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Mike sat on the edge of their shared bed, elbows on his knees, staring at a single spot on the wooden floor where sunlight filtering through the blinds drew thin, even lines. The apartment was quiet because Will had gone to the university for an extra art seminar, leaving behind a faint smell of turpentine and the coffee they’d drunk that morning from two matching mugs now sitting on the coffee table. That smell, mixed with old wood and books, had long become the smell of home for Mike, but today it somehow didn’t soothe him – instead, it emphasized the strange, hollow feeling in his chest that had been following him for almost two weeks.
He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it, and sighed heavily. His thoughts moved slowly, like heavy boulders he tried to push out of the way, but they kept rolling back, pressing him into the ground. He couldn’t say exactly when the idea had first visited him. Maybe it was two weeks ago, on a Wednesday, when he and Will were making love as usual, and Mike, as always, was on top. He remembered moving slowly, steadily, watching every change on Will’s face, the flutter of his lashes, his lips parting in a silent moan. He felt Will’s body relax and open up beneath him, Will’s fingers digging into his shoulders, his hips lifting to meet him, wanting more. Mike knew their dance of love by heart, knew when to speed up or slow down, when to lean in and whisper something in his ear that would make Will arch his back and come with Mike’s name on his lips. He’d always done it well. He’d done it with love, with tenderness, with the kind of selflessness that came naturally to him when it came to Will.
But that evening, as Will lay exhausted and happy on his chest, his breath slowly evening out, Mike caught himself thinking that his own body was still tense, that his orgasm, even though it had come, felt somehow…routine. And in that moment, like a TV switching on by accident, a blurry, hazy image flashed through his mind – but somehow pulsing like an exposed nerve. He imagined Will on top. No, not like that. He imagined Will inside him. His fingers – those thin fingers with charcoal-stained tips – touching him where he’d never let anyone touch him, not even himself. Slipping inside, slow and careful, while he lost the control he’d held onto so tightly all these years.
The thought was so sudden and so sharp that he flinched, and Will, feeling it, mumbled sleepily, “You okay?” Mike lied then, said he was just cold, and pulled Will closer, feeling his heart hammer somewhere in his throat. But the image didn’t go away. It stayed, stuck somewhere deep in his mind, and now every night, every time they were in bed, it surfaced, pulsing in time with their movements.
Thirteen days had passed since then. Mike kept count, though he couldn’t have said why. Thirteen days he’d lived in a strange state of duality. On the outside, everything was the same. He went to class, read English lit textbooks, pretended the professor’s pomposity didn’t bother him. He laughed at Jonathan’s jokes when he visited on weekends, had his usual phone calls with his mom, reassuring her that he and Will weren’t starving or freezing. He even went out for drinks with Lucas a couple of times, where Lucas enthusiastically talked about his new job, and Mike listened, nodded, refilled his beer, but he was somewhere far away, inside himself, where that same thought stirred in the dark, demanding an outlet.
But Will had always felt him better than anyone.
It didn’t start right away, but around day five, when Mike pulled away from a kiss first again, saying he needed to finish an essay. Will didn’t say a word then, but his eyebrows drew together just slightly, and something like confusion flickered in his eyes, quickly softened by his usual gentleness.
On day seven, as they lay in bed and Mike – instead of reaching for Will with his usual confidence – just spooned him from behind and froze, nose buried in his hair. Will asked, “Are you tired?” Mike mumbled something about being overloaded with uni work, and felt a cold shiver run down his spine from his own lie.
On day ten, Will took the initiative himself. It happened rarely – he was more reserved, more shy, even after all their years of intimacy. But that evening, he came over to Mike while Mike was sitting on the couch, and kneeling in front of him, began slowly unbuttoning his shirt. His touches were gentle, reverent, his lips trailing over Mike’s collarbones, his chest, and Mike felt his body respond, the tension that had been building for days starting to melt under those kisses. But when Will reached for the belt of his jeans, something inside Mike clenched. He stopped him, gently but firmly, took his hands and lifted him to his feet. “Let me do it instead,” he said, and his voice held that familiar note of care behind which he tried to hide his turmoil. Will didn’t argue. He let Mike lay him down on the bed and do whatever he wanted, and his moans, as always, were genuine, his orgasm bright. But when it was over and they lay in the dark, Will pressed his cheek to Mike’s shoulder and quietly asked, “Mike, are you okay?” Mike just nodded, his throat tightening with the desire to tell the truth and the fear of it at the same time.
After that night, Will changed. He stopped asking direct questions, but his gaze became more attentive, almost studying. He watched Mike when Mike thought he wasn’t looking. He noticed how Mike would freeze for a second when they accidentally touched in the cramped kitchen, how his fingers would grip the edge of the table when Will ran a hand down his back as he passed. Will didn’t push, didn’t demand explanations, but his silent care became almost tangible. He started cooking the dishes Mike had loved as a kid, even though he preferred simpler food himself. He left little doodled notes on Mike’s desk before leaving for university. He put on the movies Mike usually fell asleep to on his shoulder, and didn’t move even when his leg fell asleep, just to not disturb that fragile peace.
And that was the hardest part. This quiet, unconditional love that wrapped around him from all sides made his cowardice even more obvious. Mike saw how Will was trying, how he was looking for an approach, how his eyes got a little wetter when Mike withdrew into himself again, unable to say the words that burned his tongue. He knew Will thought he’d done something wrong, that Mike had stopped loving him, or worse, had gotten tired of him.
One evening, when Mike came out of the shower, he found Will sitting on the bed with a sketchbook in his hands. Usually he drew easily, barely looking at the paper, his hand moving fast and sure. Now the pencil had stopped, and Will was staring at a spot on the wall, his face so lost that Mike’s heart ached.
He walked over and sat beside him, putting a hand on Will’s shoulder. Will flinched but didn’t pull away – instead, he leaned into him, as if searching for an anchor. “I need you,” Mike said, and it was the truth, but not the whole truth. Will nodded, and his hand covered Mike’s, fingers intertwining. They sat like that for a few minutes, and Mike felt Will’s warmth flowing into him, their breathing slowly syncing. He wanted to speak. The words were ready, right there in his throat, bitter and heavy like undrunk medicine. But every time he opened his mouth, fear paralyzed him: the fear that Will wouldn’t understand, that Will would agree only out of a sense of duty, out of a desire to please, not because he actually wanted it himself. The fear that it would change them forever, and not for the better.
So now, on the thirteenth day, Mike sat on the edge of the bed and felt he couldn’t go on like this anymore. He looked at his hands – strong, confident hands that always knew what to do, that had held Will, protected him, caressed him – and suddenly realized they were trembling. He needed to make a decision right now, because one more day of this lie, this avoidance, this frozen waiting in Will’s eyes, and he would lose not just the chance to ask for what he’d dreamed of, but what they already had.
He heard a key turning in the lock in the hallway. Mike straightened up, clenched his fists, trying to stop the shaking. The door opened, and from the entryway came the familiar rustle of a jacket, the thud of shoes being taken off, the crinkle of a bag – probably Will had brought something from the bakery they both loved. His footsteps approached, and Mike felt his heart start to pound wildly, his face flush, every nerve in his body like a live wire.
Will appeared in the bedroom doorway, and the light from the hallway fell behind him, outlining his silhouette in a golden halo. In one hand he had a paper bag, in the other a portfolio of drawings. His hair was slightly tousled by the wind, a streak of charcoal on his cheek that he hadn’t noticed when he left the studio. He smiled his soft, slightly shy smile that always made Mike’s heart clench with tenderness.
“Hey,” Will said, setting the bag on the dresser. “I got those cinnamon rolls you like. And…” He trailed off, noticing that Mike was sitting still, with a strange expression on his face. His smile wavered, a shadow of worry flickering in his eyes. “Mike? What’s wrong?”
Mike swallowed. His throat was dry as sandpaper. He looked at Will, whom he’d known his whole conscious life, who was his best friend, his first love, his home. And he realized that if he didn’t say it now, he might never say it.
“We need to talk,” he said, and his voice sounded hoarse, alien even to himself.
Will froze. The bag of rolls stayed on the dresser, the portfolio pressed against his chest like a shield. His face went pale, and in his eyes – just moments ago warm – appeared the fear Mike had been so afraid to see.
“About what?” Will asked, his voice barely audible.
Mike stood up. His legs were like jelly, but he forced himself to take a step forward, then another. He reached out and touched Will’s fingers gripping the portfolio. Slowly, carefully, as he’d learned to handle the most fragile thing in his life, he took the drawings from him and set them aside. Then he took Will’s hands in his, they were cold, slightly trembling.
“I…” he began, then stopped again, because the words that had been waiting so long suddenly felt insufficient, too blunt for what he felt. He brought Will’s hands to his lips and kissed his fingertips, smelling of paint and soap. “I want to ask you for something. I…I don’t know how to say it, because I’ve never wanted this before. Or maybe I did, but I didn’t understand that I wanted it. And now I understand, and I’m scared.”
Will looked at him, and in his eyes, above the fear, a glimmer of understanding appeared. He didn’t pull his hands away, didn’t rush him. He just waited, and his patience was both torment and a gift for Mike.
“I’ve been thinking about it…for two weeks,” Mike exhaled, feeling his voice crack. “I couldn’t stop thinking about it. And I was scared to tell you because I thought you’d do it just because I asked, not because you wanted to. Or that you’d think something was wrong with me. Or–”
Will interrupted him with a movement – he freed one hand and pressed his fingers to Mike’s lips, silencing him. His face was very close, his eyes looking straight into his soul.
“Mike,” he said quietly but firmly. “You’re scaring me. Just say it. Whatever it is, just say it. I don’t know what you’ve been thinking about, but for two weeks I’ve been going crazy because you’re pulling away, and I don’t know what I did wrong. And if you…if you don’t want to anymore…” His voice trembled, and he looked down, unable to finish.
Mike felt his heart break in two. He grabbed Will by the shoulders, pulled him close, held him as tight as he could without hurting him.
“No,” he whispered into his hair, which smelled of rain and hairspray. “No, Will, no. That’s not it at all. I…god, I love you so much. I just…I want…” He squeezed his eyes shut, gathering the last of his courage. “I want you to do it to me. I want you to…” he swallowed, feeling his cheeks burn, “…touch me. There. Inside. I want you to…finger me.”
The silence that followed these words was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Mike didn’t dare open his eyes. He felt Will freeze in his arms, his breath stop. Mike’s heart pounded somewhere in his throat, throbbed in his temples, and he’d already started cursing himself for this sudden, misplaced boldness when he felt Will’s hands rise and settle on his back. Not pushing away, but pulling him closer.
“Mike,” Will’s voice was muffled, but there was no disgust or fear in it – the fear Mike had dreaded. “Look at me.”
Mike opened his eyes. Will pulled back just enough to see his face. His cheeks were pink, his eyes glistening – whether from tears or something else – but there was no judgment in them. There was surprise, tenderness, and…something else. Something that made Mike’s heart skip a beat.
“You…you’re serious?” Will asked, his voice cracking. “You really want me to…?”
Mike nodded, unable to repeat it aloud. His face burned, but he didn’t look away, because he saw that Will wasn’t rejecting him. Will was looking at him as if seeing him for the first time, and in that look there was nothing but surprised, almost awed curiosity.
“How long?” Will asked, his fingers tightening on Mike’s back. “How long have you…been thinking about this?”
“Two weeks,” Mike exhaled. “Since that evening when I realized I wanted to feel what you feel. I want to know what it’s like to be in your place. I want you inside me. But for now, just…I mean, I want it to be your fingers the first time.” He swallowed again, feeling heat spread through his whole body. “I trust you. And I want to try, if you want it too.”
Will was silent for a few seconds, each one an eternity. And then his face changed: the fear disappeared, replaced by something deep and warm. He smiled slowly, very slowly, and in that smile was so much love and tenderness that Mike’s breath caught.
“You’re an idiot,” Will said quietly, his voice shaking. “Two weeks. Two weeks you tortured both of us instead of just saying it. You thought I wouldn’t want to? You thought I…god, Mike.” He pressed his forehead to Mike’s, their breath mingling. “Of course I want to. I want everything that involves you, I want to make you happy. I want…” he paused, his eyelids lowering, and whispered, “I want to be the one you trust enough to let do this to you. I want to be inside you. If you’re…if you’re ready.”
Mike exhaled as if he hadn’t been breathing at all. His knees buckled, and he pulled Will down with him, sitting back on the bed, feeling his body shake with fine tremors of relief. Will settled onto his hips, not letting go, and they sat pressed together, forehead to forehead, breathing the same air.
“I’m ready,” Mike said, his voice firmer than he expected. “I want to, but not today. I want to mentally prepare. I want…you to know that I don’t want this because I'm missing something. But because I want more with you.”
Will nodded, his fingers stroking the back of Mike’s neck, soothing, lulling.
“Okay,” he said. “We’ll do it when you’re ready. And now…” he pulled back and looked at Mike with a slight, almost guilty smile. “I think I have some cinnamon rolls getting cold, and the kettle’s probably cold too. Want me to make a fresh one?”
Mike laughed, feeling the tension that had built up for two weeks finally start to release from his muscles, his shoulders, his heart.
“Yeah,” he said. “Let’s do that. And then we can just lie down and watch something, and I’ll tell you how I got here, exactly what I want. And we’ll figure out together how it’s going to be.”
Will kissed the corner of his mouth and stood up. In the doorway, he turned back, and in the light from the hallway, Mike saw him again – his Will, his best friend for life, his love. But now there was something new in his gaze. A quiet, confident promise. A promise that they would handle it. Whatever happened.
The day didn’t start with an alarm, but with Mike opening his eyes and the first thing he saw being Will, lying on his side facing him, watching him. Not just looking, as he always did, but studying, as if he wanted to memorize every feature of his face in this morning light, still grayish, seeping through the curtains. Will smiled, a soft, sleepy smile, but there was a hint of that same promise hanging between them for the past two days, since Mike had finally spoken aloud what he’d been carrying inside.
“You’re awake,” Mike stated, his voice low with morning roughness. He stretched, feeling his body respond to Will’s closeness, the warmth radiating from him seeping under his skin.
“Couldn’t sleep anymore,” Will admitted, his fingers lightly touching Mike’s collarbone, tracing it as if drawing. “I was thinking about today.”
Mike felt his stomach clench with that familiar, sweet tension that had been following him the last few days. They’d agreed it would happen today. Friday, when neither of them had classes, when they could take their time, when they could have the whole evening and night if needed. Mike had chosen the day himself. And now that it had arrived, he felt his heart start to beat a little faster.
“Me too,” he said quietly, and leaned in for a kiss. Will responded immediately, slow, gentle, as if they had forever. His lips tasted of minty toothpaste and something sweet, and Mike let himself dissolve into the feeling, pushing away the last bits of morning stiffness.
They spent the morning moving unhurriedly, almost lazily, around the apartment. Will made breakfast – scrambled eggs with toast and orange juice, which they drank from tall glasses, sitting in the kitchen watching the sunlight slowly fill the room. Mike did the dishes, Will hugging him from behind, cheek pressed to his shoulder blades, and they stood like that for a few minutes while the water ran from the tap, the silence filled only by their breathing.
“Maybe go somewhere?” Will suggested when Mike dried his hands. “Take a walk before it gets dark.”
Mike nodded, though he knew this walk wouldn’t be just a walk. It would be a quiet, peaceful time they both needed to tune in and let the anticipation ripen, become not frightening but desired.
They walked aimlessly, holding hands, their fingers interlaced in the pocket of Mike’s jacket. They went to a small café where Will had once shown his drawings to the owner, and had a cup of hot chocolate with whipped cream each. Sat by the window, watching people rushing somewhere, and Mike thought about how strange it was – to be part of this huge, noisy life, yet feel completely safe, completely at home only here, next to Will.
Then they wandered into a bookstore on the corner, where Mike flipped through a short story collection without reading the words, while Will found a book of Bosch reproductions and studied it for a long time, head tilted, and Mike wasn’t looking at the drawings but at Will’s profile, the way the light fell on his lashes, and felt something warm and enormous spreading inside him, too big for his chest.
They got home as dusk began to fall. Will lit candles, placed them around the room, and their soft, flickering light turned the bedroom into a different space, separate from the outside world. Mike stood in the doorway, watching Will straighten the bedspread, his movements becoming a little slower, a little more focused, and understood that they both felt the same thing – tension that no longer got in the way but instead made the blood run faster.
“How are you?” Will asked, turning around. His face in the candlelight looked softer, his eyes deeper.
“Good,” Mike answered, and it was true. He felt a strange, almost euphoric calm that comes when a decision is made, when all doubts are behind, and only the step remains. “I’m ready.”
Will nodded, relief flickering in his eyes, but he said nothing, only reached out a hand, inviting Mike in.
Mike stepped forward, and Will embraced him, pulled him close, buried his nose in Mike’s neck. They stood like that for a few moments, breathing in unison, and Mike felt his body begin to relax, surrendering to the warmth.
“I love you,” Will whispered in his ear, and the words didn’t sound like a promise but like a statement of fact, like the very truth on which the world rested.
“I love you too,” Mike replied, his lips stretching into a smile on their own.
Will pulled back, took his hand, and led him to the bed. Sat down on it, leaning back against the headboard, and looked up at Mike, waiting.
Mike stood in front of him, feeling his heartbeat quicken with anticipation and the tension that was about to break. He reached for the hem of his tshirt and slowly pulled it over his head, dropping it on the floor. His skin prickled with goosebumps from the cool air, but Will looked at him as if he wanted to warm him with a single glance.
Then Mike’s hands went to the buckle of his jeans. He unbuckled it, pulled down the zipper, and the fabric slid down with a soft rustle, revealing his long, pale thighs, already tense with anticipation. He pushed the jeans off along with his socks, left in just his boxers, and paused for a second, feeling exposed even under that thin layer of cotton through which his growing arousal was already visible.
Will didn’t rush. He sat, leaning forward slightly, his hands on his knees, and his posture held so much patience, so much willingness to wait as long as needed, that Mike’s breath caught.
He hooked his thumbs under the waistband of his boxers and, taking a deep breath, pulled them down, letting the fabric fall to his feet. Now he stood before Will completely naked, as he had many times before, but today it felt different, more vulnerable. His cock was already almost fully hard, curving to the left, a bead of precum glistening on the flushed head.
“Come here,” Will said quietly, his voice low, a little hoarse.
Mike stepped toward the bed, and Will helped him onto it, turned him, pulled him close. Mike felt his back press against Will’s chest, broad, warm, covered by a soft tshirt. Will’s legs spread, and Mike let himself be settled between them, feeling Will’s thighs wrap around his sides. Will took his knees and gently but firmly pushed them apart, so Mike was completely open, lying against Will’s chest like a living, breathing headboard.
“Is this okay?” Will asked, his lips brushing Mike’s ear, making him shiver.
“Yeah,” Mike exhaled, feeling his body, tense at first, begin to yield to the position. He was completely exposed, his legs spread, his stomach, his chest, his cock, already heavy with need, visible to Will, and there was nowhere to hide. And that was exactly what he wanted.
Will, feeling the tension in Mike’s body, began slowly, almost reverently. His hands rested on Mike’s shoulders, and he started kissing his neck from behind, from the side, at the spot where a thin, tense vein pulsed, lingering there a little longer and running his tongue over it, leaving a wet trail. His lips were soft, wet, moving unhurriedly, as if they had all the time in the world. Mike closed his eyes, giving in to the sensation of warm breath, the light touch of lips, replaced by a more insistent kiss as Will sucked on the skin, leaving a barely visible mark.
“You smell so nice,” Will whispered into his shoulder, his voice vibrating, transmitting to Mike through his bones. “Like home.”
Will’s hands slid down to his chest, gently stroking his already hard nipples, and at the same time he began kissing his shoulder blades, his spine, paying attention to each vertebra, slowly working his way down. Mike felt his back arch toward those lips, muscles he didn’t even know were tight beginning to release.
“You’re the most beautiful,” Will said, his voice muffled because he didn’t lift his lips from Mike’s skin. “Do you know how beautiful you are?”
Mike wanted to answer, but the words stuck in his throat because Will’s hands settled on his knees, spreading them a little wider and stroking his thighs, while his lips continued kissing the back of his head, burying his face in the soft curls. With one hand Will kept teasing his nipple, with the other he gripped the inside of his thigh harder, leaving finger marks, and Mike arched more, bending in his lower back, his hips brushing against Will’s cock, which was also hard now, leaving a wet spot on the front of his underwear.
“Will,” Mike exhaled, and the name sounded like a prayer.
Will lifted his head and looked at him. In the candlelight, his eyes looked almost black, something deep, calm, and yet hot burning in them.
“I’m here,” he said, his voice steady but with a vibration that passed to Mike through their touching bodies. “I’m not going anywhere.”
He moved his hand from Mike’s nipple down to his stomach, tracing the muscles and the soft line of hair leading down from his navel, and Mike felt his cock twitch at the touch, releasing another drop of precum, heat flaring in his lower belly. But Will didn’t touch him there, he just ran his fingers over his groin, leaving feather-light traces, then pulled back, returning to his knees, which he continued to stroke gently. Mike felt like the most loved being on the planet right then, and his eyes stung.
“Turn around,” Will said softly, and Mike, without thinking, obeyed, turning his head to meet his lips.
The kiss was long, slow, full of the tenderness Will put into his drawings – attentive, patient, noticing every detail. Their tongues met, parted, intertwined again, and Mike felt his body become pliable, the tension he’d been carrying for days melting under those lips, under those hands now resting on his chest, stroking, soothing.
“I want you to relax,” Will whispered when they broke apart to breathe. “I want you to just feel good tonight, okay?”
Mike nodded, feeling his throat tighten with overwhelming emotion. Will reached for the nightstand where the lube sat, which they’d restocked just for this. Will opened the cap with a promising sound, and a faint sweet smell filled the room.
“Tell me if it hurts,” Will said, coating his fingers. “Or if you want to stop. You can do that anytime. Promise?”
“Promise,” Mike answered, and it was easy to promise that to Will, because he knew: if he said stop, Will would stop, even if it cost him an incredible effort.
Will wrapped one arm around Mike’s chest, pulling him close, and lowered the other hand to where Mike was already impatient with waiting. His fingers slid between Mike’s cheeks, and Mike felt his body reflexively tense from both fear and unfamiliarity, from the fact that where there was usually nothing, now there was someone else’s, yet so desired, touch.
“Breathe,” Will said, his voice steady, calm, like an anchor to hold onto. “Just breathe, Mike.”
Mike took a breath, deep, full, and on the exhale felt his muscles begin to relax. Will didn’t rush. His middle finger circled the entrance, lubing, preparing, not trying to penetrate until Mike stopped clenching at every touch.
“That's good?” Will asked, and Mike nodded, feeling his body start to get used to the sensation of someone else being there where no one had ever been.
And then Will slowly pushed inside, millimeter by millimeter, giving Mike time to adjust to each new centimeter. The feeling was strange – not painful, but unfamiliar, as if something had appeared inside that shouldn’t be there, and his body didn’t know how to react. Mike held his breath, and Will immediately stopped, his lips brushing Mike’s temple.
“Breathe out,” he whispered. “Breathe out, Mike. I’m here. I’m right next to you, darling.”
Mike exhaled, and with the air, the tension left him. His muscles relaxed, and Will’s finger slid deeper, easily, almost without resistance.
“There you go,” Will said, and there was a smile in his voice. “There you go, good boy. You’re doing amazing.”
Mike let his head fall back onto Will’s shoulder and closed his eyes. Now that the first shock had passed, he started to feel differently. Will’s finger inside him was warm, alive, lying still, giving Mike time to adjust, and it was strangely comforting, knowing that a part of Will was inside him.
“Can I move?” Will asked, and Mike nodded, feeling his heartbeat quicken, but from anticipation now.
Will began to move smoothly, his finger sliding in and out, each time a little deeper, each time a little more confident. Mike’s body slowly opened up, muscles he’d thought were his own his whole life suddenly living their own life, clenching and unclenching around Will’s finger. It was strange, unfamiliar, but there was something mesmerizing about the strangeness – as if he were getting to know his body all over again.
“You’re so warm and tight inside,” Will whispered, his voice low and rough, vibrating in his chest, transmitting to Mike. “You have no idea how much.”
His finger moved faster, but still smooth, and Mike felt something new begin to stir inside him – not what he felt when they made love the usual way. This was deeper, more intense, as if Will were touching something that had been hidden from everyone, even himself.
“I’m going to add a second one,” Will said, and it wasn’t a question, but his voice held a pause, leaving Mike room to refuse.
Mike squeezed his hand that lay on his chest and exhaled, “Do it.”
The second finger went in slower, and this time Mike felt the stretch, the pain and pressure that made him bite his lip for a second. Will stopped, letting him adjust, and his lips found Mike’s neck again, kissing, soothing, murmuring something incoherent in which Mike only caught his own name.
“Mike. Mike. You’re taking me so well. So fucking well.”
The fingers inside him spread apart, and Mike arched, feeling the movement open him up even more. Will began moving his fingers slowly, rhythmically, and each thrust echoed somewhere in his lower belly, in his spine, in his fingertips.
“Relax,” Will whispered. “Give in to it. I’ve got you.”
Mike felt his head drop onto Will’s shoulder, his legs spread even wider, his body stop resisting and start following the rhythm Will set. And in that surrender there was no weakness – there was freedom. Freedom to be led, freedom not to think, not to control, not to be the one always on top, always in charge.
And then Will found his prostate. His fingers curved, and something inside Mike exploded, something so sharp, so overwhelming that he cried out, unrestrained, and his body arched into a bow.
“There it is,” Will whispered, grinning, and in his voice was triumph mixed with tenderness. “There, I found you.”
He pressed on that spot again, and Mike felt his consciousness start to blur, everything that had mattered a minute ago – university, the city, the noise outside – disappearing, leaving only sensation. The sensation of Will’s fingers inside him, his breath on his neck, his chest against which he was pressed, his voice whispering his name like a spell.
“Will…ngh– fuck…,” Mike exhaled, and the name was the only thing he could say.
Will sped up, his fingers moving rhythmically, hitting that spot every time, and Mike felt his body begin to shake, a tight knot winding inside him that was about to burst. His neglected cock, hard and wet with precum, twitched in time with the movements, but Mike didn’t even think about it, his whole being was focused where Will’s fingers touched him from the inside, where each movement responded with a flash of light behind his closed eyelids.
“You’re close,” Will said, and it wasn’t a question. “I can feel it. You’re squeezing my fingers so hard. You want to come, Mike?”
Mike could only nod, his breath ragged, his fingers digging into Will’s hand on his chest like a lifeline.
“Then come,” Will whispered, his voice almost begging. “Come for me, baby. I want to feel you come on my fingers.”
And Mike came. It wasn’t like anything he’d felt before, it was deeper, longer, as if the orgasm rose from the very core of his body, passing through every nerve, every muscle, every cell. His body arched, his mouth opened in a silent cry, and he felt his cum spurt onto his stomach, his chest, onto Will’s hands that still held him, not letting go.
The wave crashed over him, and he floated in it, losing track of time, losing himself, knowing only that Will was holding him, that Will wouldn’t let him drown, that Will was murmuring something into his hair, and those words were the only thing connecting him to reality.
When the last spasms released him, Mike went limp, exhausted, feeling Will’s fingers slowly, carefully slip out of him, leaving a feeling of emptiness that was immediately filled by the warmth of his arms hugging him, pulling him close.
“I’m here,” Will whispered. “I’m here. I’m with you.”
Mike opened his eyes. The candles still burned, casting dancing shadows on the walls. His body was damp with sweat and semen, his breathing still ragged, but he felt…light. As if something that had been pulling him down all these years had finally let go.
He turned his head and looked at Will. Will smiled softly, a little shyly, and there were tears in his eyes.
“How are you?” Will asked, his voice hoarse, as after a long silence.
Mike reached out and touched his cheek, feeling dampness under his fingers.
“I…I don’t know how to describe it,” he said, his own voice sounding strange, weak, but happy. “I feel like you were inside me. Not just your fingers. You…you were everywhere.”
Will pressed into his palm, closing his eyes.
“I was,” he said. “I’m always where you are.”
They lay like that for a few minutes, not moving, letting the silence wrap around them, letting their hearts settle. Then Will reached for the nightstand, took some tissues, and began to gently wipe Mike down – his stomach, chest, thighs. His movements were slow, careful, and Mike watched him, feeling his eyes sting again.
“I thought it would be scary,” he said when Will tossed the used tissues aside. “I thought it would be shameful. But…it wasn’t. It felt so right, like I should have felt it a long time ago.”
Will lay down beside him, turned on his side, pulling Mike close so their faces were inches apart.
“Because you trusted me,” he said. “Because you let me be the one to take care of you. And that…that was the greatest gift you could have given me.”
Mike ran his fingers over Will’s cheek, his lips, his chin, feeling his heart overflowing with something huge, inexpressible.
“I love you,” he said, and the words felt so small for what he felt, but he had no others. “I love you so much, Will.”
Will kissed him lightly, gently, lips brushing lips, the corner of his mouth, his cheek, his eyelid.
“I’m deeply in love with you too,” he whispered. “Now let’s sleep. Tomorrow…tomorrow we can talk, if you want.”
Mike suddenly remembered that Will hadn’t come. He remembered feeling Will’s cock pressing against his lower back, rubbing against him, while Will took care of making Mike feel good.
“Will, what about you…” He glanced down to hint. A blush spread across Will’s cheeks and he looked away.
“Oh…that…It’s okay, Mike, I already came. Let’s just sleep.”
That admission struck Mike. Will had come without even touching himself, he’d come just from fingering Mike. Mike himself had never done that, he’d been close when taking care of Will, stretching him, getting him ready for sex, but he’d never come from it. It was amazing.
Mike nodded, feeling his eyes close, his body finally released, sinking into warm, safe darkness. He felt Will tuck the blanket around him, his hand settle on his waist, their breath merging into one rhythm.
“Goodnight, Mike,” he heard through his sleep.
“Goodnight,” he answered, and those were the last words he spoke that day.