Chapter Text
Once they're through the front door, Will whirls around to face Mike, eyes wild with what he hopes is a side-effect of numerous drinks, though the unrelenting red spreading over his cheeks is hard to ignore. Will doesn't speak for a moment, leaving Mike's eyes darting over the dark apartment before he flicks on the lights.
"Will, look…"
"All I want is you to tell me the truth, Mike," Will says, scarily calm. Where they hang by his sides, his hands shake. Mike fights the urge to take them into his and steady them, even if it would only anger Will more.
"Can't you just yell at me?" he asks, throwing his hands up. "Then I would at least know what I should say."
"You want me to tell you so you can understand, but–" Will sighs, wetting his lips. "For once, can't you admit it to yourself? What you wanted to happen?"
The bottom of Mike's stomach drops. He sputters. "What are you–"
"Please," he whispers, shoes echoing through the house as he steps closer to Mike again. The threat of it melts down, dripping from fear in Mike's chest to warmth in his belly, his eyes glancing from the sweat still trickling down Will's cheek to the parting in his lips. "I don't want to be wrong about it, Mike. I'm not embarrassing myself."
"Hey, you wouldn't embarrass yourself in front of me." Mike can't help frowning. Is this what Will's always like when he's drunk? There's never been much of an opportunity to witness Will on more than eight drinks before, but he'd thought the image of him sleepy, gigglier than usual, dancing in and out of sadness and mania, was a safe bet.
"Mike."
"…yeah?"
Fuck, that look he's giving him might work.
A week. A week of heaven, kissing Will on the couch, touching soft skin without apologising for it, holding back thoughts of taking it too far, escaping the situation to relieve himself in the bathroom while impossible images flashed through his brain. Admitting the truth might ruin the fragments of agreement they'd made, and all hopes of returning to heaven may as well disappear. But whatever Will wants – whether it's something from the store, cleaning the apartment, a night out with his friends, a confession, the truth – was always bound to reach him from Mike some time, ruining their friendship or not.
Whatever resolve Mike has left whittles away, wood splintering. "Fine," he grits out. "I was – I was fucking jealous of you two. And that's ridiculous, that's ridiculous, of course it is." He sighs, closing his eyes in defeat.
Will takes a slow breath as he talks, chest rising and falling in a stuttered motion.
"I know we're only meant to be casual, and that's cool, I really want that," says Mike, his voice strangled. "I just– holy shit, um. You can call me a jerk for this all you want, but I'm not sure if I can see you like that with other people."
Distinct and clear, Will's eyes widen. Mike can't blame him, having not predicted it would escape his brain either.
Will looks down again, before gazing up at Mike through his eyelashes. His voice is still softer than the situation warrants, hushed. "You're holding back again, just tell me what you think. I know it's not just about other people."
Is he saying what Mike thinks he's saying? Every kiss and every touch between them can't possibly suggest Will knows the depth of his desire, not unless those flashes and thoughts infect more than he imagined.
Mike sucks on his own lip, turning it swollen, angry red. "I really liked meeting your friends," he exclaims, thanking the night for the honesty of the statement in this moment. But caution is taken, for if he had to say one thing more, he'd readily admit that the thing he liked most about Will's friends is how much they liked Will. "They're great, and they deserve you."
Will nods, his beauty for Mike's eyes and Mike's eyes solely, slowing time with every second that trudges past. The flush in his cheeks is still too similar to what he'd seen displayed around him. Mike's heart thumps in his ears at the thought he could make it darker somehow.
He lowers his voice, pinching fingers together as he steps forward in a flicker of bravery. "But that mother fucker, he doesn't."
Will's eyebrows twitch upwards. "No?"
"No way."
Folding his arms, Will's voice shakes. "Tell me more." How can he be so striking even now, weak and vulnerable in the reach of Mike's fingers, lit from the back of their dim hallway lighting–
Oh shit.
No, no, no, not now. Mike refrains from checking it isn't obvious through his jeans, but who's he kidding? Will wouldn't even think to imagine how Mike's body is betraying him right now. He briefly wonders what would happen if he broke the moment and excused himself to the bathroom, whether Will would hear him interrogate his crotch on what the fuck are you hard for? But all of it disappears under a hot wave of intoxication and Will's blown-out pupils, the warmth forgotten but not uninfluential.
"Go on."
"Alright," Mike whispers. "I hate him. Not just for tonight or him fucking with me in front of your friends for his own amusement, handling you like he owns you even though all he actually owns is that stupid beige apartment. But also– he made you miserable. Will. Remember?"
"Did he now?"
"Yes. I know you, I know when you're not happy with someone." Will's expression turns unsure, but only for a flash, before it returns right back to unreadable nonsense. The only thing he can quite understand are his eyes, darkened and grim. "So you're mad at me for that."
"Of course I am."
"Why?"
Fingers tighten on Will's own arms, gripping flesh.
"The rules."
Mike pauses and repeats: No telling friends. No sex. No labels. Failing to figure out where they're broken them, he blinks. "Why is that relevant right now–"
"I don't want to break them," he breathes, and somehow continues even quieter, words only for Mike, even if they're already alone. "But you're… making it hard."
Another round of rules swirls through Mike's head, his world otherwise silent bar the distinct tremble of Will's breath. "Look, Will, you have to get why I couldn't stand him. He treated you like shit. I listened to you talk about how little he cared, how you had to bend over backwards to meet his needs and wants. You hid from the world when you were with him, and I can't have that."
Will's eyes dart away, shoulders relaxing. To bring it home, Mike leans down, reminiscent of when they were kids, though he refrains from putting his hands on Will's shoulders, forcing them to make eye contact with a breath caught in his throat. Down here, he understands why, for years, he'd thought they were the same height.
A thin voice says, "You should be with someone who knows what he has when he has you."
Apparently he'd expected too much; nothing soft dawns over Will's face, and Mike's heart drops when, if anything, his eyes darken even further, warning him against plunging deeper into the truth. "Mike–"
"I kissed you in that club not because I own you but because I needed him to know what you fucking deserve," Mike pleads, finding relief in that he means every word. He hardens his voice, strengthening every resolve not to stray from Will's intensity. "No games, no playing."
He takes a deep breath, a contrast to Will's panting. His arms free themselves from his chest as he opens and closes his mouth, no words escaping.
"Seriously, I'm not letting him hurt you again. I swear I'd–"
"Jesus christ, shut up, Mike," he says, breathy and soft despite the anger behind them.
More warmth rushes downward. Mike curses himself for it. "What?"
"Just– just…" Will's face scrunches in frustration, words spewing through his teeth in stutters. In a matter of seconds, his head shakes, turns from frantic to slow, eyebrows twitching in respite. "Shit," he whispers before rushing forward.
Mike stumbles when lips crash onto his, a mess of tongue, teeth and sugary spirits on Will's hot breath. Instinctive hands fly out to catch himself before Will grabs at his face, rubbing the back of his neck as kisses move from his top lip to his bottom lip, catching on teeth. Between the slices of bliss, Mike catches his breath, all feeling gone from his fingers, rushing everywhere being touched instead. One effort is made to ground himself by grappling with the shirt at Will's waist.
"Will–" More mouth cuts him off. This has to be the hungriest kiss they've shared so far. He'd always imagined it would be him to take the dive, to push things this far, too far. Apparently not. "Will– you're–," he manages, kiss after kiss chiselling away at what little drunken restraint was offered.
At last, Will whispers, heady in a space between the wall and each other created purely by accident, "God," then swallows, "you just want me all to yourself, don't you?"
Mike leans back, hands still clutched around Will's arms encircling him, watching the lids of Will's eyes flutter open, his skin mottled with pink, lips slick and parted with a laboured breath. Part of him is afraid of being slapped for pulling away, the other buzzing at the suggestion.
"Hey, Will– you know I'm not like that. I wouldn't–" he begins to say, before he's cut off again, not by Will's lips. His nose rubs against his, and all hope of staying sane is gone forever.
"Just say it," whispers Will, ragged voice entering Mike through his bones, vibrating across his skull.
"Fuck," he murmurs to himself, lips brushing the skin just bare millimetres away. If his brain isn't fooling him, then he swears Will is… moving. Or maybe it's him shifting the material around his aching erection. But maybe it's both of them, shifting against each other. Energy releasing.
For once, the horror, the fear of blood rushing to his dick isn't so bad. Still terrifying in a way, what little control he has over all drunken movement, that at any moment, something of Will's could brush against it by accident, and all hope of tonight being resolved would be gone. But God, he'll take it like oxygen.
"You're– are you serious, Will?" asks Mike, hope bleeding into his words. He's never seen Will so… lascivious, for lack of a better word. Mike's the pervert who cums into tissues in the bathroom, only to erase the evidence and pretend it never happened, even to himself. If this were last night, when they'd stayed up past midnight to play Magic: The Gathering sober and casually dressed, would he be in this position? Surely Will's joking, seeing how far he can push him. Testing the limits of their friendship, and whether he really meant it when he said he wouldn't let anything ruin what they have.
Truthfully, Mike's eager and willing to dive off whatever cliff Will has him poised at the edge of.
"Mn," Will answers, pulling him by the forearms to the centre of the living room, light casting a dreadfully stark shadow across his face, lending him a shroud to hide whatever desperation lies beneath.
They pant in the dark, every twitch forwards followed by their eyes finding each other in a question, answered subsequently by another brush of their lips. For a quick finale, Mike lets the last of whatever alcohol speeds through his body take the reins.
One breath, and then: "So you're mine."
Will's breath trembles out of him, a relieved, tipsy grin twitching at the corners of his lips. "Mhm."
This time, Mike pulls Will in, softer than any past-Mike would ever permit. And seemingly, any version of Will, whose tongue immediately slips past the seam, rejecting the gentle, exploring the roof of Mike's mouth as he steps backwards, backwards, pulling him along with him. The sound of their lips smacking is the only thing he can hear or process. No time to ponder whether Will is genuine or whether this is all some plot to get back at that poor performance of a man – Eric – as all that can cartwheel around Mike's brain right now is that Will wants this. He likes this. He can taste the want, feel it in fingers tugging at his curls.
The greatest lesson he ever taught himself was that he can never be confident in whatever Will Byers is truly feeling, but the whiny sounds coming from his throat, hands roaming from his waist to his back, lips slipping from his to the line of his jaw, tell another story.
To test it one more time, Mike's hand tightens around his waist as Will's mouth explores the sensitive skin of his neck, and without much thought, he grunts out, "Yeah, are you mine?"
Will freezes against him, a momentary lapse before he plants a softer kiss to Mike's pulse point and whispers in his ear, "Don't ask, just tell me."
The heat in Mike's stomach twitches. Fuck, that's hot.
A giggle rumbles against his skin. So he just voiced that out loud, didn't he? Very cool.
At first, he plays it off with a shrug, but almost immediately after, he presses his face into the comfort of Will's shoulder with a bashful laugh, guiding them both to the couch, bouncing as they sit. Will makes a little oop! sound, sliding next to him, expression palpably delighted in the glow, face staying near enough to Mike's that their breaths intermingle.
"Did you really just say that?" Will laughs, his hand softly placed over Mike's chest, legs folding up on the couch. The urge to grab a cushion and cover what's going on down there is overwhelming. Don't look down, he begs.
Mike looks around the room. "No, you're hearing things," he jokes, a subtle crack in his words.
Two front teeth tug at Will's bottom lip. "Mhm."
For a moment, the two sit there, Mike wondering whether this is their curtain call, that they'll finish up, dust themselves off, pretend this never happened, and return to their respective bedrooms. He'll relieve himself into a bunch of wet wipes, predictably whilst recalling Will's voice rumbling in his ear, and how he'd been certain, for the first time, that he was making him feel good like that.
Manoeuvring himself, Will leans over to grip the cushion on the other side of Mike, hair falling softly, brushing the sides of his face as he gazes up and catches a glimmer of genuine want in Will's eyes.
"You're right though," he whispers, as if saying it mostly to himself, wishing he had the control not to. "You're hot like this."
Mike bites back a sound and shifts his hips back on the couch, away from Will's body, away from the slither of tan skin peeking out from his untucked shirt, dangerously close to his crotch. From where Will had been leaning down, lips brushing a particularly sensitive point – how does he already know where his skin's the most sensitive? – he freezes and looks back with achingly confused eyes.
"Are you not– shit, am I reading this totally wrong?"
"What? No, you're fine, I'm so fucking into this," he sighs, hand coming to Will's warm, blushed cheek. He lowers his voice, near a whisper. "I just wasn't saying that I was hot earlier. I was talking about you, 'cause you're like– actually a bombshell tonight, Will, it's insane. You are every night. And okay, maybe, maybe the reason I was so jealous before wasn't just because of how shitty Eric was to you."
"Mike," Will says on a sigh, lined with a soft, slurred whine. Looks like Mike found a new favourite way he says his name. "So you were jealous because I looked good tonight?"
Mike opens his mouth, a grin betraying him by spreading across his face. Soon Will follows, a laugh bringing his forehead down onto Mike's shoulder, and – shit – that makes his thigh mere centimetres away from the issue. Smoothly, he hopes, Mike places his hands on Will's shoulders and gently guides him away, watching his eyes droop as he giggles. Maybe he should tell him to down a glass of water and go to bed.
Instead, Mike murmurs, "Guilty," though the subsequent thought You're so cute doesn't come out, thankfully.
Will shakes his head, feigning annoyance with a click of his tongue. After a shared giggle and another close call, Will's smile fades into something affectionate but cheeky. "I just want to let you know I'm not mad."
"Oh, I gathered."
Will snorts, ears red. "Yeah. I mean, we've all been jealous, it's okay."
"You were jealous? When?" Mike's hands helplessly run up the line of Will's back, gradually ending in his hair, then back again. Will shivers on his fingers, his mouth opening and closing.
"When, Will?" Leaning close, Mike dares a small kiss against the mole near Will's mouth, not quite reaching his lips. "Always thought you were too sweet for that."
He's so close to answering that Mike swears he already has, his tongue forming words he can't hear, mouth parting around a syllable, but it ends as it began – with another laugh, this time muted, a little sad.
"Don't remember," he whispers with a wistful smirk, so unlike the mischievous energy from seconds ago that when he returns with intense eye contact, Mike's stomach twitches with whiplash. "Just– just come here, you."
"Oh–"
Cut off by lips, Mike scrambles, seconds away from either Will's knee brushing against his cock and everything being cut short by humiliation, or his cautious mind fading away, taken over by simple thoughts, clouded by the feeling of Will's skin underneath his fingers. As much as he mentally fights back, the perfect combination of the wanting in Will's tongue sliding slick against his, and the softness of his figure under the hem of his silk shirt, all give the latter its advantage.
As the kiss deepens, with Will's nose pressed tight against his cheek, shared sounds grow breathier, louder than Mike can recall them being previously. Especially coming from Will, a tight, almost pained moan reaching down Mike's throat as he bites on his lower lip.
"You feel good?" Mike whispers between them, answered by a swift nod. Suddenly it feels like the clouds have parted, and birds have started tweeting in his ear. He made Will feel good. Him. No one else.
Everything grows – the sounds, the tightness in his pants, the rushing in his ears – all except the one thing he'd been counting on: the distance between them. Mike's hand brushes down to Will's thigh, rubbing up to his hip again, and he takes this as a signal, momentarily releasing Mike's jaw from his lips to swing his other leg over and straddle him.
"Is this–" Will starts.
"That's it," Mike interrupts without thinking, making Will let out a half-surprised, half-flustered snort as he leans back down and licks once over Mike's sore bottom lip before kissing down to the sensitive junction between his jaw and throat.
Holy shit, he's straddling me, he's actually straddling me, blocks out the clamouring of alarm bells. Mindlessly, one hand comes to rest on the small of Will's back, gently guiding him closer, the other at the back of his neck, encouraging every hungry press. Mike participates too, enthusiastic as he's given greater access to Will's throat in this position, coaxing the gentle whines into moans when he dips his tongue into the hollow at the base, where the collar had been unbuttoned.
Wouldn't it be easy to undo another?
Without hesitating, Mike's hands leave Will's body, coming back to fumble with the front of his shirt, first tugging him even closer with the material. This loses Will his balance. He falls forward onto Mike's chest, drunkenly laughing low in his ear. Unequivocally, something below twitches at that sound, and his hips buck upwards, friction sparking in his jeans.
Their movements slow, or maybe it's just Will, who simultaneously goes silent.
That's when he leans back again, eyebrows raised, eyes wide. Mike opens his mouth in a question, but then Will's eyes glance downward towards his–
Oh. Fuck. As if it means to taunt him, said dick twitches in his pants, as he now realises it had been this entire time.
Trapped, Mike sputters, "Shit, sorry, I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm so– I'm a little sensitive when I've drunk a lot, and–"
"Mike, stop."
Will's voice holds a commanding edge. Oh god. He hates him, doesn't he? This must be such a violation of his trust.
"Fuck, I'm sorry. We can– we can just…" Will smooths a hand down his arm, but it doesn't register. There has to be a way to rectify this. It's a natural reaction to what they were doing, after all, right? No need to start planning which clothes to take to a new place, or whether he should even call them a thing anymore.
A "Seriously, Mike," interrupts his thoughts, as well as Will shifting in his new seat, which, to his utter dismay, sends another roll of heat through Mike's gut, craving to shoot down to his dick.
"No, Will, really, I'm–" Just as he begins gently disconnecting from him, Will halts Mike with a grip, hands curling tight over his wrist. A breath hitches in both their throats.
Slowly, Will drags Mike's stiff hand down his own stomach, shifting fabric until it reaches a place almost just as hard as he is right now. Holy shit.
"Oh."
They lock eyes again, Will's less intensely dazed than they'd been moments ago, hands still awkwardly placed over his crotch. "You're– you're…"
"Yeah."
Neither of them moves after Will releases him, letting his hand fall back to his thighs.
The air thickens and presses tight around them. The warmth of Will's legs, his own pulse pounding downward, against where Will has chosen to stay sitting. The dull buzz of alcohol softens the edges of every thought that forms and breezes past him, turning all internal screams into mindless hums of confusion. He knows, somewhere distant and logical, that this is the type of moment where people with any sense usually stop and think things over. Have conversations, communicate rules back to each other. Boundaries.
That part feels miles away when Will's legs shift. Instead of flopping back onto the couch next to him, he leans forward.
Fingers tighten around Mike's wrist, just forceful enough to keep him in place. Eyes flicker between his face and the space, or rather, the absence of space, between them, warm uncertainty tangling with Mike's chest.
"You okay?" Will asks, quieter. It should cost him nothing to say that, but Mike can't help but wonder if it did.
He takes a second to come up with the right, careful, sensible words, but all that comes out of Mike's mouth is a breath that turns into a small, helpless laugh. At the very least, it's not an excuse to run away into the bathroom. His head lightens, thoughts slower than his body.
Shit. Will shifts again. The only thing he can focus on is how mind-numbingly good this feels, how right the weight of Will's body feels, and how impossible it suddenly seems to create distance.
"I…" Mike starts, then shakes his head softly. He shouldn't need words; Will doesn't deserve some trotted-out excuse before he's left on the couch like a fool. Mike's the fool for hoping to pretend he'd ever stop wanting Will like this, presence enveloping him, being the reason for his sudden rush of pleasure.
Keeping their eyes locked, Mike manoeuvres his hand and grasps tighter to Will's. The stillness in Will's body at this is only momentary, as his hand gently guides him to the bulge in his pants, which is, wow, starker than he expected. He isn't sure how they'd both managed to make out for this long before noticing.
When he lets go, they both swallow, eyes widening at each other. Wordlessly, Mike nods. He's telling, rather than asking. Whether this is the right moment remains to be seen.
Uncertainty barely lasts another second before Will's gaze falls, and one finger traces. Mike's breath hitches, loud in the otherwise empty room, but Will doesn't seem to care, happy to outline the shape of his cock without qualm. Mike grabs the cushion beside him, conscious that how embarrassing this is is the least he should be thinking about when Will's smile is actively growing on his face, soft and somehow sweet despite the circumstance.
Then he pulls back like something just burned him. "Shit– sorry, it uh… it twitched," he murmurs, face red.
One second of silence lapses before they burst into giggles. Mike releases his grip on the cushion and a breath he'd been holding for way too long. It fades until he says, "Yeah, it does that," and the laughter crescendos, Will's so overpowering that it turns him silent.
"Sorry, if this is weird," he mumbles on the come-down, shifting position on his lap but still refusing to get off. Not like Mike wants him to. He could get used to this easy access to Will's thighs.
"No, no, you have no idea how many times I've gotten hard making out with you." Mike squeezes his eyes shut, cursing the holes in his filter as a voice screams What the hell are you doing??!
Will snorts and raises an eyebrow. "Well… I have some idea," he says, tilting his head. "What, you thought that I believed you had to go to the bathroom that many times?"
Looking away, Mike searches for another excuse to pull. As he fumbles, Will's quiet giggling grows in volume as he leans in again. Catching his eye, he realises there's no need. Will isn't looking at him in disgust; in fact, he's shaking slightly, eyes fond.
Mike sinks into the couch, hands finding Will's waist again.
They kiss slower, frantic energy limited to Mike's head, though this mellows as it deepens. They're both aware, now, of the line they're choosing to step over and leave in the mud. At least Mike is. The whimper of pleasure from Will answers this question, and another realisation spreads through his gut like warm water. He's making him feel good. Hands roam him without thinking. Mike licks his lips before diving in, competing for ferocity, revelling in the surprised giggle-turned-sigh as he kisses down Will's throat.
Will slips a little, brushing the front of his pants, and maybe he's not a master; maybe he slips and almost lets them both crush each other on the couch, but Mike couldn't care less, alcohol blurring timing and restraint.
An exhale of his name softens against his mouth. Mike feels it everywhere.
Lingerings of consequence, about tomorrow, whether they should be doing this at all, try to surface and fail, dissolving under the immediacy of the moment. There is only this: the way Will responds when Mike's hands travel to the small of his back, and experimentally to the curve of his ass, physically restraining himself from squeezing.
If anything, though, Will leans into it more, then drags back, testing the edges of what Mike will do. Or maybe it's just an accident. To make matters worse, when Mike's hand settles more firmly there, just shy of how he'd been hesitating prior, Will exhales softly, the sound unguarded against his mouth before they connect again.
Not an accident?
The sound alone could undo him, but another brush against his cock, undeniably purposeful, leaves Mike's thoughts slipping further into mere instinctual drives, sensation taking over completely. Every small reaction from Will is amplified, every breath, and Mike doesn't think he'll ever stop noticing. He responds with a soft nip at his bottom lip, a kiss at the shell of his ear, earning him more movement across his groin, evidently causing Will just as much pleasure.
Mike hears himself, as well. It's hard not to.
Though it's something he'd usually rein back, he's too busy with his hands, mapping Will's shape in earnest. The only thing that matters right now is drawing out more of those involuntary sounds, revealing more of how Will can give himself away when something feels good.
The realisation that he's the one doing that – he's the reason Will throws his head back slightly, breaking apart their kiss and allowing Mike to take in his splendour – consumes him all at once, turns every urge to lava. He wants more.
"What're you thinking?" Mike whispers rough, straight into Will's chest peeking out from his shirt, rubbing large hands up his back.
Will slows his movements and murmurs, "Probably just, I dunno, what you would have done if Eric had kissed me tonight."
The edge in his tone, the little smirk he gives as he shifts his hips and likely feels how Mike's dick twitches at the act, all tell him that it's a tease. Still, Mike's grip on his leg grows tighter, huskiness creeping into his tone, breathing down the column of Will's neck.
"Probably remind you that if he’d tried, I’d have had you back here anyway," Mike murmurs, breath hot against skin. "He doesn't get to kiss you like this."
Will moans on an embarrassed chuckle, and Mike can't help but smile at his own words, which sound… a little more than ridiculous now that he's hearing them back. But just as he opens his mouth to self-efface, Will quickly shuts him up with a wet, open-mouthed kiss, shifting his hips up and down.
Up and down.
Up and down again.
When Will starts to drag his crotch on Mike's for the fourth time, Mike's fingers squeeze where they hold him by the hips, and he guides, doing it for both of them, and then they're groaning and softly laughing into each other's mouths. It only takes a few seconds before Mike realises, with Will's eyes drooped and on his, that it was definitely what he was hoping he'd do.
Bodies writhe. The image of what they're doing flashes undeniably in Mike's head, sending a newly strong shot of pleasure downwards. His cock is beginning to ache, like a dull, warm bruise, shooting waves of stimulation to every limb every time it's touched.
A slightly humiliating shiver trembles his legs. For a moment, he thinks he's gotten away without a worry or word from Will, but:
"Mn, Mike, I've got you," he whispers, and he can't help but grasp and nearly tear at the delicate fabric of Will's shirt at the sudden frustration it brings him.
Opening his mouth to retort, or prove him wrong with a sharp suck at the tender skin on his neck, Mike gets caught halfway with the first dangerous pulse. Fuck, not yet. It can't be yet. Or even at all. He'd never planned; they'd never planned to come home after their nice, simple bar outing as a non-labelled best-friend dating couple-thing, and start thrusting at each other like frustrated bunnies. Let alone cum.
But, god, he's good at this, Mike can't stop thinking as he moans for the fiftieth time into a bitten lip. There's no way this is Will's first time humping a guy on a couch. Is that why he's making this look so easy? Is that why he always looks so good in shorts?
At that, all worries of being too fast dissipate. He can worry about that later. Their mouths barely connect anymore, slipping over each other wet and hungry, letting out grunts as he chases nothing but what he knows will make Will feel good.
"Mike. Slow down," Will whines softly, in a way that lets Mike know he only half-means it.
Still, he slows and makes sure: "Why? You okay?"
Blinking down at him, Will shines, the half of him closest to the window lit so harshly it disarms him completely, if he were even armoured in the first place. He gives a gentle smile, tilting his head, hair slightly plastered to his forehead. The overworked heart in Mike's chest spasms a little when fingers thread into his hair and pull back almost just as fast, for reasons he can't explain.
"I'm okay," says Will, "It's– you'll get sore. Let me."
Mike sighs shakily, resisting the drunken urge to pull at his bottom lip, the urge to buck up just to see what would happen. "Mnn, no Will. Don't care," he mumbles, hands with a mind of their own, finding skin. "Wanna make you–" A breath, another undulation and a moan breathed into his mouth. "Feel good."
Breathing out long and soft, Will leans his palms on Mike's shoulders, mentally letting go. "God," he whispers, letting Mike speed up his movements. "I– I feel good."
The couch makes a sound too, squeaking, shuffling slightly backwards, lost between Mike's thoughts: the first being that he can't believe how good this feels compared to doing it to himself, and the second being that he really, fucking loves Will.
"Mhm?" he shakes out, finding the plush flesh of his ass and finally letting himself squeeze.
"Really good. Like, too good, Mike."
Where those dangerous jolts to his dick used to be relatively rare, they now occur once every three seconds. The only way he can curb them is to let out some embarrassingly high-pitched breathy whines, or fist the cushions again. Will's sudden fixation on tonguing his ear doesn't help either, nor do the fingers in his curls, both gentle and forceful in their tugging motions, relenting every time Will moves backwards, then tightening when he moves forwards.
The next minute is a blur, a spiral of curses and barely restrained moans, coaxed and licked out from each other's mouths.
"Mike," Will strangles out, his movements sloppier, barely there as Mike takes control again. "Mike, Mike, Mike–"
"If you say my name again, this isn't gonna last long."
It's the first recognition of where this will inevitably lead. But Will doesn't pay it any mind, speeding up with his mouth open, the bottoms of his top teeth visible as he blinks slowly. His breaths are harsh, loud puffs.
Mike can't look at their crotches rubbing against each other for much longer, so he shifts his gaze upward instead, to Will's expression. A bitten-back moan melts into a gasp. Will is smiling, his eyes closed and cheeks pink, like this is the best moment of his life. And Mike might pass out if he doesn't get to kiss him right this second.
Taking control, Mike carefully reaches up and takes the back of Will's neck, pulling him down. It's hard to kiss in any way that isn't hitched, breathy and desperate, Mike's tongue hot with Will's chuckling breaths when he speeds up the motion of their hips.
Will mumbles something unintelligible into his mouth, whispers lost in the sounds of creaking and them clawing for the finish line.
"What? Will?"
Wetting his lips, Will draws back just enough to look through Mike's eyes, so deep he wonders if he knows how much this is making his dick ready to launch off into space. "Just– uh, I think I'm–" He squeezes his eyes shut, craning his neck so far back that it shows every ridge of his throat.
Shooting pleasure, shooting pleasure, shooting pleasure, erupts in Mike's cock. "Me– me too."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"But, Mike, seriously–" Cutting himself off with another moan, this time louder than Mike thinks he's heard so far, Will immediately hides his face, giggling stiltedly. "Fuck, fuck, I'm really, I'm actually gonna do it."
"You're–"
"Mhm – mm, mhm. Fuck."
"Holy shit, Will."
"Mike– d-don't slow down–" Will's pink lips part in an interrupting whine, eyes watery and skin a perfect blush pink.
"You're so pretty. God, you're so pretty."
It's actually unbelievable. Will Byers is speeding up his humping motions against him, is saying his name and cursing under his breath, making strangled, squeaking sounds in the back of his throat, and all Mike wants to do is tell him how much he loves him out loud. It's staggering how hard he has to try for him to keep back the words as he ignores the muscle cramps in his legs for his best friend's climax.
Instead, he says, all in one breath, "Jesus fucking christ," and feels himself finish in his boxer shorts, Will's own laboured breaths scoring the moment.
So. Mike's been jerking off a lot lately, probably daily at this point. In his lifetime, he's had hundreds of sessions. If they were post-gay-awakening-summer (and even before that, to be honest), they were caused by some image of what Will would look like underneath him, straddling him, lying over him, and moaning out his name as he came all over the two of them. A hundred realities were, but none of them felt quite like this.
The difference about this is that it starts like it always does – cresting in his dick and spreading through his stomach so sharply it makes Mike utter a humiliatingly high-pitched groaning sound – but as it starts to float away, Will's seems to continue, letting out streams of whines, intermingling as he leans down and connects their lips. Then it's almost like his orgasm rises, another wave crashing over him, especially when Will's tongue licks flat over his, and – fuck – he might actually pass out.
Noses pressed into cheeks, they pant together, shaking hands rubbing over each other's legs, arms, shoulders, and finally cheeks. They lean back to look at each other and breathe uncontrollable giggles.
Mike's thighs shake, but thankfully he's not the only one. Will's movements are sloppy as he unentangles himself, flopping down on the couch next to Mike with a grunt and a happy little sigh. He almost whines from the loss of weight, leaving him boneless; useless.
For a few seconds, neither speaks. The room expands, huge around them now that they're not pressed together in their microcosm. Silence settles in like a fuzzy blanket rather than an interruption. Mike stares at the ceiling, mouth still open as his pants slow. He doesn't quite trust his brain to be sensible if he glances at Will, even for a second.
Eventually, the clarity and worn-off liquor wash over the ridiculousness of what just happened. Huffing, Mike grins crookedly.
"You said fuck so many times," he muses, voice rough with exertion, head tipping sideways to catch Will's profile. His head's tilted at the ceiling, hair damp with sweat.
Will lets out a short, breathless laugh, then turns his head too.
"You were hardly innocent," he shoots back, softer, "Pretty sure you invented at least a few new curse words."
"Did I? I don't–"
"You were very loud."
Mike opens his mouth wider in mock-surprise, heart squeezing at how Will's eyes squint in amusement. "Says you."
"Shut up," he giggles. Will turns his whole body towards him, arms folded over his chest. He's near enough that Mike feels warm energy, remnants of whatever they did still rolling off him in waves.
The teasing lingers for a moment, but though they were just pressed up against each other, licking skin and cumming only two layers of material away, Mike's fingers hesitate to bridge the gap between them, twitching out before retracting. Will's smile fades, his gaze drifting over Mike's fingers then his face. He wishes he could memorise this. He's never been good at remembering things in detail, but maybe the fact he's seen Will a thousand times and somehow never like this could help.
"That was crazy," Will whispers.
"Crazy good," mumbles Mike, heart stuttering as he shifts closer, brushing their knees. When Will doesn't move away, the air thickens between their mouths. Voice low, no joke to hide behind: "It was nice."
Will watches him with wide, doe-like eyes, fragility and hope flickering across what was already a soft expression.
All across his heart, Mike hears, Are we still friends?
Will leans in, pressing a soft, careful kiss to Mike's lips. It's chaste compared to everything from earlier, but the lack of rush produces a stinging behind Mike's eyes, quickly blinked away. It's a glimpse, he thinks – taunting him about what he could have, what he'd eventually come back to during dark moments the rest of his life will bring.
Eyes fluttering shut, Mike's hand lifts to rest briefly against Will's jaw, thumb brushing the edge of his cheekbone, then his eyelashes, before they part again. Will's breath lingers on his skin, trembling with a question Mike has to believe they both know the answer to.
"I should…" Will starts, voice a little breathless.
Glancing down, Mike emits a casual snort and lets them move apart. Shifting in his seat, he has to admit the mess in his boxers is a little uncomfortable.
A faint flush shines across Will's throat, either from a blush or Mike's mouth and touch.
"We need–"
"–a shower, yeah."
"You can go first," Mike offers, body still.
"Thanks, I guess," Will giggles, fading into a grin. A siren wails in the distance. Mike's stomach swirls a little, painfully aware they're pretending, for now, that this is just another normal end to a night, that Mike didn't just find out that Will gets… furiously turned on at a trait of his he'd thought was ugly.
He nods, watching Will push himself off the cushions, albeit shakily, with one last look. Swallowing around the tightness in his throat, Mike forces his voice steady.
"Hey."
Will turns, body loose. "Mh?
A beat passes silently.
Then: "You know you're…" His throat clicks, and Will's eyes widen a fraction. "You're my…"
Why can't he say it anymore?
"I know," Will whispers at once, too quick, preventing him from another word.
He turns and disappears down the hall. The room is left both emptier and impossibly full, every surface echoing with what they did.
Mike doesn't move until he hears the bathroom door click shut, and the sound of a lock sliding into place. Maybe even until he hears the shower turn on, water spraying the walls, pressure dying and getting louder as it presumably runs over Will's body and back to the wall again.
Jesus. He runs a hand over his face, the last remnants of tipsiness drained along with the rest of his denial.
This wasn't a bad thing. He refuses to regret it, he decides, as soon as he's back in his bedroom, undressed, sitting on the edge of his bed and looking into the palms of his hands. Nothing about this was bad.
Will always takes a while in the shower, but Mike isn't sure how much longer he can sit here, something wet drying between his legs, tomorrow's possibilities racing through his mind.
Blowing out a breath, Mike shifts, reaching for the dog-eared book on his nightstand to distract him for a minute or two.
His drawer is open an inch. Mike's halts, then all at once, he yanks open the drawer and takes the folded note from the bottom, unfolding it so he can remind himself of the most valuable advice he'd given himself a week ago.
Rule 6: Stay best friends in the end.
Signed: Michael J. Wheeler