Chapter Text
Will is starting to get a little worried.
He’s been standing idly at the door of he and Carlton’s shared apartment for an unusual amount of time. He keeps glancing down at his wrist-watch, each minute that ticks by only serving to spike his concern that much higher.
He’s growing restless. He’s been here for a full 6 minutes now, knocking and ringing the doorbell repeatedly, to no avail. Neither has he heard a peep from his boyfriend. No muffled “Gimme a sec!” No shuffling from behind the door. No faint sounds of the TV seeping through the plaster walls.
None of that. It’s radio silent.
Not only is Will getting worried, he’s also getting cold. His fingers are beginning to get numb from the biting wintry air; his huffing breaths escaping him in visible fogs. There’s heaps of lucent snow on the ground that he keeps glancing at as a way to distract himself. The white on the ground is glittering with the illumination of the porch light, matching well with the bright shine of the moon.
Will’s weary gaze flicks down from the night sky and to the one of two parking spaces in the front of the apartment, which is currently occupied by Carlton’s car. That means he’s home. Unless he’s in the shower or something, there’s no reason for him to not be answering the door. And Carlton never showers at this time of day.
Will finds himself puzzled and growing more fed up with waiting by the second. With a heavy sigh, he leans down and lifts up the worn “Welcome” mat, grabbing the spare key from under it. He straightens back up, fumbling with the lock for a second before he gets it, and he pushes the door open, peeking inside.
“Carl?” He tries, voice unsure. His hazel eyes flick around cautiously as he takes a hesitant step forward. “Is everything alright?”
It doesn’t take long for alarm bells to start going off in Will’s head. There’s so, so many things wrong with this. The house is silent to the point that it’s damn near unsettling. No TV, no radio. So quiet that Will can actually hear himself think for once, and he doesn’t like the thoughts he’s having. The thoughts he’s been having since the first time Carlton didn’t answer his knocking.
Along with the invasive thoughts, he has a really eerie feeling, coiling unpleasantly in the depths of his stomach. And when Will has a bad feeling of any kind, it’s very important to take heed to it. He learned that when he found that every time he got a chill on the back of his neck, that means an interdimensional, horrifying monster is near.
Will gulps, flicking on the hall light so he can see where he’s walking. The illuminance of the area is like a shock, and he can feel the way his stomach drops, the way he can’t get any air into his lungs when he takes in the state of the apartment.
It’s in complete disarray, as if a burglar had broken in and wreaked havoc to find something of worth. Tables and lamps are overturned, drawers are open, various decorative items have fell to the ground and shattered into a million pieces.
It’s a complete disaster, only it doesn’t appear that anything has been stolen, but it’s hard to tell when the carnage is the only thing noticeable. With wide eyes and a frantic heartbeat, Will bolts immediately to the phone on the wall to punch in the number to 911. What if the robber is still here, hiding somewhere in the shadows of the apartment? What if that person hurt Carlton? Will still doesn’t see him anywhere.
Before he could dial 911, a shrill ringing pierces through the air. For a moment, Will thinks it might be the ringing in his own ears, but then he quickly realizes that a call is inconveniently coming through.
He chews on his lip, anxious out of his mind. He shouldn’t answer, but what if it’s his boyfriend? What if he has an explanation to all this? What if he left? Or worst case scenario, what if he’s hurt?
Will ignores the fact that he wouldn’t really mind if Carlton left. He and his boyfriend haven’t been getting along well as of late. Carlton coming in late, drunk, sometimes irritable, other times downright angry, like his father used to be. They’re always fighting about something, it seems. Carlton’s always jealous, breathing down Will’s neck every second of the day. It’s exhausting, and it’s putting pressure on Will’s mental health and general happiness.
But geez, Will doesn’t want Carlton to get hurt, or to fucking die or something.
So, he answers the phone, bringing the speaker up to his ear, brows knitting together.
“Hello..?” he says slowly, carefully.
“Hello, Will.”
Will’s blood runs cold. The voice.. it’s not familiar, that’s for sure. But it’s so sinister, so terrifying that it makes him wish right away that he never hears it again.
“Uhm.. hello? Who is this?” Will forces his voice to come out as stable as possible, and he turns, facing away from the wall in alert, eyes darting around and hand grasping at the cord of the telephone to ground himself.
”That’s for me to know and for you to find out,” the person says smoothly, in the same twisted and distorted voice. “Wanna play a game?”
Will gulps so loud that the stranger on the other end probably hears it, but he can’t bring himself to care. His breaths are frantic, and he won’t stop looking around, like something is going to jump out at him any second. “No, I.. I really don’t. I just want to know who you are.”
A soft noise hums through the receiver. Something close to a scoff of mockery. “Hm.. I don’t think ‘no’ is the correct answer, sweetheart.”
Will’s eyes widen incredulously. The audacity of this person to even call him that baffles him. “Don’t call me that,” he says firmly, words short and rushed. “I’m not playing a game. I think you have the wrong number.”
This is ridiculous. Some kid must be pranking again, Will concludes. Still pretty fucking creepy though.
“Play the fucking game, Will. Or I’ll cut your sweet little boyfriend open and spill his guts all over the porch. I don’t think he would appreciate your lack of cooperation, what do you think?” The stranger’s voice has lowered to a threatening hiss that sends jolts of fear down Will’s spine, jolts that continue down his legs and pool at the soles of his shoes. He wants to run, he should run. He’s scared out of his mind. Every bone aches and every muscle twitches in his desire to retreat, but he can’t do anything except stand there, frozen like an ice statue.
The phone in his hand is getting slippery from his his sweaty, vice-like hold on it. He forces himself to speak, eyes wild and voice shaking freely now. “Y..you’re lying.” Will isn’t sure if he’s trying to convince himself or the mysterious man.
“Oh really? Open your blinds,” the stranger coos, a low, menacing sound.
Will shouldn’t listen, right? This person is just fucking with him. It’s a mind game, that’s all it is. But then again, what would be the harm in checking? If Will went to the window to look out and saw nothing, it would put his mind at ease a little bit.
So that’s exactly what he does. He takes a few cautious steps towards the sliding door in the living room, landline phone still in hand, cord stretching as he goes. He takes a heaving breath, free hand reaching up to twist the closed blinds to their open position—
It’s just one shock after another. Will wonders if he’s living in a nightmare.
He gasps, hand clasping over his mouth in an instantaneous reflex as he’s met with the sight of his boyfriend, tied to a wooden chair with thick ropes. There’s gray tape over his mouth, sealing his lips shut. His dark eyes are wild and terrified, and he starts kicking and struggling at the restraints, muffled pleading sounds escaping his mouth at the sight of Will.
Perhaps even more terrifying, there’s a looming figure over his trembling, restrained form. Pretty tall, probably close to 6 feet. Only Will can’t see his face, it’s obscured by a snow white, ghost-like mask. The rest of his body is draped with a pitch black cloak, frayed at the edges. Will can guess that this stranger is the culprit because he’s holding a cell phone in his hand. But most notably, he is wielding a hunting knife in the other, one that is pointed and razor-sharp, and glints dangerously in the outdoor lighting.
“Oh god—“ Will pants, backing away from the door.
“Do you believe me now, Will?” The person’s voice cuts through the room again, but Will can barely hear it over his pulse thrumming violently in his ears. Will can see the mask-clad head tilting to the side, as if questioning.
He’s looking right at Will. And it’s then that Will realizes that his boyfriend’s life, and probably his as well, lies in his hands.
“Please.. just let him go. Leave us alone,” Will pleads. He can feel tears welling in his eyes, blurring his vision. But he can still make out the way the knife suddenly is put to Carlton’s throat, the tip digging into the taut skin right above his jugular with clear threat. Over his own heaving breaths, he can hear his boyfriend’s muffled whimpers of fear.
“I asked you a simple question. I want you to play a game. You win, I’ll let him live. If you lose, he dies.” The masked man’s voice is matter-of-fact. Will has to do this, he is left without a choice.
He is getting agitated. It would take a true psychopath to get a kick out of this. How bored, how sick in the head do you have to be to prey on people? Innocent people? If nothing else, Will knows he is innocent. He doesn’t deserve this.
So then, the question stands. Why him? Why is this killer targeting him, of all people? It’s a mystery, like one of those 1,000 piece puzzles that Will attempts to do but gets impatient with too quickly. Only at this moment, there is no time to slot the pieces together, even if he tried.
Will has to survive. That is the top priority.
”Fine, I’ll play the game!” He practically yells into the phone. “And after that you can get the hell away from here!”
“That is, if you win,” the killer points out with a haphazard shrug, more like a lazy roll of his shoulders. It sends a shudder wracking through Will, the fact that someone can be so calm and careless about their actions; that they can get a thrill from the fear of others. “Now tell me.. what’s your favorite scary movie?”
Seriously? Is that the game? Maybe it’s a good thing though. If the game is simple, Will might have a better chance of winning it. He might have a better chance at not dying tonight.
He doesn’t need to think about his answer, because he’s had the same personal favorite horror movie for years. Really, it’s been ever since his mom walked into Castle Byers that day when he was only 11 years old. She had sat with him and told him she bought tickets to see a new movie, just the two of them. A beautiful smile adorned her face, a mischevious but fond glint lighting up her dark eyes.
It was a special time, a period of calm in the storm of Will’s life that he wishes he could go back and relive. Will felt grown-up that day, being allowed to see such a scary movie and all. More than anything, the person he spent the time with with was special.
His rattled mind briefly wanders to the horrifying thought of this psychopath finding his mother or his brother and taking them from Will as well. Preying on them, stalking them until he goes in for the kill. Hurting them, murdering them. He can’t let that happen. A sudden wave of determination washes over him.
“Poltergeist,” he blurts out in a rush, satisfaction rushing through him when his voice finally stabilizes for once. “My favorite horror movie is Poltergeist.”
The killer chuckles into the phone— a dark, ominous sound, akin to the rolling thunder before a storm strikes. “Oh? Classic. But of course, I already knew that.”
Will’s brows knit together. “W..what? What do you mean?”
“Don’t you know, Will? Don’t you get it? I know you. Everything…. about.. you,” the stranger’s voice is slow, every syllable sounded out deliberately. He points the knife directly at Will, singling him out. “I know what makes you tick. And I know loverboy here is one of them.” He gives Carlton a shove on the arm and laughs cruelly at the muffled yelp it elicits from him. “And I know those are new jeans. Ol’ Carl here doesn’t really appreciate them so much, but I definitely do. They make your ass stand out so, so nice.”
Will could almost blush at the crudeness of that statement. Who the hell is this guy? What does he want with Will? More alarmingly, how does he know Will? Why is he speaking to him like he’s known him his entire life, like he knows every dark secret Will keeps buried in the depths of his heart?
“You’re sick,” Will hisses into the phone, voice laced with pure poison. “You’re sick!”
“Maybe I am,” the masked man replies, tone much more controlled than Will’s. “but I’m not the one who has fantasies about something bad happening to everyone who’s wronged me. Then again, I can’t say I really blame you. You just have a justified sense of vengeance. It’s only human.”
Will’s blood runs ice-cold. His hands are clammy and his forehead has broken out into a cold sweat, soley because of how highly strung he is from this entire predicament. He wants this hellish nightmare to be over, he wants to pinch himself and wake up in the safety of his bedroom. But he has a dark inkling that won’t be happening anytime soon.
The slow dawning of a new feeling is upon Will. The feeling of being watched, of being stripped bare and seen for what really is, of being known. It’s sickeningly familiar, so much so that Will feels faint with it.
“What are you talking about?” Will breathes out, eyes wide with thinly veiled fear. His grip on the phone is shaky now. It’s in this moment he realizes that his whole body must be trembling.
“Oh, not much..” The killer muses. “Just thought I’d take a peek in your journal. You write down some nasty things in that book, Will.”
Will’s head whips to the coffee table in the center of the living room. He had been too distracted to notice it before, but his journal is indeed lying wide open, all his darkest desires and hopes out in the open for the entire world to see. He can feel a lump forming in his throat, blood crawling up to his cheeks as he wonders just how much this complete stranger read. How much he knows about Will’s personal affairs, about his inner thoughts and dialogue that he tells no one about. He feels called out and exposed, more now than he ever has in his entire life.
“Found it while I was taking a look around in your apartment, and I just couldn’t deny the opportunity to find out what goes on in that pretty head of yours,” the voice purrs out smoothly through the speakerphone. “One page stood out to me the most, though. You wrote about your dad’s abuse, and about how your boyfriend is starting to remind you of him. Those nights he comes home drunk.. yelling.. throwing things. You wished sometimes that your dad would disappear. And now, you’re beginning to wish Carlton would disappear too. The thoughts scare you, they make you think something’s not right in your head. Am I right, or am I wrong?”
Will almost drops the phone entirely. His breaths stop coming altogether as the sheer truth of that statement crashes over his head like a ton of bricks. “I.. Uhm-“ he stammers fruitlessly, eyes wide as quarters. He’s not able to say anything in his defense. How could he, when there’s nothing to say to counter that in the first place? You can’t argue or grapple with the truth for long. Will has learned that the hard way.
“That’s what I thought. Now answer me this… What is my favorite scary movie?”
Will huffs, all the breath he had been holding leaving him in a rush. “How am I supposed to know that? I don’t even know you! This isn’t a fair question to ask me!”
The stranger scoffs in agitation. “I think you know me much more than you think you do, Byers. Cmon, give it your best shot. You’re real smart. I know you are. I’ll give you three guesses.”
Will shudders, swallowing down the saliva that has pooled in his mouth, along with the lump in his throat. He has to think about this. What’s really popular horror movies that everyone loves? C’mon, think… think! Damn it!
“Texas Chainsaw Massacre! U-uhm… Friday the 13th! Children of the Corn! Carrie! Jaws! When a Stranger Calls! The Thing! Child’s Play!”
Will continues listing off every single horror movie he can think of, the titles rolling off of his tongue in quick succession. Okay, he’s feeling confident about this. One of these has to be right. Will has seen practically every horror movie in existence. There’s absolutely no way he didn’t list the psycho’s favorite somewhere.
The masked man can only groan softly into the phone. “Ugh baby, you’re fucking cute when you ramble. But I think you named every scary movie ever made except the one I love the most. Looks like we have to say goodbye to loverboy now.”
Will opens his mouth in protest, but before he can even force any noise out of his lungs, the man is swiping the razor-like blade across Carlton’s stomach. Will gasps in horror, phone finally falling from his hand and hitting the floor with a loud clatter. There’s an agonized scream splitting through the air, but he’s not quite sure if its his or Carlton’s, because his head is swimming, his ears are ringing and holy fucking shit, his boyfriend just got murdered right before his eyes and all he could do is stand there idle.
Will squeezes his eyes shut when it just doesn’t stop. The killer is relentless, plunging and twisting his knife into Carlton’s body like he doesn’t want him to even be recognizable. It’s like he’s turned into a rabid animal, committing an act of nothing but pure hatred, like Carlton has offended him personally and this is his twisted form of revenge.
Once the sounds that are assaulting Will’s senses cease, he opens his eyes. The sight he’s met with is unlike anything he’s ever seen before. His boyfriend is hunched forward, all the life drained from his ravaged body. Blood is dripping steadily onto the concrete, staining it a deep crimson red color. There are countless gaping wounds on Carlton’s body, and it seems that the masked killer kept his promise about spilling his guts, because that is… exactly what is happening right now. It’s the most brutal thing Will has ever seen, and he’s in such deep shock that he doesn’t even register the sound of the murderer sliding open the glass door.
Will comes to only when he hears the ruffle of fabric, which he soon finds out is the sound of the killer wiping Carlton’s blood on his cloak, the sound of him slowly stealthing up to Will like a hungry lion about to pounce on an innocent lamb.
Will’s fight or flight instincts aren’t doing much good for him right now. But then again, when have they ever? He’s never been good at fighting. He’s always sat back and took the punches; he's always turned the other cheek when struck. He’s timid, he’s weak, or at least he always feels like it. People like Carlton and his father make him feel like it.
He wants to scream for help. He wants to run, and never stop running until he’s far, far away from this place, until the image of a freshly violently murdered human being is seared out of his mind forever. But he can’t. Because he never has been good at running away either.
Rather, when faced with a difficult or stressful situation, he just... freezes. He can’t move, he can’t talk, he can’t do anything. There’s only that swooping feeling in his stomach, like the sensation you get on the drop of the highest roller coaster you've ever been on. That’s the way it’s always been, and it’s no different now.
“Hey,” the masked man says, stopping a few feet away from Will, tilting his head as he cautiously takes in his trembling, hyperventilating form. “Calm down, I’m not going to hurt you. Don’t you know I would never hurt you?”
Forcing himself to talk is nearly impossible. Will doesn’t know how he does it. He just feels like he’s on complete autopilot now. His brain has gone into complete shut-down mode in an attempt to cope and to numb the shock of what he just witnessed.
“I.. how am I supposed to know that?!” Will’s voice cracks. He’s nearly at his breaking point. “You just murdered my boyfriend! Right in front of me!” Will gestures wildly to the back porch, where Carlton’s lifeless body remains.
“Did I really murder him, Will? Or did he just get what was coming to him?” The killer questions, and it makes Will sputter for words for a split second.
“H..he wasn’t a good guy! But that’s not my point. That doesn’t justify murder! You’re sick in the head if you think it does!!” Will exclaims, pointing accusingly at the masked man.
“But you could’ve stopped me. With those powers of yours,” the stranger gestures haphazardly to Will with his now sparkling clean knife. “You didn’t, though. That tells me everything about you that I need to know.”
Will feels his heart jump up his throat at that. The surprise of that simple statement is something that affects his entire body, sending a jolt of unbridled shock zipping from his head all the way down to his toes.
“How do you know about my powers.” Will’s voice is low and uneven as he tries to not let his tone betray the turmoil he feels within.
“I already told you, Will. I know you. Better than anyone else does, in fact.” The stranger (?) lets his knife-wielding arm fall limp at his side.
“I don’t… I don’t understand,” Will shakes his head rapidly, eyes shining with emotion.
“Do you really not understand? I would do anything at all for you, Will. And I’m not above killing anyone who dares to hurt a hair on your head. So when I found out Carlton was laying his hands on you, well… what can I say? I just…" The man's cloak-clad shoulders shrug once again. "Snapped.”
Will blinks the tears away, his interest piquing. Who.. who is this?
Then it hits Will. A spark of familiarity, right in the chest. There’s something suspiciously familiar about the man’s choice of words, the way he speaks. Will recognizes the mannerisms too, such as the way the knife is tapping idly, almost restlessly against the oak wood of the coffee table, the clueless shrugs, the dog-like tilt of the head. And of course, the smoking gun. The fact that this person has some magical, unexplainable knowledge of Will’s powers. Will finds himself eyeing the man for a moment as the cogs turn in his head, and he almost forgets to answer altogether.
But then his glossy hazel eyes snap upward in sudden surety. Every mental road he's following leads to the same destination.
”Mike…?” he breathes out, voice small.
The tapping of the knife stops, the room going eerily silent again.
"I knew you by only the sound of your breathing when you were missing, Will. Your breathing. Nothing else." There's a pause as the murderer reaches up with his free hand to unmask himself with a singular unhurried movement, his wild midnight-esque locks bouncing out as he lets the ghost mask fall carelessly to the ground. "I can't lie, I'm a little disappointed it took you so long to realize it was me."
It's.... It's Mike. It's Mike fucking Wheeler, and holy shit, his best friend is a... serial killer? That wears masks and plays twisted games with those who are unfortunate enough to fall victim to his cruel hands? The same Mike who is caring and sweet, who can break Will out of interdimensional spells by touch and voice alone, who is the heart and leader of their childhood friend group... Yeah, that Mike just killed a man in cold blood and let his insides gush out, all without batting an eye.
And Will hates himself. It's official. He wishes it was he that got murdered instead, because there is something absolutely, positively not right and not human happening with his brain chemistry at the moment. There is no reason he should be seeing this entire situation in a new light. His mind is reeling, unhelpfully supplying thoughts along the lines of "maybe murder isn't so bad after all."
No... no, that's not it. Murder is bad. But it's the intent behind it. Mike, who is Will's ride or die best friend of two decades (who Will has also been deeply, madly in love with for that entire amount of time) just stabbed a man to death without hesitation. For Will. All because he was causing Will pain.
He has to admit, even if murder is wrong, holy shit, that... that makes his heart flutter. And it's kind of hot, and just sexy that Mike is so protective of him, and god- yeah, Will is definitely going to hell for thinking like this. But who cares, he has been convinced he's going to hell ever since the first day he realized just how deep his love for Mike runs.
"Halloween," Will breathes out, and Mike's head tilts, thick brows furrowing in that way of his that is infuriatingly similar to a chocolate lab puppy. "What?"
Will shakes his head a little bit, redirecting his gaze back to Mike. He feels a little stupid for just spitting out a random word with no context. A rosy flush rises to his cheeks as he quickly tries to clarify what he meant. "O-oh, your favorite scary movie. It's Halloween. I knew that."
"Oh." Mike grins, but it isn't the way a psycho killer would grin. It's soft and achingly familiar, just a little dorky like Will remembers. "Yeah, Halloween. I was always a Michael Myers kinda guy, you know?"
Will huffs out an incredulous breath. "You can't do this."
Mike blinks, his freckled face etched with confusion. It's strange, seeing him looking so innocent, but knowing what he's really capable of. It sends another shiver licking down Will's spine. "Do what?"
"Act all... innocent! Like everything's okay, and you didn't just kill a man right in front of my eyes, Mike. I understand that you did it for me, but holy... Holy shit, it was really extreme. Do you not realize that your actions have consequences? You could go to prison. Forever, and then I can never see you again. Seriously, what were you—"
Will's rambling is cut off by a gloved hand clasping over his mouth. His eyes widen, but he doesn't fight Mike off. He stays silent. Mike does still have a knife in his free hand, but Will knows he isn't going to use it... right? He can trust him that much.
Mike would hurt anyone for Will. But he would never hurt Will. End of story.
"Shh," Mike shushes Will, the dark pools of his eyes locked onto Will's. "I know it's crazy, and I know the consequences, and I know that it was... completely unexpected. But..." Mike sighs, searching for his words. "Do you remember when we were little, and I always said I wished I could hurt your dad for what he did to you?"
Will nods slowly, mouth sliding over the palm of Mike's large hand.
"Yeah, well I meant it, Will. And the more often you came to me with a new bruise, crying in my arms... the more I wanted him dead. The more I would... think about him dying. And then it turned into thinking about how I would do it, how I would execute it. How I would make him feel every little bit of pain he caused you. But I was too little then to actually do anything about it."
Will stares, not daring to make a sound. Mike continues, voice low and intimate, meant for Will's ears only. "Now, I have the power to carry out my plans. To make everyone who's hurt you suffer. Because in my eyes, no one who has laid a hand on you deserves to live."
Will’s hand slowly comes up to wrap around Mike’s wrist, and he never breaks eye contact. Mike lowers his hand enough for Will to speak freely. “Mike… I really don’t know what to say. This.. this is so much to take in.”
“I know. I know it is. And you don’t have to say anything at all. If you want, I can leave right now. Hell, you can turn me in for all I care.” Mike purses his lips, his eyes shining with something unspoken. “But I feel no guilt in ending the life of an abuser.”
There’s a long moment when neither of them say anything. Then Mike huffs out a small chuckle. “And I know all of this is really crazy, but... we’ve always been a little crazy.”
Will blinks the tears away, gulping audibly as an intense wave of nostalgia washes over him. “Crazy together?”
“Mhm,” Mike hums, nodding in his agreement. His hand has slid over to cup Will’s flushed cheek. “Crazy together.”
Will’s eyes flick down to the plush skin of Mike’s pink lips. He wants to taste them, over and over until he can’t hear the rational part of his brain screaming how wrong this is at him. He wants to feel Mike’s lips against his own until he’s breathless, until his mouth is numb and swollen.
He must be sick in the head too.
Mike, as if reading his thoughts, speaks up in a low murmur, thumb brushing over Will’s chin deliberately. “But… I have a feeling you won’t turn me in, and I also have a feeling that you won’t leave. Am I right?”
Will wants to say no. The morality he still has left is steering him away from Mike, away from this mess that he has gotten them into. But his heart.. oh, his heart aches. He loves this man with every last drop of blood in his veins, and every drop is one that he would willingly spill for Mike. Likewise, Will has no doubt in his mind that Mike would also die for him. Evidently, he would kill for him too.
And if Mike killed a thousand men, it wouldn’t change the way Will feels for him. That’s just how their relationship is.
So, Will finds himself slowly nodding, against his better judgement. “You’re right, Mike.. I’m not going anywhere.”
Mike’s thumb brushes over Will’s bottom lip, his grip on his face gently forcing them to keep eye contact. “Good boy,” he praises softly.
God, Will is gone. He can feel fresh heat crawling up his neck, flushing his cheeks and the tips of his ears. There’s a swirling sensation low in his stomach, an instantaneous reaction to Mike’s praise.
Because yeah, Will has always had a thing for being praised. But when the praise is delivered by Mike specifically, it’s a completely different story. It’s like he turns into something he can’t control, which is exactly what’s happening right now.
“Come here, Mike,” Will says with a small voice, arms looping around Mike’s neck and dragging his larger frame close to him. He doesn’t even know what he’s doing, or better yet where this sudden burst of boldness came from. But Will guesses tonight is a night where anything flies. Mike already broke into Will’s house, commited first degree murder, and Will went along with every single bit of it. They’ve gotten this far, so why not go all out?
Mike’s dark eyes fall half-lidded as he’s tugged flush to Will’s chest. “Hi,” he says lowly, looking into his eyes.
Will’s heart is slamming against his chest so hard it threatens to escape. “Hi,” Will replies with a tiny smile, peering up at Mike through long lashes. “And by the way, the reason I didn’t recognize you sooner is because you kept calling me sweetheart and you told me you like my ass. I uhm… yeah, you just don’t normally talk to me that way. It kinda took me off guard.”
Mike smiles— a wide, mischevious thing splitting across his face. His hand drags down to rest on Will’s waist. “Oh really? That’s what threw you off? Not the…” Mike scoffs, reaching down with his other hand to tug at a little microphone-like contraption under the collar of his black robe, “Voice changer thingy that Dustin invented? Or the fact I’m rich enough to buy a cell phone?”
Will shakes his head incredulously, his grin widening beside himself. “I know for a fact that you didn’t buy a cell phone, Mr. Wheeler. You stole it, didn’t you?”
Mike hums with a little shrug. “What can I say? It’s the 90’s, baby. A cell phone is something that no household should be without.”
Will rolls his eyes exagerratedly. “You are an idiot, Mike. And you’re a psycho. And I…” Will trails off and averts his gaze.
Mike’s brows draw together. “You what? Cmon, look at me, darling.”
There’s a pet name again. And that’s when Will decides he officially cannot take it anymore. He must still be on autopilot, because the way his hand slides into Mike’s dark locks, the way he practically yanks him down to capture the sweet swell of his lips, is completely uncalled for, though it’s something that he just can’t control or hold back from any longer.
Mike’s grip on Will’s waist immediately tightens, gloved fingers digging in possessively as his lips begin to slide against Will’s. He shows no sign of hesitation, there’s no indication of shock in his response. All there is, that Will can tell, is an undeniable eagerness. Like Mike has been wanting to do this forever.
It all comes so natural.
Will tugs and twists at the curls of Mike’s hair— that raven-black, silky soft hair that he adores so much— and he relishes in the groan that it elicits from the taller man.
Mike pants into Will’s mouth between deep kisses. “You didn’t answer my question.”
Will huffs, laying a series of soft pecks on Mike’s lips before finally whispering against the swollen skin. “I want you. That’s what I was gonna say. And I love you.”
Mike groans breathlessly in response, reaching down to lay the knife on the oak table. But Will stops him mid-movement, wrapping his hand around his wrist.
“No… keep the knife,” Will says softly, attempting to drag Mike’s gloved hand back toward his body.
He knows that Mike would never actually seriously hurt him with the weapon. But, there’s still a strange thrill that Will feels pulsing through his veins from the danger of being held at knifepoint. And having that realization is what makes him mentally note that after this entire ordeal is over, he should definitely get checked into a mental hospital, because that is not normal.
Then again, none of this is normal.
Mike blinks in surprise for a moment, but he obliges, keeping the knife clasped in his hand. “Oh.. Will, you’re perfect for me. I knew you were a little bit sick in the head too, when I read your journal..”
Will lets a small moan spill from his lips, tilting his head back in pleasure when Mike begins to trail open-mouthed kisses over his jaw and neck. Kisses that are hot and wet, brushes of lips that sends white-hot fire licking down his spine. “Mhm.. I can be anything for you, Mike.”
Is that really so crazy to say? Is it truly a far-fetched concept, That Will is so willing to surrender every square inch of his body, to give up the entirety of his soul, to give over the depths and secrets of his heart to the one who loves him so much that he shed blood for him?
“Oh, angel,” Mike murmurs, sharp tip of the knife sliding deliberately up Will’s denim-clad thigh. “I love to hear that. And I love you too.”
Will whimpers when the knife drags past the waistband of his jeans. It’s dangerous and he knows it. One wrong move, and he could end up like Carlton. Guts spilled, life force stabbed out of him in a few seconds time. But he can’t find it in himself to feel anything other than twisted excitement. It curls hotly in his stomach, and the longer this goes on, he feels it spreading to the lower parts of him.
Will’s whiny sound trails off into a gasp of Mike’s name when the knife slices through his thoughts, slipping under his sweater and cutting a thin line into his navel. It stings, and he can feel the blood beading to the surface, but it isn’t unpleasant or unwelcome. It’s a rewarding kind of pain that he finds himself craving more of, for better or for worse.
“I knew I had a thing for seeing blood the first time you used your powers, Will,” Mike murmurs, sultry and deliberate next to Will’s ear. “You’re so beautiful when you bleed for me.”
With that, Mike is leaving one last open-mouthed, messy kiss on Will’s lips— then he does something Will wasn’t expecting. He dips down, wet tongue licking a hot stripe up the length of the thin cut on Will’s stomach, collecting the deep red liquid on the tip of it. Then he plants a wet kiss there, then another, smearing the remaining blood on the flesh of his lips like he’s starving for every last drop of Will’s life force.
Will’s pale stomach heaves against Mike’s tongue, against the slow work of his hot mouth. Oddly, it feels like the most erotic thing he’s ever experienced. The way his lips slide with careful precision. The dark, almost maniacal obsession glinting in his eyes when he peers up from his spot at Will’s feet. The way Mike leans into the affectionate tugs at his curls.
Carlton never made him feel like this. He never could. No one ever could, except Mike.
“You’re so sweet,” Mike whispers, and the words are so heavy with reverence they sound damn near worshipful. And then Mike is straightening up, lips finding Will’s again in a passionate slide of mouths, a messy tangle of tongues. Will moans, returning the kiss with equal, if not more eagerness. His hands slide into Mike’s hair again as he relishes in the sweetness of his mouth, the metallic taste of his own blood on his lips.
Will finds himself quickly spiraling into addiction. Addiction to Mike’s touch, his words, the sweet danger of giving himself completely over to the man he loves. It’s like Mike is a drug that he can’t get enough of— even now, the two of them flush together, Mike’s hands sliding over Will’s body like he owns it, kissing like their life depends on it— it isn’t enough. He wants Mike to devour him whole.
And in Will’s eyes, Mike does own his body. He wants to tell him that. He wants to let the words racing through his mind to spill out of his mouth. The mantra of “I’m yours” that is looping behind his eyelids on repeat with no clear end in sight.
But all he can do is moan and pant hotly into Mike’s mouth, and hope he understands.
He can feel the way Mike swallows every one of those desperate moans, the way he is beginning to let out breathless sounds of his own into Will’s eager mouth. The way his hips start grinding pointedly into Will’s.
Only when both of them feel like they’re going to black out from lack of oxygen does Will pull away. His glossed over and dilated eyes fix on a strand of saliva that stretches between their lips, mesmerized. It snaps after a couple of seconds, and Will almost mourns the loss of connection between them.
Will has no time to even think, or to get air into his burning lungs before Mike is barking an order at him.
“On your knees. Now.” Mike gestures to the floor with his knife, his tone suddenly taking on something more domineering, his eyes blown out with what can only be arousal.
Disobeying isn’t even in the ball park of what crosses through Will’s mind at that moment. He doesn’t hesitate to fall to his knees, peering up at Mike like he hung the moon and stars in the sky.
Mike lets out a hum that almost sounds amused. “Look at you,” he mutters lowly, tip of the knife resting just under Will’s chin. “Obeying so quickly, like a good boy should.”
Will could actually start purring like a damn cat at the praise, but that would be a little bit embarassing. But his breath does catch in his throat, lashes fluttering up at Mike in a way he knows probably drives him nuts.
Mike suddenly uses the knife to tilt Will’s chin up. “Eyes on me, love. Wanna know a secret? Hm?”
Will nods, slowly but with clear interest, wide doe-eyes locked on Mike just as he was told.
“That sass of yours has always made my dick so hard,” he mutters crudely. “Everything about you. Those pretty eyes. Your soft lips…” Mike trails off, and Will can hear the man looming over him taking a shuddering breath, can see the way his pupils dilate with lust. Almost like he’s holding himself back. And god— yeah, Will’s the one who’s being drove nuts right now.
Mike’s knife drags up to trace over the line of Will’s pink, swollen mouth. “Mm… but I think I like you better like this. On your knees for me, where you belong. What do you think, darling?” It’s clear Mike wants an answer, because he taps the flat of his knife on Will’s lower lip when he takes too long to reply. “Use your words.”
“Yeah…” Will forces out, the word more like a breathy whimper.
“Yeah what?” Mike raises a brow.
“Yeah.. I belong here. On my knees for you,” Will continues in a small and submissive voice.
“See? It’s not so hard to use your words,” Mike coos out, withdrawing the knife from his lips. Will resists the urge to chase it, to follow after the danger, the thrill of being at Mike’s mercy. “I wanna see that pretty mouth sucking on my cock. So bad, angel. I dream about it.”
Will could almost blush harder at the crude words, if he wasn’t already so red that he rivals a tomato. Mike could say or do anything and Will would become a puddle of mush on the floor. (Evidently, anything does mean anything, even murder.)
“Oh, you like that? Huh? You like knowing you make me so crazy that I can’t stop thinking about you? All day, every day of my life, you fucking haunt me Will.” Will whimpers when Mike’s hand encircles his throat, and he can feel his pulse fluttering excitedly under his fingers. “You enjoy knowing that you drive me up the wall so much that I kill for you? Answer. Me.”
Will nods eagerly, eyes shining. It’s official, he has completely sunk into that submissive headspace that Mike has always managed to put him in. That desire to sit back and let Mike take the lead, to let him do all the work. That’s really how their dynamic has always been, but Will is seeing it in an entire new light now.
“Mmhm,” Will moans out when his answer results in getting his throat squeezed tighter. God, he loves it. He loves Mike, he loves being under his control, he loves having his stinging mark carved into his skin.
“Of course you do, you little whore. I know you like the back of my hand.” Mike clicks his tongue. “I should punish you for what you do to me. I should fuck you until you understand just how insane you make me.”
Will can feel his pulse jump at the humiliation. He keeps finding out new things about himself with every second that passes tonight.
“Please.. give me what I deserve, Mike. I’m yours. My body belongs to you. Take what you want from me. What you need, take it all, please..” Will lets the pleading spill out in an unstoppable word-vomit. He did it, he finally was able to gush everything he feels for Mike.
Will can see the change in Mike’s demeanor, the way he snaps immediately.
“Fuck..” Mike makes quick work of pulling the black cloak up and over his body like it offended him.
Will hungrily eyes the way Mike’s black hoodie lifts in the movement, revealing a strip of dark hair that disappears beneath the waistband of his jeans. He can feel his cock throb in his pants at the sight, and at the image it produces in his brain. The lewd image of his tongue tracing over the coarse hair, his lips trailing over it, fingers tugging open that sinful studded belt that Mike is currently wearing. The thought turns Will on so much that he has to rub his thighs together. He attempts to keep the motion subtle so he doesn’t appear as a needy bitch in heat.
Will only lifts his eyes when Mike begins opening his own belt with a clink. He studies the way Mike’s freckled, typically pale-as-the-moon face is flushed with desire, the half-lidded gaze of those dark irises, the way his hair is tousled. He notes that— along with the fact that Mike is beautiful— his hair has grown to his shoulders. He decides right away that this is the best he’s ever seen Mike look. He resembles a Greek God, with that amount of beauty and elegance. He would only look more gorgeous with his face twisted in pleasure, and Will feels that hot coil of arousal low in his gut when his brain unhelpfully supplies him with an image of Mike’s facial expression when he cums. (God, that’s such a hot thing to imagine.)
Mike’s shaky hands shove his jeans down, and Will has to physically stop himself from drooling like a dog when presented with a treat. He catches sight of Mike’s hard cock, the fabric of his boxers pulled taut over the heavy tent of it. Will wants a taste so badly that he’s practically aching with it, and he finds himself subconsciously scooting closer on his knees.
“Look at you, so eager.” Mike says absentmindedly as he works to pull his boxers down. Will is hung on every movement, his hands instinctively going up to hold onto Mike’s hips.
Will could cry in relief when Mike gets his boxers down enough to free himself. His thick cock springs free, flushed and throbbing, standing at attention against his stomach. And it isn’t small, not by a long shot. It’s even bigger than Will imagined, so much so that he would almost be intimidated if he wasn’t so fucking horny.
Before Will can reach out and stroke and taste like he craves to, Mike takes hold of himself, tapping at Will’s cheek, lewdly smearing glistening precum across the rosy skin. “Open your mouth,” he commands.
Will obliges, parting his mouth without question, tilting his head a bit to try to catch the head of Mike’s cock on his lips like a starving man chasing after his last meal. He darts his pink tongue out, lapping up a leaking bead of precum and moaning at the faint hint of salt and musk in the taste.
“Such a pretty tongue..” Mike groans, rubbing the head of his cock over the line of Will’s mouth, much in the same way he did with his knife earlier. Will’s not sure which he prefers. “Such a pretty face, angel. It would look so much prettier with my cum all over it.”
Mike’s cockhead pushes between his lips, and god.. yeah, Will prefers this. His eyes flutter in pleasure as he closes his precum-slicked lips around the head, sucking at it in slow, firm pulls that have Mike groaning right away.
”Fuck, sweetheart, just like that.” Mike grunts out. The sound is so sexy to Will that he can’t help but moan against Mike’s cock, the vibrations only serving to punch another low sound of pleasure from his lungs.
Once he figures out that Mike likes that, Will continues to do so— letting out soft, content moans as he bobs his head, his hand wrapping around the throbbing length and jerking off what he can’t take, twisting expertly on every upstroke. The sound of his moans mix with the unmistakable slurping sounds of sucking dick, the low sounds of Mike’s groans— and it’s absolutely obscene, filthy even.
Will has never, ever been more turned on in his entire life. And it’s all just from having his mouth full of cock.
Will pulls back, panting for air, a strand of drool snapping back to dribble down his chin. He leans over, spitting heavily over Mike’s cock and lustfully taking in the way it causes it to jump in his hand.
“You’re so filthy,” Mike says, his voice barely more than a derogatory rasp. His hand slides to the back of Will’s skull, yanking on his brunette locks. “Used to having your mouth full? Hm? I bet you are.”
“Oh, god, yes Mike… I want you to fuck my mouth. Please, I need you to use me. I just wanna make you feel good.. Mhh, please, daddy.” On any other day, Will would blush at the mere thought of saying such filth, but right now he’s just so desperate for Mike. He’s still in that headspace, that needy one where nothing matters but the taller man’s pleasure. It must be clear in his eyes— in fact, he hopes it is— the pleading glimmer in them, the way his voice is nearly a sob, the way his hand hasn’t stopped its ministrations over Mike’s now spit-slathered cock.
Mike’s last thread of restraint snaps, and Will is nearly alarmed by how quick his cock is shoved back between his swollen lips.
“You know I can’t fucking resist you, don’t you? Huh? And you take it to your advantage,” Mike says with a deep thrust that Will feels in the back of his throat. He can’t help but gag, his hazel eyes glossing over with fresh tears. But he wants to be good. This is what he asked for, this is what he craves. So he relaxes his throat and keeps his eyes on Mike as best as he can with tears clouding his vision.
“You act all innocent, but you know damn well what you do to me…” Mike hisses, and it sends a full-body shiver wracking through Will.
Everything is too much. It’s just too overwhelming for Will. Mike has broken out into a steady pace, fucking Will’s face with brutal snaps of his hips that hit the back of his throat and make it difficult to think. Will is gagging and choking, tears finally spilling over his waterline as he takes it and loves it. Every bit of it. He’s so close to blacking out that he doesn’t realize the way he’s began grinding onto the leather of Mike’s combat boot, or the way he’s whining, or the way the cool flat of the familiar blade is resting on his collar.
“God, gorgeous when you cry.. Look at you, grinding on my boot like a pathetic little bitch,” Mike groans out, swiping a stray tear away from Will’s cheek roughly.
Will’s sounds only get louder and more whiny, tears flowing freely now, like a waterfall of desperation that just won’t stop— no matter how much Mike wipes them away. The grinding doesn’t stop either, his hips rolling in circles that are progressively getting tighter and messier. At some point the knot in his stomach uncoils rapidly, and he feels wetness pool between his thighs, pleasure crashing over him in dizzying waves.
After giving Will a little smack on his wet cheek, Mike finally relents, pulling out and leaving the brunette a teary, shaking mess, drool and precum smeared all over his flushed face.
”Open,” Mike commands again, and Will obliges, pink tongue poking out. Mike leans down and spits a pool of saliva, hot and heavy, directly onto Will’s waiting tongue. “Swallow. Did you really cum just from me fucking your throat? You love my cock that much?”
Blood is finally flowing back to Will’s brain for once during this entire ordeal, and his face immediately turns a million shades redder as he realizes that— yeah, he made a mess in his pants. It’s undeniable, he can feel the stickiness clinging to him in his boxers.
Will swallows down Mike’s saliva with an eager gulp. “M..mhm,” he hums, throat hoarse.
“That’s so fucking pathetic,” Mike replies simply, grabbing at Will’s arms and pulling him up so they’re face-to-face once again. He guides Will’s face to his own, lips meeting his messily, tongues tangling together.
Will gives in, melting into his touch as he makes Mike taste himself on his tongue. His body is still oversensitive and trembling from his orgasm, every nerve alight with aftershocks of pleasure, and Mike’s touch, his kiss is even more addicting than usual.
“I really wanna fuck you,” Mike rasps into his mouth. “I wanna be inside the ass I’ve been obsessed with for years. Can I?”
Will nods right away, not even hesitating. Suddenly he’s mentally taken back to all those late, lonely nights. Back in college, when he would be lying in his bed all alone at night, one hand over his mouth to muffle his whimpers, the fingers of the other deep inside himself as he imagined it was Mike instead. His fingers, his cock stretching him open.
Dreams can come true after all, he guesses.
“I’m gonna need a verbal answer, baby,” Mike grins lazily after leaving one last, firm kiss on his lips.
Will flushes deeper. “Yes.. please,” he breathes out.
Before Will can blink, hes flipped around, chest pressed to the cool plaster of the wall, the hard length of Mike’s body flush against his back. He can’t help but let out a little yelp at the suddenness of the motion.
Mike reaches around Will, armed hand possessively splayed under his sweater, directly over the dried cut he had carved into his stomach just earlier. The other makes quick work of unbuttoning and unzipping Will’s sinfully tight jeans, letting them fall and pool at his ankles.
Will moans, arching his back like a cat, the action only serving for his ass to protude further. He knows he must be driving Mike mad; his boxers are just as tight as his jeans were, stretched tight over his ass, riding up it the further he bends at the waist. It really doesn’t leave much to the imagination.
Mike cant help but give the thick swell of flesh a good slap, groaning at the little whine it elicits from Will.
“Fucking love your ass so much.. wanna see it stretched around my cock.” Mike mutters absentmindedly. “Do you have lube, baby?”
Will nods, gesturing vaguely to a drawer across the room. “Over there.”
Mike makes it over to said drawer in record time, just a couple of long strides. He stops to see that it’s already open and has been rummaged through.
“Oh, silly me. I looked right over this.” Mike chuckles softly, returning with the small bottle in hand. He briefly puts the knife in the pocket of his hoodie so he can focus on uncapping the lube bottle, sliding the gloves off of his hands, and then finally slicking up his slender ring and index fingers. He sets the lube and gloves on the coffee table, before redirecting his attention to Will, dry hand tugging at the waistband of his boxers.
Will whimpers, rocking back into the touch. “Please.. need you to stretch me out,” he pleads, ass wiggling around like he needs something to fill him up. Because really, he does. He’s hollowed out, aching to be filled with something. Filled with Mike.
Mike practically yanks Will’s boxers down, clearly tired of waiting. And honestly, Will doesn’t mind because he’s been sick of waiting for a long time now.
“Oh, I will, princess. Don’t you worry your pretty head about that,” Mike promises, sliding a hand between Will’s ass cheeks, but not before giving one of them a deliberate grope like he can’t help himself.
Will jumps at the sensation of Mike’s wet fingers circling his entrance in a teasing manner. He could cry, he could break out into sobs at how needy he feels. But all he can get out is a choked whimper.
His tingling lips part in a gasp, half-relief and half-shock when a finger sinks into his heat, all the way to the knuckle. Mike’s finger is so long, so slender. He swears he can feel it in his stomach, or maybe that’s just that knot of arousal forming there again.
“Oh.. Mike,” he breathes out, arching into his finger. “More, please. It isn’t enough.”
“You’re a little brat. Just never satisfied.” Nevertheless, Mike obliges, burying another finger into him. He curls them both, brushing them over Will’s prostate over and over, scissoring his ass open with expert precision until the smaller brunette is a whimpering, trembling mess of a man, fucking himself back on the long fingers like there’s no tomorrow, and it produces wet, lewd sounds of squelching.
“Mike, oh god-! Mnhh! You’re gonna make me cum again.. Please don’t.. oh god-“
Will trails off, because he simply has lost the ability to string together a cohesive sentence, and that’s when he knows it’s all over. He squeezes his eyes shut, starbursts appearing behind his eyelids as his second orgasm rips through him, much more intense than the first.
Mike continues to pump his fingers, wringing Will of every last drop of pleasure until he’s panting, shakes wracking through his spent body.
“Look at you, cumming all over yourself like the little slut you are,” Mike mutters, withdrawing his fingers with a wet noise. “Didn’t even have to touch you.” He reaches around to Will’s front to swipe the sticky release from his stomach, then he moves to slick his own length up with Will’s cum. Will can see him doing this from his peripheral vision, his hazy eyes peering back at Mike over his shoulder. It’s messy, its dirty. Everything about tonight has been filthy, Will’s wildest fantasies coming to life, and he loves it. “Ready for me? Hm?”
Will nods. He feels boneless and wrung-dry, but he can always take more for Mike. Always. “Yeah… fuck me, daddy,” he pants out, pushing his hips back temptingly.
Mike moans, low and desperate as he guides himself to Will’s hole, hands on his hips in an attempt to ground both of them. He lets his cock sink in, inch by agonizing inch until he’s buried to the hilt, hips flush with Will’s ass. He grunts, blunt nails digging into the plush skin of Will’s hips, chest heaving like he’s warring with himself.
It drives Will mad. The rise and fall of Mike’s chest against his back, the feeling of his cock stretching him out so deliciously. The knowledge that he’s desired by Mike in such an intimate way. He can tell Mike is holding back, but he doesn’t want him to. He wants Mike to take from him until he has nothing more to give. He wants to be fucked hard.
“Holy shit. Fuck. You’re so fucking tight, Will,” Mike groans out, shifting inside Will so he’s sheathed as deep as possible. It punches a breathy moan from Will’s lips as he wiggles his hips around in a subtle attempt to get more. He’s so greedy and he knows it. The stretch burns, he’s filled to the brim and he couldn’t possibly get any fuller, but it hurts so good. He wants more.
“Please, pleaseee move, Mike,” Will begs, his voice choked and desperate.
“Yeah? You want it?” He asks with a pointed deep thrust of his hips that drags against Will’s spot deliciously, earning a gasp from him. “Then don’t complain when I give it to you.”
Will is abruptly shoved forward, cheek pressed against the cold wall as he’s drilled into it. Mike is relentless, the pornographic sounds of skin slapping against skin beginning to fill the living room as he works up to a steady pace. “Take it,” he rasps, fishing the knife out of his hoodie pocket, grasping the hilt of it with a tight fist. He reaches up, choking Will with the handle of the knife, pressing it against his delicate throat until it’s nearly enough to cut off his air supply, but not quite.
Will tries to get a mewl out, but it quickly is choked off by the sensation of the blunt hilt of the knife practically putting a dent in his throat. His hand shoots up to encircle Mike’s wrist— not to pull him off, but to keep him there— choking him like he deserves.
“Oh god, Mike, that feels so good.. so deep inside me.. oh fuck, I can feel you throbbing,” Will has to strain to get it out, so he can only hope it’s cohesive enough for Mike to understand. And judging by Mike’s strangled sound of pleasure, the way his hips jerk like they can’t help it, he must have.
Mike’s other hand sprawls out over Will’s lower abdomen once again as he fucks into him, feeling the way the hard outline of his cock bulges in his stomach over and over again, with every deep thrust. Will’s hand also meets Mike’s over his own stomach, and Mike grabs onto it with a possessive hold, lacing their sweaty fingers together like he’d die if they ever have to part again.
”Yeah, baby, you feel that? Feel how deep I am?” Mike pants out. And Will can tell he’s getting close, because he can feel the way he’s twitching inside him, the quick succession of his progessively more ragged breaths, the erratic jerking of his hips. “You’re mine. I can’t stand the sight of you with anyone else. I can’t… fuck,” he takes a moment to suck in a harsh breath, hand sliding around to grab possessively at Will’s ass again, so tight that there will definitely be bruises tomorrow, “I can’t fucking take the thought of anyone else taking you like this. It drives me insane.”
Mike slaps at Will’s ass, leaving a red handprint and causing the brunette to yelp. “Tell me you’re mine. Tell me right now,” he hisses.
Will is crying again, fat tears rolling down his face and pooling under his chin. He feels so broken, so fucking overstimulated in the best way possible, and it won’t be long until he completely shatters for the third time. He doesn’t know if he can speak. The pounding of Mike inside him, the familiar weight against his back, the merciless assault on his insides is the only thing Will can think about and he feels drunk with it. He couldn’t get out words if he wanted to, and he feels like if he tried it would come out babbled and ridiculous. But he wants to be a good boy, so he tries as best as he can.
“I’m yours, Mike, y..you know I am, you know I always have been. I belong to you,” he sobs out between sniffles, mouth hanging open and a string of drool escaping the corner of it. He’s completely mindless with pleasure, but somewhere amongst it all, he’s proud of himself for even getting a sentence out in the first place.
“Oh fuck, you’re gonna make me cum, Will,” Mike groans, hand adjusting its grip so it’s on Will’s hip instead, and he begins pulling Will’s smaller frame back to meet his thrusts. He looks down, chest heaving as he takes in the way their bodies are joining in quick succession.
“Oh—!” Will cries out, hips stuttering wildly in an attempt to take Mike as deep as possible. He can feel something huge spiraling toward him as well, and he already feels dizzy with it, even though it hasn’t hit him yet. “Oh god, Mike. Fill me up, please, I’ll take it all like a good boy. Please just make me all yours, cum inside me…Yess, mmnh-!”
Mike’s response to Will’s babbling is to finally release the pressure on his throat, giving Will a chance to take in a big gulp of air. It doesn’t last long though, because his hand is over his mouth instead within seconds, muffling his loud whines. “Wanna be bred, like the good boy you are?”
Will nods eagerly against Mike’s hand, letting out a muffled sound of agreement.
“Oh god, I can’t… so good, Will..” Mike says shakily. His dominance is finally faltering, giving way to the unbridled, primal desire for release.
Will is sobbing freely, panting and whimpering against Mike’s armed hand as he begins to squirm, back arching and thighs shaking with his impending orgasm.
“Let go for me, angel,” Mike leans over and whispers the words into Will’s ear, hot and sultry, and that’s all it takes for him to completely shatter into a million pieces— and with the intensity of the release that crashes over him, Will’s not even sure that it’s a figure of speech. He feels absolutely shattered, in every sense of the word. Like a fragile glass that just couldn’t take it anymore.
Will only stops spurting all over his stomach when he’s nearly about to faint from overstimulation. He can’t take anymore, he knows it. He swears he’s beginning to literally see things that aren’t even there, his eyes are hazy, his brain is completely muddled and good for nothing, and his body is positively fucked out.
And that’s when he feels a hand fly to his waist, fingers digging in, in much the way someone would grasp something when in pain— and then, he’s being filled. Thick, claiming pulses that flood his insides with heat. He can also register a low and drawn-out groan, a head with a mop of sweaty curls lolling to rest on his shoulder blade. The feeling of ownership he suddenly gets drains the last drops of pleasure from him, and he feels something wrack through his rattled body, something that’s very similar to an orgasm, but nothing actually comes out of him.
Will clenches around Mike’s cock, milking the last of his release. And then he’s done. Both of them, really. Will is slumped on the wall, Mike on Will’s back, and the hand that was covering Will’s mouth has fallen limp on the side.
It was undeniably the best sex Will has ever had in all the days of his life, but of course most of that had to do with the fact it was Mike Wheeler he was having sex with.
“You’re all mine now,” Mike mutters, voice hoarse from overuse. He lays a gentle but claiming kiss to a mole on Will’s shoulder. It’s not much more than an affectionate brush of lips. His hand is rubbing idly over Will’s slim waist, like he’s trying to apologize for grabbing so roughly before.
Will can’t help but smile, dopey and lazy. And for a few blissed out seconds, it’s just he and Mike. Him, belonging to Mike— Mike belonging to him. Just the way it should be.
But then, reality crashes over Will, bringing everything to a screeching halt. His wet, bloodshot eyes fly open, and he looks over his shoulder.
“Mike.. Uhm… Carlton. We should like… get him. Before someone sees, or we are both so going to jail.”
Mike’s brows draw together, and he lifts up from his very comfortable headrest on Will’s shoulder, just enough to meet pretty hazel eyes. “What?”
Will pulls an incredulous face. “You killed a man! We have to get rid of him. Earth to Mike! Are you not listening to me?!”
Mike’s lazy ministrations over Will’s skin cease, and he just looks at Will like he just told him the sky is green. His face is doing that infuriatingly cute, confused puppy-dog thing and Will gets irritated for a split-second. Because leave it to Mike fucking Wheeler, to kill a man, make Will cum three times, and then look as innocent as this. Only he could achieve something like that.
”I’m listening,” Mike says with a slow blink. “I just uh.. didn’t know you were like, in on helping me or anything.”
Will groans, agitated as he scrubs a hand over his face. “Of course I’m gonna help, what the hell? This is a ‘both of us’ problem now. As in if the police find us, we are both going to prison!! So, we need to get rid of the body. We gotta like.. bury it or throw it in the lake or something.”
Mike’s eyebrows shoot up nearly to his hairline. “Wow, okay-! Uhm, do you by chance have a… shovel?” he asks, fingers drumming playfully over the skin of Will’s waist.
“I do have a shovel,” Will replies, his tone matching Mike’s playful one. “But sadly, you are going to have to dig it out of the shed for me. I can’t feel my legs right now.”
Mike nods curtly, becoming a man on a mission when assigned with that task. He carefully slides out of Will, and Will would whine at the loss, but he doesn’t because they have more pressing matters at hand in the moment.
“Alright, well.. you just go sit down and look pretty, and I’ll find the shovel, darling.”
Will manages to redress himself, wincing as he takes a seat on the couch. He raises a brow as he eyes Mike fumbling to even get his pants back on. God, he’s such a dork. A dork with… multiple personalities, apparently. Will has no idea why he loves him so much.
No.. that’s a lie. Will does know. He loves him because he’s his soulmate, his other half. He completes him. They complete each other. Without one another, they’d be able to live, sure, but they would never be able to reach their full potential when apart.
Mike is Will’s protector, shining like a beacon of light in the darkness. He’s so fierce in his devotion that he would evidently die for him and kill for him. Mike is the calm in the storm, but at the same time he is the storm. It’s a heady mixture that leaves Will on his toes, but always craving more.
Will is broken out of his dazed thoughts by the sound of a finally fully-dressed Mike’s words.
“I should get Lonnie next,” Mike says, almost like an afterthought. He flashes a bright grin at Will before heading for the back door. “I’ll be back, love.”
Will just blinks, staring at the space Mike was just standing before letting out a long, deep sigh. It’s gonna be a long night.
Yeah, might Will add that Mike is also really… really fucking crazy.
But maybe that’s okay, because Will is clearly crazy too. He’s the one who’s still here, after all.