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Both Will and Mike knew that neither of them were normal children. They had always been aware of that. Normal 12 year old boys did not act the way they did. Normal boys wouldn't kiss each other. Normal boys certainly didn't need each other the way they did. And normal boys didn't grow to depend on each other due to the horrors in their past.
Both Will and Mike felt more aware than other children. They knew about things they shouldn't at their age. They learned it young, far too young, through forced lessons. They carried the weight of those lessons in the hollows of their throats and the tension in their shoulders, a silent understanding passing between them that no one else could fathom.
Normal boys wouldn't have the kind of relationship they did. It wasn't just about kisses. It was about a desperate sort of hunger, a need to reclaim what had been stolen from them. They tried to make it theirs again, but it always felt like someone else was in the room with them, lingering in the corners like a ghost. Normal boys wouldn't beg for it, wouldn't need it like air, wouldn't feel that sickening twist of shame and pleasure all twisted up together.
They clung to each other not out of simple affection, but out of a desperate, primal need. To be apart was to be vulnerable. They were both still stuck in those terrible situations that had traumatized them so deeply, to an extent. Will still lived in that same house that his father used to come into his room some nights. Brief visits just to take what he wanted, to ravage and destroy his own son. Will's mother never knew. She still doesn't. Lonnie was no longer an active presence in his life, he was gone, but the house itself was a tomb of memories. Mike still lived in the same house with his father, where his father would force him to watch things he shouldn't have for hours at a time until his mother found out made him stop merely with a slap on the wrist. He didn't do it anymore, but Mike still felt the effects of it. He was deeply afraid of his father, even though he was sure he wouldn't do it again. Something in Mike knew deep down that his father doing that to him was an attempt to force his son to become 'normal,' but its effect on him caused him to become completely the contrary. But they had each other to keep each other from immediately falling apart, even if they knew they were still acting as each others' undoing. But to be apart was to be vulnerable. And vulnerability was anathema.
Their love was both a shield and a cage. The threats for both of them weren't truly gone. They were just dormant, sleeping. And in the quiet moments, they could almost hear them breathing.
Mike's basement was always their safe place. It was almost completely untainted by any trauma, except for of course, the sinful things they would do to each other. Everything belonged to them here. It was the one place they could breathe.
Except for when they couldn't.
The problem was that Will needed it in a way that Mike sometimes couldn't stomach. The need would rise in Will like a fever, a desperate attempt to overwrite old hurts with new sensations, to replace pain with something, anything, that felt like control. Will would always practically beg, and it would always made Mike's stomach clench with a mix of pity, revulsion, and an extreme hunger of his own. Mike would look at Will's face, and feel himself breaking. He hated this. He hated how much he needed it too. He hated how Will's need would stir his own, how the guilt would overwhelm him even as he gave in, because giving in was the only way to make him feel less overwhelmed for a little while. To keep Will from falling apart, and himself along with him.
The afternoon light struggled through the basement's small, high windows, catching dust motes in its beams. Mike was sitting idly on his couch, idly fidgeting around with some random broken object he had found around the house. Will was with him, kneeling at a coffee table and drawing something. When they were hanging out, they didn't always have to talk. Their silence was comfortable. Usually. Mike zoned out a bit before suddenly, he felt the couch sink next to him, turning his head to see Will staring at him. "Mike?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Mike hummed in response, looking at him fully now. The way Will was looking at him made the back of his neck prickle. That look. He knew that look.
"Can we make out? Just kissing?" Will asked as he put his hand on Mike's shoulder. Mike knew that Will obviously didn't just want to kiss. Will had done this before, and had managed to seduce him through kisses before. He knew what it was going to evolve into.
"I-" Mike started, but the word caught in his throat. Will's other hand came up to rest on his cheek, thumb stroking the skin there. The touch was so gentle, but it held the weight of a thousand unspoken pleas.
"It doesn't have to be with tongue," Will whispered, leaning closer. "Just... your lips on mine. Please."
The please was the final crack in Mike's resolve. It always was. Because how could he deny Will anything when he asked like that? How could he deny him when he saw that same haunted look in his eyes that he felt in his own soul?
Mike didn't answer with words. He shifted his body around a bit to be tilted towards Will, pressing their lips together. It was meant to be a simple, chaste thing. Just lips, like Will had said. Will sighed against his mouth, a sound of such profound relief that it made Mike's chest ache. He was giving Will this. He was fixing him. Even if for a second.
Will's hands moved from Mike's cheek and shoulder to tangle in his hair, his grip tight. The chaste kiss deepened, Will's tongue tracing the seam of Mike's lips, asking for more. And Mike let him in. He let Will take what he needed. This was wrong, but it felt so desperately right in the moment.
The kiss became frantic, desperate. Will was climbing onto his lap now, straddling him, pressing himself flush against Mike's body. Mike's hands found Will's waist, holding on tight, feeling the frantic beat of Will's heart against his own chest. He was losing himself in it too, that familiar haze of shame and want.
Will pulled back just enough to speak, his lips swollen and red. "More," he breathed. "Mike, please, I need more." He whined before he buried his face into Mike's neck and groaned as he began licking and kissing along it. His hips rolled against Mike's, a deliberate, pleading motion.
And Mike broke. The pretense of 'just kissing' shattered. He hated himself for it. He hated that this was what Will needed. He hated that this was what he wanted, too. But he couldn't say no.
Will brought his head up and Mike surged forward, capturing Will's mouth again, one of his hands sliding under the hem of Will's shirt to press against the warm skin of his back. Will arched into the touch, a soft moan escaping his throat. The sound went straight to Mike's groin, a bolt of heat that made him dizzy.
Will started to grind against him in earnest now, no subtle rhythm to it, just a desperate, seeking friction. "Tell me," he gasped against Mike's lips, "tell me you want it too."
Mike's breath hitched. This was the other part of the ritual. The confession. He had to say it. To give Will the validation he craved, the proof that this wasn't just him, that Mike was just as broken, just as needy.
"I want it," Mike whispered into Will's ear. "God, Will, I want it so bad."
Will whimpered, a sound that was half pain, half triumph. He fumbled with the button of Mike's jeans, his fingers shaking with urgency. "Then take it," he begged. "Take it from me. Please, Mike."
Mike's own hands, shaking now, joined Will's at his jeans. The button popped free, the zipper's teeth rasping in the quiet basement air. It was a sound that always signaled the point of no return.
Mike's knuckles brushed against the hard line of Will's arousal through the denim. Will gasped, jerking his hips forward, chasing the contact. "Please," he whispered again, the word a raw, ragged thing. "Mike."
With a surge of something that was equal parts self-loathing and possessive hunger, Mike pushed Will back onto the couch, shifting over him. He was clumsy, their limbs tangling, elbows knocking. There was nothing graceful about it. It was frantic, needy, a scramble to feel something other than the cold dread that constantly nipped at their heels.
Mike's gaze was fixed on Will's face. His eyes were squeezed shut, but not in pain. His brow was furrowed in concentration, his lips parted as he panted for breath. He looked like he was praying. Or trying to exorcise a demon.
And maybe he was. Maybe they both were.
Mike leaned down, kissing Will's collarbone, feeling the frantic thrum of his pulse against his lips.
Mike shoved Will's shirt up, exposing the pale expanse of his stomach and chest. He saw the faint, silvery stretch marks on Will's hips, the slight concavity of his stomach. He saw the vulnerability laid bare, and it made him feel powerful and monstrous all at once. He leaned down and pressed a wet, open-mouthed kiss to Will's sternum, tasting sweat and the cheap soap from Will's shower that morning. Will's hands were in Mike's hair again, not gentle now, but gripping, pulling, holding him in place.
"Harder," Will demanded, his voice a choked gasp. "Make it hurt."
Mike froze, his lips hovering over Will's skin. The request landed like a punch. Make it hurt. He knew why Will wanted it. He understood the logic, as twisted as it was. Pain they could control. Pain that came from each other was better than the phantom pain of the past, better than the memory of being powerless.
"I can't," Mike whispered back, his own voice cracking. "Will, I can't."
But he knew he would. Because saying no was an illusion of control they couldn't afford. To deny Will this, to deny them this, would be to open the door to the real ghosts. He had to be the ghost Will chose.
He bit down, not gently, on the soft skin just above Will's nipple. Will cried out, a sharp, broken sound that was quickly swallowed by a moan. His back arched off the couch, pushing into the pain. It was working. He was erasing something. He was replacing it.
Mike moved lower, his hands working to tug Will's jeans and underwear down over his hips, just enough to expose Will. Then they were both half-undressed, exposed in the dim light. Mike stared at Will. At the flush on his cheeks, the desperate gleam in his eyes, the way his chest heaved with each ragged breath. He was beautiful and he was broken, and he was all Mike had. All Mike was.
Mike positioned himself between Will's legs, their bodies fitting together in a way that was terrifyingly familiar. Will's legs wrapped around Mike's waist, pulling him closer, an unspoken command. Mike could feel Will's arousal pressing against his own through the last remaining layers of fabric. The friction was maddening.
"Please, Mike," Will begged again, his hands scrabbling at Mike's back, trying to pull him closer, trying to fuse them together. "Now. Please, now."
Mike braced himself on his elbows, his forearms bracketing Will's head. He looked down into Will's eyes. He wanted to memorize this moment—the way the light caught in Will's hair, the constellation of freckles across his nose, the raw need swimming in his dark pupils. He wanted to burn it into his brain so he'd never forget who he was doing this for. Who he was doing this to.
With a final, shuddering breath, Mike gave in. He gave Will what he was asking for. The world narrowed to the space between their bodies, to the slick heat and the desperate sounds Will was making. It was fast and clumsy and raw, a frantic attempt to outrun their shared history.
"Lube," Will gasped out, the word a practical intrusion into the suffocating haze of their need. "In my bag. The green tube."
Mike had to force himself to move, to untangle their limbs. He practically fell off the couch, his body clumsy with adrenaline and shame. He found Will's bag by the foot of the stairs and rifled through it until his fingers closed around the cool plastic tube. This was planned. Will had come over today hoping for this. Needing this
His hands were shaking so badly he almost dropped it twice.
"Where on earth were you even able to get this?" Mike asked incredulously.
"My mom... it was in one of her drawers." Will said, not looking at Mike. "She probably bought it for a date, or something. But it doesn't matter."
When he turned back, Will had already ditched his jeans completely, lying bare on the couch. He was bare now, pale and trembling in the dusty light. Mike's stomach twisted. Will looked so young and vulnerable.
Mike knelt on the couch above Will, slicking his fingers. Will watched him, his breathing shallow, his eyes wide and fixed on Mike's face. He was searching for something there. Reassurance, maybe? Or a reflection of his own desperation?
As Mike's slick fingers pressed into him, Will flinched, a small, involuntary sound escaping his lips. Mike froze.
"Okay?" he asked, his voice rough.
Will nodded, swallowing hard. "Don't stop," he whispered. "Please, don't stop." His body gradually relaxed, yielding to the intrusion. Mike worked him open carefully, methodically, a counterpoint to the frantic energy that had gripped them moments before. This was a necessary pause, a brief reprieve of tenderness from pain.
Will started to move against Mike's fingers, small, impatient rolls of his hips. "Now," he demanded, his voice stronger now, edged with impatience. "Mike, I'm ready. Please."
Mike rubbed the remaining lube onto his cock before he positioned himself again, guiding himself to Will's entrance. He paused, looking down at him. "Will..."
And so he did.
Mike pushed inside, slowly at first, then with a single, deliberate thrust that buried himself to the hilt. Will cried out, a sound that was half pain, half profound relief. Mike felt the tight heat of him, the way Will's body clenched around him, and for a moment, all the noise in his head went silent. There was only this. This connection. This violation. This absolution.
He started to move, a steady, punishing rhythm that had Will writhing beneath him. Will's hands were everywhere, on Mike's back, in his hair, gripping his shoulders, his nails digging in hard enough to leave crescent-shaped marks. Will was all over him. He was all over Will. They were two pieces of a shattered mirror, reflecting each other's brokenness.
"Look at me," Will gasped out, his voice strained. "Mike, look at me."
Mike forced his eyes open, forcing himself to meet Will's gaze. He looked beautiful in that moment. And terrifying. His eyes were wild, his face flushed, his lips parted. He was lost. Lost in this feeling, lost in Mike. And Mike was right there with him.
"You feel so good," Will breathed, the words spilling out of him like a confession. "You make it go away."
Mike didn't answer. He just kept moving, driving into him, chasing that feeling, the fleeting sensation of being whole, of being in control.
He could feel the pressure building in his own groin, a familiar tightening that promised release. He wanted it. He needed it. He needed this to be over, and he needed it to last forever. He was drowning.
"Faster," Will begged, his legs tightening around Mike's waist, pulling him deeper. "Harder. Make me feel it."
Mike complied, his movements becoming erratic, desperate. He could feel Will's hand between them now, stroking himself in time with Mike's thrusts. The thought of Will feeling this, of him needing this, it was too much. It was everything.
And then Will was coming, his body arching off the couch, a ragged cry tearing from his throat. Mike felt him clench around him, and it sent him over the edge. He followed Will into oblivion, a wave of pleasure so intense it was almost painful, washing over him, leaving him spent and shaking.
He collapsed onto Will, his face buried in the other boy's neck, their bodies slick with sweat. He could hear Will's heartbeat, a frantic drum against his ear. He could feel Will's breath, warm and uneven against his skin. All he could feel was Will. It was so intoxicating.
For a few moments, they just lay there, a tangled heap of limbs and shame, the only sound their ragged breathing. The world came back into focus slowly. The dust motes in the light. The fact that Mike's parents were home. The uncomfortable stickiness between their legs.
Mike pulled out of Will, the sudden emptiness a cold shock. He stared at the wall, anything to not look at Will. He felt hollowed out. Emptied. The smell.
Will shifted beneath him, and Mike felt a surge of something cold and sharp. Panic. He had to move. He had to get out of here.
He pulled away and stood up, the loss of contact sudden and jarring. Standing up caused him to feel a wave of dizziness. He felt empty. Hollowed out. He fumbled with his own jeans, pulling them up, the zipper rough against his sensitive skin. He couldn't look at Will. He couldn't look at the couch. He couldn't look at anything.
"I have to...," he started, but the words wouldn't come out. He cleared his throat. "I have to take a shower."
He didn't wait for Will to answer. He just got up and ran up the stairs, leaving Will lying there, exposed and vulnerable. He felt awful for leaving Will there alone in that state. He should have stayed, he should have held him, but he couldn't. He just couldn't.
The upstairs bathroom felt like a different world. It was clean and bright. He turned on the shower, the sound of the water a roar in his ears. He stepped in, the hot water a punishing force against his skin. He scrubbed himself raw, trying to wash away the feeling of Will's hands on him, the memory of Will's body around him, the scent of their combined exertion. But he couldn't. It was seared into him.
He leaned his forehead against the cool tile, the water cascading down his back. He could still hear Will's desperate pleas, feel the traces of Will's touch. And the guilt. The guilt was a living thing, a beast that curled in his gut and gnawed at him from the inside out.
He had done it again. He had let Will down. He had let himself down. He had given in to the need, and now he had to live with the consequences. He had to live with the knowledge that he was just as broken as Will, that he needed this just as much.
He finally got out, wrapping a towel around his waist. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He looked pale. Haunted. His eyes were dark, shadowed. He didn't recognize the boy staring back at him.
He had to go back down. He had to face Will. He had to do something. He went into his room and pulled on a clean pair of boxers and a t-shirt. Then he took a deep breath and went back down the stairs.
The basement was quiet when he returned. The couch was empty. For a heart-stopping second, Mike thought Will had left. But then he saw him. Will was sitting on the floor, hugging his knees to his chest. He was fully dressed now, his clothes wrinkled. He looked small. So small and lost.
Mike's heart broke all over again. He walked over and sat down on the floor beside him, not touching him, just sitting there in the heavy silence. He could see the faint red marks on Will's neck, the hickeys he had left behind. Evidence.
"I'm sorry," Mike whispered, the words feeling useless and hollow.
Will slowly lifted his head, and shifted before closing his eyes and leaning towards Mike's face.
Mike tensed. Not again. He couldn't. But then he realized what Will was doing. He wasn't asking for more. He was seeking comfort. He was showing Mike love. Mike relaxed, just enough, and let Will kiss him. It was different from the desperate, hungry kisses from before. This one was soft, gentle, and chaste.
When Will pulled away, he rested his head on Mike's shoulder. Mike tentatively wrapped an arm around him, pulling him closer. He could feel the fine tremor running through Will's body.
"Are you okay?" Mike asked, his voice barely a whisper.
Will nodded against his shoulder. Will wanted to apologize so badly to Mike for doing this, being so needy, roping him into this. But the apology wouldn't come out. He couldn't bring himself to say he was sorry for needing him. It felt like a lie. He was sorry it hurt, sorry it made Mike feel sick. But he wasn't sorry for needing him. He wasn't sorry for the way Mike held him now. He wasn't sorry for this.
"I just... I needed it," Will finally managed to say, the words muffled by Mike's shirt. "I needed you."
"I know," Mike said, his throat tight. "I know."
It was the truth. He did know. He knew it because he felt it too. That same desperate, gnawing need. That same emptiness that only Will could fill, even if it was just for a little while. That's what made it so messed up. They were using each other. They knew it. But they were also saving each other, in their own twisted, destructive way. But also destroying each other. They were everything.
Mike tightened his arm around Will, pulling him impossibly closer. He could feel Will's heartbeat, a steady, reassuring rhythm against his side. He closed his eyes, letting the feeling of Will's body against his ground him. It was so incredibly comforting, yet it felt faintly shameful and wrong. This was what they always did. A frenzied, desperate scramble for something they couldn't name, followed by a quiet, fragile closeness. It was a hopeless cycle, and they were trapped in it. They both had no idea how to get out. They weren't even sure they wanted to.
They sat there in silence for a long time, just holding each other. The basement was quiet, the only sound the faint hum of the furnace. The afternoon light had faded, casting the room in a soft, dusky glow. It felt like they were the only two people in the world. In some ways, they were. No one else could ever understand. No one else could ever know.
Will shifted, lifting his head to look at Mike. His eyes were wide and dark in the dim light. "Don't leave me," he whispered, the words a raw, desperate plea.
Mike's heart clenched. "Never," he promised, the word a sacred vow. He knew it was a lie, of course. They would have to leave this basement eventually. They would have to go back to their lives, to their families, to the world that didn't understand. But in this moment, here, it was the truth. He would never leave him. He couldn't.
Will seemed to accept it. He settled back against Mike's shoulder, a soft sigh escaping his lips. Mike started to gently stroke Will's hair, his fingers tangling in the soft strands. He could feel the tension slowly draining out of Will's body, replaced by a boneless sort of weariness.
Suddenly, a voice rang out from upstairs. "Mike, tell your friend to go home!" It was Karen. "Dinner's almost ready!"
Will flinched, pulling away from Mike as if he'd been burned. The intimacy of the moment shattered, replaced by a sudden, jarring reality.
Mike stood up, holding out a hand to help Will to his feet. Will took it, his fingers cold and clammy.
"You should probably... uh... get your stuff," Mike said, his voice awkward and stiff.
Will nodded. He walked over to where he'd dropped his bag.
"Come over tomorrow, please?" Will asked, turning back to Mike. "To my house."
Mike's stomach twisted at the thought of going to Will's house. The house where Lonnie used to... he pushed the thought away. He couldn't think about that. He had to think about Will. Will needed him.
"Yeah," he said, forcing a smile. "Of course. I'll come over."
Will's face softened with relief. "Okay," he said. "Okay, good."
Will slung his bag over his shoulder and headed for the stairs. He paused at the bottom, looking back at Mike. "Bye, Mike," he said, his voice soft.
"Bye, Will," Mike replied.
Will turned and disappeared up the stairs. A moment later, Mike heard the back door open and then close, leaving him alone in the basement.
He stood there for a long time, just staring at the empty stairs. The silence was deafening. He felt the emptiness creep back in, a cold, hollow space where Will's presence had been. He felt the shame, the guilt, the self-loathing. He felt all of it, crashing down on him like a wave.
He looked over at the couch. It was a mess. The cushions were askew, the blanket they'd been using was crumpled on the floor. Not to mention a certain bodily fluid on the blanket. He had to clean up and get rid of the evidence. He couldn't risk his parents finding it. He couldn't risk them asking questions.
He walked over to the couch and started to straighten up. He fixed the cushions, trying to make it look like nothing had happened. He picked up the blanket and folded it, wincing at the damp patch in the center. He'd have to sneak it into the laundry hamper upstairs and hope his mom wouldn't notice.
He finally finished, stepping back to survey his work. The basement looked almost normal. Almost.
He heard footsteps on the stairs. It was his mom.
"Mike, dinner!" she called out.
"Coming!" he shouted back.
He took one last look around the basement before heading up the stairs. He had to face them. He had to pretend to be a normal son. He had to pretend to be a normal boy. He had to pretend. He had to force him to face them again, just like after every time he would do something of this nature with Will.
***
It was a new day. The morning sun shone through the window, casting a warm glow on the kitchen table. Mike was sitting there, pushing a soggy piece of cereal around in his bowl with his spoon. He hadn't slept well, as usual.
He was planning to go straight to Will's house after school. He felt oddly excited, yet he felt a sense of dread. He needed to see Will. He needed to feel that connection again. He knew deep down Will would make sexual advances on him again, and that almost made him feel enthusiastic and excited to see him. But he also dreaded it. He dreaded the cycle repeating itself.
As soon as he was finished with his breakfast, which he didn't eat much of, he biked to school, meeting Will, as always.They didn't talk about yesterday. They never did. They just fell back into their normal routine, as if the desperate, frantic encounter in Mike's basement had never happened. That was the routine at this point. Ignoring whatever happened between them the next day.
Finally, the school day was over. Before Will left the school to go to his mom's car, Mike shouted after him, "I'll meet you at your house!" Will just nodded and continued to walk away.
Mike quickly arrived at Will's house. He knocked on the door, and Will opened it. He knew Will's mom had to be home, at least for now, making him feel dubious about whatever Will had planned. He walked inside, and they both went to Will's room. As they walked through the house, Mike couldn't help but feel a prickle of unease.
Will sat on his bed, patting the space next to him. Mike sat down, leaving a careful distance between them.
"So..." Mike started, but he didn't know what to say. What was there to say?
Will didn't answer. He just looked at Mike, his expression unreadable. Then he moved closer, closing the distance between them. He took Mike's hand in his, intertwining their fingers. The touch was familiar, comforting. But it also held a silent promise of what was to come.
"I missed you," Will whispered, leaning his head on Mike's shoulder. And Mike believed him. But he knew it wasn't just about missing him. It was about missing what they did. What they did to each other.
"I missed you too," Mike managed to say, the words feeling heavy on his tongue. He did miss him. He'd felt that hollow ache all day, the phantom absence of Will's presence next to him in class, in the hallways. It was a relief to be near him again. But it was also a trigger.
Will lifted his head, his eyes searching Mike's face. He must have seen the conflict there, the war between want and revulsion. He always saw it.
"You're thinking about yesterday," Will stated. It wasn't a question.
Mike flinched. "I..."
"It's okay," Will said softly, his thumb stroking the back of Mike's hand. "I am too."
He wasn't okay with it. He was far from okay. But he knew better than to argue. He just nodded, looking down at their joined hands.
Will leaned in and kissed him. It was a soft, gentle kiss, almost chaste. But Mike knew it was a test. A prelude. He could feel the hunger simmering just beneath the surface, a slow-burning fire that was about to erupt.
When Will pulled away, Mike could see it in his eyes. The need. The desperation. It was back. And it was stronger than yesterday.
"I need it," Will whispered, his voice cracking. "I need it again, Mike."
Mike's stomach dropped. Already. He had known it was coming, but he wasn't prepared. Not here.
"Will... not here," Mike pleaded, his gaze darting around the room. "Your mom, your brother..."
"She's gone," Will said quickly. "She went back to work. She won't be back for a while. We have time. I don't know when my brother will be home, though. And you didn't have any problems doing it in your basement when your whole family was home..." He then added quietly, "...we can be quiet."
But it wasn't the same. Mike's basement was their safe space, separate from all of their trauma. But Will's bedroom was where Will slept, and where Will had his most terrifying memories, besides the Upside Down.
"I don't know if I can, Will," Mike said, his voice barely audible. He hated himself for it. He hated that he was saying no when he knew how much Will needed this, how much it would hurt him to be denied. But the thought of doing it here, on this bed... it made him feel sick.
Will's face fell. The hope in his eyes died, replaced by a familiar, wounded look. "Why not?" he asked, his voice small and broken. "Don't you want me?"
"It's not that," Mike said immediately, grabbing Will's other hand. "It's not that, I swear. It's just... this room..."
"It's just a room, Mike," Will insisted, his grip tightening on Mike's hands. "A room is just a room. Please, won't you just show me how much you love me?" he started to beg.
Mike looked at Will's face, at the raw vulnerability in his eyes. He could see the pain and the fear. And he knew that Will was right. In a way, a room was just a room. The real ghosts were inside them.
"I do love you," Mike said, the words a desperate, honest truth. "I love you so much."
"Then show me," Will begged again, leaning in to kiss him again.
Mike didn't stop him. Will crawled onto the center of his bed without letting go of Mike's hand, dragging him along with him. Will proceeded to lay down and pulled Mike over him. He was giving in. He was always giving in.
"You promise you won't be mad at me after this? You promise you won't leave me alone right after it's over?" he asked, his eyes wide with fear.
Mike's heart ached at the question. He remembered yesterday, how he had run to the shower, leaving Will alone and vulnerable. He had promised himself he wouldn't do that again. "I promise," he said, the words a sacred vow. "I won't leave you. I'll stay right here."
Will seemed to relax a little at that. He wrapped his arms around Mike's neck, pulling him down for another kiss. This one was deeper, more demanding. It was the start of it all over again.
Mike could feel the heat building between them, the familiar haze of shame and want. He tried to focus on the kiss, on the feeling of Will's lips against his, but he felt so deeply guilty for knowing he was going to have Will in this exact room. He flinched, pulling back from the kiss.
"What's wrong?" Will asked, his brow furrowed with concern and frustration.
"Nothing," Mike lied, his heart pounding in his chest.
But Will knew him too well. He could see the fear in Mike's eyes. "You're scared," he said, his voice soft. "You're scared of being here."
Mike couldn't deny it. He just nodded, his throat too tight to speak.
Will reached up and cupped Mike's cheek, his thumb stroking the skin there. "Don't be scared, Mike," he whispered.
He craned his neck up and kissed Mike again, a gentle, reassuring kiss. But Mike could still feel the hunger simmering just beneath the surface. And he knew that he couldn't escape it.
"Tell me you love me," Will begged again, his lips brushing against Mike's.
"I love you," Mike said, the words a choked whisper.
He had Will pinned down now, Will's wrists held above his head in one of Mike's hands. He stared down at Will, at the flush on his cheeks, the way his chest heaved with each ragged breath. He looked so fragile, so beautiful. Will looked so excited and expectant. He almost looked manic. He was looking forward to what was coming, and so was Mike. They were both so messed up. This was what they did. This was their truth.
Mike shoved Will's shirt up, just like yesterday. It almost felt ritualistic. He kissed Will's neck, tasting the same soap from yesterday. He wanted to taste every inch of Will's skin, to claim him, to erase the past. He took Will's shirt completely off.
Will was writhing beneath him, making these soft, desperate sounds that never failed to turn Mike on. Mike's hands were fumbling with the button of Will's jeans, his fingers clumsy with urgency. The button popped free, and he pulled down the zipper. Another point of no return.
Mike shoved Will's jeans and underwear down, down to his knees. Then he was fumbling with his own clothes, desperate to feel Will's skin against his own.
Mike kissed Will again, a deep, possessive kiss that left them both breathless. He could feel Will's arousal pressing against his own, a hard, desperate heat that made him dizzy with want.
"Mike, let's do it again," Will gasped. "It's in the first drawer of my nightstand," Will said. Mike looked over, and the drawer was slightly ajar.
Mike let go of Will's wrists and reached over to open the drawer. He saw the tube of lube, nestled between a flashlight and a stack of comic books. He grabbed it, his hands shaking. This was planned. Again. Will had been waiting for this. He had been counting on it.
As he looked back at Will, he saw that Will had completely discarded his pants and underwear. He was completely naked now. Mike's breath hitched.
"Are you... are you sure about this?" Mike asked, hating the tremor in his own voice. He had to ask.
"I'm sure," Will said, his voice firm. He spread his legs, an open invitation. "I want you."
That was all it took. Mike was lost.
He knelt between Will's legs, slicking his fingers. He watched Will's face as he pressed one, then two fingers inside him, doing this procedure just like he had seen in porn. Will's eyes fluttered closed, a soft moan escaping his lips. He was so beautiful like this, so open and trusting. It made Mike's chest ache.
"Please, Mike," Will gasped. "Now." Mike wasted no more time. He positioned himself, the head of his cock pressing against Will's entrance. He looked down at Will, at the desperate plea in his eyes.
"Are you sure?" he asked again, one last time.
"I'm sure," Will whispered. "Please."
Mike pushed inside, a slow, steady slide that made them both gasp. Will was so tight, so hot. It was overwhelming. Mike started to move, a slow, deliberate rhythm that had Will writhing beneath him. He tried to make it good for Will, he really did. He tried to be gentle, to be careful.
"Faster," Will begged. "Harder. Like yesterday. Make me feel it."
Mike couldn't deny him. He picked up the pace, his thrusts becoming harder, faster. He watched Will's face, the way it contorted in a mix of pain and pleasure. He was hurting Will, but Will was asking for it. He was begging for it.
"It feels so good," Will breathed, the words spilling out of him. "You make it go away. You make everything go away."
Will put his hands above his head. "Hold my wrists, and cover my mouth. If I cry, don't stop. That... that means I like it."
Just do it," he said. Mike hesitated. The request was more raw than the "make it hurt" from yesterday. This was a direct re-enactment of powerlessness, of being silenced. It was a prayer to a god of pain and control.
He did as he was told.
Mike's free hand covered Will's mouth, not pressing too hard, just enough to muffle the sounds. He used the other hand to pin Will's wrists above his head, just like Will had asked.
Will's body went taut as a bowstring. A muffled sound escaped from behind Mike's hand. It sounded pained. He didn't stop.
He thrust into Will, harder and faster, chasing that feeling, that fleeting sensation of being whole. He was lost in it, lost in the sounds Will was making, lost in the feeling of Will's body around him. He could feel the pressure building, the familiar tightening that promised release.
He looked down at Will, at the tears streaming down his face, at the desperate plea in his eyes. He was breaking him, and he was saving him.
Suddenly, Mike heard the front door of the house open, and he froze. Will began violently squirming beneath him, so he let go of Will, but he didn't pull out yet.
There was a knock on the door. "Will?" It was Jonathan.
"I'm here," Will shouted back, before they heard footsteps walking away from the door.
"He was just trying to check if I was home, he always does that." Will whispered to Mike.
"Shit, Will," Mike whispered. "We have to stop."
"No," Will said, his voice a choked whisper. "Please, don't stop. Don't leave me like this."
Mike looked at Will, at the desperate plea in his eyes. He was so close. He couldn't just leave him like this. He had to finish what he started. He had to give Will what he needed.
"Put your hands back, and cover my mouth like you actually mean it this time." Will said. Mike's stomach twisted into a knot, but he did it. He pinned Will's hands above his head and clapped a hand over his mouth again, this time with more pressure.
Will arched into it, a stifled sob of pleasure and pain vibrating against Mike's palm. Mike's hips snapped forward, erratic and desperate now. The fear of being discovered was a live wire, a current of adrenaline that sharpened every sensation. He could feel the frantic beat of Will's pulse against the hand on his wrist, could hear the wet, muffled sounds escaping from behind his other hand. The sounds of the bed were painfully loud.
It didn't take long after that. The tension, the fear, and the desperation all coalesced into a single, blinding point of release. Will's body seized beneath him, a choked-off cry swallowed by Mike's palm. Mike followed a second later, a shuddering, hollow orgasm that left him feeling more empty than before. He collapsed onto Will, their bodies slick with sweat, the sound of their ragged breathing the only noise in the room.
For a moment, they just lay there, a tangled heap of limbs and shame. Then Mike heard Jonathan moving around in his room. He quickly pulled out of Will and scrambled to get dressed, his movements clumsy and panicked.
"Stop, get back over here, Mike," Will whispered, but Mike didn't listen. He just pulled on his clothes and backed away from the bed, his heart pounding in his chest. He couldn't be here. He couldn't be in this room.
"I have to go," he whispered.
"You promised," Will said, his voice small and broken, still lying naked on the bed. "You promised you wouldn't leave me alone."
"I know," Mike said, his throat tight. "I know. But... Jonathan. I'll come back. I promise." He knew he was lying. He didn't know if he could come back. Not to this room. Not after this.
"Mike! No!" Will whispered again. When Mike approached the door, Will couldn't hold back anymore. "Mike, please! Don't leave me!" Will shouted. He didn't care if Jonathan heard him. He just couldn't be left alone. Will got up and ran to Mike, his legs shaking. He didn't have time to get dressed.
Mike froze. Will was naked, crying, and clinging to him. He didn't know what to do. He felt a surge of something, it was pity, revulsion, love, and fear. He looked at Will's face, at the raw desperation in his eyes, and he knew he couldn't leave him like this.
"Okay," Mike whispered, his voice cracking. "Okay. I won't go." He gently pried Will's arms from around his neck and led him back to the bed. "Get dressed," he said softly. "Please."
Will nodded, sniffling. He slowly pulled on his clothes, his movements stiff and awkward. Mike sat on the edge of the bed, watching him, feeling a profound sense of helplessness. He was in over his head. They both were.
He heard knocking at the door. "Will? What's going on? Why is your door locked? Is Mike here? What was that shouting?" Jonathan asked through the door.
Will and Mike stared at each other, their eyes wide with fear. They were trapped.
"What do we do?" Will whispered, his trembling. "He knows. He knows something's wrong."
"I don't know," Mike whispered back, his mind racing.
Will shook his head, taking a deep breath. He walked over to the door and unlocked it, opening it just a crack.
"Hey, Jonathan," he said, trying to sound normal. "Yeah, Mike's here. We were just... uh... playing a game. I got a little too into it. Sorry about the noise."
Jonathan peered through the crack in the door, his brow furrowed with suspicion. "What game were you playing? You were shouting, Will. And why was your door locked? You never lock your door."
Will's face went pale. "It's a new game," he stammered. "A-and... we just wanted some privacy. You know. So we wouldn't bother you."
Jonathan's eyes narrowed. He pushed the door open, forcing Will to step back. His gaze swept over the room, taking in the rumpled sheets, the way Mike was sitting stiffly on the edge of the bed. He saw the tear tracks on Will's face. He saw everything.
Mike's heart hammered against his ribs. He felt like he was going to be sick. He couldn't look at Jonathan. He couldn't look at Will. He just stared at the floor.
"What's going on, Will?" Jonathan asked again, his voice low. "Did he hurt you?"
Will flinched. "No! Of course not. Mike would never hurt me."
"Then why were you crying?" Jonathan pressed, his eyes fixing on Mike. "And why does he look like he's seen a ghost?"
"Will," Jonathan said, his voice gentle but firm. "You can tell me. Whatever it is, you can tell me."
He took a step closer, his gaze softening with concern. "I'm your brother. I'm here for you."
Will looked from Jonathan to Mike, a silent plea passing between them. Mike didn't know what to do. He felt like he was drowning.
"I... I had a... panic attack," Will said finally, latching onto a familiar excuse. "I remembered the Upside Down. I... I got scared, and Mike was just... he was trying to calm me down. That's all."
Jonathan considered this, his expression unreadable.
"I told him to lock the door," Will added quickly. "I didn't want you to see me like that."
Jonathan's gaze lingered on Mike for a long moment. Mike could feel the weight of it, the silent judgment. He wanted to run, to disappear, to be anywhere but here. He felt so exposed, so ashamed. He had let Will down. He had failed to protect him, not just from their past, but from this new, present danger.
Jonathan sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Okay," he said finally. "Okay. But you know you can talk to me, right? About anything?"
Will nodded, his head down. Will knew he could never talk to Jonathan about it. He could never talk to anyone about it. He even had a hard time talking to Mike about it. He was ashamed of it. He was ashamed of needing it. He was ashamed of how much he loved it. How much he loved Mike for doing it with him. He loved Mike for all of it. And that was the most shameful part of all.
"Alright," Jonathan said, his gaze still fixed on Mike. "I'll be in my room if you need me."
He backed out of the room, closing the door behind him.
The silence that followed was deafening. Mike couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. He could only feel the crushing weight of Jonathan's suspicion, the lingering scent of Will's skin, the sticky residue of their shame.
Will stood frozen in the middle of the room, a statue of terror. Then, as if a string had been cut, he crumpled. He didn't make a sound as he slid to the floor, pulling his knees to his chest and burying his face in them. His shoulders began to shake, a silent, violent tremor that wracked his whole body.
The sight of him, so small and broken on the floor, finally broke through Mike's paralysis. He felt so awful for trying to leave him earlier. How could he leave this boy? He scrambled off the bed, dropping to his knees in front of Will. He grabbed Will's hand and stood up. "Come on, let's lie down." Will followed him, completely docile and weak. They lay down on the bed, Mike pulling Will's back against his chest, wrapping his arms around him like a shield.
"I'm sorry," Mike whispered into Will's hair, the words thick with guilt. "I'm so sorry, Will. For everything."
Will's shaking subsided, replaced by a deep, bone-weary stillness. Mike just held him, stroking his hair, his arm, any part of him he could reach. "Don't apologize, Mike. I should be sorry. I'm so messed up,"
"No," Mike said fiercely, tightening his grip. "No, Will. We're messed up. Together."
Will turned in his arms, so they were face to face. His eyes were red-rimmed, his face pale. He looked so young. So fragile. "Mike?" he asked, his voice a small, fragile thing. "What are we going to do? I love... having sex with you... but it makes us both feel... bad."
"I don't know," Mike admitted, the truth scraping his throat raw. "We could... we could try to stop,"
"But I don't want to stop." Will said, burying his face in Mike's chest. "It always feels... amazing. Doesn't it?" Will rubbed Mike's crotch a little. Mike gasped.
"Will... what are you doing? Do you really want it again now?"
"Mike? Can I... use my mouth on you again?"
"We really should stop... aren't we too young for this?" Mike asked, deflecting. But he knew what he wanted. He just didn't want to say it.
"No... normal kids our age could only dream of this. But we aren't normal, are we? Nothing about us is normal. I want to do this. Please, Mike. Don't be scared, Jonathan won't hear. Please?" Will asked, nuzzling his face into Mike's neck and grabbing Mike's thigh. He knew exactly how to break him down. He began rubbing Mike's crotch through his pants faster. Mike felt like he couldn't breathe. The shame and the want were a tangled knot in his stomach. He was starting to get hard again.
"Okay," he finally choked out. "Okay."
Will got off of the bed and Mike scooted over to the edge of the bed and sat expectantly. Will knelt down before Mike, and rubbed his face against Mike's crotch, trying to get him as aroused as possible.
He unzipped Mike's jeans and reached in, pulling out his cock, saving himself the extra step of pulling down Mike's jeans and underwear. Mike's breath hitched. He was fully erect now. Will looked up at him, his eyes dark with a hunger that both thrilled and terrified Mike.
Will and Mike had done this together a few times before, so this wasn't new. The first time was at Mike's house. Will had begged to learn how to do it, and Mike had shamefully guided him through it. Mike loved it. Will loved doing it.
Will held Mike's cock upright with his right hand, and slowly moved his face towards it. He stared at it for a few seconds before grabbing it with both of his hands. He pressed his lips to the side of Mike's length, and started leaving wet kisses. It was so warm. Will liked how it felt in his hands. Will was starting to realize how badly he wanted to taste Mike again.
Then, Will moved over to the head. He circled the tip with his tongue, and a small sigh escaped Mike's lips. He slowly dragged his tongue down to the base, then back up again, looking up at Mike through his eyelashes. He was trying to remember to do all the things that Mike told him would happen in porn. He wanted to be good at this. He wanted to be perfect for Mike.
Will couldn't resist teasing Mike, licking the precum that was already leaking from the tip. Mike let out a sharp breath and he shuddered, one of his hands gripping Will's hair, urging him forward without saying a word. Will finally took the tip into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it.
He took more of him in, then more, until he was gagging slightly, but he didn't pull away. He just kept going, the slick sounds filling his room. Mike was breathing heavily above him. Will let out soft moans around the other boy's cock.
"Fuck, Will," Mike gasped, his hips rocking forward almost unconsciously. "Just like that."
Will pulled back, a string of saliva connecting his lips to Mike's cock. He looked up at Mike. "Am I doing it right, Mike?" he asked, almost innocently.
"Will... it's perfect." Mike gasped.
The praise sent a jolt straight through Will's chest, a warmth spreading from the center of his body. He didn't wait for another invitation. He leaned back in, closing the small gap between them, and took Mike into his mouth again, deeper this time. He nearly gagged, but forced himself to relax, remembering Mike's instructions.
Will brought one hand up to cup Mike's balls, rolling them gently, a trick he had learned last time they did this. Mike's sharp intake of breath was all the encouragement he needed. He began to move with a steady rhythm, bobbing his head, taking Mike in as far as he could manage before pulling back, his tongue working against the underside on every upstroke. The taste was musky and intimate, the weight of him on Will's tongue grounding, a stark counterpoint to the dizzying speed of his own heart. He could feel the tension coiling in Mike's thighs, the tight grip in his hair, the way Mike's breath hitched and caught. He was doing this. He was making Mike fall apart. And in doing so, he was putting himself back together.
Mike watched him, mesmerized by the sight. The way Will's lips, swollen and red, stretched around him. The way his dark hair fell into his eyes, the way his eyelids fluttered closed in concentration. He looked so beautiful, so devoted. And he looked so young. The thought was a bucket of ice water in his veins, a jolt of pure, unadulterated guilt. What were they doing? What was he letting Will do? He was a monster.
But he couldn't stop. It felt too good. Will was too good at this. And the look of worship on Will's face as he looked up at him, that raw, desperate need to please, to be wanted... it was the most potent drug Mike had ever known.
Will could feel the shift in Mike, the way his body went rigid for a second before shuddering with pleasure. He knew Mike was close. He started moving faster, one of his hands moving to grip the base of Mike's cock, stroking what he couldn't take into his mouth.
"Will... I'm..." Mike gasped out, a warning.
Will didn't stop. If anything, he moved faster, hollowing his cheeks, sucking harder. He wanted it. He wanted all of it. He wanted to taste him, to swallow him down, to have this one last piece of Mike inside him. It was a kind of communion. A sacrament of their shared damnation.
With a strangled cry, Mike came, pulsing into Will's mouth. Will flinched slightly at the sudden flood, but he didn't pull away. He swallowed it down, his throat working, his eyes fixed on Mike's face. He wanted to see the look on Mike's face as he came.
Mike collapsed back against the bed, boneless and spent. His chest heaved, his vision blurry. For a moment, there was only the feeling of release, the blissful emptiness. Then, reality crashed back in. The room. The locked door. Jonathan just down the hall. The taste of his own release in Will's mouth. The shame.
Will carefully pulled away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked up at Mike, his expression initially a mix of pride and apprehension. He was waiting for a verdict. Waiting to be told he was good. However, when he realized Mike wouldn't look at him, he felt his confidence falter.
Mike couldn't look at him. He just stared at the ceiling. He felt dirty. Used. And he knew, with a sickening certainty, that Will felt the same way. And it was his fault. He had let it happen. He had encouraged it.
Will got up from the floor and sat on the bed, next to Mike. He was still fully clothed, but he felt just as exposed as Mike.
"Mike?" he whispered, his voice small. "Are you okay?"
Mike flinched at the sound of his name. "Yeah," he said, the word sounding hollow even to his own ears. "I'm fine."
Will's face fell. He knew that tone. He knew what it meant. He was withdrawing. Building a wall. "Did... did I do it wrong?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly.
"No," Mike said quickly, turning to look at him. "No, Will. It was... it was perfect." He couldn't lie about that. "You were perfect."
But the praise didn't have the same effect as before. It just felt like another part of the lie. Another layer of their shared delusion.
"Then why are you acting like this?" Will asked, a note of frustration creeping into his voice. "Why do you always do this after? Like you're disgusted by me." Will sounded like he was about to cry again. Mike had already made him cry more than once today.
"I'm not disgusted by you," Mike said, sitting up and reaching for Will's hand. "I'm disgusted by me. This... what we're doing... it's not right, Will."
"So it's wrong now?" Will shot back, pulling his hand away. "It didn't feel wrong five minutes ago. It didn't feel wrong yesterday in your basement."
"That's the problem!" Mike's voice rose, before he remembered Jonathan and immediately lowered it to a harsh whisper. "That's the whole problem, Will. It feels good, and it's wrong. And we can't stop. Don't you see how messed up that is?"
"We're not messed up," Will insisted, but his voice lacked conviction. He was just repeating the words Mike had said to him earlier, a fragile shield against the truth. "We just... love each other. This is how we show it." He looked so earnest, so desperate to believe it.
"Will..." Mike was speechless. He had no idea how to make Will understand the depth of their shared depravity without destroying him. Or himself. He was a child. They were children. What had they become?
"You said you loved me," Will whispered, his eyes filling with tears. "You said it yesterday, you said it today. Were you lying?"
"No," Mike said, the word tearing from his throat. "I wasn't lying. I do love you. That's the problem. I love you so much that I let you do this. I let you... And I do it to you, too. And it's not healthy." The word was so clinical, so adult, and it felt completely alien and useless in this room.
Will flinched at the word "healthy." "You're talking like my mom," he said, a bitter edge to his voice. "Like some doctor. Are you saying I'm sick, Mike? Is that what you think?"
"I'm saying what we do... it's like a drug," Mike finally managed, grasping for an analogy that might make sense. "We're getting high on each other to forget everything else. But it's a temporary fix. And every time we come down, it's worse."
Will didn't say anything. He just stared at Mike, his face unreadable. Mike was scared he was going to break. He was scared he was going to push him away forever.
"I'm sorry," Mike said, the words feeling useless and hollow. "I'm not trying to hurt you. I'm just... scared."
Will finally looked away, his gaze falling on the floor. "I'm scared too, Mike," he whispered. "All the time. That's why I need this. That's why I need you. I don't want to stop, I don't care if it makes us feel ashamed or guilty after. I love it. I love you. Don't you think I know how messed up I am? I'm not stupid. I know what this looks like. I know it's not what normal boys do."
Mike's heart ached at the raw honesty in Will's voice. He wanted to pull him into his arms and tell him everything was going to be okay. But he couldn't. Because it wasn't.
"So what do we do?" Mike asked, the question hanging in the air between them, heavy and unanswerable.
"I don't know," Will admitted, his voice barely a whisper. "But... can we please not talk about it anymore? Not right now? Just... stay with me. Please. Just for a little while."
Mike wanted to say no. He wanted to run. He wanted to go home and lock himself in his room and never come out. But he couldn't. He had promised he wouldn't leave him. And he couldn't break another promise.
"Okay," he said, the word a quiet surrender. "Okay." He lay back down on the bed, holding his arms out.
Will crawled into them, fitting himself against Mike's body. He was shaking, a fine tremor that ran through his entire frame. Mike held him tight, trying to absorb the fear, to be the shelter Will so desperately needed. He stroked Will's hair, the same way he had before. It was a reflex. A desperate gesture of comfort.
They lay there in the afternoon light of the room, the dust motes dancing in the sunbeams. The house was quiet, but Mike could still feel Jonathan's presence on the other side of the door.
Will shifted in his arms, tilting his head back to look at him. "Mike?" he whispered. "Do you really think we're sick?"
"I think we're... damaged." Mike said. He didn't know what else to say. All he could think of was to lean in and kiss Will softly.
Will kissed him back, a soft, desperate press of lips. It wasn't a prelude to anything. Mike broke the kiss, resting his forehead against Will's. He could feel the warmth of Will's breath on his face. He could smell the faint, lingering scent of their sex. He could smell his own cum on Will's breath.
"We're going to be okay, right?" Will asked, his voice small and hopeful. "We'll figure it out?" He said, but he wasn't fully convinced.
Mike didn't answer. He just held him tighter. He knew he couldn't make that promise. He didn't know if they would ever be okay. He didn't know if they could ever escape this cycle. All he knew was that he was here with Will now. And for a little while, that would have to be enough. It had to be.