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He's still inside me, is the first thing on Will's mind when he comes down from the high of his last, admittedly earth-shattering, orgasm. The next thing is: I just had sex with Mike Wheeler.
At the beginning of the whole… situation, when they'd stumbled through the door of Mike's downtown Manhattan apartment, Will hadn't exactly expected things to move this far. So far in fact that Mike is still loosely biting down on the meat of his shoulder as he pants. So far in fact that – again – Mike's literally inside him and yet they're cuddling. And – shit – of course it feels more like home than anything Will's experienced since he moved to New York.
He's not sure why he'd tried to pry himself free of Mike's unknowing clutches by having sex with him. What an idiot.
What did he think, really?
What did he hope to find in the arms of a Mike Wheeler who's suddenly comfortable enough to go to gay bars in New York? That he was just going to have sex with his first love, who's gotten even prettier than he was six years ago and realise, oh, actually yeah I'm definitely over you?
Yes. Yes, that was what he'd hoped. That's exactly why he'd taken Mike up on the offer, goddammit.
But he can't face palm hard enough to leave a mark right now, because as he mentioned before, Mike is naked, lying on top of him, gently kissing up and down his neck, still warm and sticky inside him. He can't face palm, because he was wrong, and being wrong has never felt so right.
Is he making it up again? Did he imagine the entire affair and the caring cadence in which Mike moaned his name? (His full name when he finished, by the way, which was… holy shit.) Did he imagine the perfect mix of rough and sweet he gave him? Did he imagine all his hopes of getting over Mike using closure-sex with him being dashed the minute he saw beauty in him?
Maybe he did.
But now, with Mike's nose burrowing further, warm enough to make Will purr in pleasure, he's beginning to think he didn't imagine it after all. And he means all of it. The glances back in high school – screw it, middle school too – that he'd long-accepted were just Mike-isms that he'd misread. The warm fuzzies whenever Mike would protect him, guide him, lead him.
Stop it. You know how Mike fools you.
Coming down from the high isn't easy, however, and might drag on if Mike continues like this. Will tries groaning, protesting weakly as he slides a hand up Mike's smooth, freckled back. Who is he trying to kid? He's literally leaning his head to the side on purpose, giving Mike ample, ample room for more smooches along his neck. He has to wonder how blissed-out and gone he looks.
A vibration moves through his skin. Will takes another deep breath, his sweaty chest rising high and falling low, though it's hard. More breaths means more of Mike's scent in his nose. Of course even after the steamiest, sweatiest sex he thinks he's ever had – yep, he's admitting it now – Mike smells heavenly. Well, not heavenly in the traditional sense. He doesn't need to smell like sugar or citrus fruits to make Will sink further into the pillows in pleasure. Smelling like coffee, books, sweat (consequence of the past few hours), and smoke (consequence of Will, probably) is far better.
And – oh shit. Mike is talking to him.
"– okay? Will?" He lifts his head, revealing a flushed, drunken expression, eyes somehow both half-lidded and shocked at the same time. Will licks his lips, a pleasant burn pulsing below, and sighs, letting out a little strained giggle. He squirms.
As if on cue, Mike looks down at the connection between them, then back up, his eyebrows crinkled. "Do you need me to…?"
Thoughtless, Will shakes his head before realising how whipped that definitely makes him.
Oh, well. Not a lie, at least. He thinks he's sick of lying anyway, holding things back. Maybe Mike is too – after all, he's the one who initiated a kiss, he's the one who practically ripped both of their clothes off when they got home. He's the one, now, who nods and smiles, grateful for Will's refusal to disconnect. He's the one who should be called desperate from an outsider's perspective. At least Will has that.
What he doesn't have, however, is any reason to want Mike to pull away. He certainly searches for it, though. Maybe Mike's clear experience with gay sex – evident in his knowledge of what to do, which buttons to press – is a reason to leave.
Even though Mike may be tenderly brushing the overstimulation-tears away from Will's cheeks, that won't fool him. It's all part of the Mike experience: being reeled in by affections and then thrown to the floor the next moment, with no bad intentions to get mad at him for. An infuriatingly nice, nice, nice guy. That's what he's been relaying to his friends about his first love for years; he can't go back now. Especially when it's clear that once Mike is done with his latest experience – fucking the guy who used to have a crush on you – he'll move onto the next.
Won't find anything as good as me, though, Will huffs inwardly.
But the minute he thinks he might be ready for Mike to pull out and roll over so he can get his clothes back on, Mike has to lean down and nudge his nose against Will's, turning him into a giant, pleasured pool of honey again. He would love to say fuck you, Wheeler, but all that comes out of him is a giggly whine. Laboured breaths mingle and entwine before their mouths meet, sore and swollen.
Will lets his hand roam over Mike's back, and for like the tenth time that night, he wonders where the hell he got these muscles from. They're not even too much either, just enough to have him resemble the lean, lanky boy he fell in love with, and simultaneously resemble the paladin Will thought he conjured in his head alone.
Once Mike pulls back, he doesn't relent, the slightest movement creating an eruption of tingles in Will's lower belly. He smiles, too, toothy and boyish. "I'm sorry but," he starts, voice rough from the racket they'd made. "Wow. What was that – I mean, no, I mean –"
As evident as it is that Mike has changed, he still manages to sound like the boy he fell in love with. Will laughs breathily. "That was good, very – good." Fuck. It really was.
Mike clearly agrees, eyes lighting up like he was offered a treat, leaning down to press another couple of sweet kisses against Will's mouth and chin, soft lips torturing the stubborn part of his brain. He shifts his hip in the process and –
"Holy – mmh Mike, Jesus," Will moans, hearing himself, which sends a laugh out of him. Because wow, if you told fifteen-year-old Will Byers the position he'd be in right now, he'd go beet red and have a lot of questions. A lot of questions that twenty-six-year-old Will can't answer.
"You okay?" Mike's face comes into view again.
"Ah – yeah –"
Mike's voice is so soft, so caring. Will might have an aneurysm. "Need me to pull out? I can if you –"
"'S alright," Will blurts, closing his eyes and letting himself enjoy it. Because, you know what, maybe he should indulge. Tone hungry and slurred, he mumbles, "Like it. Feels good."
Relieved of all things, Mike dips his head, sweat-damp curls falling in his eyes. "God, yeah, me too," he laughs, eyes crinkling in joy. Just as Will's about to tease, Mike leans down and shuts him up with a kiss again. "Mm – close to you. It's like we're a puzzle piece or something."
Will snorts. "Mike, oh my God. So corny."
"What? I liked being corny today."
He can't stop. Quiet giggles start shaking him as the absurdity of the entire situation – their surprise meeting in a gay bar, Mike's unexpected magnetism, their drunken kiss that somehow didn't make Will want to die, the run back to Mike's apartment in the rain, taking each other's clothes off to "let them dry", that turning into heated making out against walls, knocking things over, and… now this – really catching up to him. Reality remains hazy, however. After all, Mike's dick is softening in him, sending random sparks of overwhelming pleasure up his spine. Lips are being planted on his forehead, for God's sake. Even though it's all sweaty.
Mike can have a good heart; he's always known that. It won't fool me, he tells himself, even if he's practically purring, leaning into Mike's touch so much that his back creates a slight arch in the sheets. His ankles cross over the small of Mike's back and purposefully push at it, letting him sink further, deeper. To be completely full of Mike, that's what he wants. That and a reaction.
He gets it, of course – Mike's eyebrows raise a little before his face tightens even from the tiniest bit of pressure. Will can't help but smirk at this, up until Mike lifts his head and smirks right back, sliding a hand into his hair.
"Did you want another round?" Mike asks in that low, soft and teasing tone, edged with fondness, the same thing that weakened Will back at the bar. If he's not careful, he might just say yes and overexert himself.
If you can believe it, something Will forgot to mention is that, yes, the aforementioned orgasm was his third of the night. Not his first time having multiple rounds in one night, not his second either, but this certainly was the first time having three. At no point during the act did his mind wander off. At no point did he think he'd rather paint or read a book. At no point did he want it to end, at no point did he try too hard to chase a high. He simply lay back and relished in every thrust, kiss, lick, bite and mark sucked into his skin.
Will sighs, considers it for a second – it'll feel so good, his dick says – before realising, okay, he might be trying to delay the inevitable, his subconscious affection overtaking the logical half of his brain. Sue him, but maybe he wants Mike to stay here for another minute, stroking his hair and kissing his lips, telling him he's good, telling him he's taking it so well.
"No, no I'm… spent, I think," Will says, voice still dripping with syrup, to his own dismay. He tries to look away from Mike's eye line, but it's hard not to feel positively giddy at the stare he receives.
Mike gazes over his face, raking his eyes down to inspect his body, like he can hardly believe he has all of it in his bed tonight. "Okay, yeah, though, I mean…" Mike starts, before leaning back down to rub his nose at the space below Will's ear, sending shivers. "…I don't think we even need more. That was perfect, Will. You're amazing. Did amazing for me."
Will's hips, even his thighs, tremble at this revelation. Mike's cock twitches inside him. He wants him to say it again, over and over, until it sounds less like Mike only did this to please himself, more like they've done this a million times. Until it becomes something he's used to.
Fuck.
Then comes a whisper, "You feel so good right now."
Fuck.
"Ah – " Will scrunches his eyes shut, grounding himself with a slight tug to the back of Mike's soft hair, only to hear another groan from Mike's throat, unhelpful to the whole coming down from a high thing. What's worse, Mike continues kissing his neck, to his collar bone, taking care of him with constant palm-rubs over his side, his hip, his thigh. He could imagine that this is their first time of many, that they'll talk about this over dinner in three years, reminisce –
Stop it Will Byers – he hears Max's voice in his head.
"M- Mike," Will whimpers, actually whimpers. He doesn't ever whimper. What is this boy doing to him? – rolling his hips a little too much, apparently. Luckily though, they stop once Will cries out louder.
"You okay?" Mike asks, hair falling from behind his ears.
"Maybe we should… maybe you should –"
"Sure, yeah, that's fine," he replies quickly, before lazily peeling himself off Will's sweaty chest, revealing the cum stuck to both their stomachs from the last five minutes, stringing them both together for a moment. It's hard not to blush at, especially when Mike makes a show of looking down and rubbing a thumb through it on Will's stomach in fascination. Will looks away as if he's intruding, wishing he hadn't mentioned anything so they could go back to panting into each other's mouths, kissing sleepily for the rest of time.
Pulling himself out of Will, Mike lets out a seemingly involuntary grunt before sitting back on his heels on the bed, his eyes roaming. "Fuck," he sighs, leaning his head back, his shoulders flexing, neck exposed. Gorgeous. Gorgeous. Gorgeous.
It is then that Will realises how spread out he is, legs wide open, arms flopped out on the mattress, laid bare for Mike to see. At first, he grins at Mike's blown-out, happy little expression at it, like he can't believe this is real. It's endearing, the slight scratches he gives to Will's thigh, comforting him even if it's unintentional.
But then Mike's expression grows definitively affectionate and warm, with a kiss placed upon Will's knee. Genuine. "You're so fucking beautiful," he whispers, still out of breath. A gulp, a quiet gasp. He rests his hand on the same knee he just kissed, giving a smile.
It's too sweet. As soon as Will feels something down below, he flinches where he lies, and closes his eyes. "God, I forgot you didn't wear a condom," he says, laughing casually. Like Mike didn't just call him beautiful.
It's a lie, as well, by the way. He didn't forget.
In fact, if he's being really honest, he did it on purpose. In fact, like a damn gentleman, Will thinks Mike may have actually warned him about it. Some sick part of his twisted-up Mike-brain, the one that came alive when Mike tugged him close in the warmly-lit living room, whispered, take him, all of him, see how far you can go. That's who's to blame, not Mike.
"Yeah, well, you told me to fuck off when I asked," Mike laughs, like he's hoping Will laughs along with him.
Will only hums and tries not to smile. Tries not to recall how he always makes sure to have every partner wrap up for him. Except for Mike, apparently. He's not like the others, though he might as well be worse, maybe even more dangerous.
Judging by the way he'd approached him so confidently tonight, only acted like an idiot in a way that was utterly endearing and not infuriating – and the way he'd made sure to lube up and stretch him out first in such a practice-makes-perfect manner – Will can tell that he's done this before.
He wonders who his first time was with. He wonders if he was sucked off in a dark alleyway, like Will was. He wonders if Mike lay there in bed afterwards too, thinking about home, about basements, comic books, and being a kid again.
Of course not.
"Not sorry about that," is what Will manages to say, cursing the swirling in his belly when Mike strokes his hand lower, before passing his fingers across the wet spot down below. Will immediately hisses.
"Ooh, shit, sorry," Mike says, taking his hand away.
"No, no it's alright. Just sore." Recalling the way they'd gone at it, Will can't stave off the likely visible heat spreading across his face, neck, and chest. It may be a long time until he can stand, to be honest, which is something he thought he'd outgrown because he'd gotten used to it, not because his partners have been inadequate. Turns out –
"Oh. Okay – um, you're hurting?" Mike asks carefully, leaning forward.
Will can't resist looking up, opening his mouth to fire back with some quip about how he doesn't get hurt anymore, so he can fucking– prove himself to this guy who thinks he's some kind of expert at gay sex just because he made Will Byers cum three times in three hours. (Maybe he is, shut up.)
But that's when he sees him. Mike. This is Mike. Mike is the one sitting on his bed and asking him if he's hurting because they got rough tonight. Mike is the one who pressed Will's face into the pillow from above. Mike is the one who moaned his name in his ear. Mike is the one who made him laugh during sex with his stupid, funny jokes. Mike is the one who finished inside him, claiming him once again, this time in a rawer, much realer way.
Mike had sex with him, same as any other guy Will meets at a bar.
But Mike is also the boy who knows him, has seen him at his worst, sweating and crying about a monster living inside him, something that no one else in the world could ever say. Mike is the boy who sat by his bedside, stayed in his bedroom even though Will needed it freezing cold, held him, assured him, gave him hope. Shattered the hope. Broke him apart. Confused him, came back to haunt him. Now he sees Will in his entirety, in the most intimate way that he can think of.
It's all so… huge.
"Will?"
"I'm fine," he answers, closing his legs, wrapping his arms around himself and turning over on his side. Naked. In Mike's bed, smelling the new Mike-smell. Coffee and cigarettes and only a hint of something ancient. He feels a little ill now – sweaty, sticky, sore, muscles aching and yeah, maybe he is hurting. The pleasure finally dulls into an ache left by his childhood best friend.
He can hear the frown in Mike's voice. "Hey, hey, you sure?" A hand comes to rub his shoulder, making Will flinch a little when a thumb passes over a red bruise left by Mike's mouth. It might come off soon, he thinks, But it'll be there long after Mike forgets this ever happened.
Humiliating tears prick at his eyes, especially when he realises that he hasn't replied and this will only exacerbate Mike's worry. "Will? You sure you're okay?" Kisses are trailed up his arm to his face, finishing at the mole near his mouth, and not by accident. Does Mike just want more of him?
Will lets out a sound, helpless. "Yeah, yeah –" He tries to breathe, curing the crack in his words. "Just… It's just a lot, Mike. You know? Um… us. And everything we just did, I mean. Y'know." Fuck, what is he thinking? He'll ruin it, he'll ruin the moment they've shared and basked in for the last few hours. He won't even be able to blame Mike for hating him, the bastard.
Maybe he can curse him later for finding Will in that bar and most likely recalling his best friend used to have a big, fat crush on him – that being the probable explanation for what just happened. But – shit – not an explanation for why it was so good. So good. Right now, Mike is making all of this thinking extremely difficult.
His lips are soft where they land on Will's mouth again, who helplessly kisses back. They move languidly, intimate as long-lost-lovers, Mike's tongue swiping out and dabbing at the seam of his lips as if he hadn't even heard what Will just said. As if this is somehow an answer.
"I know, I know," he croons against skin, before leaning back to gently lie on his side next to Will, expression suddenly serious. Oh God, wait. Are they actually going to – to talk about…?
Mike blinks and looks down, shame in his gaze. Dread floods Will's chest. "Look, Will…"
"Shi – uh, Mike, we don't – we don't really have to talk about it, if you can't –" He can't hear it. He can't just be shown out one last time. He'd much rather do it himself.
"Oh. Are you –"
"Yeah, you don't have to," Will replies, hating himself. "You don't have to say it. I understand."
And – fuck. Mike's face breaks into a relieved, sunny grin, dawn breaking over his face, beauty incarnate. His eyes crinkle, mouth pressing so wide into his cheeks that his old, familiar dimples pop out to torture Will. He wants to slap it off him – scream how dare you? – but also kiss him so much that the smile turns into laughter. It's so unfair. Unfair that Mike gets to prove to himself, to his fucking ego, that his childhood best friend still had enough love left inside for him. Unfair that he's still so damn nice about it.
And of course, of course, Mike just has to go and reach out, rub his stupidly smooth thumb over Will's cheekbone, rubbing off the last remnants of tears from before. "Thank you," he whispers, closing his eyes and moving closer. Pressing one last, long, deep kiss to Will's lips.
He holds his breath, afraid that if he lets go, he might shatter into a million pieces.
Because somewhere in that kiss, he feels the old Mike and a new Mike swirled together into everything he's ever wanted. The one thing he'd told his friends over drinks that he was stupid to think existed. The one saving grace he had so that he could get over it all was that it could never happen this way.
When Mike pulls back, Will's breath shudders, coming a little quick. It registers to Mike, whose face grows concerned almost instantaneously. "You alright?"
No. No, I'm not alright. I'm not alright and I'm the happiest I've ever been and It's all your fault. "Um – Mike, I –"
"It's okay, it's okay, I've got you," he whispers, hooking a leg around Will's, pulling them closer together so they're practically cuddling.
It would make sense for Will to be as stiff as a board, for him to push Mike away so he could get some space. But he's aching, dirty, probably a little smelly too, and yet Mike still wants to be close to him. He's wanted, even like this, in a twisted way.
They're silent for a moment, entangled up in each other, breathing deep breaths, in and out. Will can't help mimicking the sighs from Mike, focusing on the subtle thump of his heart he feels from being so close to him. Here, he doesn't need to think about anything else, especially not the soft, light kisses being pressed at his temple. Here, he doesn't need to think about how he's never gotten this level of care post-sex, even from people he's dated, let alone had a one-night stand with. He'd love to say that he hates it, hates the way Mike makes him feel young but somehow not broken. He doesn't.
"Was it too much?" Mike asks, right on cue. This is just who he is, Will concludes. "It was intense for me, for sure. It seemed intense for you, are you sure you're okay?"
Will rolls his eyes a bit, but they're glassy, defeating the purpose. "'M okay, Mike, I promise."
If he thinks about it logically, he guesses part of his sudden downgrade in mood isn't all to do with Mike. The high from their sex really was a high-high. He honestly thinks he'd been so far up that he was talking to God at some point, and now he's crashed down to Earth with no legs to stand on. He's sticky, he's gross, he's kind of leaking honestly, and yet Mike refuses to let that deter him from rubbing a gentle hand up his side and sending goosebumps erupting over his skin.
Looking down at himself, Will whines slightly at the sight of his stomach. "God, your sheets are… gonna be –"
"Don't worry, I'll put a new set on," Mike instantly reassures, his voice soothing. "For when we sleep."
Will lifts his head to meet Mike's eye at that. Or rather, meet his closed ones. Jesus, he can't get a read on him, and he's not sure he wants to. Who invites their childhood best friend over for a simple, one-night-stand then cuddles up to him and lets him sleep in his bed as they stroke each other's hair? Mike's smile is small, but so content. He's the cat who got the cream, but it's not… it's not like he's boastful. He's not even close to being a jerk.
Yet. "Okay," Will mumbles, wondering when the time will come when they have to rise, and Mike will finally admit that they really shouldn't stay together tonight. That he was just buttering him up.
He hopes it's soon, because honestly it's starting to get uncomfortable here with his own emissions drying on his stomach. No use in delaying the inevitable, so Will nudges the boy with his arms around him.
Mike is quick to open his eyes. "Whassup?"
Will lets out an endeared exhale of a laugh, cursing the way his cheeks hurt. "Uh, nothing, I just feel a little gross."
"Gross?"
"Mm."
When Mike looks down, his eyes widen slightly before he lets out a soft chuckle, making Will's heart do something truly acrobatic. "Oh, right. Shit – sorry," he says, grinning wildly. Yes, Mike, you did this to me. "Do you want a shower?"
A shower. In Mike's bathroom, Mike's bathroom. Mike's bathroom. He's not sure what else he'd expected, but it still manages to knock him off course."Um –"
"Or," Mike interrupts, getting that look he gets when he comes up with what he believes is a genius plan. Something that happened quite a few times tonight, and dammit, most of his ideas were… successful, let's say. "Or I could run you a bath?"
"Run me a – You have a bath?"
His lips quirk up at the corners, eager to please with bright and excitable eyes. Will swears that if Mike had a tail right now, it would be wagging. It does unspeakable things to his chest when Mike nods quickly and says, "Yeah! I'll clean myself off and then… make it up nice for you, okay? How does that sound?"
Will lets out a dainty, confused little laugh, disbelief running its course again. "Hm. No guy I've ever slept with has ever offered me a bath before," he murmurs, leaning in to tease. He intended it to sound kind of confident, flirty, playing with Mike's emotions a little by mentioning other men. But honestly, listening back, it sounds a little sad.
Mike doesn't seem to notice that, however, as he smirks. "Well then, I guess I'm not like a lot of guys."
Fuck you, Will wants to groan, instead opting to roll his eyes again because now Mike is back to kissing him, sucking gently on his top lip, then moving to his lower as if making sure to give each its own divided attention. More, his brain whines, more, more, more, weak to Mike's sudden level of charm. He's probably patting himself on the back right now for that comment, and yet Will is fully ready to boost that ego, kissing back with equal amounts of longing.
"So is that a yes?" Mike asks nervously into his mouth.
Will sighs, pretending to be begrudged. "Yes, Mike."
In an instant, Mike grins from ear to ear and gets up from the bed. "Awesome! Do you like, um, do you like bath salts?"
Snorting, Will can't help but grin. "You have bath salts?" he asks, feigning embarrassment.
"'Course."
"Uh… sure, sounds nice."
With that, off Mike goes, walking into his en suite, still stark naked. And yes, Will does watch him go with a smirk on his face, because Mike has… grown into his body in a really satisfying way that he hadn't exactly needed to persuade Will into sleeping with him, but it's a nice little bonus. Especially for the purpose of reaching deeper.
Christ.
Will feels himself blushing, not fully done reeling from the fact that Mike brought him back to his apartment, sucked him off, fucked him twice, did everything he needed him to do, and now is running him a bath. With bath salts. Probably some bubbles or something, too, knowing Mike, the overachiever.
He has to admit, despite his show of being fed up, when he can hear a torrent of water from the bath tap against the ceramic, warmth curls around his belly. He's nothing if not a romantic, and wow, this is the one person he never thought he'd get any level of romance from, let alone soft kisses, caresses, and intimate baths.
Will can no longer contain it, so he buries his face into Mike's pillow and squeals a little. Maybe a lot. Maybe until he hears Mike emerging from the room.
He comes in carrying a packet of wipes and a casual, lopsided grin, before sitting down on the bed, opening it wordlessly. Of course he has wipes at the ready.
Will frowns slightly and manages to sit up, a little soreness kicking in downstairs, but he's fine. Not too fine, though. Still exhausted enough to have a bath and be pampered by Mike Wheeler, thank you very much.
"I thought I was having a bath," Will murmurs, grinning at Mike with a hand on his arm. Part of him still wants to squeal about the fact they're still naked, most of him wants to scream about Mike turning towards him, shifting closer and gently guiding him.
"You are, but – c'mon, I think you deserve to be cleaned up a little beforehand," he retorts softly, moving until they're practically cuddling again, Mike's face so close that Will can barely breathe, every instinct in his body either telling him to run or to kiss him, push him back on the bed for round four.
He goes for the middle-ground, letting Mike nudge at his chin with his knuckle so he looks up at him. Mike's eyes, openly caring, distract him enough that when he feels the cold press of a wipe on his stomach, Will yelps, wriggling. Mike lets out a low, attractive chuckle, saying something Will can't catch, before pressing gently and wiping at the skin until it's clean and back to normal. Well – as normal as it can be.
Will looks down, then promptly blushes at the sight of hickeys around his old scar from when he was young. He doesn't even remember Mike putting them there. He wishes he did.
Suddenly, he realises Mike is trying to get his attention with his eyes, big, round and pleading. Will laughs a little. "What?"
Mike's eyes dart up and down, his hand hovering with a new wipe in his grip. They're sitting with their legs folded up close to one another's, Will's being slightly parted, Mike's other hand rubbing at his smooth inner thigh, making him shiver. "Do you want me – can I –"
It takes a second, but as soon as Will clocks where Mike suggested to clean, his whole body buzzes. It's funny – just a few minutes ago, Mike was literally inside him, and here he is, getting all giddy over some gentle touches. Great.
"Oh! Uh, well – you might get a bit distracted, won't you?" Will gathers the strength and leans in, brushing his nose against Mike's, who slackens completely and nods, agreeing without realising. "Besides, I'm getting impatient. For my bath."
Mike perks up, eyes on high alert. "Right! Yeah, 'course, 'course. I'll – I'll just…" He nods towards the door to the bathroom again, but still waits in stasis for some – oh.
Tentatively, Will nods, muttering a "yeah," before Mike takes the permission to leave him alone in the bedroom again, disappearing behind the door from which steam is now erupting, cute little butt and all. Will could hum from the satisfaction of telling him what to do, ignoring the urge to follow him in there and prolong cuddle-time, forcing a thought about what he'll tell his friends at brunch on Sunday.
He'll tell them that he whipped Mike into shape for an evening. He won't tell them that he thinks Mike might be sweeter than he was even when he was a kid, taking care of both of them, protecting Will against anything that could possibly discomfort him. He won't tell them the fear he has right now, that as soon as he gets into the bath, as soon as he lets himself soak into the domestic bliss of a lifestyle he's banned from, it'll be snatched away. Whether reality will hit him or Mike first. Either way, it'll be disastrous.
Will blows out a breath, only now noticing how much he's calmed down. It's not often that this happens after hooking up with a guy – getting to just exist in his room, exist in his space. Though it makes sense, feels right, that he's in Mike's apartment. Even if he's never been here, he might as well know it.
Sitting up on the bed, Will rubs his hands over his arms, definitely not feeling quite as dirty, but still sweaty enough to want that bath. He taps his fingers, pushes out his lips, and blows out a bored little raspberry into the air as his eyes wander.
He never really got a chance to look around while he was being thrown onto the bed. But now, he notices. In amongst the new-Mike things that scare him a little – the huge computer, the bookshelf of things that aren't comics, posters of bands unknown to Will – there are many, many old, familiar items that Will can't resist smiling at. On his nightstand, there's his old, battered rubix cube, his glasses, and a picture frame Will can't discern. He slides over, takes one look at the bathroom door, and picks it up.
An uncontrollable, small giggle pushes out. It's a slightly younger Mike, still older than the last time Will saw him, in wire-rimmed glasses, arms slung around his sisters. A big, wide grin is on his face, lighting up the entire picture. You never used to like smiling in pictures. His hair looks laughably terrible, like he's half a year into growing it out from an awfully short haircut. There are moving boxes around them and Holly's wearing –
Oh. He was helping Holly move. Move to college. God, how things have changed.
Will gently places the frame back on the nightstand, breathing a long sigh, hoping it eases his now quickening heart. He's not sure why he's feeling a little flustered.
The bedside lamp is still the same lamp that Mike had in his basement. Will follows his gaze around the room, staring closer at the bookshelf and spotting their old D&D figurines. Everyone's is there except Will's. Even Max's stands there, placed next to Jane's. It's not like Will actually has his. In fact, he doesn't think he's played D&D, in – what – a couple of years? Three?
His eyes continue to wander, more frantically now, darting from place to place, searching for a glimpse. A glimpse of himself. He spots tacked-up pictures of Mike grinning – seriously, since when did he smile in photos? – with Lucas and Dustin on their trip to Canada in 1994, with his sisters again, with Jane and her girlfriend in a coffee place, with a large group of people Will doesn't recognise.
Shit. When did I disappear from Mike's life?
He should be angry, should ask Mike why he never called, never asked for a picture for his bedroom. But then again – Will thinks… he knows he would have hung up. He has. He's snorted a laugh at Mike's desperation and gone back to barhopping, gone back to the lifestyle he knew he wanted. You can live your life comfortably, Mike, but I'm living mine happily.
The water is still running and he thinks Mike might be shaving. Will prolongs his gaze around the room, licking his dry lips as he spots more familiar things. The blue and red blanket, an old hoodie. His old movie posters, the street sign.
The – oh.
Oh. He has it.
A cold dread, despite the citrus-scented steam wafting into the warmly-lit room, floods Will's face at the sight of the old painting. Such a curled-up, faded old thing, hung in pride-of-place above Mike's desk. The moonlight illuminates it in stark lines through Mike's blinds. It's an old, stupid lie.
But it was only a half-lie, and he thinks it still is.
This isn't right. This isn't right.
Will looks down at his still-naked body, then at the door, then at the bathroom, where a warm light glows, where a slight hum comes from. Mike – muttering a song to himself. Maybe he can still get away with it, maybe he can run out without making a sound. Maybe he can find his clothes on the floor of the living room, scramble to put them on and be out of the apartment in two minutes flat. Maybe Mike will come into the bedroom and call out for Will, look through the living room and find that it's empty. Maybe his shoulders will slump and he won't understand what he's done wrong.
That'll show him. That'll show him for keeping his old things, for treasuring his stupid, fucking heart, becoming the person that Will always wanted except for the part where he wants him back –
"Hey," comes a soft voice from the doorway. Will flinches, his plans shattered even though he knew. He knew, deep down, he was never going to leave.
"You okay?"
Will takes a second, surprised that his breathing is steady under Mike's gaze. "Yeah," he says lightly.
"You're sure?"
Nodding, Will tightens his grip on his thumb. "…'Course."
A moment of silence occurs, which Will initially finds slightly awkward, until Mike stops leaning against the door and jerks his head in the direction of the bathroom. "C'mon, your spa awaits," he says, in a weird, posh little voice.
Will exhales, tries grinning before he stands, still acutely aware of their clothes-less status, something he's never cared about before – at least not in a guy's bedroom, that is. As soon as Mike turns his back to him, Will allows himself one more painful glance towards the painting on the wall.
Yep, that really is it, Byers. He's… he's got it.
In his distraction, he almost nakedly bumps into Mike in the doorway, who doesn't hesitate to put an arm around to touch the small of his back, guiding him. Leading him towards the bath. Towards the warmth of the room. He keeps his hand there as he speaks, too, steady and admittedly comforting.
"Like it?" Mike asks cheerfully, bending his knees for a second and gesturing at the room. Will takes a look around at the effort Mike has made.
He could cry. To think he was about to run away and break his stupid, clueless best friend-who's-just-fucked-him's heart. To think he thought him careless. To think, back in that bar, that he laughed at Mike's advances, kissed him because he thought it'd be fun. This is… so much more than that. Apparently, a pretend life with Mike was far more.
"You lit candles," Will whispers.
"Yeah, sorry, they're like– really small. I'm not really a candle guy, I guess, I dunno," Mike stammers, his finger still at Will's back, running gently up his spine now, as if ready to pounce into action in case he needs something. A stinging bothers Will's eyes. "I thought it'd make it… romantic, I dunno. Is it lame? It's lame –"
"Mike," Will says, feeling a tiny, hysterical laugh pushing out of him. "It's really, really nice." Dammit it's so fucking nice. Please don't say being romantic is lame. Mike's face lights up, akin to the expression he'd seen in the picture on his nightstand. Dammit. You're nice too.
Will takes a long breath, about to say something, before Mike beats him to it.
"Lavender and lemongrass," he blurts, "Bath salts. Um. I bought them yesterday, I dunno what I was –" He shakes himself off, shrugging like he didn't mean to say anything.
Wait, what? Will turns to him, about to ask a follow-up, until Mike leans down and crowds him, pressing a slow, warm, sweaty kiss to his cheek. So casual and yet somehow so meaningful at the same time – because it's Mike and he bought the bath salts yesterday? – but Will is happy to fall for it and rub at Mike's shoulder in praise.
As soon as Mike pulls back, he doesn't give Will a chance to speak, clicking his fingers like he's trying to remember something. "So, um, you – you get in the bath, make yourself comfortable, and…"
"Okay," Will muses, his mouth quirking into a fond grin, utterly charmed, goddammit. What a simple man he is. All he needs is Mike guiding him into a room, a few romantic candles, and a nice, tempting bath for him to forget all about –
"And I'll go and get you a drink, alright?"
"Oh." Will feels suddenly forlorn at the thought of Mike not being here to chat with him, tease him as he gets into the bath. He doesn't exactly want to be alone with his thoughts, but again, the fact that Mike wants to take care of him like this, like being fucked thrice has somehow rendered Will in dire need of care, is extremely tempting.
"What? You don't want a drink?" Mike's voice is forlorn too, curious and soft.
Will giggles, indulging himself by trailing a single finger up Mike's chest and seeing how he reacts."Well I… I wanted you here." Reacts very well, he thinks as Mike's eyes widen and soften like he's been put under a spell. It only serves to soothe his tone even further, leaning in close like he's seducing him. "Kinda wanted you here, Mike."
This is definitely just because I don't want to be alone with my thoughts. Definitely.
"Oh… oh wow…" Mike murmurs, eyes hooded as he stares into Will's, fascinated, before they dart down to his lips. He wets his own, hands travelling to Will's ticklish waist. Will nearly giggles at him, mouth straining to suppress a smile in case they get to kiss again. Oh how he'd love that right now. He's so cute.
Then Mike shakes his head like a frustrated puppy. "Um – You should drink, though, after everything we did," he says, firmly, making Will tilt his head and give a conceding sound. "I'll be really quick, I swear."
He's off to the door – still naked by the way – pausing one last time to say, "You should get in," before he's grinning at Will, who nods, then watches Mike go.
Alone again. The bath stares at him, awaiting his presence, smelling of lavender, lemon, and home. Mike ran it for him, all for him. He's changed so much and yet simultaneously switched back to the version he once knew. He kept his painting –
Right. Will clenches his fists, stares down at himself and reminds his brain that there is literally still sweat in his crevices, and both his and Mike's cum is drying in between his thighs. He needs this, really needs this.
Reaching out his hand, Will swipes through the water in one slow drag. Of course, it's the perfect temperature; hot enough to sting, to heat his hand to a light pink, to probably turn him flushed all over once he's in. Nice and scalding, enough to seep into his bones and wash away all dread, all worries he has. All the things associated with fucking your first love will be burned away.
Without another thought, Will climbs in.
Hissing as his legs descend into the bath, he braces his arms against the sides of the shower-bath combo, careful not to touch the candles. He also makes sure not to dwell on how cute it is that Mike's shower curtain has a Tetris pattern on it as he lowers his body into the tub, dainty and careful. The heat settles, marrow deep, in incremental waves as he slowly adjusts, sinking into the water until his chin kisses the surface.
He'll admit it – he hums low and long, closing his eyes and leaning his head back so it bumps gently on the side. He could kiss Mike Wheeler a hundredth time tonight, holy shit, this is amazing. How does he do this?
Steam from the mix of water, the soap, and the bath salts turns into a haze before his eyes, but the blur could very well be the sudden lightheaded, uber-relaxed feeling that douses his entire person as Will stretches out his aching limbs. The tension in his thighs from riding Mike, the tension in his back from arching in pleasure whenever they'd set a brutal pace, the tension in his neck, his arms, everywhere. Melting. Melting away, surfacing more pleasant memories from earlier in the evening.
This time, there's no dread. He doesn't think about the thing on Mike's wall. He remembers how Mike whimpered his name, how he'd told him how fucking good he felt, the way Mike had held his leg up as they fucked standing up, the way Mike had liked having his hair tugged on. Bracing his arms along the edge, Will focuses on his chest rising above and below the waterline as he breathes in and out. In and out. That and the memory of Mike's lips around his dick – holy shit is he lucky to have that for free.
Will lets out a rumbling laugh to himself, feeling the heat soak deeper into every crevice. Time to cook.
Just as the thought occurs to him that Mike should be here to enjoy this moment with him, he hears the door open and close. It takes a few moments to find the energy to open his eyes, so Will simply turns his head and muses, "What took you so long?" even though he has no clue how long it's been. Could have been an hour, for all he cares.
Something is placed down, and Mike's voice sounds close when he says, "I was making green tea. And I changed the bedsheets for later."
Will blinks his eyes open, met with a Mike kneeling by him, his expression softening in recognition. Looking over the tub, Will spots a mug of steaming, calming tea, and that Mike has unfortunately put on a pair of boxer shorts. He chooses to focus on the former, rather than the latter, because – what?
"You… uh – like green tea?"
It's not a niche fact that Will loves green tea, but it certainly shouldn't be known to Mike, seeing as Will only discovered its wondrous capabilities to calm his mind about anything – Upside Down-related or not – about two years ago, thanks to his therapist.
"Nope," Mike says, his expression smug, for some reason. "But you do. Jane told me."
"And you remembered," Will wonders aloud, his eyes half-lidded in pleasure, before he spots the smile spreading wide over Mike's face, proud and extremely glad he got it right. He's a bastard for buttering him up like this, he's a bastard for caring so much for him, just to likely leave him and never call him again – but still, the haze and the smell and the air in this room is… doing things to Will.
Doing so many things in fact, that he leans forward in a beckon. Mike takes the bait, joining him in the haze, but Will is the one to press their lips together, melting from the warmth, especially as a hand glides up to his jaw, guiding them gently deeper into the kiss. He could stay here forever. Stay here with Mike and his lips doting on him, leading him, caring for him with every breath and sound they share. Surprisingly, Mike slowly pulls away, smiling widely as he takes something from the floor beside him and lifts it.
Lifts it to Will's mouth.
"Mm–" he mutters in surprise, rippling the bathwater as he tries to hold onto the cup being pushed against his lips by Mike, but he's swiftly stopped.
"Shh, just let me," Mike whispers, sending a shiver through his boiling body.
The Will from before, before the bath took hold of him, would have protested against the doting. But the new Will he goes lax, pliant, and lets Mike hold his chin in the most dainty of ways, opens his mouth and appreciates the warm tea carefully poured in.
Will's brain feels smooth, empty except for Mike, Mike, oh my god, Mike, and the taste of the tea. He didn't think he could get much more relaxed, but as he gulps it down, his mind is transported to a world where it's just them. Beyond the bathroom door is a sea of nothing, and Will is finally content.
Mike doesn't let his mouth fill too much, waiting until Will has swallowed before he moves back in again to let him drink more. "Does that feel – taste good?" he asks, voice meeting Will's ears through the steam. "I wasn't sure what kind you liked, so I made –"
He swallows hard, the earthy taste coating his tongue. "'S perfect, Mike," Will hears himself say, barely recognising his calmed, high-sounding tone.
He almost whines out when Mike pulls the cup away, placing it back on the floor, but he doesn't really mind. Not when he spots him reaching for the shampoo and stretching out his arms, showing off those new, hidden muscles of his. For a second, Will thinks he has every mind to question what the hell he's going to do now, until Mike stands on his knees, leaning forward so his hands are over the water, pouring the shampoo into his palm.
"What're you doing?" Will mumbles, sitting up completely with tiny splashes of water, staring at a particular spot on Mike's shoulder. A cluster of freckles he wishes he could kiss forever.
"Well, you're in the bath, aren't you? I'm not just gonna let your hair get even sweatier," he replies, like it was always obvious that he was going to wash Will's hair. When he looks up at Will, his chest flutters with need. "C'mere."
Now his chest is practically exploding. What is wrong with him tonight?
"Curse you, Mike," Will whispers, dropping his head down and shaking his head.
"What?" he chuckles, still with shampoo awaiting in his palm. "Curse me?"
"Yeah," he whines. Mike only proves his point as he, for no apparent reason, makes an effort to lean down and kiss Will on the nose. "God, you're –" Confusing, frustrating, caring, considerate, kind, annoying, too loving to lose. "Being so hot right now."
Mike lets out a surprised chuckle as if Will hasn't called him that about five times already tonight, both in his head and out loud. "Thank you," he murmurs, voice calling through the mist. "But seriously, come here, your hair is sweaty, and it's bothering me."
Will relents easily, not sure what's about to happen, but he lets it, barely flinching when Mike threads his fingers through his hair. Instantly, a fuzzy warmth spreads from head to toe, making him close his eyes in deep, inebriated pleasure as Mike's extremely skilled fingers – he knows this in more ways than one now – lather the shampoo on. It smells of apples, a sugary scent which melds perfectly with lavender and lemon, and foams quickly as Mike continues his soft scratches at his scalp, turning his hair bubbly with soap.
The ministrations move from the top of his head to the sides, Will's eyes closed throughout as the bliss escalates from gratifying to all-encompassing. Mike might be overdoing it, taking his sweet time, but there's no way in hell Will can think about that right now.
He won't complain when he can believe, for a second, that Mike isn't doing this to get something from him, isn't doing this for a reward later on. He's just doing this because he's him. He cares.
It's only when he hears Mike letting out a fond, grumbly chuckle that Will realises he's been making noises – soft hums and grunts – for the past hour or minute that Mike has been massaging his head. Ignoring the embarrassment that sweeps through him, Will opens a singular eye to look at Mike, who grins smugly at him.
"Shut up. You're – god – you're doing this on purpose. To torture me."
Freudian slip there. Because yes, the logical part of his brain is telling him the truth. That this is all a faux pas, a torture device set up just for Will, who swore off taking pleasure from Mike Wheeler. First, the exception from this rule was kissing him in a dark bar, then it was hooking up with him. Now this. He's fucked.
"Torture you?" Mike laughs, wetting his hands in the water. "I dunno… you sounded pretty pleased."
"Shut up," Will murmurs, a grin turning his voice sweet and sappy. God, what has he turned into?
Mike chuckles back, and it's so easy, so easy, to fall into a dream-like space again, especially as Mike cups his hands under the water and looks to Will for permission. "Right, I'm gonna wash it off now," he whispers, no need to say anything, but Will appreciates the tiniest heads-up.
Suddenly, he hears a hissed-out shit, and Will's eyes blink open to find Mike sucking on his thumb. "What?"
"Fucking – burned myself on a candle," Mike whines, shaking his hand.
A blissed-out laugh escapes Will's chest quietly at first, then crescendos as the haze of the bath seeps into his lungs, a bubbly energy bursting within. He tilts his head at Mike, who seemed pissed at first, his eyebrows doing that cute crinkly thing it always used to when they were young, before he laughs at himself, too. Will's veins feel golden, warmed by his touch, let alone the scalding water. Let alone the sound of Mike's laugh, bringing him right back home.
He doesn't feel twenty-six in this tub. He doesn't feel like the guy who has to stay up until three in the morning on weekdays because he works nights at the bar. He doesn't feel like the guy who smokes on the balcony with someone he won't see again. He's freer than he'd like to admit, soaked in love.
Once Mike has stopped complaining about his finger, and once they've finished splashing each other like little kids, they mellow out again, Mike's face relaxing into the ever-present smile. Will takes the time to study it for a moment, as Mike gathers water into the cup of his hands.
His freckles have grown plentiful. His eyes have faintly permanent crows-feet forming, evidence of happiness.
Mike shifts on his knees again, keeping the water cupped in his hands. "Tilt your head back for me – yeah, that's it," he murmurs, and Will relishes in a pleased thrill passing through his chest at the praise as he tilts his head back, allowing Mike to lean forward and slowly pour water over his soapy hair.
He repeats the motion once or twice, the suds running down Will's back and chest, disappearing into cloudy water. It's a mindless task, but Will could stay here forever, just letting Mike wash everything bad away.
"So…" he hears, seeing as there's not much else to do except wait for the shampoo to wash out. "You like it?"
Will keeps his eyes scrunched shut. "Wh – the bath?"
"Yeah."
A light snort. "Yeah, yeah I like it Mike," he answers, "I think that was made clear by my… embarrassing noises earlier."
"They're not embarrassing," Mike says simply, but although Will can't see his expression, he can hear the smirk in his tone, "You're welcome to keep doing them."
"Right," Will laughs. Water pours over his face, into the seam of his lips. He doesn't keep doing them, but he sure might if Mike keeps smoothing his hand through his hair like that, silently showing a part of himself that Will thought would never return.
Through the silence – bar the gentle splashing of water – Mike clears his throat. "Sorry my place is so messy," he says, "My bedroom is – I didn't get a chance to clean up, or um –"
"No, no, we were too busy for me to notice," Will replies easily, before – Bedroom. Mike's bedroom. A deep heaviness pulls at his chest at the thought that he might never get to see it again, dread joining it when he remembers. Remembers what he saw, remembers the reality that he won't ever get another chance to tell the truth, and that he won't take the chance, either.
"And… anyway, your bedroom is… nice," he says, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, expelling some unwanted nervous energy.
"Just nice?"
A hand trails over Will's cheek, making him flinch before weakly leaning into it. Judging by how long it's been since water poured over him, Will thinks it's safe to open his eyes now. Only, when he does, he realises it's been safe all along. Mike is here – staring at him openly, not hesitating or darting away when Will makes eye contact. It's unfamiliar, and yet elicits such an ancient nostalgia that his voice shakes when he speaks again.
"Yeah – uh, yeah, you still have… a lot of your old stuff," he murmurs, wondering if he's being glaringly obvious or if Mike will just be clueless once more. What if he's not? What if he knows and still has that darn thing taped up? Impossible.
"'Course, I'm not totally different just because I'm g…" Mike trails off, his hand falling so his wrist lies limp on the side of the tub, letting his fingertips graze the water's surface. "Grown up now."
Huh. Will could have sworn he was about to say something else. A flare of justice sparks in his chest, and he's not sure whether it's the fact that he just fucked this man, or whether he's in the best bath of his life, but Will musters the courage to say: "Were you gonna say because you're… gay?"
God, that was stupid, Mike probably wasn't going to say that anyway – he always tended to wander off mid-sentence. Mike might not even be gay, he might just like guys. He might have made a tenuous but still unequivocally good thing a thousand times worse. Why does he always have to –
"Yeah," Mike sighs, before chuckling lightly to himself. His eyes are downcast, staring at the swirling water, and Will has no idea why he's so surprised. "Yeah, I was."
When he looks up, Mike's eyes almost read… grateful? Will is struck by the sincerity of it, the slight smile plastered on his face like he'd been waiting to talk about this all night. It wasn't like they hadn't talked about it – how the hell are you supposed to know you can kiss your best friend/first love of over ten years, who you also thought was straight for over ten years, without checking that they're into kissing guys first, anyway? But it'd been in a bar with loud music and alcohol to light the path. This is… Will in Mike's bathtub, completely naked as Mike stares at him like he's just told him he's won the lottery.
Will nods, understanding. It's easier when someone else brings it up. He knows that. But what he doesn't know about it is when. Or how. Or how long. Or how many… guys. Back in his resentful stupor in the bedroom, he thought he knew.
"Uh – I'm s–" Will starts, before he's barrelled over with a gripping glare.
"I'm sorry, Will. God, 'cause –" Mike stammers, swallowing.
Will wishes he had never said anything, but what if this is everything?
"'Cause how is it that I just – that I kissed you, and… we're in my bathroom, and like…" He lets out a troubled breath, a shaky hand moving through his damp hair. "You didn't even get much of an – an explanation."
"Hey, hey –" Will starts, not sure where he's going with this, but. Okay. He takes his wet hand out of the water and places it on Mike's arm. "You don't owe me a whole explanation."
Mike seems deeply troubled by this, his eyes fixed on Will's face as he frowns. "Are you – are you sure?"
Take your chance, you idiot, Will's mind screams at himself as he stares at the opportunity to know absolutely everything laid out in front of him. But his stomach rolls, rolls, at the thought of knowing. Maybe a few minutes ago, if Mike had suddenly started talking about his gay escapades and the sexy little details of his entire new sex life when he was massaging Will's head, getting him pliant and stupid, Will may have wanted to listen. He might have joked with him about his first experiences, too. But it just means Will's one of them. One of the guys Mike has explained this all to.
"I mean –" Will says, too late. Far too late.
Mike takes his own chance in his grip. "It's just – I've been doing a lot of thinking," he states, and Will is not thinking about how needlessly close and intimate this conversation is, and instead about how maybe Mike should have been thinking a lot more in the past.
His voice is trembling. "About who I am, and who I… who I –"
"I know, Mike," Will whispers gently, squeezing his hand, letting water trickle from his palm back into the water. "You don't have to explain yourself again. Even though I was quite drunk –"
"Quite?" Mike teases, making Will both want to cuss him out and kiss him at the same time.
"Shut up," he laughs, Mike distracting him by tracing shapes on his damp hand. "Even though I was drunk, I remember what you told me… back at the bar."
Mike bobs his head, probably recalling it too, how he'd let his presence at a literal gay bar speak for itself, while he talked about how much better life is now he's not hung up on whether everything he's doing has some ulterior meaning behind it. Will understood – lord knows that he'd had trouble differentiating between being a jerk to his friends and just wanting things to stay normal so he, too, can be normal. He remembers the way they'd swayed close to each other in the club, especially when Mike murmured to him that he wants to stop denying himself the things that he really wants. He wants to start living now. He wants to stop hurting people just because he's scared, especially not Will.
Sure, it wasn't the whole story, but Will honestly – despite what he told his friends – didn't need much more than that. The eyes Mike made at him were proof enough that he wasn't going to run away if they kissed. That was further confirmed when the guy who used to call him "man" leaned in and told him he looked insanely pretty tonight. Will had practically swooned, drunk on two things at once. Such a fool.
Mike's eyes fall, his ears turning a faint shade of pink. "I know I said a lot of stuff then, but I just… I wanted to speak about it though."
"Oh." He wants to speak about his gay misadventures with other men. With Will, the last guy he just fucked. What is wrong with him? What is wrong with Will, for not being happy for him?
He hates jealousy. He's never really thought of himself as a jealous person, but he guesses the guys he could have potentially been jealous of or about – but weren't – weren't Mike. They weren't the boy he'd agonised over having a girlfriend for years – both of whom are now gay and apparently best friends, which he thought would mean that the nightmarish emotion would leave him be.
But of course, Mike being gay comes with a whole buttload of new problems, even if Will used to assume it would solve everything.
"Yeah, you can ask me literally anything you want," Mike says with a grin. Oh, he really means that? "Anything you wanna know."
Will checks for the cracks in his demeanour, really checks, but he only finds sincerity and something else more tender in his gaze. He lets out a breath and a nervous chuckle, but his mind does the rounds.
Predictably, he comes up with a thousand ideas and questions pertaining to the painting hanging up on the wall, whether it hides a stain, and if that's the only reason why it's up. Whether it's just because he and Jane are on good terms, so of course he'd still have her painting up. Whether he knows. Whether he's fucked six guys but wanted Will too. Whether he sought Will out just because he's safe and easy and the only other gay guy he knows in New York (impossible). Whether they'll stay friends after this, become fuck buddies, or become strangers. Become another thing that Will laughs about with his friends but secretly wants to die over.
Whether Mike also cried himself to sleep at night, wishing he were normal.
Instead, Will takes a breath and lets it out, saying, "Did you – did you like Pala's bar?"
Mike takes a second, probably also preparing for a bigger question than that. "Uh – yeah! Of course!" he says, enthusiastically. Will wasn't sure why even that question, much smaller than the others, scared him so much. As if Mike would actually say that he regrets it, that this lifestyle really is dirty, and that bars are for heathens and Will should be elsewhere, cleansing his soul by painting or something else much more like the little-Will of the past.
When Mike moves his hand to lightly stroke Will's jaw, his mind practically short-circuits. He's not sure why – only a few moments ago, he was massaging his scalp and making him moan in pleasure. It's just so tender – a glimpse into a certain life.
The touch comes with a couple of questions: "Do you like it there? Go there a lot?"
Will nods. "Uh-huh. Lots." He winces at his stubborn self and adjusts to match Mike's slightly infuriating softness. "I mean, it was my first gay bar I went to when I was a freshman in college," he amends, quieter, before smiling to himself, remembering the scary mix of nerves and pure excitement. The door into a whole new world. He remembers wishing he could zoom far into the future, where he'd no longer be worried about whether people would like him, whether people would think he didn't belong. Now he honestly… wishes he could go back. Wishes he could relive the moment he realised he could be wanted, freely and loudly.
What if Mike had that moment too? Was it when Will reciprocated their kiss and told him he's not so bad himself? He wouldn't be surprised if he received a hundred more of those moments, with that irresistible smile, his sharp eyes, and lithe body. The guys at Pala's would go crazy for him.
"It was really welcoming," Will says. "So I'm glad, and not surprised, that it was your first gay bar."
Mike grins off to the side, letting his hand glide back into the water. "It… wasn't my first," he says shyly.
Of course. How could Will forget what he's already prepared himself for?
"Huh, cool, um – what was –"
"This place down in West Village, and- God, it was fun, but I was such an embarrassment to my friends," Mike laughs, his face brightening at the memory. And also – friends plural. "I was also… a bit scared? I think going there was like, the first time I admitted that I was part of something. That it wasn't just an – isolated issue. I guess. I dunno how to descr –"
"No, yeah, I get that," Will replies softly, surprised at how okay he's taking this. It's selfish, really, to get hung up on Mike having an experience outside of him. Even stupider to assume that he'd gone home that night with nothing but a few drinks in his system.
"Well," Mike continues, his eyes back to being grateful and sweet. "That night ended up being really good."
"Great," Will chokes out, a word that's thin and makes him want to hit himself again. But to think that that might be how he describes tonight to his friends – just a night that ended up being "really good", nothing more – makes Will want to get out of this bath without another word and walk right out that door.
"Do you… wanna ask me anything else?" Mike asks wryly, a mischievous little grin pushing at his cheeks. Will would love to want to say no, but something warm and ugly in his head is telling him to say–
"What was your first time with a guy like?"
As soon as he asks it, Will wants to scream into his hands, pretend it never happened. Because what if it was amazing? What if Mike says it could never compare to Will? What if Mike shrugs and says it's nothing? What if, even worse, Mike looks away and can't tell him? What if it was awful, and there is absolutely, unquestionably, no reason at all for Will to resent it?
Mike blinks twice, his lips twitching. "Oh – uh, my first… time with a guy?" he repeats, blushing – which is fair enough. This is a pretty personal question, something they never used to talk about. A line they couldn't cross. Yes, they could very well have amazing, mind-blowing sex, but they couldn't talk about it. No way.
Wordlessly, Will nods. Mike looks off, opening and closing his mouth. He put him on the spot. Guilt, ugly and twisted, pulls at Will's heartstrings before he reaches a hand out. "Hey, you don't have to tell me, alright?"
This only seems to serve Mike's confusion more, the divot in his brow looking less fuelled by nerves, and more like a what is he asking me? look. He stares down at Will's hand, once, twice, before his face relaxes, a quiet smile spreading across.
"No, it's okay," Mike giggles, tilting his head and studying Will like he's just spoken a foreign language. Will grasps at the moment of silence to prepare himself for what's about to come.
"It was… really good," Mike says, his voice dripping with affection for this phantom sex-partner.
Fuck my life.
"Mm – mhm?" Will hums brokenly, blinking.
"Yeah," Mike murmurs, smirking and – Jesus does he want to kill him? – starting to rub his thumb across the back of Will's hand. Like torture. And – oh God, don't open your mouth, don't say anything else.
"I met him… at a gay bar, and we hit off like super well," he starts, Will's skin going cold despite the water's still-scalding temperature. "I thought he was the most beautiful person I've ever seen, with such good jokes, such… a kind heart. When I kissed him, it was like- like everything sort of fell into place? It was like an oh. This is how it's supposed to feel, y'know?"
Did he want him to reply?
Will finds himself nodding, just barely, resigning himself to admitting that his mind can't wander off at a time like this. So he'll just have to get through this world-ending minute before he can get out of the bath, dry off, and go home to throw all his belongings onto the floor in an unjustified fit of rage.
"And then," Mike continues, somehow softer, "we went back here. And at the start, I was a bit unsure about what I was doing, just 'cause, I mean obviously. It was my first time, and I'd built it up in my head so many times like that. But it became really good, like insanely hot. But more than anything, he… he made me feel safe. So safe. I think it was the best night of my life, honestly. Afterwards, too. It sort of made me realise that this thing about me isn't – it isn't wrong. I can have what I want without apologising for it."
…
"Oh," Will breathes, fully taking his hand back into the water, pinpricks erupting all over it. The world is quiet, and Mike's presence is suddenly so stark. Unfairly, it still manages to comfort the worst of his aches.
God, his voice. He sounded so happy, so at awe with himself, like he'd never said anything like that aloud. He chose Will, at least. Maybe he can be happy with that and maybe he won't go home later and scream into his pillow, vowing never to take up an offer from Mike Wheeler again.
"Good, good," Will stammers, trying to fix Mike with a genuine grin. Surprising to no one, it's easier than he expected. Because it's Mike. Mike's happiness. "That's great, Mike, you deserve –"
"Will." Mike's tone shifts, his eyebrows curved into an expression that makes Will want to check behind him for something making him look ridiculous.
"What?" he muses slowly.
"C'mon," he says, voice still playful, hand nudging down to grab at Will's under the water, making him flinch.
"I'm –" Mike sighs, running a hand over his hair like he's embarrassed. Yeah, you should be embarrassed. "I'm talking about you, Will."
Wait.
Wait oh my god. Will sits up in the bathtub.
His first instinct is that it's a joke. Another cruel play from a universe that hates him. But when he zooms out, flies up and watches the situation, he wants to laugh at himself. This was exactly what happened back at the bar when Mike told him he was obviously there for a reason. This was what happened when Mike leaned in, urging him to kiss him. Every single time, Mike has proven his stubbornness wrong, and he guesses, after all of that, some stupid, self-sabotaging inkling left inside him wanted him to be right for once. Even if being right would kill him emotionally.
But this. Holy shit, holy shit. How could he – he had no – he –
"You are?" Will asks, his voice small and hopeful.
Mike nods. Sincerity shines through his eyes, and for the first time since he came down from the sex-high earlier, he feels no qualms about this. On instinct, Will leans forward, the rippling water making a splash sound. He lets his wet mouth hover above Mike's for a moment – a small droplet drips down to Mike's cupid's bow – and giggles to himself.
Safe. Best night of my life. Will closes the gap, relishing in the warm gasp that Mike lets out, his lips melting and locking against his, creating a perfect fit. This thing about me isn't wrong.
The most beautiful person. It gets more heated as Mike's words fly through his head, though Mike's the one bringing his hand to Will's damp hair, tugging slightly, coaxing a moan from his throat, their throats. Mike's teeth catch on Will's bottom lip, then he sucks, gentle yet tantalising, and Will swears he's about to grab him by the neck and pull him into the bath for round four. I can have what I want.
"Will, Will," Mike whispers between breathy kisses, strongly resembling how he'd said it when they'd kissed for the first time in that dark club, surrounded by people they don't know, reinventing themselves. And here, now, as he swirls his tongue around Mike's in a desperate motion, Will think they're –
Wait.
He pulls away, flushed and warm again. Mike's eyes lower to his lips, trying to catch him, his hand sliding over a damp shoulder. "Back," he mumbles, dreamy and dazed, lips parted. Come back.
Instead, Will exclaims, "That was your first time with a guy?"
Even though Mike said it already, and his mind has been replaying it for the past twenty seconds ever since he realised it, he's still overcome with disbelief when Mike nods his head like it's obvious. "Yeah, it was," he says, sniffing slightly. Casual.
Jesus. Will's mind can barely take two things at a time, let alone hundreds of thoughts racing through his brain about how the hell Mike was able to do that to him without ever even trying before, how all his worries and assumptions about Mike's nonchalant demeanour about a one-night-stand should technically be flushed away now. About how he was Mike's first time with a guy. A vital, important experience and… he was there. He gave that to him, no one else. How selfish that is.
Before the sense of pride can overtake, Will shakes himself inwardly, saying, "Are you serious? You knew how to give me a – You knew you had to prep me first!"
"I have gay friends, they tell me things."
"You also knew what a rimjob was," Will says, getting a little louder, counting things off on his fingers as Mike sits there, positively amused. "It was like you'd – I dunno it certainly felt like you'd done this with lots of –"
"I watch gay porn someti –"
"Mike, you literally made me cum three times!"
A bark of affronted laughter comes from Mike, his smile wide enough to further indent those faint lines around his eyes. "Okay, okay," he says, putting his hands up. "You can keep saying it, but…" Then he leans forward, catching Will's lips with his thumb, and case-and-point, how the fuck is he so good at making him weak? Jesus Christ –
"…that doesn't make it any less true."
He feels like he ran a marathon, continuing to be shocked even after Mike gives him a giggly peck on the mouth. Will can tell he takes much pleasure in his surprise. He has to admit, it was very well done. He never would have guessed, in his entire existence. It's embarrassing that his stubborn streak flared up, and honestly… deeply arousing. He's lucky the bathwater is cloudy from the soap now.
"Well, uh – I'm going to keep talking about it, probably a lot, actually," Will says, voice still threaded with disbelieving laughter, only quietening when he takes a look at Mike, the smile on his face so wide he does the nose-scrunch thing Will's always found too cute to be fair.
He leans forward, rubbing his nose against the freckles on Mike's cheek, smiling shakily when Mike's chin instinctively tips up, trying to catch a kiss. Will murmurs, "Gonna brag about this to everyone I know," before sucking at the corner of his top lip, moving down, down, down to the dip in his throat, tonguing it gently for a moment, relishing in the slight whine he hears from above. "Gonna tell them all about how well you fucked me, Mike, and then tell them all about your inexperience. Everyone will be so impressed with you."
"Oh – wow. Uh – I… I dunno, it's kinda embarrassing," Mike nervously chuckles, making Will pull back, the water sloshing with every movement.
"Hey, no – I mean, I won't tell anyone if you don't want me to, obviously," Will says, despite the evil little voice in his brain telling him that his friends definitely need to know what happened tonight. "But still, there's nothing wrong with having your first experience like this."
"Really? You don't think twenty-six years old is like…" He shrugs, rubbing at his arm like he's somehow still ashamed. Will hopes all his stupid bragging – trying to prove something – about being with other men didn't help this shame along. "…a bit old to be a virgin?"
Will snorts. He's so unintentionally cute that he could squeeze the life out of him.
"No, I don't think so, not at all," he soothes, knowing his face is probably the pure incarnation of affection. No use hiding it now, he guesses. "And besides, you're – you're not a virgin, Mike."
Mike leans forward, a drunk laugh humming through his mouth. "I suppose not anymore, definitely not after what we did," he mutters, before planting another kiss upon Will's lips. He doesn't acquire the thought to kiss back.
Tilting his head, he asks, "Oh, you – you don't count women as like… part of it?" He face palms, then glances back up to see a red-faced Mike. "Sorry, that came out so bad, oh God."
"It's okay, it's okay," Mike repeats, looking down to fidget with his fingers. God, he probably, definitely, doesn't want to talk about any women he's been with right now, not when Will knows he can't begin to imagine what that would be like.
"I –" Mike starts, licking his lips and looking away vacantly. Will opens his mouth to reassure him that he doesn't need to explain himself again, but he's beaten him to it.
"I haven't… been with any women. Before."
Will's eyebrows fly high up on his forehead. "Oh." He softens, muscles relaxing as he moves forward in the bath towards the edge. "Mike. Really?"
"Yep," Mike sighs, popping the P, looking away like he doesn't want to have this conversation anymore. "Sorry." His voice shakes. Jesus Christ.
Will was dead wrong. So wrong. He's never been more wrong in his entire life. A tragic mix of frustration, guilt, care and desperation swirls in his chest. He's not sure what to think or what to do in this situation, but all he knows is that Mike is in front of him, looking away and chewing on his lip like he's trying not to cry.
"It's okay, it's fine," Will says gently, trying to make it sound less like he's about to cry as well. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Mike looks at him now, eyes full of shame. He shouldn't have to feel like that. If anything, he should be proud. That was a heck of a first time, and Will wishes he could say the same – okay, not the time.
"I… did," he says, genuine, making Will tilt his head once more. "I told you, uh, back in the living room, when we were about to like – start blowing each other, and I said I've never done this before. You just said it's fine, it's fine. Remember?"
Will lets his lip go from where he'd been chewing it. He looks away, casting his mind back to that hazy dream of a time. It feels like a thousand years ago. "I… I don't know, Mike. I was a little –" he laughs softly, tracing a wet finger over the hair on Mike's arm. "A little preoccupied."
Bobbing his head in a nod, Mike looks away, scrunching his mouth to the side in that way that lets Will know he's feeling shy. It's not that often, especially not since they've reunited, but yeah – Will likes it. Every version of Mike that he loves is still buried in there, deep and known by him.
Loves.
The realisation comes in a flash, quick and inevitable. Will tries to shelve it for later, even though he knows it'll come bubbling back up at some point, maybe in the next kiss, in the next insane thing that Mike lays on him.
"Hey," he whispers, clearing his throat a bit. "Look, I'm sorry if I didn't have the right reaction. But it was just shocking how… how good you were."
Mike looks up at him, his eyebrows raised in a teasing, unimpressed look. Will sputters, "I – I mean, of course you're good, I'm not saying I was expecting you to be terrible or anything!" A nervous laugh echoes before he turns his voice softer. "You're just a little unsuspecting. Who knew you were so… It's just very different to… what I'm used to, I guess."
Mike's lips purse in a boyish, little grin, smugness radiating from him at all the compliments. Then, he leans close, bumping the tip of his nose against Will's. "Well then, I guess all those guys didn't l–"
"'All those guys'?" Will repeats, feigning the affronted nature of his tone. Feigning because, well, Mike is literally right in front of him, massaging his shoulder with one hand like he adores him, and how can Will not adore him right back? "What, are you jealous of me?"
Rolling his eyes, Mike lowers his voice, fighting back with a simple, "Not of you."
It takes Will a second, mind buffering before he slumps with a chuckle, shaking his head as a pleasant wave of heat rolls over him.
"Wow," he mumbles, rolling his eyes but chuckling giddily. This may be stating the obvious, but holy shit. Mike actually wants to be those guys. He wants him. He wants him, he wants him.
Will wants him too. He wants to –
Beating him to it, Mike guides Will's jaw up and forward to his soft, waiting mouth, lips slick and sliding, heat crackling between them in tiny sparks when they slightly lick at each other. Will whimpers when pure greed mixes with the more innocent affection pulling at him, bringing his hand to Mike's neck and squeezing at the side gently, so he can stay anchored when he pulls away.
"Hey," he whispers. (He didn't mean it as a greeting, but Will's heart melts when Mike whispers a small hi back to him in his stupor.) Rubbing a thumb over his cheek, Will swallows.
"I'm really glad. That I made you feel safe." He knows why that's important to him, of course, but he's surprised at how choked up he gets as soon as Mike's smile grows wide on his face, grateful and earnest. He doesn't say anything, just nods, understanding.
And sure, there comes a tiny, selfish stab when Will remembers that this can't last, that Mike may have only come to him, cared for him like this, treated him with such affection, because he remembered that Will was here, in New York – an option for him to have his first time without fear of being judged. Sure, that may be true. But Will thinks he can make peace with that. The one thing he'd ever really wanted – to make love with someone – and he's gotten it with his best friend in the world. His heart.
It's when Mike's face shifts to concern and his thumb starts rubbing at his cheek that Will realises he's almost crying. Sniffling, Will shakes his head, smiling down. "Sorry, uh –"
"It's okay, it's okay."
"I just –" Will looks off to the side, giggling a little hysterically. "For the record…" he begins, taking a glance back at Mike, whose face is alert with interest. "You were amazing. I personally have never taken someone's virginity in the same night as I've cum three times, Mike, that's seriously insane. How did you even know how to, like – do all that – y'know –"
They laugh together, the sound a harmony.
"Okay, okay, I mean I had a lot of time to… ruminate," Mike explains. "Beyond all the – bullshit that comes with realising you're… gay. That you were gay all this time."
Will nods, wishing he had time to ask about everything, get every little detail. Did Mike cry when he realised? Did he call someone? Did he have someone to talk to, to reach out and get help from? Could that have been Will if he hadn't been so stubborn about missing Mike's calls? Fuck.
He files that thought for later. No use hitting himself now.
"And don't –" Mike continues, rolling his eyes and tracing a shape on Will's shoulder. "Don't judge me, but…"
Perking up where he sits, Will moves forward in interest, fluttering his lashes and quietly wondering if his fingers are going prune-y from sitting in the bath so long. He couldn't care less if he withers away in this bath with Mike here, though.
Mike giggles breathily, shrugging, his face a light shade of daylily pink. "I… sort of went to the New York public library." Will snorts, barely able to keep it in. "And… when I was in college, I went to a bunch of sketchy adult video stores looking for research. Surprised I didn't get mugged, honestly. All they would have found would've been a bunch of fucking gay porn though."
A bright laugh bursts out of Will.
Mike follows suit. "I didn't – I didn't even jack off to all of them, to be honest. I mostly made notes. I have a whole notebook that I'm not letting anyone look at. Not even you, honestly –"
Will's stomach hurts as the laughs keep coming, uncontrollable. "You – oh Mike, you are… such a nerd," he says, not meaning for it to sound so… fond, but of course it does. It's inevitable when Mike does shit like that, so characteristic, making him feel like he's known him this entire time.
"Well, gotta be prepared." He makes a flirty face at that, raising his eyebrows and smirking, like that was supposed to be a really sexy comment. It only makes Will laugh harder.
They keep chuckling to themselves, holding each other's arms to steady each other, until the laughs turn into giggles, until the giggles turn into hums, softening into grins. Mike wipes at his eye with one finger, continuing to look Will dead in the face, refusing to relent his grip on his heart.
Will wonders if this is the right time to ask. He does it anyway. "Why'd you wait so long?"
Mike's smile falters a little.
"Sorry, I get why you didn't want to have sex with – y'know, a woman, but like, I'm sure lots of guys caught your eye. Or you…"
Will trails off as he studies the man in front of him, how his hair's grown out into beautifully cared-for curls, ones that brush loosely over his shoulders in a way that begs for them to be stroked through, tugged on maybe. How much kinder his eyes have become while still retaining their sharp charm. How his smile lingers on his face for longer than it ever used to. His jaw, his cheekbones, his collar bones – they were always so uniquely Mike, and somehow he's gotten even more him as he's grown.
"Or you caught a lot of guys' eyes. I wouldn't blame them."
Mike shrugs, turning his head in what Will hopes is a flustered motion. His eyebrows crinkle a little, and once again, he gives Will a quietly confused look. "Nothing felt right," he says, "Every time I would… get a chance, I usually would feel either no attraction or desire to, or… I'd just say no."
"Oh, alright," Will breathes, nodding. He supposes that makes sense. Mike was never one to rush into a plan, hence why he seemingly read up on gay sex for years before actually putting theory into practice. It definitely paid off, so – Will can't blame him for that.
But still: "Why?"
For another time, Mike tilts his head, eyes perplexed. "Uh – because. They weren't you."
Will's heart skips a beat – something he thought only existed in those cheesy romance novels his sister keeps reading. Within a matter of seconds, he imagines every possibility that this could go wrong. Mike only wanted him because it's easy. Because Will has always been weak for him, and he knows it, because he has the painting and the proof that Will wouldn't say no to a kiss and more. He only wanted him, only waited this long, because Will had tried so hard to avoid seeing his first love ever again. And the one time he finally did see him, he fell into his arms and gave up all defence. Just so Mike can say to everyone that he fucked Will Byers, gave him the best sex of his life, and sent him on his way.
Shaking himself off, he decides to give Mike a chance, but can't help the defensive tone, "Mike, what – why would that matter?" Mike's face falls a little, eyes somehow focusing even harder on Will's face. Shit.
Will wishes they could return to laughing until their cheeks hurt. He wishes he never asked that first, stupid question. "'Cause we're friends?"
Mike's head shakes minutely, lips parted in bewilderment. "Because," he says, nothing else.
He wants to scream. "Because what?"
"Because I'm in love with you."
Will doesn't move. Terrified to shift the timeline.
Licking his lips gently, Mike shudders as his face breaks out into a shattering, fond smile. Then, much quieter, like this has always been a secret known only to them, he repeats, "I'm in love with you, Will."
"You –" Will chokes, the water suddenly feeling far hotter than it really is. Is this the result of some bath-salt-induced fever? "You what?"
"Um –" Mike's face reddens again. "You don't have to say –"
"Mike, you really –" God, he can't say it. He's sworn himself off saying it, thinking it, imagining it, for so long that speaking the words almost feels blasphemous. A betrayal of the boy inside him that wants to be free of the pain. Free of the nightmare that is getting over a Mike who simply could never love him.
Maybe it's time to wake up. "Say it again," Will whispers, realising he's shifted closer out of sheer desire.
Mike looks a little confused again, but complies, playing along with an eyebrow raise. "I love you so –"
"Oh my god," Will cuts him off, whispering, breathing quick, eyes wide and darting around his face.
Another perplexed look from Mike comes, smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, mischief glinting in his eye. "Why are you so surprised?" he asks, like it's not the most astronomically insane thing he's said tonight. "I've been in love with you for like – since we were kids, Will –"
Will shoves his face into his hands and screams, muffled, hands wet and dripping down his cheeks like tears.
"What… is going on?"
Ignoring him, Will stays there, in that space, in darkness, for a few more seconds, breathing heavily, until a burst of energy takes away his hands, splashing them slightly in the water. He exclaims, "Why are you – why – why are you acting like this is nothing to me?"
Mike doesn't reply, his eyes wide, eyebrows raised as nothing comes from his open mouth. Frustration bubbles up inside Will's chest again.
"I've literally spent my entire life loving you, Mike, and you're acting like we've been dating for – I dunno, I just –" Will ignores the sudden soft, teary expression on Mike's face to focus on not literally exploding. "God, I swore you didn't love me, every day I thought that to myself."
Mike is quiet for a moment, chest rising and falling, hand lying there in stasis as if it wants to reach out. "I thought… you knew. I mean, not the entire time. But I thought you knew I loved you now."
"Why?" Will snaps, maybe a bit too sharp. "Why would I ever know that, Mike?"
"Because!" He exclaims, still somehow soft in his tone, even now. "We – we made love. We made love to each other, right? We did what we wanted, needed, to do our entire lives, was that not what that was to you?"
Will opens his mouth to argue back, then the words hit him. Entire lives. The memories, as his face softens, crash into him like small waves, growing and growing, overlapping into a TV screen of static, replaying every moment in tiny pixels, though Will can see every one of them. Every stare, every word, everything he said, running, sprinting, far from each other, then back again. The gasps of oh God, Will, when he ran his fingers through Mike's hair. Maybe he hadn't enjoyed it because it's some erogenous zone. It'd just been Will's touch alone doing that to him.
"You loved me." Another whisper, "You love me."
Mike nods, rapid.
But even though Will slowly brings his hand to Mike's pained face, there's still something he just doesn't understand. "I'm sorry, I…" he starts, licking his dry lips. "I was – shocked, Mike. But it was… that to me. It was everything to me. Everything. You hear me?"
Mike nods again, obedient, looking as though he's holding his breath.
"But why now? How could…" How could you make me wait this long?
"Shit – Will, I…" Mike rubs a hand through his damp hair, the humidity of the room curling it into a mess of beauty and debauchery. "It's so stupid. It's so, so stupid. I was… talking. To Jane about you." Will raises his eyebrows. He knows Jane has sworn off telling Mike anything explicit about his love, and she'd never lie to him, so he has no idea where this is going.
"Well, I guess it was more about Vecna and everything, but still –" Mike swallows. "I kept going over it and over it in my head, searching for things that would indicate that he was still out there somehow, that it was too easy and I was… I guess I was scared. The whole time, I was being selfish, I just wanted you to need me. But El – Jane, she… um, she told me that you'd always need me. Even if you didn't want to admit it."
Will wants to argue, wants to fight back against the reins. But hearing it from Jane's metaphorical mouth – he can only sit still and listen with bated breath, every cell in his body thrumming with energy.
"And that reminded me of something." Mike looks away then, at the bathroom door, his voice wavering. Before he can say anything, Will's heart jumps in his chest. He doesn't mean –
"I stared at that painting for so long," he whispers, staring back at him, enough determination – love – in his gaze to topple a skyscraper. "I wanted it all to be from you, and once I called Jane again, I was so fucking happy that it actually was. Because you literally told me everything I'd ever wanted to hear, and I thought the world of –" He cuts himself off, sniffling and laughing under his breath at himself.
He was happy. Not horrified, not angry that Will lied.
"But then the more I thought about it, the more I… looked at myself," Mike murmurs, swallowing hard. Oh, right. "I knew there was always something that – that I was hiding from my – myself. That I was just living comfortably, which isn't the same as living happily, turns out."
He's getting really choked up now. A tether attached to Will's chest pulls him closer to the edge of the tub again, not caring if he gets Mike's arm all wet when he touches it, gently rubbing in what he hopes is enough comfort. Lord knows he'd do more if he could speak.
"You saw who I really was, Will," he whispers, "That's when I knew I had to get my shit together. And become me again. All of me, just enough, at least, to deserve you."
Will's brain is fuzzy, warm and somehow quiet. He's about to speak, until Mike interrupts, like he can't bear to keep it all inside now that it's begun to finally pour forth.
"Honestly, I don't even know if I deserve you now, I just –"
"Oh, Mike, hey," Will whispers at the sight of him.
Mike's actually crying now, voice cracking violently every few syllables, a couple of tears spilling down the side of his nose, begging to be wiped away by a tender hand. So Will does, feeling his heart crack at the sight of Mike's face crumpling in the wake of his palm's soft touch, his own hand coming up to hold Will's against his cheek, like he needs it to stay there a little longer.
"I just wanted to see you," Mike whispers, squeezing his eyes shut as he rubs his face minutely over Will's skin. "I had no idea things would go this far, to be honest. I had no idea if you'd want to talk to me, let alone want me at all. But… I kept your painting all this time 'cause – I was the heart of the party to you. That's how you used to think of me. And… I don't know, I just want to live up to that again. I need to be myself again. I really, really want to be myself again, Will."
Will's chest hurts, bursting with everything he wants to say, every moment in their lives he wishes to revisit and understand. Everything he'd said to his friends about the meaningless crush he had on a friend who was only there to help for a brief period. The crush on a friend whom he'd foolishly thought was his knight in shining armour.
Sitting here, he sees it. Mike's determination. The fire in his eyes when he stares up at Will, desperate and filled with promise. An oath bound to his chest.
Will, sure that he's sporting a few tears himself, leans forward and brings their foreheads to a touch. "Mike," he whispers, 100% truthful to himself for the first time in what feels like years.
"Mike, that is how I think of you."
A gasp, a swallow, then, "It is?"
Will nods, feeling himself grin hard. "Yeah. Yeah, it is," he whispers. Mike's shaky breath of relief ghosting over his lips serves as a reminder of what he can take if he needs. "GodIfuckingloveyou," he expels in a singular sigh.
Surprised, Mike lets out a wet laugh, contagious as always. "I really wanted you to know what I felt, y'know – Will."
"I know, Mike, it's alright, it's –"
"I should have just said it, really, I dunno why I didn't just say it." Frustration pulls at the syllables of Mike's words.
"Hey. You didn't have to, I felt it," Will says, meaning it to the highest degree. "I was scared to, though. I couldn't admit it was real, in case I got my hopes up again. You understand?"
Mike nods, their foreheads still pressed, unbearably close. Will's surprised he hasn't given in and attacked Mike's lips with the messiest kiss of the night yet. "You can hope, Will."
The lump in Will's throat throbs, making it hard to speak. "Y – eah. I know. I know."
A few seconds feel like minutes in the space between crying and connection, until Mike finally gives in, croaking out, "Kiss me, Will, plea –"
"Oh Mi –"
They meet like two live wires, a flare of light flashing white and starry behind Will's eyelids, as if he's just been dunked into cool, refreshing water, and the waves are pulling him under. He's happy to oblige, losing himself, letting a hungry kiss turn soft, moving languidly against Mike's lips until every excuse, every second thought, and denial turns away from him. They're done with him as soon as Mike presses closer, like he can't get enough, and leans so far over the bathtub that Will lets out a chuckle through his nose.
"Careful," he murmurs against Mike's lips, which interrupt him again. It's funny that this is hardly their first kiss. Lord knows they've kissed in many ways, many times, many positions tonight.
But Will thinks he might count it as one. It's not how he imagined it when he was a kid, when he would daydream about Mike's hair between his fingers on a soft, summer day, maybe on top of the hill that overlooks Hawkins. Maybe in his basement, on the couch, reading a book together. All expectations fall away. The walls he put up, the ones he never truly realised were up until tonight, fall away as a quiet voice – its fricatives reminiscent of Mike's lips clicking against his – tells him: You love him, you do. And he loves you too. You are allowed to lick the colour from his lips and listen to the hymns in his pulse and bask in the sunlight of his voice.
You can have him.
Will softly moans as Mike pushes forward, licking into his mouth like he's an expert on it, and oh, how he wishes he were an expert on Mike's. Maybe he gets to be one day – at that thought, he giggles.
Which is when Mike pushes too far and falls forward into the bath.
"Fuck – oh my god, Mike," Will laughs, chest aching. No other man he's met has ever fallen torso-first into a bath full of water when he tried to kiss Will, no other man has ever pulled his head up and stared at Will with a gleeful smile as water dripped from his hair, everywhere, and started to take his underwear off.
"What are you –"
"It's not fair you have to enjoy my bath all by yourself, Will," Mike chuckles, tossing his boxer shorts aside, shaking his hair out like a dog, and standing to get in, revealing hip bones and his back dimples and – y'know – "You weren't the only one who had hot gay sex."
"Mike," Will gasps when the love of his stupid, ridiculous life gets into the bath – which is, by the way, far too small for the both of them – with him, much less gracefully than he believes he did. Water sloshes over the side, splashing the tiled floor, and their legs tangle, making them both helplessly giggle like two teenagers as they try to wriggle into a normal position, skin touching in every way possible.
"Just – maybe if you –" Will starts, before Mike grabs a hold of his bicep, squeezing, giving him a look that makes him feel like his hands are all over his body. "What?"
Mike, with the same reckless, intoxicated energy he had back at the club, this time without the drinks and the lights to explain it away, leans forward and abruptly pushes Will so he slides down, head resting against the lip of the tub. He wants to say something stupid, say something he's never said, but as Mike lies above him with his knee between his legs, Will can only whisper an awed, "Hi," before Mike leans down, eyes hooded and –
Splashes him in the face.
Will scrunches his eyes up. "You're such a –" Another splash, paired with a laugh he wants to get drunk on forever. "Okay, you know what?" Flicking his hand up, Mike tightens his face as more water hits him, splashing back immediately.
All pain is forgotten.
…
…
"I wanna make love to you again" is one of the first things that Mike says when they assume a comfortable position on his bed, Will with Mike's fuzzy, slightly-worn bathrobe on, and Mike with the less luxurious band-tee and boxer shorts combo.
Will, grinning like a fool, strains his neck to look over his shoulder, where Mike Wheeler – love of his life that he told everyone he'd thoroughly given up hope on – trails little shapes into his shoulder like he can't get enough of him. Upon seeing this, Mike's eyes light up. He leans forward and makes it a point to trace a heart into Will's back before kissing right into the shape of it.
No one's like you.
"God, me too," Will replies without thinking, sighing dreamily and looking up to the ceiling.
Mike nudges him with a mischievous grin. "Are you thinking about it?"
That sounds extremely tempting. Will could wax on all night about how Mike made him feel, made him feel things he hadn't much before, and what other things they could find out about each other. But he very much likes how they are now, tucked up against each other in Mike's bedroom, his childhood things strewn about, hung up and reminding them that they've been each other's for as long as they can recall knowing one another.
"Well," Will starts, thumbing at the lanky hand placed on his middle. "We just had our post-sex bath, Mike."
Mike hums in recognition, though Will can tell he's a little disappointed. Cute.
With a small smile, Will brings up the hand and kisses it, speaking against the skin, "And we have our whole lives ahead of us to make love to each other." His heart should stutter, should make him second-guess. It's quiet, steady and thumping along with the chest's rhythm behind his back.
"We do?" Mike whispers, at first cheeky, then again, this time softer and hopeful. "We do?"
"I think so. Do you think… so?" Turning to look behind him again, Will isn't surprised to see Mike's eyes filled with joy when he spots him – he thinks he might have seen it a hundred other times, too.
He nods, mouth curving up and creasing his faint crows' feet again, a reminder of what else there is to look forward to, and what Will's purpose might be. To create more wrinkles like that, all over Mike's face, as proof of their joy, with time. Time and more time.