Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Sunscrubbed and chaste, summer passed without either of them speaking of that night.

It wasn’t as easy as it might have seemed. Memories of what they had done were everywhere; everything was a slipstream of remembrance. The months whispered of skin and sweat and something more. 

“Mike,” Will would say, only his eyes visible over the top of a ragged comic book, and, for a second, Mike would see in those eyes the same exact colors that had glittered there in the wake of their first kiss. As if he were in that moment all over again, he would sway forward, hypnotized, on the edge of kissing Will anew. 

Then, confused and blinking, Will would say again, “Mike?” and Mike would realize that he was simply asking Mike if he thought Superman could beat Thor if they went head-to-head.

“Sorry. Thor, I think.” 

Will’d smirk, then scoff. “You’re wrong.” 

“It's a theoretical. There is no wrong or right.” 

“And Superman is Superman, Mike. He’ll always win.” 

“Thor has a magic fucking hammer. He could smash Superman’s skull in with that thing.” 

“I’d smash your skull in, if I could.” 

Like he’d ever. Laughter, undoubtedly Mike’s. “Would you, really?” 

A smile, one of those Will smiles that made Mike feel different than he ever used to. “Try me.” 

They talked like this, as if everything was normal. And, objectively, it was supposed to be. Having sex hadn’t meant anything, not like that. Will and Mike were just two best friends who had simply gotten an important first out of the way. Just a first, just a part of their tradition. There wasn’t anything more to say about it, because there wasn’t anything more to it at all. 

The root of it, for Mike, was a home to both relief and agony. On one hand, he didn’t want anything between them to change, and felt that the easiest path was to move on from what they had done. On the other hand, he wanted to have Will again so badly that it killed him. 

As it was, this couldn’t be repressed, not after Pandora’s box had finally, finally been opened. 

Mike loved him. It was the sort of thing that couldn’t be closed back up. 

As summer faded, Will continued to sleep over, probably five or six nights a week. Once, he’d shown up at Mike’s doorstep in the same grey shirt he had worn the night of their first time. When Mike’s gaze dropped to it, all soft fabric and rumpled edges, he was almost knocked over by the vivid memory of pulling it off of Will, of touching and kissing the skin beneath it. 

Mike let his eyes flick back up, his face a fierce, scorched red. Mike wanted so badly to know if Will was thinking of that night, too. Wanted to know if he ached to go back, just like Mike did. But, as Will stared back at him, his own face betrayed nothing. Mike, a devout rationalist, interpreted this to mean that Will didn’t think of that night, and that he didn’t want Mike in that way ever again.  

During long, paranormal nights near July’s end, lying very still beneath a disjointed canopy of stars and planets, Mike could understand why Will didn’t feel the same things he did. Will was kind and intelligent and wonderful; Mike was rude and loud and disconcerting. These halves didn’t fit, not romantically. Not in the way Mike wished that they would. In the end, Mike knew it was only natural for Will to move on toward something else, toward someone better. Mike was his friend. His best friend. 

He kept everything quiet. There wasn’t any need to bother Will about it, and there certainly wasn’t any need to ruin a lifelong friendship over it. Mike couldn’t bear that. Their friendship was too good, too perfect. It withstood the summer heat; it withstood the tumultuous ordeal of growing up.  

Sometimes, yes, Mike wanted more. He’d lose himself wishing for it, distracted by the weight of his wanting. But then, Will would look up at him, all softness, and say, “You think too much, Michael.” 

Mike loved it when Will called him Michael. 

He’d grin, snapped out of his reverie. “You say I talk too much, too. Am I allowed to do anything, Byers?” 

“Not without my permission, you’re not.” Will stuck a hand out and tugged playfully at a strand of Mike’s hair. Mike tried not to recall the feel of Will’s fingers deep in his curls while Mike was deep inside of him.

“Is that right?” Mike’s eyebrows leapt. 

“Exactly right,” said Will. “You are but a lowly paladin.” 

“Does that make you my prince?” 

Will’s boyish smile was entrancing. “Why, yes.” 

“Then I vow to serve you. I do nothing without your express permission, my liege.” 

At Mike’s put-upon accent and listless jokes, Will would dissolve into laughter. It was the kind of thing that made Mike feel lucky to be alive. Lucky to have this boy as his best friend. 

Eventually, they left home. Their first day of college, they braved together. New York would have left Mike alone and awash without his best friend. For Mike, having Will at his side made the large, boundless city feel still like home. 

They started renting a place at the edge of Brooklyn that was the size of a box of matches, though neither Mike nor Will minded its paltriness. The walls were pale yellow, the floors scuffed hardwood. They each had their own room and shared a bathroom. They were still best friends, the same as they always had been, in every way that counted. 

When they’d signed the lease, Mike had been ecstatic with thoughts of living with his best friend, anticipating mornings of orange sunbeams and nights of Monty Python. The reality of living with Will wasn’t like this, not exactly. Mornings were dense and hazy, thick with condensation from Will’s morning showers, and the sight of him with wet hair in his eyes. Then, at night, they would sit reading and sketching beneath the lamplight, carefully arranged on opposite sides of their lumpy old couch, as Mike burned for touch that would never come. 

Will was a good roommate, of course. He did his dishes and kept their living room tidy; he even made sure that every surface was scrubbed spotless after he’d had his paints out. Beyond his cleanliness, he was attentive and caring, looking after Mike in the same way that Mike had always looked after him. He’d wake Mike up for class if he overslept, or bring him dinner if he’d forgotten to eat all day. Will being Mike’s roommate wasn’t the issue. 

The issue was that Mike was so, so very in love with him. 

This, naturally, meant that their state of constant physical nearness was like some obscure form of medieval torture. Will was everywhere, and the permanence of it made Mike utterly unable to think straight. And, how could he – when Will was swinging his feet atop a barstool at the counter, when Will was curled in front of the radiator for warmth, when Will was grinning and unlocking the door for him with careful hands? When Will made a noise of frustration that sounded almost like his little whimpers of pleasure, when Will sat up to stretch and Mike saw the line of skin above his boxers, when Will cried during a stupid movie about a dog and Mike was reminded of the way tears had soaked his eyelashes when he came. When Will did anything, and Mike remembered that he’d fucked him, that they’d had sex, hot and messy and almost-meaningful. 

Their first and only time. 

Worst of all was the heart of it – the truth that it wasn’t only sex that Mike craved. He wanted everything with Will. He wanted matching toothbrushes, breakfast in bed, shared Christmases. He wanted to fall asleep kissing Will, to hold his hand in crowded places, to carry his books and paints to class for him. 

Mike knew, though, that none of this was meant for him. 

He made attempts to cope, tried to drown his feelings in greasy takeout or overly pretentious Beatnik poetry. And, sometimes, alcohol. They went out a lot, usually with Will’s friends, who were artsy and unique and completely unlike Mike himself. 

Their first college party had been exactly like they’d always theorized it might have been. There were lights and dancing and too many songs by Bananarama. 

“You’re drunk, right?” Will had whispered, after they’d spent an hour holed up in what was assuredly some upperclassman’s shitty penthouse, his voice soft beneath the pounding bass. 

“Do I look drunk?” 

Will squinted at him, laughing as he took in Mike’s mess of curls and disheveled appearance. He’d spilled half a shot all over his crewneck, and his eyes were probably bloodshot from whoever’s weed he had bummed a hit of out on the balcony. “Maybe. Can’t tell.” 

For a moment, Mike’s voice hadn’t sounded like his own. “Look, closer, then.”

Without hesitation, Will had drifted forward, his shoulder brushing Mike’s bicep, the toe of his shoe nudging behind Mike’s heel. The closeness was overwhelming; it had Mike by the neck. Will held firm, intense eye contact, letting his gaze wash over Mike like a rush of running water. “Yeah,” he’d said, when the tension had almost seemed like too much. “You look drunk.” 

“Probably ‘cause I am.” 

“Figured that much,” said Will. 

“Sort of high, as well, I think.” 

“You are?” 

“Yeah,” Mike said. 

“You’ve never really been high before, have you?” 

“No,” Mike said. 

“Then I need to get high, too.” 

Even here, they clung tightly to their tradition. The tradition itself was like a tether – not just something that linked Mike and Will together, but something that kept Mike tied to the Earth. They hadn’t stopped in college. Maybe they wouldn’t stop, ever. 

Unlike the dense tang of nicotine, Mike rather enjoyed the smell of weed, thought the haziness of a blunt was far sweeter than the curdle of a cigarette. When he was as drunk and high as this, part of him could pretend he had what he wanted. He could pretend they were in love. 

At parties, Will was hit on a lot. For Mike, watching this was — no hyperbole — the most ridiculously gruesome experience physically possible. 

It made Mike nauseous, made his skin crawl. Made him feel like someone took a shovel to his guts and just started scooping them out with no mercy whatsoever. Every time, watching Will with someone else activated a darkness within him that he’d never before known himself capable of feeling. Uncomfortable, but unavoidable. It was impossible for someone like Will not to garner attention. He was beautiful, of course, windswept and paint-splattered, with perpetually pinkened cheeks and a constant air of sweetness that was irresistible to the naked eye. 

There were all kinds of boys. Tall boys, short boys, blonds, redheads, the like. All of them wanted Will. Who wouldn’t? It was hard not to. That didn’t make Mike feel any better, didn’t make him stop wanting to bash every single boy’s face in. 

Sometimes Will entertained them. He was kind, and he’d smile up at them, shaking their hands and reciprocating their clumsy flirtation. Sometimes, too, he would go home with them. Mike didn’t know what he did with any of these boys, and was sure that knowing would have only made him positively sick with rage. 

Mike stepped in when he could. He did so with calculated subtlety, careful not to call too much attention to the fact that he tried to chase away any men who came near Will by whatever means necessary. Mike would crowd up behind Will, draping an arm over his shoulders in the easy way that they always did, whispering little jokes and jabs into Will’s ear that unfailingly drew his attention away from whatever skeeze was attempting to commandeer him. If Mike tried hard enough, Will would always choose him over some nameless, handsome stranger.

There was a word for it — Max had said it, once. 

“You’re sort of pathetic,” she’d told Mike, months before, when they were still confined to the gum-covered walls of high school. Mike was surly, because when he had jumped to volunteer to accompany Will in getting his lunch, Dustin had shrugged him off and insisted that he be the one to do it. Mike didn’t like it when someone else took his place at Will’s side. It wasn’t the right way of things. 

“Fuck off,” Mike had retorted, like he always did in response to Max’s defamation. “Why?” 

“The way you get around him.” She jerked her head in Will’s direction, crimson curls twitching at her temple. Will was in the lunch line, now, only one strap of his backpack slung over his shoulder, chatting amiably with Dustin. 

“What way do I get?”

“Possessive,” Max said. “You follow Will around like a dog on a leash, then start barking like a maniac when anyone else tries to get close.” 

Students skittered around them like ants in a formicarium, and Mike’s shirt felt suddenly very itchy. At the time, it hadn’t made sense. This was just Max, and the dramatic way she had when she insulted him. “You sound stupid,” said Mike. 

Max rolled her eyes and took a big bite of her ham sandwich. “Whatever.” 

Possessive, she’d called him. Now, Mike knew very well how right she had truly been. In Mike’s mind, Will was his. No one else’s. He didn’t care how selfish it made him to believe this. He didn’t care about anything else but Will. 

For a while, Mike felt sort of ashamed of how long it had taken him to understand his true feelings for Will. He’d been so blind, it was embarrassing. The ache he felt in his chest when he looked at Will wasn’t normal, and it never had been. They’d just always been so close; it kept his brain twisted up in knots. Ultimately, the sex had been the final straw before Mike realized the massive weight of it all, and once he did, there wasn’t any going back. 

Mike was too far gone, now. Too far. 

Most days, there was never a single moment when he wasn’t thinking about Will. He’d sit wondering if Will had eaten, if Will was tired, if Will wanted to finish the episode of Blossom they had started the night before. Then, he’d wonder if Will missed Mike as much as Mike missed him. It was absurd, all of it. Even if Mike was right next to Will, he was still thinking about him. 

At night, the thoughts took a turn. They would morph into dreams of sorts, visions of the night that had changed everything. It was all too easy for Mike to visualize the shape of Will’s mouth against his own, the exact sheen of his skin when Mike ran a hand up his stomach. The line of his cock, the way he had looked at the edge of an orgasm, all fucking dazed and gorgeous. 

Mike spent just about every night of his freshman year of college like this. Rubbing himself raw to vivid memories of kissing his best friend, touching his best friend, being inside of his best friend. 

Sometimes, the fantasies would arise under the light of day, when Will was only feet away from Mike. These moments were like rounds of tug of war, moments when Mike’s rationality screamed at him to set himself straight, but his instincts told him to pull Will into his lap and make him his. 

There were other times, sore and fleeting, when Mike could almost trick himself into thinking that Will looked at him differently. Different from how a friend looked at another friend. It was just — when Will looked at him with those eyes. It reminded Mike of that night, of the tenderness they had shared, the sacred act they had undertaken together. The effect of it incapacitated him. 

In late September, when the days had grown sluggish and a chill had overcome the city, Will caught a cold. He was shipwrecked on the couch for an entire weekend, and Mike didn’t leave his sickbed for even a minute – relentlessly intent on making him soup and bringing him tea and keeping him warm. He’d turn the TV on for Will, take his temperature, even feed him — when Will’s shivers got so violent that he couldn’t hold a spoon steady. 

One evening, when Will was the sickest, he had looked up at Mike with big, misty eyes, like an evergreen forest full of moss and wildflowers. “You’re so good to me,” he’d mumbled. 

Mike’s heart almost ruptured. “‘S nothing.” 

Will frowned, just the barest tilt of his lips. “Not at all.” 

“I just want to help you feel better.” 

“‘M never better,” Will had said, “than when you’re with me.” 

Mike’d given a weak little laugh, sort of overcome. 

“Mike, I’m serious.” Will’s voice was raspy, his throat scraped raw from coughing all day, but his words were earnest and strong. “You’re always there for me. When things get bad, when I need you the most. You know, and you come.” 

“I’ll always come for you,” Mike said. 

A smile graced Will’s face, then. “So good,” he repeated, just a murmur. “So good to me.”  

It was Will’s eyes that really did Mike in. Their openness, their clemency. The indefinable look that glossed over them, during moments like this one, that could almost convince Mike that he wasn’t alone. That Will felt it, too. 

“You should get some sleep, Byers.” 

Will grunted, silly and petulant. “Movie’s not over.” 

“I’ll tell you how it ends.” 

“Would you?” 

“Yes, Will,” said Mike. “Or we could watch it again, if you’d like.” 

“I would like that. Tomorrow, then?” 

“Any day you want.” 

He almost called Will baby. The television sputtered, churning with a superimposed laugh track that Mike could barely hear, not when everything was like this.

That September evening, Will fell asleep with his head on Mike’s chest, and Mike burned. 

Beyond that, Mike did his best to try not to hope. Hope wasn’t something he did often — nothing good had ever come of it, for him. Michael Wheeler had been born cynical, and he would die cynical. He would die believing that Will Byers could never love him back. 

Despondency was all around. It was in the cabs that rushed past Mike when he needed them most, stamped across the exams he failed, even when he had studied for days. It was etched into the expression Will got when he caught Mike staring — all twisted and tense. It was there every time Mike strayed too close – his hands drifting to Will’s waist or his breath fanning against Will’s neck – and Will would startle and pull away. 

There were still good moments, of course. Moments where they’d be in the middle of the street, and Will would throw his head back in roarious laughter because Mike had tripped over a sewer grate. Moments where they’d run into each other on campus without meaning to, and Will would wink, sly and playful, at Mike as he passed. Moments where they’d listen to The Velvet Underground on Mike’s rusty record player, and Will would hum along even when he claimed not to like the song as much as Mike did. Moments where Will would say, “You’re an idiot, Michael,” but Mike could tell that he didn’t really mean it. 

Mike tried to focus on the good moments and not on the intense, ever-present arousal that plagued his body. His desire haunted him, every minute of every day, following him wherever he went, refusing to be banished no matter what he did. 

The fact of it was that Mike was obsessed with Will. He longed for Will with everything he had, wanted Will in every way that he could. 

Sometimes, Mike could still feel the ghost of Will’s hands on his face, sliding up to card through his hair. Could still feel the ghost of Will’s mouth opening up for him, the wet friction of their tongues, moving in harmony. But that was all it was. A ghost. 

Mike needed more than a phantasm, more than a distant memory. He needed to touch Will one more time, to ruin him good and thoroughly. Maybe if they tried again, it would stick. Maybe, then, Will wouldn’t need anyone else. Mike would be it, for him. 

Mike thought of it in the dead of night, thought of it in the early morning when the birds weren’t even chirping yet. Thought of it in the shower, thought of it at the fucking dinner table. His imagination was possessed by imagery of himself and Will in the throes of passion, relinquishing control and becoming one. There were scenes of Mike spinning Will around and bending him over, kissing his neck and moaning his name. Scenes of Will on their shared couch, arm thrust over his eyes, whines tumbling from his mouth, because Mike was between his legs, pushing him until he couldn’t speak. Mike ached for all that they hadn’t tried the first time, ached for more than the bounds of his imagination could even comprehend.

Half the time, if Will was around, Mike was hard. It was something he’d learned, exceedingly quickly, that he couldn’t control. He would try, but it was impossible when Will got up every day and looked like he did, sounded like he did. Everything about him drew Mike in. Even the simplest things, like when Will would flick an eyebrow up and say something just shy of scathing, turned Mike on. Will’s wit was hot, his early-morning laugh was hot, his fluttering eyelashes were hot. God forbid Will ever dropped something and bent over to pick it up, or sucked on a finger when he was thinking carefully about which color paint to use.

It was all made worse by the harsh, weighty reality that Mike knew what it was to have Will – to kiss him and fuck into him – but couldn’t have it again. One time was all he was ever going to get. 

There had only been a few times that Will had noticed Mike’s head was up in the clouds. Easy as anything, he’d snap his fingers and part Mike’s fantasies like the Red Sea. 

“You’re gone, Wheeler,” he would say. “Where are you?” 

“Just – ” A swallow. “Just lost in thought.” 

“Come back.” Will’s tone was teasing, but Mike could sense the truth and insistence there. “I’m right here. Stay with me.” 

Mike always drifted back to solid ground – back to Will. He was grateful, as it was, that Will knew nothing of the filth that his thoughts were imbued with, that he would go to bed and get off on the lingering traces of Will’s scent on his clothes. For all Will knew, Mike was simply ruminating on an assignment or a particularly complex campaign. 

Mike wondered, though, what he looked like from the outside. Frequently, he stood silently before the mirror, contemplating his reflection. Was he severe, imposing? Was he too large, too unnaturally tall? His hair was black, and his eyes were dark to match. Could that have possibly been appealing? Could it ever appeal to Will?

Mike told himself that, even if it didn’t, being Will’s best friend was enough. It had been his lifeline since he was five years old, been the only thing he had ever needed. Who was Mike to allow this immovable truth to change? 

Change, it seemed, was everywhere. Autumn set New York on fire, with its rapidly reddening trees and its endless expanse of possibilities. Warmth vacated the city as it braced itself for the impending frost. Will smoked a lot more than he usually did when the cold set in. He’d shoulder an old jacket and sit out on the stairs of their apartment, thumbing at his lighter until its flame reared its head to lick at his skin. 

Mike looked up, now, to see him in the torn-up denim jacket he’d stolen from Lucas, reaching carelessly for the brand-new pack of cigarettes he’d left on the kitchen counter after a run to the gas station that morning. Will had rolled his sleeves up, exposing the thin skin of his forearms, the sensitive bone of his wrists. Mike often dreamed about bruising those wrists. 

The long ends of Will’s hair dipped into his eyes as he selected a cigarette, his brow still wrinkled from the conversation they’d just been having about Grand Moff Tarkin’s contributions to the fall of the Galactic Empire. 

“That’s your second cig today,” Mike said, offhand. 

Will looked up at him. “The first was hours ago.” 

“Still. Two is a lot.” 

“Not really,” Will said, with a shrug that appeared a bit disjointed, robotic in its mobility. “You wouldn’t know, because you never smoke.” 

“Because I, unlike some, value my life,” Mike snarked. 

“Not this again.” They quarreled about it plenty, usually good-natured bickering wherein Will would scrunch up his face and Mike would toss a balled-up piece of paper at his head. 

“Call me a broken record.” 

“I’ll be fine, Mike,” said Will. “You know that.” 

“Just don’t want anything to happen to you,” said Mike. He was quiet, none of his usual put-upon bravado. It was hard to feign anything around someone you loved so much. 

“It won’t,” said Will, turning away. He pulled a lighter from the back pocket of his pants, lifting it up and pressing the flame to the tip of his cigarette with a practiced quickness. He did this all the time. 

Mike wrinkled his nose. “Can’t you do it outside, at least?” 

“I don’t want to go out into the cold.” 

“It’ll make the whole place reek for days.” 

“Can I please just smoke inside, Mike?” Will bit out. He didn’t snap, not exactly, but there was a layer of agitation to his voice, like he was on edge, which was not characteristic of him.

“Fine,” Mike relented. After a few moments in which he sat unmoving, and Will stood breathing smoke in and out, Mike spoke again. “Is something wrong?” 

“No,” Will said flatly. 

“Okay, that was clearly a lie.” 

Will smirked, just a little bit. He’d always found Mike funnier than anyone else ever did. “I never lie to you, Mike. I don’t know how.” 

“Then tell me what’s bothering you.” 

“I’m just…” Will shrugged again, equally as rigid as the first time. “Just stressed.” 

“Why?” 

“A lot of reasons,” he said, with deliberate vagueness. “I’ve got so much schoolwork, and I still have yet to find a job. Plus, Carlton keeps calling. You know.” 

Mike did know, and it made him want to saw his own head off. Carlton was a useless boy that Will had met at some downtown party that Mike hadn’t been invited to. He was an Art History major, he was boring, and he wouldn’t fucking leave Will alone. As far as Mike was aware, they’d hung out twice. They weren’t dating. Not yet, at least. Mike couldn’t tell how much Will really liked Carlton, or if even he liked him at all.

“Bet he’s the reason you’re so stressed,” Mike muttered under his breath, dark and indulgently rude. 

Will blinked over at him. “What was that?” 

“Nothing.” 

“No, really. Say it.” 

The smoke made Will blur at the edges, tendrils of it having spread so far that it curled around Mike’s arms like handcuffs. 

Something made Mike grit his teeth. “I said I bet he’s the reason you’re so stressed.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Will, indignant. Oddly, though, he seemed a little sheepish, like a mouse caught in a trap. 

“Well, he’s sort of annoying, isn’t he?” 

“That’s not true,” Will protested. “Carlton’s fine. He’s great.” 

“Great,” Mike repeated, not bothering to hide his lack of enthusiasm. 

“It’s not him, exactly.”

“Then what?” 

To Mike’s surprise, Will flushed a sweet shade of pink. “Hard to explain.” 

Mike’s eyebrows jumped, betraying his intrigue. “I want to know.” 

“No, you don’t.” 

“When have I ever let you tell me what I want, Byers?” Mike said, offering an easy grin. 

Will’s flush didn’t subside. If anything, it just burned brighter. “'S embarrassing. Stupid.” 

“I don’t believe that. Just tell me, Will.”

“It’s the sex,” Will blurted. Fear reflected in his eyes, staining the hazel there. 

Mike bit the inside of his mouth. “With Carlton?” 

“With anyone.”

That was — that — 

Mike couldn’t form a coherent thought when Will looked as pretty as he did just then. Through the window, the sky reflected navy blue against the length of his profile, and he was so soft and kissable in the deep black Henley he had on beneath his jacket. In a perfect world, Mike would kiss him in the exact way he’d been pining for, then bend him over against the kitchen counter. The real world wasn’t so perfect as this. 

“Um,” said Mike. “Why?” 

“It’s never good.” 

“Never?” 

“Never. I can’t even get off anymore.” 

That was tragic. With a boy like Will, one did whatever it took to make him feel good, to make him fall apart. It was only right, only necessary. To give him anything less was immoral, really. 

“When a guy fucks you?” Mike asked. 

Will’s mouth tightened into a line. “No one fucks me. Just handjobs and blowjobs. Horrible ones, that is.” 

There was something dangerous stirring in the bottom of Mike’s stomach. “Why are they horrible?”

“Just are,” said Will. “It’s never – It’s not – ” 

Mike’s heart was a racehorse in his chest, the gears in his head turning at an alarming speed. His teeth felt like ice, and so his mouth was slow when he said, “What?” 

“It’s not like…” 

“Will.” 

Tell me, now. Tell me what I want to hear. 

“Not like it was with you.” 

Mike stood, abrupt and senseless. With fluid strides, he crossed the room, ducking through smoke.  

“Let me,” Mike breathed. 

Will’s eyes darted between his. “Let you do what?”

“Let me make it right. I can do it right, Will. I can make you feel good – the way you’re supposed to.” 

A shuddering breath, long and afflicted. Almost like Will felt the same passion that Mike did. But when he spoke, the words were troubled and cagey. “Mike, listen. I…”

Magnetized, Mike drew closer, leaning in until their breathing overlapped. Mike felt set on fire. He wanted to set Will on fire, too. They were almost kissing, now. It would have been so easy to just lean in and do it. “You deserve it,” he said. “You don’t deserve anything less. Let me touch you, let me have you. Just like the first time.

With the quickness of a startled hare, Will’s gaze dipped low, to Mike’s lips. Then, just as quickly as it had dropped, it was back on Mike’s eyes again. “I can’t,” said Will.

Mike still wanted to kiss him. He hesitated. 

Then, Will said again, “I can’t, Mike.” 

Mike pulled away as if he had been burned, jerking backwards into the kitchen counter. “Right. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… Of course you wouldn’t.” 

The cigarette was still between Will’s fingers, glowing steadily, long forgotten. 

Mike gripped the edge of the counter, felt his knuckles draw tight. His heart was betraying him, twisting so painfully that tears pooled, very suddenly, in his eyes. Despite having spent months telling himself that Will didn’t feel the same way he did, the rejection still hurt, far more than Mike had ever anticipated that it would. It was just so finite, a binding confirmation that Will would never want him. 

“Mike?” Will murmured. “Are you alright?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” said Mike, but his voice was thick. Shit. He never cried. Not ever. Mortified, he blinked rapidly, trying desperately to quell his tears. “‘M sorry. I know that you don’t… not like I do. I don’t know why I even asked.” 

Will stepped forward. “I don’t understand.”

Mike could smell him, ivory and acrylic paint. The effect of it hurt him, and he flinched, pressing further back against the counter. “Don’t come so close, please don’t. I can’t do this right now.” 

Will’s expression shuttered. He looked confused, then aggrieved. “Are you really this upset just because I won’t have sex with you?” 

That was not what this was – Will had it all wrong. Mike closed his eyes. “I just wanted…” 

“I can’t do it, Mike,” Will said, firmer than he had before. “It’s not fair to me.” 

A tear slipped loose, darting down Mike’s cheek like it was never even there. “Fair?” he echoed. 

“Just stop messing around,” said Will. 

“I’m not messing around.” 

“Then what are you doing? What’s going on?” 

Like a landslide, it happened. “I love you, Will.” 

The room seemed completely full of smoke. Mike’s voice was loud, but unsteady at the edges. 

“That’s what this is,” he said. “All I do is think about you, all I do is want you. I’m desperate, really. Desperate to touch you again, to have what we had that night one more time. I know — um. I know you don’t feel the same, and you shouldn’t. So I’m sorry that I asked for this, that I pushed too far. But I’m not sorry for loving you. I won’t ever be. It’s the only thing I know how to do.”

“But – ” Will’s eyes were big, bigger than Mike had ever seen them, and so green they were almost too much. “That was just a first. Wasn’t it?” 

“Not to me, Will,” said Mike, sort of pleading. The words were all he had to give. “Not to me. I realized then and there that I loved you, that I’m in love with you. And I – I kept it inside because I didn’t want to ruin things between us. But, Will, it’s torture. It’s torture not being able to kiss you, not being able to be with you. Being your best friend is amazing, it really is. But I want more than friendship, I want it so badly.”

A beat. Will’s mouth flickered. “You can,” he said.

“I, um.” Mike felt like two stuck-together pages of a book. “I can what?” 

“You can kiss me,” Will said, very simply. 

“Will…” 

“You never asked,” said Will. There wasn’t a single fleck of ire in his face anymore, or even in his eyes. He had completely softened, just the way Mike liked him. Just the way Mike loved him.

“I didn’t think you…” Mike’s throat constricted. “I thought you’d never.” 

Those eyes. Love. Will. “You must be blind, Mike. I love you, too. Of course, I do.” 

Mike could’ve fallen over. His blood was singing. “You’re — Will. You — ”

“Yes,” said Will. “Anything, everything. Yes.” 

Mike was sick of talking, now. He pushed himself forward, clasped Will’s face in his hands like it was a precious jewel. Then, they were kissing. 

Oh god, it was wonderful. Mike breathed for it. His life was intended for this very purpose; he had been carved with lips meant to kiss Will’s. 

Will all but sang into his mouth, a joyful little hum, candied and celestial. With it came the overwhelming feeling that he had been longing for this with the same persistence that Mike had been. 

Kissing Will again, after so many months in withdrawal, was incomprehensibly good. So good it was incandescent, almost unbearable. The fact that this wasn’t a memory, this was real, was staggering. 

Will drew back, and Mike realized that he had been laughing. 

“Something funny?” Will asked. 

“No,” said Mike. “I think I’m in some sort of shock, really.” 

A soft, brief kiss, a pockmark. Will said, “I love you.”

Mike laughed again, lightheaded with joy. “And you never thought to tell me?” 

“You can’t be serious. Why the hell would I have told you?” 

“Because I loved you, too,” said Mike, matter-of-fact.

“As if I knew that.” Will rolled his eyes a little bit. “I thought you only saw me as a friend.” 

“That’s what I thought!” 

“I don’t believe you,” Will said, all teasing slyness. 

“I’ve been a basket case since we left for New York, Will. All I’ve done for months is sit around wishing I could have you again.”

“You did a shit job of showing it.” 

“Why would I?” Mike scoffed. 

“Could’ve at least told me, just to see what I’d say.” 

“Right, I should’ve walked up to the breakfast table and said, ‘Good morning, Will! I just jerked off thinking of you, isn’t that funny? Oh, and I think I want to be with you for the rest of my life! Anyway, pass the salt?’”

Will blushed, a splendid thing. “Oh.” 

“Yeah.” 

“You’ve really jerked off thinking about me?” 

Mike grinned, even though it was sort of sick, and he knew he should’ve been more embarrassed to talk about it. “Yeah. A lot.” 

The blush spread. Mike lifted his hands to trace it with the pads of his fingers, feeling the burning heat strengthen under his caresses. 

“I want you again, Mike,” Will said, very softly. 

“You do?”

“Yes. I’ve missed you so much.” 

“I’ve always been right here.” 

“Far away, though. Never where I really want you to be.” 

“Oh, yeah? Where do you want me?”

Will shivered. “You know.” 

Mike leaned in, let his lips slide gently along Will’s, but didn’t kiss him. “Do I?” 

“Mike.” 

“Yes, Will?” 

“Kiss me.” 

“Tell me what you want first.” 

Will sighed, a puff of hot air that spiraled straight into Mike’s open mouth. “Come closer.” 

“How close?” 

“As close as possible. As close as you were that night. Our first time.” 

Spreading fingers down the back of Will’s neck, Mike relaxed into their proximity, bathing in the lightness that he felt, now, having released the heavy secret of his longing. “Might’ve been the best night of my life,” he said. “Being with you in that way. Felt as if it was meant to be like that. Like we were meant to be together.” 

“I think we are,” Will whispered. It was like a golden locket, clicked open. He sounded scared, but so sure. 

Mike kissed him. “Meant for me. You’re meant for me, Will.” 

Will whimpered into it, even though the kiss wasn’t dirty, was barely even anything. The sound, though, sent heat ricocheting through Mike, and so he deepened their kiss with purposefulness, finally capturing Will’s honeyed taste after so much time without it. Will was eager for this, too, his tongue seeking Mike’s with a zealous insistence. Mike used his thumbs against Will’s jaw to open his mouth as wide as it could go, just so he could lick behind Will’s teeth, savor every inch of Will that was available to him.

Mike was very, very hard, though he probably had been since Will said not like it was with you. If mere memories of Will could have Mike throbbing desperately in his own hand, the capability that Will had when he was right in front of him was almost terrifying. 

No amount of terror stopped him. Mike kissed away from Will’s mouth, over his cheek until he reached his neck, feeling for the elegant veins and tendons there.

“I wanted to tell you that night,” said Will. “That I loved you.” 

Mike needed to look at him. He pulled back, meeting those big, beautiful eyes. 

“You did?” 

“Really badly. It felt so good and so right that I almost couldn’t help myself. There was this pull – something inside that begged for me to do it. The kind of thing that had never happened before. But I was so overwhelmed throughout all of it; everything was just so amazing. And then, when it was over, and you told me that was the best you ever felt, I almost said it.” 

“You should’ve.” 

“I was too scared. I’ve been scared my whole life.” 

“Please, don’t be scared,” said Mike. “Not with me.”

Will shook his head. “Not anymore. I won’t ever be scared again.” 

Mike thought very seriously about crying. “God, Will. I’m so in love with you.” 

Will chuckled, all sweet and flattered. “Mhm?” 

“Don’t wanna stop saying it.” 

“No?” 

“Not ever.” 

“Then don’t.”

Overcome with emotion, Mike couldn’t speak. Bowing forward, he aligned his mouth with Will’s neck, covering Will’s hipbones with his hands, spearing fingers into the fabric of his jeans. Will was hard, too, Mike felt it when he shoved their bodies together, diminishing any space between them. He felt suddenly enamored with the idea of marking Will, branding him as his own, and began sucking at the tender skin he found between Will’s jaw and his collarbone. Without lifting his mouth, Mike spun them so that Will was the one pressing back into the kitchen counter, and Will braced himself against it with one hand, keeping the other flattened firmly over Mike’s chest. Will could surely feel his heartbeat, like this, could surely tell how absurdly fast it was racing. 

“I don’t even know what to do with you, Will,” he mumbled, lost and exhilarated. “Been thinking about this for so long, pictured it so often. There’s so much I want to say, so much I want to make you feel.” 

“I’ll do whatever,” Will said. “Whatever you want.” 

One of Mike’s hands crept up beneath the hem of Will’s shirt, gracing the skin of his stomach, which trembled with unbidden breath at the unexpectedness of Mike’s touch. “Don’t tell me that.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because I’ll go insane. I’ll keep you like this all night.” 

“Like this?” Will glanced down at their bodies — standing straight, fully clothed. Innocent, in a way. Unopened. 

“No,” said Mike. “I’ll keep you underneath me, keep you wrapped around me. Around my fingers, around my cock.” 

“Shit.” 

“I’ll hold you down until I’ve touched you everywhere I didn't get to the first time. Want this for hours, Will. Might have to tell me to stop, eventually.” 

“I don’t want you to ever stop,” said Will. 

Mike groaned, capturing his lips, slick and slow, deep and branding. This was finally giving in to the possessiveness he’d always tried so hard to keep repressed. After everything, Will was his. There was something so astonishingly freeing about it. As he said he would, Mike touched Will everywhere, bruising skin and wrinkling fabric with the relentless force of his ardor. Will let him, gasping and arching up against Mike’s palms, happy to give what Mike was so eager to take. 

Reaching up, Will curled both hands around each of Mike’s biceps. Sort of cheekily, Mike flexed his arms, just to see if Will would giggle. He did. 

“Been working out, Wheeler?”

“Might be.”

“Shut up. I know you’re not working out.” 

Mike laughed. “No, I’m not.” 

“Good.” Will bestowed an ultra-quick kiss to his lips. “Don’t want you to change. I like you just like this.” 

Mike kissed him for this. How could he not have? Will deserved it. Then, he thought more about what Will deserved. Thought about how no one else could get him off. No one but Mike. 

Done with thinking, Mike dropped to his knees. 

Will gaped. “What are you doing?” 

“Sucking you off,” said Mike. “I mean, if you’ll let me.” 

“Obviously, I will. Are you sure you want to?” 

Mike ran assured hands up Will’s jeans, feeling the shape of his thighs beneath the denim. Flicking the button open, he unzipped them with no small amount of inward satisfaction. “I told you that I want to make you feel good, the way you deserve. I want to do it right.” 

A deep breath, sucked in hard. “Okay.” 

“Okay?” 

“Okay, yes. Please.” 

Mike let Will’s jeans fall, and leaned in, very slowly, to press his mouth against the shape of Will beneath his boxers. Will’s hips stuttered, causing a rustle of fabric from the pool of his jeans at his feet. Mike opened his mouth and sucked. 

“Oh, my god, Mike,” said Will, a blistering mix of angry and aroused. “Can’t believe you. I don’t have my fucking underwear off yet, and I’m already about to come.” 

Mike sat back on his haunches with a frown. “Don’t come yet. I need to get my mouth on you.” 

“It just was.” 

“You know that’s not what I mean.” 

By now, Mike, quite frankly, couldn’t wait any longer. He shoved Will’s boxers down, letting Will kick them to the side. 

“Take your shirt off?” 

Will did. The contrast between them was stark. Mike, fully clothed and on his knees. Will, standing bare above him. The juxtaposition of it was so hot, it fucked with Mike’s head. 

Dazed, Mike remembered their first time, staring at Will’s cock and almost having gone mad with the desire to have his mouth on it. Now, he finally had his chance. 

He wasted no time in taking it. He parted his lips and closed them around the flushed tip of Will’s pretty cock, then took it as deep as it could possibly go. 

From above him, Will whimpered, which just made Mike want to try and go deeper. Arching his neck, he dragged his lips backwards, then down again, bobbing his head in a mostly steady rhythm. It really wasn’t as difficult as it seemed. Mike went faster, letting Will’s cock spear the back of his throat. 

“Michael.” 

Mike pulled off. “I’m gonna have to unzip my own pants and start jacking off if you call me that again.” 

“You’d do that?” 

“Might. You have no idea how much it turns me on when you say my name like that.” 

Will’s mouth quirked, rosy and kiss-bruised. “When I call you Michael?” 

“Don’t keep saying it.” 

This made Will laugh, which Mike savored even when he was on his knees. “Fine, fine, sorry.” 

Smiling, Mike dropped a sweet kiss to the jutting curve of Will’s hipbone. Then, almost restless, he took Will back into his mouth, this time slipping a hand between Will’s legs to circle his entrance. Will gasped aloud at the unexpectedness of it, collapsing, wraithlike, against the counter. 

Sucking Will off was as good as Mike had imagined it would be. The tremble of Will’s legs, the weight of his leaking cock, the symphonic sounds he made, the fleeting way he’d stroke Mike’s curls — all of it was perfect. Mike only wished he’d been able to do it sooner. 

“Mike, fuck. Ngh. God.” 

Mike interpreted this as meaning that he was, more or less, doing a decent job. Sucking hard, he slid the tip of his finger into Will’s hole. 

Will’s entire body shuddered, bones and flesh melting into the sensation. Mike closed his eyes, pumping his mouth and finger in a matching rhythm, listening intently to the wet, beaten whimpers tumbling from Will’s lips. 

“Fuck, shit. Holy shit, so good.” 

All too quickly, though, Will was yanking Mike off of him by his hair. 

“Shit, sorry,” said Mike, wiping at his mouth. “Did I hurt you?” 

“No, idiot. I was about to blow my fucking load.” 

Mike hadn’t expected this. Pride coiled somewhere in the bottom of his stomach, down near the absurdly conspicuous mountain of arousal. “Well, why didn’t you?” 

“Don’t you know?” Will blinked down at him, sweet and innocent, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth for the briefest of seconds. This, unfortunately, did Mike in. 

He scrambled to his feet, taking Will in his arms and kissing him tenderly. Will kissed back with love. Mike could feel it. 

“Bedroom, please?” Mike said into Will’s mouth. 

“Which one?” 

“Yours,” said Mike. “‘S cleaner.” 

Will laughed a little bit, though it was made difficult by the fact that they were still kissing. “Okay.” 

They stumbled sideways towards the open door of Will’s bedroom. As they did, Will urged Mike’s shirt off his body, unbuckling his belt and getting the zipper of his jeans halfway down. 

“I think about this way too much,” Will murmured. 

“Think about what? Taking my pants off?” 

“About touching you,” said Will, doing exactly that. “Feeling you react. Getting so close we start to blur together.” 

Mike’s eyelids fluttered when Will ran heavy palms from his shoulders to his ribs, dancing near to his waist, not nearly low enough. The feathery heat of his touch was an inundating sort of intoxication; it drove him completely mad. This was what Mike had been itching for for months. This was what Mike had been missing out on for his entire life.

“Why aren’t you kissing me, Mike?” 

“I’m… I can’t focus, like this. You make it impossible.” 

Will smirked, a shameless, taunting thing. “Won’t you try? Please?” 

Mike moaned — sue him — and leaned in to claim Will’s lips. It was full of smoke and need, deep and dirty. This was the stuff of Mike’s dreams, this was what he’d been dreaming of every waking moment since their first time. 

Then, Mike pinned Will to the door and opened him up, all neck kisses and slow pulls of his fingers, until Will was panting and gasping like he couldn’t speak at all, his eyes wild and his head lolling backward. 

Because this meant something, and because he wanted to do it right, Mike took his time — even when Will bucked his hips and begged for more. Mike let him beg. He liked it. 

Eventually, it was Mike, Mike, Mike, and Fuck me, god, I’ll do anything. Mike wasn’t strong enough to resist when Will talked like that. 

He laid Will down on the bed, stared at him all breathless and glowing with anticipation. It was an undoing. All of this was. Mike counted Will’s freckles and thought that he was content to do this for years. 

“Waited for this,” said Mike. “Waited so long, Will.” 

“You won’t have to wait ever again. I’m yours, always.” 

Euphoria lit Mike up like a Christmas tree. With gentleness and an overwhelming buzz of arousal, he climbed on top of Will, hovering above him to kiss his lips and then his neck, to nip at his shoulders and lick down his collarbones. 

“Any condoms?” Mike asked, absorbed in the softness of Will’s skin. 

“A few in the drawer, there.” 

“I don’t want to think about why you have those,” scowled Mike. He got up and fetched a condom, anyway. 

Will watched him do this, still smiling, but a glint of wistfulness in his gaze. “I wouldn’t have ever even looked at anyone else if I’d known you wanted me, Mike.” 

This surprised Mike, somehow. “Really?” 

Will nodded. “You’re the only boy I could ever truly care about. I just entertained the others because I thought that was all I had. And, with them, it never felt right. How could it have? I love you. And only you.” 

Mike kneeled before him on the bed, his eyes lidded and his heart bursting at its seams. “That’s really good to hear.” 

“Want me to say it again?” 

“God, yes.” 

“I love you, Mike,” said Will. His voice had gotten softer, more dulcet. “Only you.” 

“I love you, too,” Mike whispered. “Let me show you how much.” 

Face pink and adoring, eyes big and glassy, Will beckoned him forward. It was easy, then, for matters to progress. Their bodies aligned, and then Mike was inside of him, just as fucking good as it had been the very first time. 

“Fuck, Will.” 

“What?” 

“You’re so — fuck.” 

“That isn’t anything.” 

“You know what it is. You feel so fucking amazing, I can’t believe it.” 

Will breathed out, slow and dreamy. “Missed this.” 

“Me too. So much.” 

“Will you move, please, Mike?” 

“Anything, baby,” Mike promised. Then, he did. He thrust once, and they both groaned as a result. Being inside of Will was familiar, probably because Mike had thought about it obsessively for months, but the sheer splendor of the feeling seemed to crash into him all over again. 

Lying back in the sheets, Will looked like a religion. His hair was splayed everywhere, some of it frizzy against the sheets, some of it sideways across his forehead. His skin was golden and almost glowing, every freckle and mole exposed for Mike. He’d clasped his hands behind Mike’s neck and was stroking his nape with both thumbs, caressing the messy curls there. 

The way he was holding Mike wasn’t the same as the first time. Now, with everything out in the open, Will held him tenderly, adoringly. Like he was something worthwhile. Mike could have fallen apart in an embrace like that. Sweet, compassionate, Will. 

Will rolled his hips, meeting Mike’s thrusts with avidity, moaning at the slick slide of each one. Mike ducked low, low enough for him to hear those pretty sounds right next to his ear. Low enough for him to lick the sweat from Will’s jaw. 

“Mike. Michael.” 

Mike found himself releasing a whimper at the sound of his name in Will’s mouth like that, his arms tensing and his hips quickening. “You’re torturing me, baby.” 

Will smiled. “‘S fun.” 

“Oh, really?” Mike thrust hard, slamming in so that Will cried out, eyes squeezing shut. 

“God, just like that,” he babbled. “Just like that, just like that, please.” 

“You’re so fucking perfect, Will,” Mike murmured. “Laid out for me, opening up for me. You’re everything I’ve been dreaming about.” 

“I dream about this, too,” Will said, and it sounded sort of like a sob. Mike was still thrusting hard, and Will was just arching his back and taking it, getting drunk on the bruising pressure. 

Mike was already close. Pleasure flooded him from all sides, his vision tunneling. “Fuck, I wanna keep you forever.” 

“You know I’ll let you.” It almost looked like Will was crying. “I love you so much, Mike.” 

“I love you,” Mike echoed. “So, so much.”

Will started crying in earnest, then, whether it was out of arousal or sentimentality, Mike couldn’t tell. He just fucked Will through it, watching his lips fall open and his face grow damp.

Soon, Mike’s fingers pierced into the sheets as he did what he could to grapple with his own restraint. He wanted to take Will apart, piece by piece. Will was crying and shaking beneath him, and he just wanted more. 

“I love you,” Will said again. 

Mike kissed him and could taste the salt of his tears. “Gonna make me come, baby. So pretty, taking it so well.” 

Will gripped his shoulders, grinding down against him, their bodies angled so that Mike was hitting Will’s prostate with every movement. “Come inside me, again? I need it, Mike. I really need it.” 

Mike leaned down to kiss him again, and fell apart the second their lips pressed together. Will sighed into his mouth, a moan caught in the back of his throat, and they came together, hot and messy and shaking. 

Everything was different, after. Better. Will’s eyes were glossy with tears and his skin was dewy with sweat, he was blissful and beautiful and fucked-out. Most of all, he was in love with Mike. He was in love with Mike. The same way that Mike loved him. 

It was nothing short of a miracle. Mike said as much. “This is the greatest day of my life.” 

Will huffed a laugh, soft from exhaustion. “Can’t be. There’s got to be something better.” 

“Nothing’s better than this. You.” 

They were embracing in a way they had never really done before. It was entirely romantic, unequivocally truthful. Beneath them, the sheets were an ocean, ushering them towards the shore.

“You really should’ve known,” said Will. 

“Known what?” 

“That I loved you.” 

Mike smiled. “I know now.” 

“I won’t let you forget it. It’s too late for that.” 

“I’m not going to,” said Mike. “Not ever.” 

They met for a kiss, full of hope and longing that had finally found a home. 

“Want to go again?” Mike asked, when they broke apart. 

“You’ve got to be some sort of idiot.” 

Mike laughed, loud and unabashed. “You don’t want to?” 

“I didn’t say that,” said Will, his eyes glittering with mirth. He was so lovely, and he was Mike’s. “I just said you’re an idiot.” 

The sun had started to set, rivulets of its dying light slanting in through the half-opened window, turning Will’s hair golden, pink at the tips. The two of them were touching everywhere they could, and it still wasn’t enough. Maybe it would never be. But Mike had Will for his own. So, he thought, everything was as it should be.