Chapter Text
Desire is the kind of thing that eats you and leaves you starving
— Nayyirah Waheed
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ONE
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When Will was younger, his mom used to say marriage was something you chose to do every day. If you weren’t waking up each morning with the conviction to keep going, keep trying, then it wasn’t worth the effort to keep that marriage alive. With Lonnie, there was a day where she stopped choosing it, stopped choosing him. It came too late in Will’s opinion. With Hopper, it had been more than twenty years of choosing him, and she’d never shown any signs of regret.
Will supposed it was good advice. His own experience had been markedly different than hers, though. What choice did he have to make, when his husband gave him the whole world, without reservations? He didn’t have to agonize over the bills the way his mother always did; he didn’t have to worry about where the next paycheck would come from; he barely had to think about what to wear every day. When someone else chose everything for you, all the struggle just disappeared.
He’d met Henry at sixteen, when he started sneaking into gay clubs and bars in Muncie, hooking up with college boys in the bathrooms. He’d loved the thrill of it, the illicit nature of an older stranger touching him places no one had ever touched him before. Henry wasn’t like those strangers. The first time they met, it was like Henry could see right through him, piercing blue eyes seeing into the weak, vulnerable core of him. He seemed to know, immediately, that he was too young for places like this. He didn’t touch him. He drove him the thirty minutes back to Hawkins and dropped him off home with quiet, mature concern.
Will didn’t have that level of maturity yet. He went back to the same club he’d met Henry at a week later, telling himself he wasn’t looking for the blonde man, but when he saw him sitting at the bar drinking a highball, wearing another perfectly tailored suit and looking entirely out of place in the flashing neon lights of the club, he felt such a frisson of excitement, which cooled immediately when Henry looked at him with disappointment. Like Will had let him down.
“It’s not safe for a boy like you to be in places like that,” Henry told him that night, as he took him home once again.
“What’s a boy like me?” Will had asked pettishly, sitting in the passenger’s seat of Henry’s BMW, the smell of fine leather and Henry’s cologne in his nose.
Henry had looked at him, blue eyes shining from behind the lenses of his elegant glasses. “Young,” he said. “Pretty.”
Will flushed pink and squirmed in his seat, wanting to hear more, wanting to hear Henry tell him all the things about himself he’d never known. “Pretty?” he’d asked, and Henry had just smiled, enigmatic as a Sphinx.
“I don’t want to see you at that club again, William,” Henry said when he pulled up at the end of the driveway to Will’s house.
“Would you see me somewhere else?” Will questioned, feeling bold. “I won’t go back, if I can still see you.”
Henry gave a sigh, like Will was suggesting he shoulder a terrible burden, and Will felt himself wither until Henry spoke again. “How does coffee sound? Tomorrow?”
“Coffee’s great,” Will had said, heart fluttering.
“Give me your number, William,” Henry said and handed him a pen and a notepad from his glovebox. Will wrote down his cellphone number, chewing on his bottom lip, and passed it back to Henry when he was done. The older man smiled softly. “I’ll contact you. Now get inside, William. It’s late.”
Will had slipped out of his car and skipped up the driveway to his house, sneaking back in through his bedroom window, which he’d climbed out of a few hours earlier. He’d flopped back onto his bed, grinning up at the water-stained ceiling.
The next day, he kept his crappy Nokia close, waiting for Henry to reach out. He ate breakfast staring at it, sat through his classes at school with it on vibrate in his pocket, hoping desperately to feel the buzz of an incoming message. He heard nothing from Henry that day. Disappointed, Will figured it made sense. He was just a kid, some foolish little boy who had no business waiting on a grown man, even if he’d called him pretty. Maybe Henry had just been humoring him. Maybe he’d thrown his number away as soon as Will had left. Maybe he’d laughed to himself and gone home to his partner, someone older and more sophisticated, told him all about the silly teenager with the puppy crush.
He was moping a couple days later when his phone buzzed and chirped with an alert. It was a message from Henry.
Apologies for the delayed contact, William. I had some things to take care of out of town. Would you still like to get that coffee? Tomorrow @ 4? – Henry
Will responded fast, eager. Henry texted him the location, and he went the next day after school, sitting with the older man at a kitschy little cafe in downtown Hawkins, with pink lace and doilies on the table. It made Will laugh, that Henry picked this place.
“It’s a small town,” Henry had said smoothly. “There’s not a lot of options.”
“Tell me about it,” Will had replied. “I wanna get out of this town.”
“Really? If you could go anywhere, where would you go?”
“New York,” Will said. “Paris. London. Somewhere cool.”
Henry had smiled at him, sipping his latte. “You must have big dreams.”
“I guess,” Will mumbled, feeling shy all of a sudden. He didn’t know what Henry did for a living, but he clearly had money. An expensive suit, a Rolex on his wrist, a nice car. All very intimidating and fascinating for a boy who’d grown up on hand-me-downs, cheap cereal box prizes, and his mom’s beat-up Honda Civic. “I want to be an artist.”
“You enjoy art?” Henry asked, a gleam of interest in his eyes. “Who is your favorite artist, William?”
“I like Goya,” Will said, blushing.
“Ah,” Henry said and gave a smile that Will couldn’t decipher. “I have a feeling you most enjoy his Black Paintings. You seem the type.”
“What does that mean?” Will asked with a frown. It was true, he liked the weird and macabre pieces Goya painted in his later years, especially Saturn Devouring His Son, the ghoulish and strangely fearful face of a father cannibalizing his own child. He’d seen it in a book once and been both disgusted and fascinated.
“Nothing bad,” Henry responded. “I also have something of an affinity for Goya. I was quite taken when I first saw his work in the Museum del Prado.”
“You’ve seen them?” Will asked, eyes widening. “What are they like?”
Henry leaned forwards with his elbows resting on the table, fingers steepled as he gazed at Will over his neat, tidy manicure. “Chilling,” he said in a soft, intimate voice that felt like a touch over Will’s skin, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. “You should see them one day, William.”
“When would I ever get the chance?”
Henry shrugged, reclined back in his chair, and smiled. “Life is long,” he replied. “I’m sure you’ll find the opportunity one day.”
After that afternoon, they met for coffee a few more times, to talk about art and travel and all the places Henry had been. Will learned that he was a historian, and a writer, currently working on his latest book, something about the history of the area. He was Harvard-educated, and roughly fifteen years Will’s senior. The age difference didn’t stop Will’s feelings from blooming, a crush morphing into what he could only call love. Henry never reciprocated, when Will tried to flirt, tried to throw himself at the older man with whatever wiles he’d developed in his sixteen years of life.
One time Will tried to kiss him in his car, after Henry had driven him home, but Henry had gently taken him by the shoulders and rebuffed him with a sad smile.
“Sweet boy,” he’d said. “You shouldn’t do that.”
“Then what should I do?” Will had demanded, embarrassed and hurt.
Henry had smoothed one cool hand over Will’s hair and said, “Do your best. In all things. Study, learn, go to college.”
“I can’t afford college,” Will bemoaned, but he was resigned to his reality. At most he could attend a community college, or a trade school, because art didn’t pay the bills. His brother had learned that the hard way. He’d dropped out of IU after a year, because even with financial aid and working two jobs, he just couldn’t afford the tuition. So, while he still had dreams of being a film director, he’d have to pursue it without a degree, and in between the regular demands of survival.
“If you could, would you study art?” Henry asked Will.
Will nodded his head and said, “If I could.”
He did what Henry bade him do. Put his head down and studied, graduated Hawkins High. Henry attended the ceremony, greeted his mother and step-father in his cool, mannerly fashion, and they were confused until Will told them he was something of a mentor, and later when Henry sat down with Will and his parents and offered to fund his college education, his mother had cried and Will had been stunned.
“Why would you do that?” he asked Henry later, when he very politely offered to walk him out to his car. Will was vibrating with energy, overwhelmed by the man in front of him. “Why would you pay for my college?”
Henry had given him that smile, the one that pulled something in his gut like a knot in a thread. He set his hands on Will’s shoulders, then with one hand caressed Will’s hair, gazing down at him. “Because you are special, William,” Henry told him. “You deserve the best this world has to offer, and I’m fortunate enough to be in a position to give it to you. Take the money, and go to the school of your dreams.”
“What if I mess it up?” Will had asked in a terrified whisper. “What if I fail?”
Henry had gripped Will’s chin with his cool fingertips, tilted his head up, and for a second Will had thought the man would lean in and kiss him. “I’ll catch you if you fall, William,” Henry had said, after a long moment where he just studied Will’s face like he was reading words on a page, reading the entire history of Will’s short life. “Go out there and be fearless, knowing I’ll protect you.”
Will’s love for him could never have been undone after that.
The following fall, saw Will in Illinois attending SAIC, and with the safety net Henry provided, he became bold.
Bold enough that, at nineteen, when Henry came to visit him at the apartment he paid for – along with Will’s tuition, he also covered his housing, the cost of art supplies and textbooks, and even gave him a stipend for clothing and luxuries, which Will always felt bad about spending, but Henry insisted – Will pushed him down on his couch, climbed into his lap, and kissed him with an unbridled passion that he was certain would be, as always, turned down with calm kindness.
This time, however, Henry kissed him back. Grasped him by the back of his head, and licked into his mouth with such ferocity that it made Will dizzy. The unexpected shift left him loose and puddled in Henry’s lap, no longer the pursuer but the pursued. Will had gasped the older man’s name, muffled into the wet smack of their lips, and Henry had looked at him with darkened, gleaming eyes.
“You’re so very beautiful, William,” he’d said, voice low.
Henry made love to him that night, taking his virginity. He worshipped Will’s body, punished it too in the way he pushed Will almost to a mad brink. Henry had a power Will had never imagined. Being kissed back to wakefulness after passing out in his own mess was a strange and wonderful moment for Will. Henry carried him to the bathroom, ran him a bath, and while Will lolled in the hot, steaming water – his body aching, his insides tender – Henry set about changing the sheets and cleaning up the evidence of their lovemaking.
Will slept like a rock that night, curled up in the protective wall of Henry’s arms.
Overnight, Will’s life had changed. Henry was his, and he was Henry’s. The man he’d loved for almost three years loved him back, and Will knew that to be true because he said it often, called Will my love and kissed him with tenderness. When they had sex, he was a domineering force, but outside of the bedroom Henry was gentle, and devoted.
Will’s apartment became theirs, whenever Henry was in town. He’d watch Will paint like it was the greatest entertainment. He praised Will’s art, talked to him about his classes, his professors, offered insight that Will could only marvel at, always feeling laughably inferior to the older man. He wasn’t as learned, had such little experience compared to him. He relied on Henry’s guiding hand.
When he wanted to tell his mother about them, Henry warned him she might not understand, and to let him take care of things. He visited her often, made himself reliable and useful, helped Joyce pay off some of her debts out of the goodness of his heart – out of his love for Will – and when Hopper lost his job as police chief after some internal conflict with the mayor, Henry helped him get into private security.
When they finally told them they were an item, Joyce cried and kissed Will on the cheek, telling him she was so glad he had someone who’d take care of him. The rest of Will’s time at college was a blissful dream, where all he had to do was make art and be treated like he was art by a man who’d stood before some of the greatest works ever made and still saw more in Will than in any of them.
After graduation, Henry proposed to him, and Will was twenty-four when they had their beautiful wedding in Hawaii. Henry paid for all his family’s flights and accommodations, paid for every moment of the day, and the honeymoon after. All Will had to do was be there, floating along on such a high that he could’ve levitated down the aisle towards the man he loved, the man who treated him with such care he couldn’t even imagine choosing anything different.
Their honeymoon they spent in Europe, visiting all the galleries and museums Will had only heard about. He stood in front of Goya's paintings with Henry's hand in his and felt the gravity of the universe shift to center them, and only them.
Shortly after the wedding, Henry got a new job as a professor of history at the University of Notre Dame. He moved Will to South Bend, Indiana and bought them a beautiful house close to the school. Will felt like his life was a fairytale, finally taken away from Hawkins and all the dead ends he’d feared his life would terminate in. For a young gay boy who grew up poor, the only acceptable thing to do would be to stay in the closet his whole life, marry some poor woman, and get caught with his pants around his ankles, getting sucked off by some twink in a public bathroom, then he’d probably eat a bullet to escape the shame.
He knew that was a possibility, because that’s what happened to the kid who used to bully him in middle school. Will felt a strange kind of sympathy when he heard about it from his mom, knowing it could’ve been him. Troy Walsh used to call him a faggot on the playground during recess. He used to pull Will’s pants down to humiliate him, laughing at his ‘little gay dick’, as he called it. Will thinks it’s weird, but not surprising, that Troy turned out to be gay himself. A little bit of karma, but a little bit tragic.
When he told Henry about it, told him it could’ve been him, Henry gave him that smile that meant Will was being silly and said, “That could never have been you, my love. You’re too special. Too beautiful. You always have been.”
Will smiled back, slithered into his husband’s lap as he sat at his antique burr walnut desk, and kissed him hard. He ruffled Henry’s neatly combed hair, loosened his tie, and playfully circled his hips in his lap until there were wrinkles on his merino wool suit trousers. Henry chased him off with a swat to his backside, so he could get back to his work, and Will left his office with a giggle, Troy Walsh’s suicide forgotten.
See, Will didn’t let himself linger on unpleasant things. Henry didn’t like it when he was morose. He’d plucked him up out of nothingness as a stupid little boy and built him up into a man of taste and standing. He wore designer clothing, drove a Mercedes-Benz, and knew how to sparkle at his husband’s side during university functions and fundraisers. Henry gave him everything he ever needed; security, comfort, and pleasure. He was a pampered pet, and all he had to do was maintain himself.
His body, his looks.
Henry always called him beautiful. Kissed his smooth skin, stroked his soft chestnut hair, but he had clear expectations. He hired a personal trainer and a nutritionist for him, paid for all his treatments and products. If something wasn’t quite right, he’d get this dissatisfied furrow between his brows that made Will’s stomach turn. He’d know he wasn’t living up to his husband’s standards. Maybe he’d focused too much on lifting and had gained more muscle and definition than Henry preferred, so he’d have to cut back on his protein intake and skip the weights for the next few weeks. Maybe he’d gotten too thin, lost some of the supple bounce of his thighs and buttocks, so he’d have to do a hundred squats a day and eat more calories than he burned until he plumped up again.
When he was perfect, he felt it in the way Henry gazed at him and caressed him, in the way he surprised him with expensive gifts and called him such sweet names. My love, my dove. Will would preen and soak up his attention like a sponge.
When he was lacking, he felt it even more acutely, because his husband’s eyes would glance off him like a blow off a shield, uncaught, uncaring, like he couldn’t bare to behold him for too long. His touches became rare and cold, and his tender pet names would disappear. He’d be husband, until he fixed whatever was wrong with him.
As he got older, he felt like there was more and more to fix.
After ten years of marriage, Will started to feel like he was chasing perfection, rather than embodying it, the way Henry used to make him feel like he did. In the past, when Henry was inside him – their bodies tangled together in the throes of passion – he’d always tell Will how perfect he was. Perfect for him. His body a masterpiece greater than anything one could see in a museum.
These days, the touches were fleeting.
Will’s thirty-fourth birthday had just passed, and for the first time ever Henry was late to dinner at their favorite restaurant. Will had sipped wine with a growing anxiety brewing in his gut, until Henry walked in smelling of cigar smoke and biblichor. He’d seemed distracted through their entire meal, barely reacted when Will slipped his foot from his shoe and slid it bare up Henry's inner thigh. He’d just smiled tolerably, grasped his ankle, and gently lowered his foot to the floor.
They didn’t make love that night. Henry retired to his office the moment they got home, and Will went to bed cold and lonely.
The problem, as he saw it, thinking of his mother’s old advice, wasn’t being able to wake up every day and choose; the real struggle was to be chosen.
Despite having a BFA from one of the best art schools in the country, Will wasn’t able to do much with it. The time he might have spent on his art, he devoted instead to upkeep, of himself and of his marriage. He was going full DEFCON 1 now, as he told Stacey, one of his friends from his weekly pilates class – she was a friend in that once a week they gossiped about their husbands at the back of the class, shared tips on seduction and skincare products, but apart from that they probably knew next to nothing about each other.
“I refuse to let us end up like one of those miserable married couples who schedules their sex bi-annually,” Will said to her, as they drank their after class green goddess smoothies.
Stacey gave a tittering laugh and levelled Will with a wicked look. “You should do what I did for Andy, on our last anniversary,” she said. “Buy some sexy lingerie, the skimpier the better, and pounce on your man the second he walks into the house. He’ll be so stunned by your ass and tits- well, not your tits, but your ass, definitely, that he won’t know which way is up.”
Will playfully rolled his eyes, but took a contemplative sip of his smoothie. The most he’d ever done in that regard was wear those nice, silk boxers that hugged the curve of his ass. Henry usually said he was most beautiful when he was wearing nothing at all, but what if he saw Will in a lacy pair of panties, with a cute little bow on the front? Would he be driven to distraction? Would he want to rip them off his body with his teeth and fuck him for hours?
He mulled it over for the next few days, imagining a scenario where they didn’t even get passed the foyer and fucked on the floor. The fantasies kept coming. Every night Henry would come home from work, and if Will were lucky he’d get a kiss on the cheek before his husband disappeared to his office until bedtime. It was beginning to drive him a little mad.
So, he went shopping. He strolled through department stores and high end boutiques with Henry’s Amex and went home with several stunning and expensive lingerie sets. While his husband was at work the next day, he tried them all on, trying to decide which one would get the honor of being used to seduce Henry.
He settled on a sheer white set with beautifully embroidered flower detailing. The bra was a small enough cup size that it sat flat against his chest, his pink nipples visible through the fabric. The garter belt wrapped around his tanned waist, sitting above the tiny white panties that barely held his cock inside. He clipped the ends of the garter belt to a pair of white knee-high stockings and stood admiring himself in the mirror.
Turning around, he looked over his shoulder to inspect the swell of his ass, stretching out the panties like he was about to burst out of them. He giggled to himself, certain this would get Henry’s attention.
He waited until five o’clock, when his husband usually arrived home, and was there to greet him the instant he heard the key in the door. He was in his lingerie, showered, prepped, and perfumed. His heart beat fast, a giddy excitement filling him as the front door opened and the tall figure stepped through. Will threw his arms around his husband, pressing himself against the front of his body, reaching up to grasp his face, intending to kiss him quick, give him no time to deny Will.
His hands touched smooth skin, the slight scrape of stubble on a sharp jaw, and with an awful startle he found himself looking into the dark, surprised eyes of a total stranger.
“Oh-” the man said, his gaze dropping to look down at Will, his pale freckled face immediately turning a bright red. “Hello.”
Will flung himself back with a sharp little yelp, and stood staring at the strange man in the doorway. “Who are you?!” he demanded, stomach flipping over. Will remembered belatedly that he was half naked, and he tried pitifully to cover himself up with his hands.
The man tilted his face up to the ceiling, averting his eyes, and quickly peeled off his long wool coat. He held it out in offering to Will and said, “I’m so sorry. Professor Creel gave me the key and told me to let myself in. I had no- he didn’t- please, take my coat.”
Will snatched the coat and quickly pulled it on, holding the front closed to conceal his state of undress. “Professor Creel,” Will repeated, face burning with mortification. “Are you one of my husband’s students?”
“I- I’m his new TA,” the man said, finally pulling his gaze from the ceiling and back to Will when he determined it was safe to look at him. “I started last week. He- wow, I feel like such an asshole right now. You’re- you must be- wow.”
Will blushed deeper, biting his lip hard. “This is horrible,” Will whined. “This is so embarrassing. Excuse me, I’m going to go throw myself off the roof.”
“No!” the man exclaimed, and it was then that Will realized how young he was. For all that he was tall and broad-shouldered, he couldn’t have been any older than twenty-five. “Please, this isn’t- I can’t say I was expecting this, but don’t be embarrassed. You’re quite- uh, Professor Creel is a lucky man.”
A surprised laugh burst out of Will at that, and the man standing in the foyer gave a soft, cringing smile. “I don’t know about that,” Will said. “But why did Henry send you here? He’s never given a TA a key to the house before.”
“Oh, well, we were going over some historical research papers, and the professor said he has a book, some firsthand account, that might have some useful information,” the man replied. “He sent me to get it. He told me you wouldn’t mind...”
Will sighed, wondering if that meant his husband would be home late that evening. When he got into his histories, it was hard to win his attentions back. “Well, I wouldn’t have minded if he’d only told me you were coming,” Will said. “Then we could’ve avoided this awkwardness altogether.”
The man gave him an apologetic look, his dark brows pulling together in an expression that was entirely too puppy-like. “Again, I’m so, so sorry.”
Will waved his hand and said, “It’s fine. Let’s not tell Henry about this though.”
“Oh, no, I wouldn’t dream of it,” the man said, turning pale at the thought. “I think he’d fire me as his TA. Maybe even get me kicked out of school for this.”
Will smirked, imagining he was right. Henry could be possessive; or he had been, at least, in the past. “Well, we wouldn’t want that,” he said. “What’s your name, by the way?”
“Oh! I’m Mike- uh, Michael Wheeler,” the man said, lurching forwards with a hand held out to Will, perhaps some knee-jerk display of politeness. Will raised his eyebrows, held the coat tightly closed with one hand, and reached out to accept Mike’s hand with the other.
“Nice to meet you, Michael Wheeler,” Will said, shaking Mike’s hand. It was big and warm, engulfing Will’s smaller hand for the few seconds they were connected. “I’m Will. Let me show you to my husband’s office, so you can look for that book.”
Still wearing Mike’s coat, Will walked him through the house to Henry’s sumptuous study, where he seemed to enjoy spending all his time these days. Will left the young TA there and hurried upstairs to the bedroom in order to change, taking off the lingerie and stuffing it back into the shopping bag. He changed into a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, which was not the kind of thing he’d ever wear around his husband, but they’d serve to maintain his dignity for now – fragile though it was. He picked up the coat, examining it for a moment. It wasn’t designer, but it was well-made, and the scent of Mike’s cologne seemed to cling to the wool. With a thoughtful frown, he raised the coat to his nose and sniffed the collar. The fragrance was all smoke and spice, with hints of sweet, mouthwatering caramel. Something he’d love to smell on Henry, but it would probably be weird to ask Mike what brand of cologne he wore.
When he went downstairs, Mike was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, the book he must’ve been looking for clutched in his hand. Will handed back his coat, and Mike smiled at him. “Thank you,” he said.
“No, thank you,” Will replied with an awkward laugh. “Are you all done, then?”
“Yes, I should get back to campus,” Mike said.
“Mm,” Will hummed, rubbing his arms. “I don’t suppose my husband plans on leaving work any time soon?”
Mike hesitated, looking uncomfortable. “Um, I don’t know,” he said. “He seemed pretty intent on this research.”
Will nodded and went to the door, pulling it open for Mike. “Oh well,” he said with a shrug, resigned to another lonely night.
Mike walked out the door, turned on the stoop, and looked at Will with a sudden heat in his gaze. “Can I say... if you were my husband, I don’t think I’d ever leave the house.”
Will blushed, his mouth dropping open. “I don’t think you can say that, actually,” he said softly, and Mike gave a wry smile.
“Pretend I didn’t,” he said, “and I’ll pretend I never saw you in that incredibly sexy outfit.”
“Goodbye, Mike,” Will said, fighting not to smile. There was a twinge in his groin, a tight little pleasure brought on by being intimately seen by someone, for the first time in a while. The guilt hit as soon as he closed the front door. He hoped Henry would never find out about this.
After the humiliation of the incident with Mike, Will couldn’t stand to try again with the lingerie. When Henry came home later that evening, Will greeted him wearing his usual neat, yet flattering sort of outfit – tailored pants and a cream-colored cashmere sweater. Henry kissed him on the cheek, as he always did, looking tired.
“I met your TA,” Will told him after he helped Henry out of his coat, hanging it up in the foyer. It smelled of the night air and the lingering cling of Henry’s aftershave, bright citrus and herbal green, which Will always thought smelled a tiny bit medicinal.
Henry smiled at him, trading his shiny black Oxford’s for a pair of house loafers. Will followed him to his office, where Henry sat at his desk and gazed at Will over the dark, gleaming wood. Will felt like a butterfly pinned to a board, and he had a sudden fear that Mike had told his husband about what happened.
“What did you think of him?” Henry asked, his tone even.
Will hesitated, wondering what response Henry was looking for. “I barely spoke to him,” he settled on, giving a soft laugh. “Why?”
Henry’s eyes dropped in a dismissive fashion, as if Will wasn’t quite as interesting to look at as the pile of papers on his desk. “I’m still trialling him. He’s certainly eager, but I wonder if he’s not quite the right fit,” Henry said, and it seemed like he wasn’t looking for Will’s input anymore.
Will spoke anyway, because he suddenly saw a way to solve his problem. “Well, no one would hold it against you if you changed your mind,” he said sweetly. “I’m sure there are plenty of great candidates. If this boy isn’t working out, choose another.”
Henry looked at him again, and his blue eyes sharpened for a brief, startling moment. It was the kind of look Will received when he said something gauche or foolish. Then his husband smiled again, and all the frost was gone from his eyes. “Husband, would you please fix me a drink? It’s been a long day.”
“Of course,” Will cooed, glad to be of use. “Whiskey?”
“Mm,” Henry hummed, reaching for the papers on his desk and beginning to sort through them. “The usual way.”
Will slipped out of his office, went to the bar, and carefully prepared his husband’s drink – two fingers of single malt whiskey over ice with a twist of lemon. When he took it to Henry, he was rewarded with a gentle brush of his husband’s hand at the small of his back.
“Thank you,” Henry murmured, and Will longed to crawl into his lap and be caressed like a beloved pet. His husband took a sip of his drink, hand still lightly resting against Will’s back. He gave Will an approving nod, removed his touch, and turned his attention back to his papers. Will stood fidgeting beside his chair for a moment.
“When will you be done with work?” he asked, unable to help the slight whine in his voice.
“I can’t say for sure,” Henry answered with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Don’t wait up. And close the door on your way out, please.”
Will bit hard on the soft flesh of the inside of his lip, so as to keep from crying out with mad want. He nodded and left the office, pulling the door shut with a soft snick. He felt like stomping around the house like a petulant child. He felt ignored, undesired. That night he went to bed alone, an increasingly common occurrence, and remembered with a hot flush the way his husband’s young TA had looked at him from the front stoop.
The weeks went by, and Will occupied his time with diet, exercise, and beauty treatments all designed to try and get his husband to look at him again. He waxed himself smooth, exfoliated his skin until he glowed, and ran 10k on the treadmill every day, followed by a series of glute and thigh exercises his personal trainer had devised for the most optimum results.
He wore tighter pants, swanned around the house whenever Henry was home, parading himself like a piece of meat desperate to be eaten. Henry didn’t seem to notice, didn’t seem to care. He’d sit in the lounge reading a book, his gold-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of his sloped nose, and act as if Will wasn’t panting like a dog at his feet, begging for his love and attention.
It was frustrating, it was disheartening. It took all of Will’s efforts and turned them into a cruel joke.
He needed to escape for a bit, so over dinner one night he told Henry he wanted to visit his mother in Hawkins. Henry had accepted easily, booked the flights for him, and ordered his taxi to South Bend International the morning of his departure. Will touched down at the closest regional airport, hired a rental car, and drove the rest of the way to Hawkins.
His mom and his step-father still lived in the house Will had grown up in. It hadn’t changed much over the years. They’d replaced broken shingles, fixed the hole in the exterior wall where Lonnie had once drunkenly backed the car into it, and repainted at least twice, but all the bones of the house were still the same. Old, creaking, and leaning. Much like the state of his marriage.
It was the first thing he brought up to his mother when he got inside, dropping down at the kitchen table that was a relic from the eighties. “He’s going to divorce me,” Will had moaned pitifully, and his mother had tutted gently, coming over to rub his back.
“Don’t be silly,” she said. “He loves you.”
“But he’s not happy with me,” Will said. “I feel like I’m always doing something wrong.”
“Oh, honey,” his mom said sadly, lowering herself into a chair beside him. “I’m sure it’s just in your head. And, well, Henry is of a different generation...”
Will made a face. He hated when people pointed out the age gap, as if it was a canyon he could never leap over. A fundamental divide, between him and his husband. “Mom,” Will sighed.
“Listen, men of that age, they were raised differently than boys today,” Joyce continued. “They were taught to be more stoic, less emotive. Men like that, they show their love with their actions, and I’ve never seen someone show his love more clearly than Henry, with everything he’s done for you, everything he’s given you.”
“I know he loves me, mom,” Will said with a bitter frown. “That’s not the problem. I just... I feel like he doesn’t desire me anymore.”
He watched his mom struggle to hide her startled reaction, the raise of her eyebrows and the pinch of her mouth. They didn’t talk about Will’s sex life – what mother and son did – but he didn’t have anyone else to share this with. He had no real friends, and he hadn’t spoken to Jonathan in years, not since the birth of his daughter, and he’d only deigned to call him then because it was a special occasion. Will still held something of a grudge against his older brother for his behaviour at his wedding. Jonathan hadn’t been living at home when Will met Henry, hadn’t seen how caring Henry was, how kind. He didn’t understand their relationship, so when he’d gotten drunk at their wedding reception and called Henry creepy, Will had been furious.
He hadn’t cut Jonathan out of his life completely, because it would hurt his mother too much, but he hadn’t forgiven him for that moment. Still, part of him wished he could go to his big brother for advice.
Joyce did her best to comfort her son, but Will let the topic die, because really there was nothing to be gained from whining to his mother about his husband not wanting to fuck him.
He helped her make dinner, watched football with Hopper when he came home from work, and slept in his old bedroom, which was mostly used as storage these days.
Will stayed in Hawkins for two days, the entire weekend, before flying back to South Bend. Henry was at work when he got home; nothing new there. He hadn’t solved any of his problems by running away from them. The only thing he’d accomplished was worrying his mother, which was the last thing he ever wanted to do. She was a few years from retirement, she already had hypotension and bad knees, and she didn’t need the added stress of her younger son’s failing marriage.
At least Jonathan was doing well, or so Joyce had told him. He was working some office job, his dreams of being the next Scorcese hung up for more mundane goals – pay off his mortgage, take his wife on a nice vacation, get his daughter Elise into a decent preschool. If Will ever tried to offer to help out with anything, he knew Jonathan would turn him down flat. Besides, it wasn’t his money to offer anyway. It was Henry’s. The Creel Family's money, of which he was the sole heir. He just let Will play with it, like a little kid with a shiny set of keys.
The resentment had started to simmer away in the pit of his stomach. The fear had started to bite at his heels too, because if Henry stopped wanting him, then what use was he? He had no job, no savings of his own, just a degree he’d never done anything with and a body he’d programmed for Henry’s pleasure.
He sat on all these dark thoughts for the rest of the day, until his husband returned around eight o’clock, too late to have dinner with Will, so he ate in his office with the door closed. Will had hoped that Henry missed him while he was away, but aside from the brief, dry kiss he’d given him as greeting, he acted as if he’d hardly noticed his absence.
By ten o’clock that evening, Henry was still in his study, so Will lightly knocked on the door and poked his head inside. “Are you coming to bed?” he asked anxiously, praying his husband would look up from his work, smile, and follow him upstairs to make love.
“Not yet,” was all he said, without lifting his gaze from the paper he was marking. “By the way, I have a conference out of town on Wednesday. I’ll be gone until Friday morning.”
“Oh,” Will said, deflating. “I can’t come with you?”
“No,” Henry said shortly, finally glancing up. “There’s no plus one. Besides, you’d be terribly bored.”
“I’m never bored with you,” Will cooed, but Henry didn’t smile. He just looked at him standing in the doorway.
“Do some shopping,” Henry said finally. “Buy yourself something nice.”
Will’s cheek twitched, but he covered it with a smile. “Okay, my love.”
Another night passed where he went to bed alone, feeling horribly inadequate.
Henry left for his conference in Chicago on Wednesday morning. Will spent the day in loungewear, lying around feeling sorry for himself. He went into Henry’s office around mid-afternoon, just to sit in his chair. He told himself it wasn’t so he could smell the lingering aroma of Henry’s aftershave, or the familiar smell of his books that always seemed to cling to his hands.
Will felt empty inside. Unused and untouched for so long he feared he’d forget the shape of his husband’s body where they connected. Frowning, Will pulled off his sweats and kicked them onto the floor beneath Henry’s desk, then removed his briefs next. He lifted his feet onto the edge of the leather chair, opened his bent knees wide, and stuck his fingers in his mouth. He sucked on two of his digits, got them wet with his spit, then brought them down to his hole and sunk them inside himself without much preparation. All he wanted to do was stretch himself out, remember how it felt, try to mimic the push of Henry’s member inside him.
Squirming and blushing, Will pumped his fingers in and out of his hole, feeling the tight rim loosen somewhat as the muscle seemed to remember the sensation. Henry used to fuck him several times a day. There was a time when Will made sure to always be prepped, because his husband’s lust for him was insatiable. At least it had been. Once upon a time.
Now the only action he got was fingering himself at Henry’s desk.
He crooked his fingers to find his prostate, giving a whimper when he rubbed over the firm little nub. He shoved his other hand up his sweater to tweak his nipples, one at a time, and though it felt good he wasn’t getting hard. His dick was mockingly flaccid, as if to remind himself of his own particular failings.
Will drove his fingers harder and faster as though to punish himself, the spit long since dried up. It was bordering on painful now, but he didn’t care. He felt useless and stupid, and his body did nothing to disabuse him of that notion.
He was ramming his fingers in his hole and scissoring them forcefully when the chime of the doorbell suddenly rang through the house, startling him so badly his feet slipped off the chair and his butt slid down, the leather squeaking beneath him. Jumping to his feet, Will pulled his underwear and pants back on before hurrying from the office to the front door.
He wasn’t expecting anyone, but it could be a package, and Will knew not to miss any deliveries in case they were important – Henry often bought rare first edition books online. Flushed and breathless, Will pulled open the front door and froze at the sight of the man on his stoop.
“Hello,” Mike Wheeler said with a smile. “I thought I’d ring the doorbell this time.”
“Oh,” Will said, stunned. “Hi. W-what are you-?”
“Did Professor Creel not tell you?” Mike asked awkwardly. “He asked me to come over and finish grading some papers for him while he's away.”
“It must’ve slipped his mind,” Will said with a frown. Henry never forgot anything, though. His mind was a steel trap. Which meant he hadn’t thought it was important enough to share with Will, which was happening a lot more often lately.
“May I come in?” Mike asked, smiling softly, almost pleadingly.
“Of course,” Will said, stepping aside to let him into the foyer. “You can hang your coat up there.”
He watched Mike do so, realizing with a jolt that it was the same coat Mike had worn last time, the same one he'd given to Will to cover up with.
“I’ll try not to get in your way,” Mike said, turning back to Will. “I’ll just sit in Professor Creel’s office, marking papers for a couple hours. Please, go back to what you were doing.”
Will blushed hotly and averted his gaze, remembering with a vivid mortification what he’d just been doing. “Oh, gosh, I wasn’t doing anything important,” he said. His hole was throbbing, almost like it was demanding Will’s attention. “Let me make sure Henry’s office is still in order. Sometimes he leaves it messy.”
That was untrue. Henry was obsessively neat. Will hurried down the hallway to the office, bursting through the door and going to the desk, making sure he hadn’t left behind any evidence of what he’d been doing. Aside from the leather of the chair still retaining some of his body heat, there were no signs of anything untoward.
Mike stepped through the doorway while Will was fluttering around the room, pretending to tidy, while all he was doing was straightening the books on the shelves. “It’s a beautiful office,” Mike said, looking around. “I didn’t really get to admire it last time.”
Last time. When Will had worn skimpy lingerie and thrown himself at Mike in the front door. A moment only to be outdone by this one, when Will had almost gotten caught fingering himself in this very office.
“Can I get you something to drink?” Will asked loudly, turning to Mike, who was standing by a bookshelf across the room, reading the spines of Henry’s old books.
“Oh, no, you don’t need to get me anything,” Mike said, shaking his head.
“I insist,” Will said firmly. “Tea? Coffee? Water? Or I can fix you something stronger. We have a full wet bar.”
Mike’s lips twitched into a smile and he took a few steps towards Will. “It’s a little early for alcohol,” he said with a teasing warmth to his voice. “I’ll just have water, thanks.”
“Right, of course,” Will said, though he certainly felt like he needed a few shots right then. One from a bottle, one from a gun, maybe, because he really was humiliating himself a lot these days. He left the room, headed to the kitchen, and filled a glass with ice and filtered water before bringing it back to Mike, who was now sitting at Henry’s desk. Will walked around the desk to stand beside the chair, took a coaster from the neat little stack on the corner of the desk and carefully placed the glass down on top of it.
Will turned to look at Mike, and caught his eyes hovering low on Will’s backside before they flicked up to Will’s face. Will’s belly warmed, and he hesitated a moment, drinking in Mike's sheepish expression. “Thank you,” Mike said, his face turning a soft shade of pink as he realized he’d been caught staring at Will’s ass.
Will couldn’t help but smile. “You’re welcome,” he said. “If you need me for anything, just yell.”
He walked to the door, putting a slight sway into his hips, wondering if Mike was watching the curve of his ass. It was flattering, to say the least, to be eyed up by a younger man. He’d never experienced it before. He didn’t think he’d mind experiencing it again.