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Will balanced on one foot, then the other, shimmying his hips to try and pull his pants up and over his ass. They were black, and impossibly tight, the kind of pants that felt like a second skin rather than clothes. He turned in the cramped bathroom, checking the view from behind. The fabric hugged the curve of his ass, and clung to his thighs in a way that used to make him feel insecure, but now just made him feel good. His dark red button down was splayed open at the chest, showing off his collarbones and the hollow of his throat. He ran a hand through his hair, shaking it out over his forehead, before picking up the eyeliner pencil.
His fingers were steadier than they’d been all week, a small mercy. He lined his top lid, then the bottom, smudging it just enough at the corners to make his eyes look bigger, darker, more sultry. He looked… different. Not the anxious student who’d been subsisting on coffee and dread for the week. This was someone else. Someone who could go to a party and laugh without feeling like his chest was caving in. He applied a small layer of Vaseline to the high planes of his cheekbones before pinching a bit of loose glitter and dabbing it on. There. At least one art project was complete.
He took a deep breath, the scent of Vaseline and his own cologne filling the small space, and opened the bathroom door.
Mike was sitting on the edge of their bed, already dressed. Dark jeans that hung just right on his lanky frame and a soft, worn-in black t-shirt. He was lacing up a boot, long legs stretched out in front of him, dark curls tumbling over his forehead. The lamplight caught the side of his face, illuminating the sharp line of his jaw and curve of his nose. He looked up as Will stepped out.
And just… stopped.
His fingers froze mid-lace. His mouth went slightly slack. His eyes, which had been tired and a little distant just moments before, went wide and hot, fixing on Will with an intensity that made the air in the room feel thick and electric.
Will felt a blush creep up his neck, but he also felt a thrill. He liked this look. He liked being the reason Mike’s brain short-circuited.
"Well?" Will asked, his voice teasing. He turned slowly, putting a little extra sway in his hips. "Like it?"
Mike didn't answer. Not with words. He just let out a low, strained noise from the back of his throat and reached out, his arm snaking around Will's waist. He pulled hard, and Will stumbled forward with a yelp, landing right in Mike's lap.
The kiss was immediate and hungry. Mike's mouth was on his, hot and demanding, one hand cupping the back of Will's head, angling him just right. Will melted against him, a soft sigh escaping into Mike's mouth as those long fingers slid under the open collar of his shirt, pressing against the warm skin of his chest. Mike's other hand was on his ass, squeezing hard through the tight denim, pulling him closer until their bodies were flush.
Will could feel it then, the thick, heavy ridge of Mike's cock, already hard and pressing insistently against him through two layers of denim. It was a familiar, intoxicating pressure, a promise of what the night could hold if they just stayed right here. He rolled his hips down experimentally, and Mike groaned into his mouth, the sound vibrating straight through Will's body.
God, he wanted to stay. He wanted to let Mike strip him out of these clothes and fuck him into the mattress until all the stress bled out of him. But their friends were expecting them. A tiny spark of responsibility fought its way through the haze of lust.
"Mike," Will gasped, wrenching his mouth away with supreme effort. He rested his forehead against Mike's, both of them breathing heavily. "We really have to go. We're going to be late."
Mike made a frustrated sound, a low growl that rumbled in his chest. He didn't let go. Instead, he buried his face in the crook of Will's neck, mouthing at the sensitive skin there. "Five more minutes," he mumbled, his voice muffled.
"No," Will said, though it lacked conviction. He pushed gently at Mike's shoulders. "Come on. We promised everyone we'd be there."
With a dramatic sigh that was more for show than anything, Mike finally let him go, but his hands lingered on Will's hips as he shifted off his lap. Will stood up on shaky legs, adjusting the front of his pants. Mike watched him, dark eyes still hooded with desire, making no move to get up.
"You're a menace," Mike said, a lazy smile spreading across his face. "A beautiful, glittery menace."
Will grinned back, feeling a little more like himself already. "You love it."
The party was exactly what Will expected: too loud, too crowded, with the floor already starting to feel sticky under his shoes. The bass from some unrecognizable dance track thumped in his chest. But the second they stepped inside, Mike's arm was around his waist, pulling him back against the solid line of his body. He was a firm presence at Will's back, a silent shield in the chaos.
"There they are!" Ben, a guy from Mike's English class, shouted from across the room, raising a red plastic cup in salute. "Took you two long enough!"
They made their way through the crowd, Mike refusing to drop his hold on Will. He murmured quiet greetings to their friends, but his focus remained entirely on the boy tucked against him. As they stopped near a makeshift drink station, Ben elbowed Mike good-naturedly.
"Jesus, Wheeler, give the guy some air," he teased, grinning. "You're practically welded to him."
Mike just tightened his arm, pulling Will even closer. His chin came to rest on Will's shoulder, and he pressed a soft kiss to the side of Will's head. "Don't care," he said simply, his voice low and possessive.
Will felt a warmth spread through his chest that had nothing to do with the heat from the crowded room. He turned in Mike's embrace, angling to face him better. Mike's thumb stroked absently over the strip of skin exposed by Will's open shirt.
Mike had always been possessive over him, even when they were kids, so this kind of thing wasn't exactly new. It did, however, get worse when they started dating.
Much to Will's great surprise and Mike's chagrin, people in New York seemed to find him attractive. The subtle confidence he'd been growing over the summer in Hawkins made people want to talk to him. After the first week of college he'd already made a whole swarm of new friends, and it didn't take that much longer for the first person to ask him out.
Not that Mike wasn't also popular in that regard, but the difference between them was it was guys asking Will out. Maybe it was the earring, maybe it was the clothes, but apparently something about Will just screamed gay. Not that Will hadn't been dealing with that assumption his entire life already, but this was the first time it was seen as a good thing. It had, however, made Mike a little bit feral.
After a few drinks, a girl from Will's painting class—a bubbly Danish exchange student named Julie—spotted him and bounded over. "Will! Oh my god, I love your shirt!" she said, her eyes sparkling. "And the eyeliner! You look amazing!"
A genuine smile lit up Will's face. It was nice to be seen, to be appreciated for the effort he'd put in. "Thanks, Jules. You look great too."
She chattered animatedly about a new collection she was working on, her hands gesturing wildly. Will found himself relaxing into the conversation, laughing softly at her jokes.
"I'm just so stressed," she admitted after a minute, her face falling. "Midterms are going to kill me. Are you ready for them?"
The word 'midterms' was like a splash of cold water. The careful armor he'd built around himself all evening cracked. The familiar knot of anxiety tightened in his stomach. His smile faltered.
Instantly, Mike's presence behind him shifted from a comfortable weight to something more deliberate, more protective. He felt Mike's thumb press a little more firmly into his hip, a silent question. Without looking, Will knew Mike's focus had switched, that he was no longer half-listening to whatever Ben was saying beside them. His entire being was now tuned to the slight tremor that had run through Will's frame.
"Exams haven't even started yet, Julie," Will said, managing to keep his voice light, but it felt thin, fragile.
"Oh, I know, but you have to start studying now or you'll get behind," she said, oblivious. "I've already got a color-coded schedule for the next two weeks."
Mike's arm tightened around him, a firm, grounding weight of muscle and bone. He finished whatever he was saying to Ben in a low murmur and then turned, his full attention on Will.
Just then, the music shifted. The generic electronic beat faded out, replaced by the unmistakable deep bass and rhythm of a '90s R&B track. Something about the groove was instantly intoxicating, a slow, heavy pulse that seemed to match the anxious thrumming in Will's veins.
Mike leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of Will's ear. The warmth of his breath sent a shiver down Will's spine, overriding the spike of stress. "Dance with me," he whispered.
Will hesitated, glancing around the crowded living room. There were already couples moving together in the dim light, bodies pressed close in the semi-darkness. He felt suddenly exposed, self-conscious again.
"I don't know," he mumbled back. "Everyone's looking."
"No, they're not," Mike murmured, his voice a low, soothing rumble against Will's ear. "They're all too busy looking at themselves. It's just us. Come on."
His big hand slid from Will's hip to take his, lacing their fingers together. The size difference was stark—Mike's long fingers completely engulfing Will's smaller ones. He gave a gentle tug, an undeniable pull. Will's resolve crumbled. He let Mike guide him from the relatively safe spot by the wall and deeper into the throng of bodies.
Mike didn't stop until they found a small pocket of space, tucked between a keg and a couple making out aggressively against the wall. He turned to face Will, pulling him flush against his body. Will's back met Mike's chest, and the difference in their heights was perfect for this—Mike could rest his chin on Will's shoulder, and Will could tip his head back to lean against him. It was like a puzzle slotting together.
The sensual rhythm of the music wrapped around them. Mike's hands settled on Will's hips, holding him securely. There was nothing tentative about the way he moved. He guided Will's body in a slow, deliberate grind, matching the deep pulse of the bass. The friction was electrifying.
Will's head fell back against Mike's shoulder, his eyes drifting closed. He could feel the hard line of Mike's body pressed against him—the solid muscle of his chest, the long length of his thighs. And then, there was the unmistakable press of Mike's cock against the curve of his ass, already half-hard and impossibly large. Even through the layers of their jeans, it was a solid, heavy weight that made Will's breath hitch in his throat.
Mike's mouth found the side of his neck, planting open-mouthed kisses against the sensitive skin. One of his hands slid up from Will's hip, slipping under the open flap of his shirt to splay across his stomach, holding him close. The sheer breadth of Mike's palm against his abdomen made Will feel small, owned in a good way, like he was a prize possession Mike had to protect.
"You feel so good," Mike breathed against his neck, his voice rough. "So fucking good like this."
Will could only answer with a soft hum, a nonverbal agreement that was swallowed by the music. He was lost in it, lost in the feeling of being completely surrounded by Mike—the scent of him, the heat of him, the possessive grip of his hands. The anxiety about midterms, about Julie and her color-coded schedule, seemed to melt away, dissolving into the heavy beat and the insistent pressure against his ass.
Mike's hips rolled in a slow, dirty grind, each movement rougher than the last. He was getting harder, the thick ridge pressing more insistently, a question and a promise all at once. Will pushed back against it, a silent encouragement that earned him a low groan from Mike.
"Fuck, Will," Mike whispered, his teeth scraping gently against Will's earlobe. "I can't... We need to get out of here."
Reality, for a moment, tried to intrude. Their friends. The party. But the thought was fleeting, insignificant next to the overwhelming desire building inside him. He wanted Mike. No needed Mike.
The word "Yes." was barely out of his mouth before Mike was grabbing his hand again and dragging him through the crowd. He was carving a clear path towards the stairs, his grip firm and unyielding. A few people called out to them as they passed, but Mike ignored them all.
They stumbled up the staircase, Will a half-step behind, his heart hammering against his ribs. The second floor was quieter, the thumping of the bass muted to a distant thrum. There were a few closed doors along the hallway. Mike tried the first one. Locked. He tried the second. It opened into a dark bedroom, occupied by a giggling couple who quickly shrieked and threw a pillow at them.
"Sorry!" Mike muttered, shutting the door quickly.
At the end of the hall was another door. A bathroom. Mike pushed it open and pulled Will inside, kicking it shut behind them and flipping the lock with a sharp click.
The room was small, cramped, and smelled faintly of lemon-scented cleaner and beer. A single bare bulb cast a harsh, unforgiving light over the cracked linoleum floor and the dingy porcelain sink. But none of that mattered. All that mattered was the way Mike was looking at him. Like he was something to be devoured.
Mike didn't waste a second. He turned Will around to face the mirror over the sink, forcing him to look at himself. He looked wrecked already—eyes glassy, lips swollen and red from biting, a dark flush on his cheeks. The glitter on his cheekbones had started to smudge, catching the light in tiny, sparkling flecks. He looked debauched.
"You see that?" Mike murmured, standing behind him, so much taller that he seemed to engulf Will's reflection. His chin rested on Will's shoulder again. "See how fucking pretty you are?"
One of Mike's hands slid up Will's chest to wrap loosely around his throat. Not tight, just there, a reminder of who was in charge. The other hand went under the hem of Will's shirt, lightly caressing the trail of hair on his navel.
"I've been thinking about this all night," Mike continued, his voice a low, seductive growl against Will's ear. "Since the moment you walked out of the bathroom. Wanted to see you like this… On your knees for me baby"
Will went willingly, sinking down onto the cold floor. The linoleum was unforgiving against his knees, but he didn't care. His entire focus was on Mike.
Mike stood before him, his body blocking the light, a halo of gold casting a powerful figure in the cramped space. He slowly undid his jeans, the sound of the zipper deafeningly loud in the quiet room. He reached inside and pulled himself out.
Will's breath hitched.
Even only half-hard, it was magnificent. A thick, heavy length that lay against the dark fabric of Mike's jeans, the broad head a flushed, angry-looking pink. He could already feel the ghost of that weight on his tongue, the way it would press against the roof of his mouth and make him struggle to breathe. The contrast between it and Mike's lanky frame was intoxicating. It was a thing of impossible size and beauty, and Will wanted nothing more than to worship it.
"Look at you," Mike said, his voice full of an awed sort of reverence. "Already so hungry for it."
Will just nodded, his mouth watering. He couldn't tear his eyes away from it.
"Go on then," Mike urged softly. "Take what you need."
Will leaned forward. He didn't start with his hands. Instead, he leaned in and pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the head. The taste was familiar—salt and musk and something that was just purely Mike. A soft sigh escaped him as he took the head into his mouth, his jaw stretching to accommodate the impressive girth.
"Fuck, yeah," Mike breathed, his hand coming to rest on the back of Will's head, fingers tangling in his hair. "Just like that. So good for me."
Will took him deeper, inch by thick inch. The weight of it in his mouth was grounding, solid. He could feel the heavy vein pulsing against his tongue as he moved, taking more of him in until the head hit the back of his throat. He swallowed around it, fighting back the urge to gag.
Mike's hips jerked involuntarily. "God, your mouth feels incredible," he groaned.
Will brought one of his hands up to wrap around the base of the shaft, leaving just enough room for his lips to continue their work. His fingers barely met, dwarfed by the sheer thickness of him. The sight sent a fresh wave of arousal through him. He moaned around the length, the vibrations earning another guttural sound from Mike.
"Such a good boy," Mike praised, his hips starting to move in shallow thrusts. "Taking me so well baby."
Mike's grip tightened in Will's hair as he began to fuck Will's face. His movements were slow and deliberate at first, but gradually became more forceful, more demanding. The sounds were obscene—the wet gluck of his cock entering Will's throat over and over, Will's choked moans, Mike's low groans of pleasure.
Will's eyes were watering, tears and saliva mixing and running down his chin. He didn't care. He was lost in the sensation of being used, of being completely filled by the one person he trusted above all else. He looked up, meeting Mike's gaze as his hand fell away from the base, letting Mike use him completely. Mike's eyes were intense, fixed on Will with a look that was both tender and fiercely possessive.
"Look at you," Mike repeated, his voice rough with desire. "So fucking pretty on your knees for me. Love having my big cock in your mouth, don't you?"
Will's eyes rolled back in his head. The praise, combined with the overwhelming sensation of being filled, sent him spiraling into a blissed-out state of subspace. He was floating, adrift in a sea of pleasure and possession.
"That's it, take it," Mike growled, his thrusts becoming more erratic. "Such a good boy, swallowing all of me…"
With a final, powerful thrust, Mike came with a loud groan. He held Will's head in place as he spilled down his throat, hot and thick. Will swallowed eagerly, not wanting to waste a single drop. He stayed like that, Mike's cock softening in his mouth, until Mike finally pulled back.
Will looked up at him, completely blissed out. His face a mess of tears and spit, his eyes wide and unfocused. He looked utterly wrecked, and he'd never felt more beautiful.
Mike was looking down at him with an expression of pure adoration. He reached down and gently wiped a stray drop of cum from the corner of Will's mouth with his thumb, pushing it back into Will's mouth. "You did so good," he murmured, his voice filled with affection. "So good for me, baby."
Will just hummed contentedly, sucking instinctively on the finger in his mouth. He felt boneless, completely spent and utterly satisfied.
Mike helped him to his feet, holding him steady as Will's knees wobbled. He carefully tucked himself back into his jeans, then turned his full attention to Will. He buttoned up Will's shirt, hiding the tempting strip of skin from view. Taking a few tissues, he wiped Will’s chin clean with careful strokes, then grabbed a fresh one to gently clear the tears and smudged eyeliner from under his eyes.
"We should get home," Mike said softly, pressing a soft kiss to Will's forehead. "So I can take care of you properly."
The subway ride home was a blur. Will was still floating, tucked into Mike's side with his head resting on Mike's shoulder. The rumbling of the train, the flashes of light from the passing tunnels, the murmur of other passengers—it all faded into a distant hum. All he was aware of was the solid warmth of Mike beside him, the steady rhythm of his breathing, and the lingering feeling of fullness that still resonated deep within him. He must have dozed off, because the next thing he knew, Mike was gently shaking him awake.
"Hey, sleepyhead. We're home."
Will blinked, the world slowly coming back into focus. He'd somehow missed the walk from the train to their apartment. The night air was cool, a stark contrast to the stuffy heat of the train. Mike had an arm wrapped securely around his waist, holding him up.
"I can walk," Will mumbled, though he made no move to pull away.
"I know you can," Mike said with a soft smile. He led them inside and up the stairs to their small apartment on the third floor.
The second the door was closed, Will shuffled straight to the bed and collapsed face-first onto the mattress with a groan. He was exhausted, a pleasant, bone-deep weariness had settled into his limbs.
Mike chuckled from behind him. "I'll take that as a yes to you being tired."
He moved to the side of the bed and started undressing Will with gentle, practiced ease. He peeled off the impossibly tight pants, tossing them into the laundry basket. Then came the shirt, each button carefully undone before he slipped it from Will's shoulders. Will lay limply, letting Mike maneuver his limbs like a doll.
When Mike disappeared into the bathroom, Will was already half-asleep. He heard the water run, then the soft rustle of a towel. By the time Mike came back, a makeup wipe in hand, Will was fully asleep, breathing deep and even.
Mike huffed a quiet laugh, a fond smile playing on his lips. "So much for me returning the favour," he whispered to the empty room.
He gently wiped the last of the glitter and eyeliner from Will’s face, revealing the soft, blushed skin underneath. He stood there for a long moment, just watching Will sleep, the moonlight filtering through the window casting a silver glow on his hair. A fierce wave of protectiveness washed over him, so strong it almost took his breath away.
He quickly got ready for bed himself, slipping into a pair of worn sweatpants. He turned on the bedside lamp, put on his reading glasses, and reached for his dog-eared copy of Good Omens. He hesitated, then remembered something else.
Opening the nightstand drawer, he pushed aside stray batteries and a half-empty tube of lube to pull out a gag gift Dustin had given them months ago: a cheap paperback with a garish cover titled Kinks for Dummies. He’d completely forgotten about it until now. With a small, amused smile, he started flicking through it absently.
The chapters were ridiculous, filled with sterile diagrams and overly clinical language that was more likely to kill arousal than inspire it. But then he landed on a section near the middle. The heading was simple: "Cockwarming."
He slowed down, curious. The description spoke of a specific kind of intimacy—a non-goal-oriented act focused on sensation, presence, and trust. It mentioned the floaty, quiet headspace it could induce, the way the simple act of holding a cock in one's mouth, vagina or anus could calm an overstimulated mind. How it wasn't about the build-up to an orgasm, but about the sustained, quiet pleasure of simply being filled and held.
Mike’s mind flashed back to tonight. The way Will’s eyes had gone glassy and distant the second he’d had Mike’s cock in his mouth, the way he’d looked up with those wet, blissed-out eyes like nothing else in the world existed. He thought about all the other times before, how Will always seemed to go soft and peaceful whenever his mouth was full, how he would nuzzle against Mike's thigh afterward, completely pliant and content.
The idea planted itself quietly in the back of his mind.
Over the next few weeks, exam season crept closer like a slow-rolling storm. The stacks of books on their kitchen table grew taller, and the apartment started to smell perpetually of stale coffee and ramen.
Will’s stress built steadily. He became a creature of frantic energy and then sudden, exhausted stillness. He’d forget to eat, only remembering when Mike would silently place a plate with a sandwich in front of him. He’d stay up until 3 a.m, hunched over a textbook under the harsh glare of a desk lamp, then crash hard and sleep through his alarm.
Mike took over everything else. He did the laundry, including the special care for Will's paint-splattered clothes. He bought groceries, making sure to stock up on Will's favorite snacks and teas. He took out the trash and cleaned the bathroom, all without being asked, moving through their small space with a quiet efficiency that was purely about taking burdens off Will’s shoulders.
Will was grateful. He'd stop in the middle of highlighting a passage, look up at Mike washing dishes in the sink, and feel a wave of affection so intense it brought tears to his eyes. Soft thank-yous, forehead presses against Mike’s shoulder, quiet "you're too good to me"s punctuated the long, tense evenings.
But the pressure kept rising. Will started snapping over small things—a dropped pen, a mislaid notebook—followed immediately by immediate, tearful apologies.
One evening he finally broke.
Will was at the kitchen table, surrounded by a chaotic mess of notes, flashcards, and empty coffee mugs. He was trying to memorize information for an art history final, but the words were swimming on the page, refusing to stick. His hands were shaking so badly he could barely hold the highlighter.
"Hey," Mike said softly, coming up behind him. He placed a gentle hand on Will's shoulder. "Why don't you take a break? You've been at this for hours."
Will flinched at the touch. "I can't," he bit out, his voice tight with panic. "I don't know anything. If I stop, I'll never remember any of it. I'm going to fail, Mike. I'm going to fail everything."
He shoved his chair back, the legs scraping loudly against the floor. "I can't do this," he whispered, his eyes filling with tears. "I'm not smart enough. I'm not good enough—"
The words dissolved into choked sobs. His breathing came in ragged, hitching gasps, a full-blown panic attack taking hold. He was hyperventilating, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, trapped in a spiral of self-loathing.
Mike didn't flinch. He didn't raise his voice. He stepped in close, bracketing Will’s trembling body with his own larger one. He took Will’s face in his hands, forcing him to make eye contact.
"Hey," Mike said, his voice a steady anchor in the storm of Will's panic. "Look at me. Just look at me. Breathe with me. In... and out. That's it."
Will tried, but he couldn't catch his breath.
"That's okay," Mike soothed, thumbs stroking over the wet tracks on Will's cheeks. "I've got you. You're allowed to stop. You're allowed to turn your brain off for a little while. Let me take care of everything right now. You don't have to think. You don't have to be good at anything except letting me handle it."
He kept talking, a steady stream of low, reassuring words as he guided a shaking Will from the kitchen table into the living room. He didn't let go. He sat on the edge of the couch, pulling a floor pillow down between his feet.
"Here," he said, his voice soft. "Kneel here for me."
Will went without question, folding down onto the pillow, his movements shaky and uncoordinated. He looked up at Mike, his eyes wide and wet with tears, still hiccupping through the panic.
Mike shushed him gently, running a hand through Will's hair. "You're okay. I've got you." He undid the button on his jeans, dragging the zipper down slowly. He reached inside, pulling out his cock.
"Open up," Mike murmured.
Will parted his lips obediently, and Mike guided himself in. The familiar weight on Will's tongue created an instant, grounding sensation that immediately began to silence the frantic noise in his head. The cock was so thick, even soft it filled his mouth completely, stretching his lips wide and pressing down on his tongue. Instinctively, Will started to move his head, trying to suck properly, wanting to please.
"No, baby," Mike said softly, a gentle hand coming to rest on the top of Will's head, stilling his movements. "Not that. Just keep me in your mouth. Relax your jaw. Breathe through your nose. That's all you have to do."
Will stilled. He focused on the feeling—the solid weight of it, the velvety texture of the skin against his tongue, the way it filled every available space, not only physically but mentally. There was no room for panic, no room for exam dates or the fear of failure. There was only this.
Mike kept one hand in Will's hair, a steady, soothing weight. He reached over to the coffee table with his free hand and picked up a stack of Will's flashcards.
"Foreshortening," Mike read, his voice calm and even, the perfect background drone. "The technique of adjusting an object or figure in two-dimensional space to create the illusion of projection or receding into depth. Remember: a pointing finger."
As Mike continued to read through Will's notes aloud, a slow warmth spread through Will's chest. The pressure in his lungs eased. The frantic racing of his heart slowed. Every now and then, Mike would get briefly distracted by the warm, wet heat around him—his voice would catch, his fingers would tighten in Will's hair—but he always returned to the steady stream of praise and academic facts.
"Such a good boy... just breathing for me... you're so perfect like this... so safe..."
By the time Mike had made it through half the deck of cards, he felt a distinct change in Will's body. The tension had completely melted away. He was pliant and boneless, a dead weight resting against Mike's thigh.
Mike carefully guided Will off his cock. Will's head lolled forward for a second before he blinked slowly, looking up. His eyes were glassy and unfocused, deep in subspace. His lips were swollen and slick, shining in the light. A string of saliva connected them to Mike's cock before it broke. He looked utterly peaceful, completely emptied of all the stress from before.
Will whined softly, a pathetic little sound in the back of his throat, and tried to lean back in, wanting the weight back on his tongue. Mike shushed him softly, pulling him up from the floor and onto the couch. He settled Will against his chest, wrapping his arms around him in a full-body embrace.
"I've got you," Mike murmured into Will's hair. "You did so good. You were so, so good for me." He kept talking, a stream of soft reassurances and praise as he stroked Will's back, waiting for the last of the adrenaline to fade from his system.
It became a recurring ritual between them. An unspoken secret, a tool pulled from the toolbox of their relationship whenever the academic pressure mounted to unbearable levels. Sometimes Will would be hunched over a textbook for hours, growing more and more tense, and Mike would simply spread his legs on the couch and call him over in a low voice. Will would come willingly every time, sinking to his knees between Mike's thighs with a soft sigh of relief, the act itself a mental surrender.
Other times, Mike would find Will staring blankly at a canvas in his studio space, the brush frozen in his hand. He'd lead Will to the armchair, guide him down, and let the familiar stretch and weight pull the artist's block and anxiety out of him. Mike would sit back and read a novel, one hand resting possessively in Will's hair, the only sounds in the room the turning of pages and Will's soft, even breaths. Will would stay there for thirty minutes, sometimes an hour, until he pulled off with a dazed blink and went back to his painting with a newfound clarity.
A few weeks later, the ritual wasn't enough. Will came home and slammed the front door behind him, the sound echoing through the small apartment. He stomped through the living room, his movements sharp and agitated, his face wrought with frustration.
Mike looked up from his textbook, concern immediately etched on his features. "Will? What's wrong?"
Will ignored him, disappearing into the bedroom. A moment later, he re-emerged, and without a word, he crossed the room to where Mike was on the couch and yanked his sweatpants down.
Mike let out a surprised "Hey!" as his soft cock flopped out onto his thigh.
Will was on his knees before him instantly, taking Mike into his mouth with a desperate energy. It wasn't gentle or worshipful; it was frantic. He sucked hard, his cheeks hollowing, his head bobbing furiously.
"Whoa, baby, slow down," Mike said, trying to catch his breath. He tried to put a gentle hand on Will's head, but Will shook it off, a frustrated growl rumbling in his throat. "Will, talk to me. What happened?"
But Will wouldn't, couldn't. He was trying to find the calm, the familiar floaty feeling, but it was just out of reach. His jaw was working a mile a minute, but the anxiety in his chest wasn't dissolving; it was just morphing into a new kind of frustration. Tears of anger and stress pricked at his eyes. He pulled off Mike's cock with a wet pop, his breath ragged.
"It's not working!" he choked out, his voice thick with unshed tears. "It's not fucking working."
He looked up at Mike, his eyes wild and desperate, and the sight of him so upset broke Mike's heart.
"Okay," Mike said, his voice shifting into that low, steady, in-control tone that Will needed to hear. "Okay. We're going to try something else. I've got you, just trust me."
He stood up, pulling his sweatpants the rest of the way off, and kicked them aside. Then he reached for Will, gently pulling him to his feet. He led him to the bedroom and began to undress him, his movements careful and deliberate, as if handling something fragile.
"Let's get these off," he murmured, unbuttoning Will's shirt. "You're doing so good, just letting me take care of you." He slid the shirt off Will's shoulders and tossed it aside. His hands went to Will's belt, undoing it with practiced ease before pulling down his pants and boxers in one go.
Will stood naked before him, still trembling, but now there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. He felt exposed, vulnerable.
Mike cupped his face, his touch impossibly gentle. "So beautiful," he whispered, his thumb stroking over Will's cheekbone. "Lie down on the bed for me. On your back."
Will complied, crawling onto the bed and lying back against the pillows. He watched as Mike retrieved the bottle of lube from the nightstand, squirting some onto his fingers.
Mike knelt on the bed between Will's spread legs. "Lift your hips for me, baby." When Will did, Mike slid a pillow under his lower back, tilting him up at the perfect angle. "There we go."
He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the inside of Will's knee, then another on his thigh. His touch was grounding, a stark contrast to the frantic energy that had been consuming Will moments before.
Then he began to stretch him. One finger, slick and cool, circling the tight ring of muscle before pushing inside. Will let out a soft sigh, his body already starting to unwind. Mike worked him open slowly, patiently, adding a second finger when he felt Will's body relax, then a third.
"You're doing so well," Mike praised, his fingers scissoring gently inside him, stretching him wider. "Taking my fingers so good. Such a good boy for me."
By the time Mike was satisfied, Will was soft and pliant, the angry tension having completely drained out of him, replaced by a hazy desire. His tears had stopped, though he was still sniffled occasionally.
Mike pulled his fingers out and wiped them on the sheet. Then he lay back against the headboard, propped up by a few pillows. His cock lay against his stomach, thick and heavy, already hard and flushed with arousal.
"Come here," he said softly. "Climb on top."
Will moved immediately, straddling Mike's hips. He reached behind himself to guide Mike's cock to his entrance, then slowly, inch by inch, he sank down onto it.
The stretch was intense. The broad head pushed past the tight ring of muscle, opening him up in a way that was always both overwhelming and deeply satisfying. He gasped as the thick girth filled him deeper and deeper until he was fully seated, his ass flush against Mike's hips. He felt impossibly full, stretched to the limit, the heavy weight of Mike's cock lodged deep inside him.
He started to move, to rock his hips, to chase that pleasure that he knew was just out of reach, but Mike's hands settled firmly on his hips, holding him completely still.
"Stay," Mike commanded, his voice firm. "Just stay like this. Let me finish my book."
Will froze, a confused sound escaping him.
Mike chuckled softly, reaching over to the nightstand to grab the novel he'd been reading last night. "You don't have to do anything," he reiterated, one of his hands coming up to stroke soothingly up and down Will's back. "Just be good for me and keep my cock warm."
He opened the book, his eyes scanning the page, but Will could feel the rapid, heavy pulse of Mike's heartbeat through the thick length buried inside him. The hiccups and crying had subsided completely, replaced by a deep, bone-weary exhaustion. He let his body go limp, melting against Mike's chest, his head tucked into the warm curve of Mike's neck.
The steady rhythm of Mike's breathing, the gentle caress of his hand on Will's back, the solid presence of him inside—it was all an anchor. The rage in Will's mind had finally passed, leaving behind a quiet calm.
He drifted in that state for what felt like an eternity, a floaty, peaceful limbo where nothing mattered but the feeling of being held, being filled, being safe.
"Will?" Mike's voice was a low murmur after a while. He'd closed his book and set it aside. "You with me?"
Will hummed in response, too relaxed to form words. He thought he might have fallen asleep for a few minutes, but he wasn't sure. He was just deep under, floating in a sea of warmth and contentment.
Mike cooed at him, stroking his back. "You did so good for me. So perfect. You can lie down if you want."
A whine escaped Will's lips, and he tightened his grip on Mike's shoulders, clinging to him. His voice was small and hoarse with disuse. "Want to stay full…"
Mike's breath hitched. A fresh wave of arousal washed over him, and he could feel his cock twitch hard inside Will, a strong pulse that made Will gasp.
"Yeah, baby?" Mike's voice dropped even lower, rough with desire. "Like being full of my cock? Want to stay that way, yeah?"
He wrapped one arm firmly around Will's waist, his long fingers spanning the small of Will's back, and with a careful shift of his weight, rolled them over. Will found himself on his back with Mike covering him, their bodies never disconnecting. The movement was slow and deliberate, a testament to Mike's strength and control as he maneuvered them without pulling out even an inch.
Will's legs automatically wrapped around Mike's hips, pulling him closer. The new angle sent a wave of electricity up his spine—the thick head of Mike's cock now pressing deeper, hitting his prostate at an angle that made his toes curl.
Propped up on his arms, Mike looked down at Will. He could see the dried tear tracks on Will's cheeks, stark against his flushed skin. He could see the completely dazed, blissed-out expression in his unfocused, hazel eyes. He looked so fucking pretty, so vulnerable and trusting, that Mike couldn't believe he'd gotten this lucky.
He started to move.
His hips pulled back slowly, dragging every thick inch of his cock out of Will's body, leaving him feeling achingly empty, carved out and hollow. Then he pushed back in, one steady thrust that filled him to the brim again.
Will let out a soft moan, his back arching off the bed.
Mike set a slow rhythm. Long, deep thrusts that dragged against every sensitive nerve ending inside him. The stretch was constant, a dull, overwhelming ache that was rapidly melting into pure pleasure. The weight of Mike pressing deep inside, the feeling of being owned and claimed, was everything Will needed.
Both of them were already worked up from the past hour, so it didn't take long for the pleasure to build.
Mike groaned as he sped up his thrusts, his control starting to slip. "You feel so good," he gritted out. "So tight around me."
Will could only answer with a series of choked moans, his hands scrambling for purchase on Mike's shoulders. His legs wrapped around Mike's waist, pulling him in deeper.
"Look at me," Mike commanded, his voice rough. "Want to see you when you cum for me."
Will forced his heavy eyelids open, his vision swimming and blurry with new tears of pleasure that had tracked down his temples into his hairline. He looked up at Mike, at the intense focus burning in his eyes, at the beads of sweat gathering on his forehead and darkening the curls at his temples.
Mike's expression was raw and open, a mixture of utter concentration and awed adoration that made Will's chest ache with love. He could feel every ridge of muscle working in Mike's back as he thrust, could see the frantic pulse beating in the strong column of his throat.
The sight of him, combined with a particularly hard thrust that nailed his prostate dead-on, was enough to send Will over the edge. He cried out, his body convulsing as he came, ropes of cum painting both their chests and stomachs.
Mike followed him over a moment later with a low groan, burying himself deep inside as he came, spilling hot and thick. He stayed like that for a long moment, breathing heavily, before carefully pulling out. He rolled off Will and onto his side, gathering him into his arms.
"You did so good," Mike murmured into Will's hair. "So good for me."
Will just hummed in response, burrowing closer. He was completely spent, body and mind. All the stress and anxiety from the day had been thoroughly fucked out of him, replaced by a deep, bone-weary contentment.
After a while, when Will was basically dozing, Mike gently untangled himself from their embrace. "I'll be right back," he whispered.
He padded to the bathroom and came back with a warm, wet cloth. He carefully cleaned them both up with gentle strokes, taking care not to disturb Will's state of sleepy bliss. He tossed the cloth aside, then settled back into bed, pulling the covers over them both.
Will shifted, snuggling into Mike's side, his head resting on Mike's chest. He was quiet for a long moment, just listening to the steady rhythm of Mike's heartbeat.
"Mike?" he whispered, his voice small and tired.
"Yeah, baby?" Mike murmured, his arm tightening around Will's shoulders.
"Today was really shitty," Will admitted, the words muffled against Mike's chest. "But you... you helped make it better."
Mike pressed a long, lingering kiss to the top of Will's head. "I'll always be here to help," he said softly. "No matter what."
"I love you," Will whispered, the hidden ‘thank you’ buried within.
"I love you too, Will," Mike replied, his voice thick with emotion. "So much."
They lay there in the quiet darkness, the only sounds their soft breaths and the distant hum of the city outside. Will could feel the lingering stretch in his ass, a pleasant reminder of how he'd been filled and taken care of. It was a comfort, a promise that no matter how bad things got, Mike would always be there to take care of him, to fill him up, and to make him feel safe.