling Will clench around him. The sensation was incredible—throbbing, squeezing him in rhythm. “Fuck, Will, yes… just like that, squeeze me… fuck, yes…”

His own thrusts became completely chaotic, utterly lost in rhythm—pure desperation. One, two, three, four—again; his hips jerked uncontrollably, and then Mike came too, his head dropping onto Will’s shoulder, teeth sinking through the sweatshirt.

Will felt everything—Mike’s body stiffening, the pulse of his cock inside, and the tremor of each orgasm wave. He felt the heat of the condom filling him, every twitch, every muscle spasm.

It prolonged Will’s own orgasm, making it last and last until he was so oversensitive it bordered on pain. Every touch was almost unbearable; every second stretched like eternity.

They stayed like that for a long moment—maybe a minute, maybe forever—both catching their breath, sweat mingling where their bodies touched. Will felt Mike’s heartbeat against his back—wild, uneven, gradually slowing to normal. He felt the trembling in his muscles, the way his weight settled onto Will, as if his legs couldn’t hold him anymore.

“Fuck,” Mike exhaled into the back of Will’s neck. “Fuck, Will… that was… I can’t… I don’t have words…”

“I know,” Will whispered, because there were no words. There was no way to describe it.

Slowly—so slowly, as if every movement hurt—Mike straightened up. One hand kept Will steady at the hip, the other gliding soothingly across his back, under the sweater, over the bare, sweaty skin.

“Okay?” he asked quietly, kissing the back of Will’s neck, his shoulder, every place he could reach. Small, tender kisses that contrasted with the brutality of what they’d just done. “Not hurting too much? Should I be gentler? Be honest with me.”

“It hurts,” Will admitted, but when Mike froze, worried, he quickly added, “But… it’s good. Hurts in a good way. I’ll feel you tomorrow. I’ll think about you every time I sit, every time I move. And I’ll want it. I’ll want the reminder.”

“Good,” Mike said, possessiveness creeping back into his voice. “I want you to remember. I want you to feel me for the next few days.”

He withdrew carefully—so slow, so deliberate—and Will whimpered despite trying to stay quiet. He was hypersensitive, sore, feeling empty, strangely open, and ruined without Mike inside him.

“I’m sorry,” Mike whispered, kissing his shoulder. “Sorry, baby. I know it hurts. It’ll be better soon. I promise.”

Will heard Mike dealing with the condom—tying the knot, figuring out where to stash it. He had to tuck it into the hoodie pocket to toss later, outside the library. Then Mike gently turned him to face him so they could see each other.

Will must have looked absolutely wrecked—hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, cheeks flushed, lips swollen and red from kisses and teeth. Sweat trickled down his neck, under his sweater, the fabric clinging to his skin. Probably tear-streaked at the corners of his eyes. He looked like someone who’d just been fucked between the library stacks.

But the way Mike looked at him—with pure adoration, awe, and love so intense it almost physically hurt—made Will feel like the most beautiful person in the world.

“Hey,” Mike whispered, cupping Will’s face in both hands, thumbs gently wiping moisture from the corners of his eyes.

“Hey,” Will replied, smiling despite the exhaustion.

Mike kissed him—slowly, endlessly, gently, completely different from the desperate, brutal kisses from moments before. It was a kiss full of tenderness, of promise, of love that went beyond sex itself. Their tongues moved together lazily, tasting and exploring, as if they had all the time in the world.

When they pulled back, both of them were smiling—silly, in love, completely satisfied smiles.

“I’ll help you get dressed,” Mike said quietly.

His hands were incredibly gentle as he pulled Will’s boxers up—careful to avoid the places that were most sensitive, softly adjusting the fabric. Then the jeans, slowly fastening the button and pulling up the zipper.

“I can do it myself,” Will protested weakly, though deep down he loved it. Loved the way Mike cared for him afterward, how every touch was tender.

“I know,” Mike replied, smoothing Will’s sweater, straightening the wrinkles, and adjusting it over his shoulders so it sat right. “But I want to. I want to take care of you. Always want to take care of you.”

His fingers combed through Will’s hair, trying to tame it into something resembling order, though it was a lost cause. Too damp with sweat, too tousled.

“You look like you just got fucked,” Mike said with amusement.

“I did,” Will replied dryly, and they both snorted with laughter.

“Your turn,” Will said, but Mike was already getting dressed, pulling on his jeans, adjusting his shirt.

Will watched him, memorizing every detail. The way Mike moved—a little stiff, like someone still feeling the effects of intense sex. How he adjusted his hair, trying to look presentable. How he looked at Will and smiled—that small, intimate smile meant only for him, saying “I love you” without words.

“Ready?” Mike asked, holding out his hand.

Will took it without hesitation, intertwining their fingers, feeling how perfectly Mike’s hand fit his.

“Ready,” he confirmed.

But before they left, Mike pulled him into one more kiss. Short. Sweet. Perfect.

“I love you,” he whispered into Will’s mouth.

“I love you too,” Will replied. “Always.”

When they stepped out of the advanced math section and back to their table, Kevin was still sitting there with his headphones on, completely oblivious.

They sat back down in their seats, textbooks still open to the same pages they’d left them. As if nothing had happened. As if their world hadn’t completely changed in the past thirty minutes.

Will tried to focus on the textbook. Kandinsky. Composition VIII. Dates he should know.

But all he could think about was the feeling of Mike’s mouth on him. The way Mike sounded when he came. The way his own body still pulsed, reminding him.

“So,” Mike said after a moment of silence. A small smile drifted across his lips, his voice light, as if they hadn’t just fucked between the stacks. “Feeling ready for this exam?”

Will snorted, trying to be quiet.

“Absolutely not,” he admitted once he settled down. “And you?”

“Not even a little,” Mike agreed.

They looked at each other and laughed quietly, like two idiots hopelessly in love.

“Worth it?” Will asked softly, reaching his hand across the table.

Mike took it, intertwining their fingers and tracing his thumb across the back of Will’s hand.

“Absolutely,” he said, his voice full of certainty. “Every time. Always.”