Chapter Text
The cold night air hit Will’s face, snapping a brief moment of clarity back into his tequila-hazed brain. Wait a minute, he thought, his eyes widening as Mike’s boots crunched confidently across the damp grass toward the parked cars. What am I doing? I can't just let him off the hook this easily. He left me on the porch. He went to a party without telling me. He let Stacey sit on his lap and then he flirted with her right in front of my face.
The sheer audacity of Mike Wheeler—thinking he could just swoop in, pick Will up like a sack of potatoes, and make everything better with a few words—made a sudden surge of stubborn pride flare up in Will’s chest.
"Wait, no! Put me down, Mike!" Will yelled, his voice echoing off the dark exterior walls of the house.
"No way, Byers. You wanted to talk about Chance, you get the VIP chauffeur service," Mike muttered, tightening his grip around Will’s waist and thighs, his long legs eating up the distance to his station wagon. I am not letting him go, Mike thought frantically, his muscles straining under the weight, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm. If I put him down now, he’s going to run. He’s going to go back inside, or worse, actually talk to someone else. I need him in my car where I can finally explain myself.
"I said, put me down!" Will huffed, his cheeks burning with a mix of anger and embarrassment. He started to wiggle violently, twisting his hips and kicking his legs out.
The movement was devastating for Mike. Every twist of Will’s hips sent the tight, rough denim of those black jeans rubbing directly against Mike’s chest and stomach. Worse, it shifted the waistband again.
"Will, stop moving!" Mike choked out, his voice cracking as he stumbled slightly over a tree root. "You’re gonna make us both crash!"
"Good! That’s exactly what you deserve!" Will shouted. He threw his weight backward, trying to break Mike’s center of gravity. When that didn't work, he let out a sharp, theatrical gasp and screamed toward the house at the top of his lungs. "Help! Kidnapping! Someone help me, a giant nerd is stealing me!"
"Will, shut up!" Mike hissed, panicking now, trying to clamp a hand over Will’s mouth while still holding him up. "People are going to think I’m actually hurting you!"
"You are hurting my pride!" Will yelled back, dodging Mike's hand. "Help! Lucas! Max! Anyone!"
The backdoor of the house flew open with a loud, violent BANG.
The sudden burst of light from the kitchen illuminated the backyard, casting long, dramatic shadows across the lawn. Bursting through the doorway were Max and Lucas, both looking utterly panicked, their eyes darting wildly around the dark yard until they locked onto the bizarre spectacle near the edge of the woods.
Max had a heavy wooden rolling pin gripped in her right hand—god knows where she’d found it in the kitchen—and Lucas was holding a half-empty bottle of generic cola like a club.
"Drop him, asshole!" Max screamed, sprinting down the wooden steps of the porch, her red hair flying wildly behind her. "I swear to god, Wheeler, if you're touching him, I will break your shins!"
"Who am I fighting?!" Lucas yelled, stumbling a bit on the grass but following right behind her, his eyes wide with drunken bravery. "Will! We’re coming!"
Mike froze dead in his tracks, his shoulders slumping as he realized his grand escape had just been thoroughly compromised by a girl with a rolling pin. He looked down at Will, who was currently looking back up at him with a smug, triumphant grin.
"See?" Will whispered, his voice dripping with playful malice. "I told you to beg."
I am going to lose my mind, Mike thought, letting out a heavy, defeated sigh. He slowly lowered Will’s feet back to the ground, but he didn't let go of Will's waist completely, keeping his hands anchored on the belt loops of those tight black jeans just to ensure Will couldn't bolt into the shadows.
"Max! Lucas! Relax!" Mike shouted, holding one hand up in surrender while keeping the other firmly attached to Will. "Nobody is getting kidnapped! It’s just us!"
Max skidded to a halt a few feet away, her chest heaving, the rolling pin still raised threateningly. She looked at Mike’s flushed, sweaty face, then at Will, who was leaning casually against Mike’s chest despite the fact that they were supposed to be fighting. Her eyes narrowed into deadly slits as she took in the lingering wetness on Mike's cheek and the smug look on Will’s face.
"What the hell is going on out here?" Max demanded, her voice dropping from panicked to thoroughly annoyed. "Will, you yelled like you were being murdered! We literally ran out of a game of Drink or Dare for this."
"He was trying to force me into his car," Will said, putting on his best innocent-victim face, though his eyes were dancing with amusement. "He thinks just because he's tall he can carry me around like luggage."
"I was trying to take him home because he’s tipsy and threatening to ride with random guys!" Mike protested, his defensive, whiny voice returning in full force. He looked at Lucas, pleading for some guy-to-guy solidarity. "Lucas, tell him! Tell him it’s a bad idea to walk around Hawkins alone at night!"
Lucas lowered the cola bottle, looking completely exhausted. He wiped his forehead and looked at Max. "Babe, I think they’re just being gross again. Can we go back inside? Dustin is currently trying to eat a raw lime peel."
"No, we are not going back inside yet," Max snapped, though she lowered the rolling pin. She stepped closer to the two of them, her sharp eyes flicking down to where Mike’s hand was still wrapped securely around Will’s hip, his fingers practically dug into the denim. "Will, do you want him to put you down, or are you just making noise because you like the attention?"
Will’s blush returned instantly, hot and fierce. He tried to pull away from Mike's grip, but Mike held fast, his fingers tightening stubbornly. "I wanted him to put me down because he hasn't apologized properly yet," Will muttered, looking away from Max’s piercing gaze.
Apologized properly? Mike’s inner thoughts groaned. I literally just ate his spit off my own face! How much more proper can an apology get? But looking at the stubborn set of Will’s jaw, Mike realized that the tequila had given Will a layer of armor that wasn't going to crack just because Mike carried him. Will wanted words. He wanted the truth that they had been avoiding all summer.
"If you two don't figure out whatever weird, repressed, midwestern trauma you're dealing with in the next ten seconds, I'm going to hit both of you," Max threatened, though there was a slight smirk playing on her lips now. "Will, are you going with him or not?"
Will looked back up at Mike. In the dim light of the backyard, Mike looked completely wrecked. His dark curls were a wild mess, his black shirt was rumpled from Will’s earlier shoves, and his eyes were full of a desperate, pleading hunger that belonged entirely to Will.
"Fine," Will sighed, giving one last, performative huff. "He can drive me. But only if he stops calling me stupid nicknames."
"Deal," Mike blurted out, a massive wave of relief washing over him. He finally let go of Will's waist, though he immediately moved his hand to grip Will’s fingers, lacing them together tightly so there was no mistake about who Will was leaving with.
"Gross," Max said, turning back toward the house. "Lucas, let's go save Dustin from himself. You two, get out of my sight before I change my mind and use this rolling pin for real."
"Thanks, Max," Will called out as she and Lucas headed back into the kitchen, the door swinging shut behind them and plunging the yard back into the quiet moonlight.
Left alone again, the silence settled between them, thick with the leftover adrenaline of the party and the heavy, undeniable weight of what was waiting for them at the cabin.
Mike didn't say a word. He just pulled Will gently toward the passenger side of his station wagon, opening the door for him with a new, quiet kind of reverence. Will hopped in, and as Mike closed the door, Will caught his own reflection in the window.
Will thought, We're finally going to be alone, and there are no more dares to hide behind. his heart skipped a beat as Mike walked around to the driver's side.
The hum of the station wagon’s engine filled the quiet space of the front seat, a sharp contrast to the thumping bass they were finally leaving behind. Will leaned his head back against the vinyl headrest, desperately trying to steady his breathing. In and out. Just breathe, he told himself, but his heart wasn't listening.
His eyes drifted sideways, completely independent of his willpower, landing on Mike’s forearm. The muscles there flexed and shifted as Mike threw his arm over the back of the passenger seat, turning his head to look over his shoulder as he smoothly reversed the car out of the crowded driveway. The sight made Will’s stomach do a tight, dizzying flip. He bit his lower lip hard, the taste of salt and tequila still faint on his skin. God, please, Will thought, his hands gripping the edge of his seat. I don’t want to be in that bed alone tonight. Not after this.
Mike shifted the car into drive, his dark eyes cutting sideways to catch Will staring. He noticed the way Will’s teeth were sinking into his lip, the way his eyes were practically burning holes into his arm.
"What?" Will scoffed defensively, his voice a little too breathless to sound genuinely annoyed.
Will turned his face toward the passenger window, watching the dark trees blur past, but internally, he was screaming. I just want to kiss him. Right now. I could just reach over and do it. The thought made him let out a heavy, frustrated sigh that echoed in the quiet car.
Mike let out a sigh of his own, his grip on the steering wheel loosening just a fraction. He glanced at Will, his expression softening.
"Look, baby, I'm sorry," Mike said, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly tone that always made Will’s knees feel weak. "I'm so sorry about the Stacey thing. I should have said something right away, but her friends were totally plotting to shove her onto me. I didn't want any of it." Mike risked a glance away from the road, his eyes full of desperate sincerity. "I'm sorry, baby."
Hearing that nickname twice in a row, delivered with so much genuine regret, completely shattered the last of Will's defenses. The armor the tequila had given him just melted away, leaving him completely exposed to the heat radiating from the driver's seat.
"It's fine," Will murmured, his voice soft as he finally looked back at Mike, a helpless smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Just... don't let it happen again."
Will reached across the console, his fingers sliding into Mike’s palm and squeezing tight. He didn't care about looking cool anymore; the warmth of Mike’s hand was the only thing grounding him after the chaos of the night.
"Next time you go to a party," Will said, his voice firm, leaving absolutely no room for argument, "you go with me."
Mike’s grip tightened instantly, his fingers interlocking with Will’s so fiercely it almost hurt. He lifted their joined hands, bringing the back of Will’s hand to his lips to press a lingering, desperate kiss against his knuckles.
"Deal," Mike breathed, his eyes flashing in the dark as he hit the gas, the car speeding down the empty road toward the cabin. "Never again without you, bunny."
The car hadn’t even fully drifted onto the gravel shoulder of the dark road before Mike slammed his foot on the brake. The tires crunched sharply, the headlights cutting a stark, blinding path into the dense treeline of the Hawkins woods, but neither of them was looking at the road.
The tension that had been building since the porch, through the kitchen, and across that suffocating circle on the bedroom floor finally snapped like a high-voltage wire.
Mike didn't say a word. He unbuckled his seatbelt with a frantic, metallic clink, threw the car into park, and lunged across the console. His hand cupped the back of Will's neck, his long fingers burying into Will's hair to pull him forward.
When their mouths hit, it wasn't a gentle reconciliation. It was a collision.
Mike was absolutely devouring him, pouring all the pent-up jealousy and the pure desperation of the last two hours into the press of his lips. He groaned deep in his throat, his tongue sliding into Will’s mouth, claiming him with a fierce dominance. He nipped sharply at Will’s lower lip, a punishing little bite that earned a high, breathless moan from Will’s throat.
"Mmh..." Will whimpered against Mike’s mouth, his hands instantly flying to the front of Mike's black shirt, fistfuls of fabric gathering in his grip as his head spun from the sheer intensity of it.
Mike needed more. The console was in the way, the gear shift was bruising his hip, and the distance between them was infuriating. With a rough, sudden movement, Mike hooked his strong arms under Will’s thighs and hoisted him right over the center console, dragging him onto his lap.
Will let out a sharp gasp as he was pulled through the cramped space, his long, tight black jeans sliding over the vinyl seats until he was straddling Mike’s lap in the driver’s seat. The steering wheel dug into Will's lower back, forcing his chest directly against Mike’s, their heartbeats racing against each other like a pair of runaway trains.
Mike didn't miss a beat. The second Will was settled on his thighs, Mike’s hands locked onto his hips, holding him down. He buried his face in the crook of Will’s neck, his mouth sliding hungrily up the pale skin of Will's jawline, sucking a dark mark into the sensitive flesh right below his ear.
"Fuck, I hate you," Will muttered, his voice shaking violently as he threw his head back, his fingers tangling desperately in Mike’s dark, messy curls. He was completely helpless against the feeling of Mike's hands on his waist, right where the delicate pastel yellow lace was pressed tight against his skin.
Mike let out a low chuckle against Will's skin, his teeth scraping lightly over his jawline. "Let's not lie, baby," Mike whispered, his hot breath sending a violent shiver down Will’s spine before he leaned up to suck heavily on Will's jaw again.
Will whined, the sound small and entirely undone, his hips shifting instinctively against Mike’s lap. The friction was dizzying, and with the windows fogging up in the middle of the dark, quiet woods, the cabin felt a million miles away.
"Mmh, baby... we're in public," Mike groaned against the skin of Will’s neck, the words practically vibrating into his skin. Even with the windows rapidly fogging up in the middle of the dark, wooded road, Mike's logical brain was trying—and failing—to stage a comeback.
"So?" Will challenged, his voice dripping with defiance. He tilted his head back further, offering Mike better access, his fingers digging unyieldingly into Mike's shoulders.
"Fuck, baby... so shameless," Mike growled, his hands anchoring harder into Will's hips. He pulled back just enough to look into Will's eyes, his own pupils so completely blown out they looked entirely black under the dim dashboard lights. "Look at you. Acting like a fucking brat just because I came to a party without you."
Will smirked, a breathless, heavy-lidded look that told Mike exactly how much power he knew he held.
"Spitting on my face, didn't listen to me, yelled," Mike listed, his voice dropping into a dark, rough cadence as his gaze flicked down to Will's parted, wet lips. The sheer intoxicating mix of Will's jealousy, his confidence, and the friction of those tight black denim jeans on his lap was pushing Mike past his absolute limit.
Driven by pure possessive instinct, Mike brought one hand down and delivered a sharp, firm smack right against the curve of Will's ass.
Crack.
"Mmh!" Will let out a loud, startled moan that echoes in the cramped space of the station wagon. The sting of it shot a jolt of pure heat straight to his core.
Instead of pulling away, Will completely lost his filter. He leaned forward, grinding himself deliberately up against Mike’s lap, desperately seeking relief from the agonizing ache between his legs. His breathing was heavy, ragged, and completely undone as he buried his face in Mike's neck.
"Mmh... Mike," Will whined, his entire body trembling as he hitched himself closer, the movement causing the waistband of his jeans to dip lower, completely exposing the pastel yellow lace to Mike's burning gaze.
Mike’s eyes caught the sudden, bright flash of the pastel yellow lace under the dim dashboard light, and his remaining restraint vanished. He let out a low, guttural groan, his long fingers immediately scrambling for the button of Will’s tight black jeans. He popped it open with a sharp click, the sound loud in the fogged-up car, and aggressively tugged the zipper down.
He didn't take the pants all the way off; instead, he shoved the rough denim down just past Will’s thighs, trapping his legs but completely exposing the scandalous, delicate underwear to his view.
"Holy shit, Will," Mike breathed, his voice a broken whisper as his eyes scanned the view.
From the front, Will’s hard length was straining violently against the lacy material. The fabric was so thin and translucent that Mike could see the dark outline of his erection, a dark patch of precum already soaking through the center of the pastel yellow lace, turning it completely see-through.
Will let out a shaky, desperate moan, "Mmh, Mike... please..." He leaned forward, completely breathless, and began licking a wet trail up Mike's neck toward his jaw, his tongue hot and smooth against Mike's skin.
Mike didn't hesitate. He slid his large, warm hand right under the elastic waistband of the panties, his palm cupping the bare, soft flesh of Will’s ass. He squeezed Will's ass cheek firmly, his fingers digging into the smooth skin, molding the flesh in his grip.
"Ah! Fuck, Mike!" Will cried out, a loud, high-pitched moan tearing from his throat as he ground his leaking, lace-covered front directly against the hard ridge of Mike’s zipper. The friction of the lace against his sensitive skin was absolute torture. "Touch me, please... it hurts..."
Mike squeezed both of Will's ass cheeks, lifting his hips slightly to feel the heavy, wet pressure of Will's length grinding into him. He swallowed hard, his brain totally fried by the smell of tequila, sweat, and Will’s slick material.
"Back seat. Right now," Mike muttered against Will's lips, his voice thick with a dark, commanding authority. He didn't wait for an answer, his hands still gripping Will's ass as he prepared to shift them both into the wider, darker space of the station wagon's back row.
The back seat of the station wagon was darker, the windows completely blanketed in thick, heavy fog that shut out the rest of the world. Will didn't even wait. Fueled by the tequila and a desperate, scratching need to feel Mike close, he scrambled over the bench seat, his knees digging into the worn vinyl.
He bent forward, bracing his palms flat against the cold glass of the side window. He arched his back deeply, pushing his hips up and presenting his ass directly to Mike in the cramped space.
Mike climbed over the console right behind him, his breath hitching so hard it rattled in his chest. Fuck, Will looks so hot, Mike thought, his eyes tracking the incredible curve of Will’s spine and the tantalizing view of the yellow fabric stretched tight over his skin. He couldn't take it for another second.
Mike reached down, his fingers hooking into the waistband of both the black jeans and the lacy panties. With a rough, impatient yank, he dragged them both down Will’s legs, throwing them completely off his boots onto the cluttered floor of the car.
"Mike... please," Will whimpered, his forehead pressing against the fogged-up glass, his fingers smudging the condensation as he trembled.
Mike didn't answer with words. He leaned over Will’s back, his large hands coming down to grip Will’s bare, smooth ass cheeks. He spread them wide apart, exposing the tight, pale heat of Will’s hole to the cool air of the car. The contrast made Will shiver, a desperate gasp escaping his lips.
Before Will could process the view, Mike leaned down. He slid his tongue out, pressing it flat against the sensitive skin right below Will’s balls, and dragged a wet, heavy stroke all the way down to the very edge of his tight hole.
"Oh god, Mike! Mmh!" Will screamed into the glass, his hips jerking violently at the sudden, blistering sensation of Mike’s mouth on his skin. He arched his back even more, his ass cheeks trembling in Mike's firm grip as his whole body went entirely weak.
"Are you gonna fuck me? Please... please fuck me," Will begged, his voice cracking as he rocked his hips backward against Mike’s face. The absolute electricity of Mike's tongue on his skin had completely stripped away his filters. He was entirely undone, crying out into the fogged-up glass of the station wagon.
But the wet strokes of Mike's tongue stopped.
Mike lifted his head, his chest heaving as he stared down at the pale, trembling curve of Will’s ass. He was hard—so painfully hard it felt like his zipper was going to snap—but as the initial rush of adrenaline leveled out, his sober brain finally forced its way through the fog. They were parked on the shoulder of a main road. Every few minutes, the distant rumble of a passing truck shook the chassis, the headlights cutting weak, brief slivers of light through the condensation on the windows.
"Baby, not now," Mike rasped, his voice thick and strained as he placed his hands heavily on Will's hips, holding him still. "We're on the side of the road. Someone could pass by."
"Please, please, Mike..." Will whined, twisting his head around to look at Mike with wide, glassy eyes, his lips wet and parted. "I don't care. Just do it."
Mike leaned down, burying his face in the crook of Will’s neck and pressing a warm, grounding kiss right behind his ear. "You're tipsy, Will. And you're not prepped, baby," he whispered, his hands gently squeezing Will’s bare ass cheeks. "My soft bunny... I'm not hurting you in the back of a car."
Will let out a frustrated, needy whimper.. "Mike, please, I need something..."
Mike looked down at the soft, smooth expanse of Will’s thighs, an idea taking hold. "Let me fuck your thighs," Mike growled softly against his skin, his hands sliding down to grip the tops of Will's legs. "Your pretty thighs, baby. Let me put it between them."
Will’s breath hitched, a heavy shiver running down his spine. "Mmh... yes, please, Mike. Right now."
Mike didn't waste another second. He scrambled to his knees right behind Will. With trembling, frantic fingers, he unbuckled his own belt, popped the button of his jeans, and shoved them down along with his boxers, letting his thick, fully erect length spring free in the dark space of the backseat.
Will shifted, glancing over his shoulder, his eyes dropping to the dark silhouette of Mike’s dick. His breath caught in his throat, a sudden heat blooming in his stomach. "Fuck, you're so big," Will whispered, his voice completely breathless. "Can I... can I have it in my mouth later?"
A growl tore from Mike's throat at the question, his hands gripping Will's waist tightly. "Later, baby," Mike promised, his voice raw. "Every single inch of it. But right now, hold still for me."
The heat inside the station wagon was suffocating now, the windows completely opaque with a thick layer of condensation that isolated them entirely from the dark woods outside. Mike hovered directly behind Will on his knees, his breath hitting the small of Will's arched back in hot, ragged gasps.
Slowly, deliberately, Mike leaned his weight forward. He guided his thick, leaking length down between the smooth, pale curve of Will’s thighs. The skin-on-skin contact was immediate and electric.
"Mmh, fuck," Mike growled, the sound vibrating directly against Will's lower back as he pushed his hips forward, sliding his dick smoothly between the tight friction of Will's upper thighs.
Will let out a shaky, high-pitched gasp, his hands sliding up the fogged-up window to find purchase. Instinctively, he squeezed his thighs together tightly, locking Mike’s length between the warm, soft flesh of his legs. The added pressure was intoxicating. Mike let out a broken groan, his hands locking onto the sides of Will’s waist, his fingers digging into the skin to anchor him in place as he began to slide in and out.
The rhythm was frantic, the wet friction of their skin creating a slick, quiet sound in the dark backseat. Every time Mike lunged forward, his lower belly smacked against the soft curve of Will’s bare ass cheeks, sending jolts of pure electricity straight to Will’s core.
"Mike... oh god, Mike," Will whined, his head dropping forward against the glass. He was completely trapped by his own black jeans around his ankles and Mike’s heavy body pinning him from behind, but he didn't want to escape. He rocked his hips back into the friction, his breathing turning into short, desperate pants.
Seeing Will completely undone beneath him, Mike reached one long arm around Will’s torso. His hand traveled down the front of Will's stomach, his fingers easily finding Will’s hard, throbbing length, which was already dripping heavily with precum.
Mike wrapped his palm firmly around Will’s dick, lacing his fingers through the slick wetness, and began to jerk him off in perfect sync with the heavy, thrusting rhythm of his own hips between Will's thighs.
"Ah! Fuck!" Will screamed into the glass, his back arching to a breaking point. The dual sensation of Mike’s dick sliding between his thighs and Mike’s warm, tight grip pumping his front was too much. He was completely white-hot, his vision blurring as he felt his climax racing to the surface. "Mike, I'm gonna—I'm gonna cum—"
"Do it, baby," Mike rasped, his voice a dark, possessive command right against Will’s ear. He speeded up his strokes, his own hips slamming faster and harder against Will's thighs, desperate to match him. "Cum for me, bunny."
Will let out a shattered, high-pitched cry, his entire body locking up as his climax ripped through him. He came violently, thick ropes of white heat splashing directly across Mike’s palm and fingers. He was panting heavily, his chest heaving against the cold glass of the window, completely spent and trembling from head to toe.
"Ah, fuck, Mike... mmgh..." Will whimpered, his head rolling back against Mike’s shoulder.
Mike didn't let him rest. His own chest was heaving, his vision blurring from the sheer intensity of the friction between Will’s tight thighs. Before his hand could even cool, Mike pulled his slick, cum-coated fingers around to the front of Will's face.
"Taste it, baby," Mike rasped, his voice a dark, commanding growl against Will’s ear.
Will didn't hesitate. His mouth parted, his eyes glassy and completely blown out as he took Mike's fingers directly into his mouth, his tongue swirling around them to taste the sharp, salty flavor of his own release. The sight completely broke whatever tiny shred of control Mike had left.
"Fuck, you're so good for me," Mike groaned, his arms wrapping tightly around Will’s torso, pulling Will’s back flush against his chest so there wasn't a single millimeter of space between them.
He anchored his grip on Will's hips, holding him locked in place, and began to thrust his hips forward with a frantic, punishing speed. He fucked the tight space between Will’s thighs ruthlessly, the friction generating a loud, wet, desperate sound in the cramped backseat.
"Mmh! Mike! Ah—ah, wait," Will whined, his voice muffled by his own fingers as Mike’s heavy, rapid pace threatened to shake him loose from the window. The friction against his sensitive skin was absolute heaven, sparking a secondary wave of aftershocks through his lower belly. "Too fast... mhmm, Mike, please..."
"I can't—I'm close, bunny, hold still," Mike choked out, his jaw clenching so hard it ached. His hips slammed hard against the soft curve of Will's bare ass cheeks with every desperate stroke. Fuuuuck, he thought, his brain short-circuiting as the overwhelming heat built to a frantic crescendo.
With one last, deep, burying shove between Will’s smooth thighs, Mike completely lost it. A loud, guttural roar tore from his throat as his body shuddered violently, his release spilling out in heavy, hot bursts all over the backs of Will's thighs and the lower curve of his ass.
"Oh god, Will!" Mike gasped, his head burying into the crook of Will’s neck as his body went entirely weak, his heart hammering like a trapped bird against Will’s spine.
Will let out one final, long, trembling moan, "Mmmgh, Mike..." his legs turning to absolute jelly under the weight of Mike’s chest as the heat of the cum began to cool against his skin. They stayed like that for a long minute, completely tangled together in the dark, fogged-up car, breathing the same heavy air.
Slowly, reluctantly, Mike pulled his slick length out from between Will’s thighs, the sudden rush of cool air making them both shiver in the cramped backseat. Mike let out a long, ragged breath, his forehead resting against the back of Will’s neck for a beat before he finally sat back on his knees.
The heat in the car was still suffocating, the windows completely opaque with fog. Mike reached down, grabbing the hem of his black shirt, and pulled it over his head. Without a second thought, he used the soft fabric to wipe his cum-slicked hand, then gently wrapped his arm around Will’s waist.
"Come here, bunny," Mike murmured, his voice incredibly deep and thick with sleepiness. He carefully guided Will around, helping him sit back down on the vinyl bench seat.
Mike reached into the footwell to grab the crumpled black jeans and the pastel yellow lace panties. He leaned down, aiming to wipe the cooling, sticky moisture off the backs of Will's thighs with his shirt, but Will weakly pushed his hand away, a sleepy, breathless chuckle escaping his lips.
"No... don't," Will mumbled, his cheeks flushing as he pulled his legs slightly closer. "Just leave it. It’s fine."
Mike’s eyes darkened with a quiet, intense affection. "Yeah? Want to keep my mark on you?" he teased softly, but he didn't push it. Instead, he carefully pulled the delicate yellow lace back up Will’s long legs, smoothing the fabric over his hips before tugging the tight black jeans up and buttoning them back into place.
Once Will was dressed, Mike took care of himself. He shoved his boxers and jeans back up, buckling his belt with heavy, exhausted movements. His muscles ached in the best way possible, the adrenaline finally draining out of his system and leaving him completely spent.
Will didn't even wait for Mike to finish before he crawled right back into his space. He shifted onto Mike’s lap, straddling his thighs once more, but this time there was no frantic energy, no desperate grinding. He just collapsed against Mike’s bare chest, his forehead resting against Mike's collarbone.
Mike’s long arms wound securely around Will’s waist, holding him tight against the cool night air. They exchanged slow, lazy kisses—soft presses of their lips that tasted like leftover tequila, salt, and pure relief. Mike’s mouth trailed up to Will’s temple, pressing a lingering kiss there as Will’s fingers lazily traced the lines of Mike's ribs.
"Let's get you to bed, baby," Mike whispered into Will's hair, his hands gently squeezing Will’s hips.
"Mmh," Will agreed, his eyes already fluttering shut as he snuggled deeper into Mike's chest, completely safe in the knowledge that he wouldn't be sleeping alone tonight.
Mike carefully shifted Will off his lap, giving him one last tender squeeze before climbing back over the center console into the driver's seat. He reached across to pull Will gently through the gap, guiding him into the passenger seat where Will sank into the vinyl with a content, exhausted sigh.
Stripped of his shirt, Mike started the engine and put the station wagon back into drive, his bare chest and shoulders cutting a sharp silhouette against the dim green glow of the dashboard.
Will leaned his head against the window, his eyes drifting sideways. He tracked the steady movement of Mike’s bare arm as he steered, the muscles in his back shifting with every turn of the wheel. What a sight, Will thought, a lazy, smoldering grin tugging at his lips. The cool air from the vents brushed over his skin, but the heat of Mike's presence kept him completely warm.
The drive through the dark, quiet streets of Hawkins was peaceful, a total contrast to the chaotic energy of the party they had left behind. As Mike pulled into the driveway of the Wheeler house, extinguishing the headlights and letting the engine idle into silence, Will looked over at him.
Between the jealousy, the tension, the backseat, and the heavy weight of Mike's promise, Will couldn't help the thought that settled deeply into his chest.
Best night ever.
The tires crunched softly onto the gravel driveway of the old Byers-Hopper cabin, the dense woods swallowing the sound of the idling engine. Mike cut the ignition, and the sudden darkness of the forest settled over the car.
Will stirred from his half-sleeping state, the reality of where they were finally clicking in. He looked over at Mike’s pale, bare torso, then glanced out at the chilly, mist-shrouded trees.
"Here," Will murmured, his voice thick with sleep as he unbuttoned his yellow flannel. He slipped it off, leaving himself in just his thin, white undershirt, and handed the warm fabric over the console. "Put this on. You’re gonna freeze walking up to the porch like that."
Mike caught the flannel, the fabric still holding the scent of Will’s skin and the faint sweetness of the cabin soap. "Thanks, bunny," Mike whispered, sliding his long arms into the sleeves. It was a little tight across his shoulders, but it felt like a shield against the cold night air.
Before shifting out of his seat, Mike leaned across the console and caught Will’s lips in a soft, lingering peck—a quiet promise of what was waiting for them inside.
Mike slipped out of the driver's side, his boots hitting the gravel with a muted thud. He walked around to the passenger side, opening the door before Will could even reach for the handle. With a wicked, possessive grin returning to his face, Mike bent down, sliding one arm under Will’s knees and the other securely behind his back, hoisting him up into a sudden bridal carry once again.
"Mike! Seriously?" Will gasped, his hands instinctively coming up to slap against Mike’s chest as he was lifted into the air. He looked toward the cabin porch, his heart skipping a beat. "Put me down, I can actually walk!"
"Nope. VIP service all the way to the door," Mike teased, adjusting his grip on Will's waist.
But as Mike took his first step toward the wooden porch stairs, Will’s eyes locked onto the front face of the cabin. His entire body went completely rigid in Mike’s arms.
Through the small window next to the porch, a bright, warm rectangle of yellow light was cutting through the darkness of the yard. The kitchen light was on. And a silhouette was moving inside.
"Shit," Will hissed, his voice dropping to a panicked, terrified whisper as he gripped the collar of the flannel Mike was wearing. "Mike, look. The light... shit, Hopper is awake."
Mike’s heart did a violent backflip, his possessive confidence evaporating in a fraction of a second. The image of Jim Hopper—and his legendary, terrifying temper—standing in that kitchen with a mug of coffee was enough to snap both of them completely sober.
Before Will could even repeat the warning, Mike set him down so fast Will’s boots nearly skidded on the gravel. Mike stayed low, his long arms hovering near Will's waist as if he could shield him from the kitchen window's light.
"Okay, okay," Mike hissed, his eyes darting frantically around the perimeter of the cabin, his brain scrambling for a plan B. "It's fine. We can just climb in through your window, right? Like old times."
Will stared at him, his eyebrows shooting up past his messy bangs as he stood there in just his thin white undershirt. A slow, deeply amused smirk broke through his panic.
"Mike," Will whispered, pointing a finger toward the roofline of the extended cabin structure. "My room is upstairs."
Mike froze. He looked up, tracking the line of the wooden siding past the porch roof to the small, dark window situated firmly on the second floor, completely out of reach of any nearby trees or handy ledges.
"Shit," Mike muttered, his shoulders slumping under the tight fabric of Will's flannel.
Hopper being awake at this hour was a statistical anomaly they had not prepared for. Usually, the chief was out cold on the recliner by midnight, snoring loud enough to rattle the floorboards, a half-empty can of beer sweating on the side table. Tonight, of all nights, he was up.
"The ladder," Will gasped, his hand flying out to clutch the front of his own yellow flannel that Mike was currently wearing. His fingers dug into the fabric, pulling Mike down a few inches so their faces were close. "Mike, the ladder. We have a big wooden one. It’s in the shed behind the cabin."
Mike’s eyes widened, a spark of desperate hope cutting through his sheer terror. "The shed? Okay. Okay, wait here. Stay in the shadow of the porch, don't let him see you."
Without waiting for a response, Mike turned on his heel and took off into the darkness, hisshoes making a frantic, muffled crunching sound against the damp grass as he rounded the corner of the cabin.
The backyard was pitch black, shadowed by the towering pines that enclosed the property. Mike sprinted toward the small, weathered tool shed, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. If Hopper catches me out here, shirtless under Will’s flannel, trying to break into his house at two in the morning, I am a dead man, Mike thought frantically, his lungs burning with the cool night air. He won't just ban me from the cabin; he’ll bury me in the woods and El won't even be able to find my ghost.
He reached the shed, his hands trembling as he fumbled with the wooden latch. It gave way with a low, agonizing creak that made Mike freeze, his breath catching in his throat as he glanced back toward the cabin. No movement. No shadow crossing the kitchen window.
Mike slipped inside the musty structure, the smell of damp earth, motor oil, and rusted metal hitting his nose. In the dim light filtering through the cracked window, he spotted it—the heavy, industrial-sized extension ladder leaning against the back wall. It was an old, solid piece of hardware, the kind Hopper used to clear the gutters before the winter snows hit.
Mike grabbed the sides, bracing his feet, and hoisted it up.
"Jesus," Mike hissed under his breath, his muscles straining instantly. The wood was heavy, weathered, and unwieldy, the metal brackets clinking together with a terrifyingly loud metallic clack. Mike quickly threw his shoulder under the center of the ladder, balancing the awkward weight as best as he could, his bare ribs scraping against the rough wood where the flannel shifted.
He staggered out of the shed, looking like a manic, long-legged spider trying to navigate the dark yard with a twelve-foot beam of timber. Every step was a gamble. He had to dodge overgrown roots, low-hanging branches, and the absolute certainty that if he dropped it, the noise would wake up the entire county.
Meanwhile, Will was pressed flat against the side wall of the cabin, hiding behind a thick, overgrown hydrangea bush that offered just enough cover from the kitchen's light path. He was shivering, his bare arms crossed over his chest, his thin white undershirt doing absolutely nothing to keep out the damp midnight mist. His eyes were glued to the kitchen window. Through the glass, he could see the back of Hopper's massive flannel-clad shoulders. The chief was standing by the stove, waiting for the kettle to boil, his posture heavy and tired.
Hurry up, Mike, Will pleaded internally, his teeth beginning to chatter. Please, hurry up.
A soft, frantic rustling in the bushes broke his train of thought. Will snapped his head around just in time to see Mike stumble through the brush, his face flushed red, sweat beads glinting on his forehead despite the cold. He was heaving, his chest rising and falling sharply as he carefully lowered the top of the heavy ladder toward the cabin wall.
"I got it," Mike breathed, his voice a ragged whisper as he adjusted his stance. "I got it, bunny."
"Shh! Quiet!" Will hissed, his eyes darting back to the window.
Mike carefully guided the top rungs of the ladder upward, extending it with agonizing slowness until the rubber feet settled firmly into the dirt right next to the hydrangea bush. He leaned the top section against the wooden siding of the cabin, right beneath the sill of Will’s second-story window. The wood groaned softly under the weight, but it held.
"Okay," Mike whispered, wiping a streak of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. He looked up at the daunting height, then back at Will, his eyes darkening with that familiar, protective intensity. "I’m going up first. To make sure the window isn't locked from the inside and to clear a path. You stay right behind me, okay?"
"Mike, I've climbed this house a million times with Jane," Will muttered, though his voice lacked any real bite. The truth was, his legs were still a little shaky from what had happened in the back seat of the station wagon, and the cold was starting to numb his fingers.
"I don't care," Mike insisted, his hand coming out to give Will’s hip a quick, firm squeeze through the denim of his jeans. "I go first."
Mike gripped the rough wooden rungs and began to climb. Without his boots making too much noise, he moved with a surprising, fluid grace, his long limbs eating up the distance until he was hovering just outside the dark glass of the second-floor window. He wedged his knees against the ladder, freeing his hands to push against the wooden frame of the window screen.
Down below, Will watched him, his heart in his throat. He looked at the way Will’s own yellow flannel stretched tight across Mike's broad shoulders, the fabric pulling taut as Mike worked at the latches. It was an incredibly domestic, ridiculous, and thrilling sight.
With a soft, satisfying pop, Mike managed to pry the old screen loose. He didn't drop it; instead, he carefully maneuvered it sideways, wedging it securely between the ladder and the house structure. Then, he placed his palms flat against the glass pane and pushed upward.
The window gave way with a smooth, silent slide—Will had oiled the tracks three weeks ago specifically for his late-night escapes to see the stars, and thank god he did.
Mike hoisted himself up, swinging one long leg over the sill and disappearing into the pitch-black safety of Will’s bedroom.
Will didn't wait for a signal. He grabbed the cold wooden rungs of the ladder, his bare feet in his boots finding their footing as he began his ascent. The wind picked up slightly, rustling the leaves around him, making his thin white shirt cling to his skin. He climbed steadily, his eyes focused entirely on the square of darkness above him.
Just as his head cleared the level of the roofline, a large, warm hand reached out into the night air.
Mike was leaning halfway out the window, his dark curls wild, his face completely shadowed but his presence radiating an undeniable warmth. He locked his fingers around Will’s wrist, his grip tight, unyielding, and incredibly secure.
"I got you," Mike whispered into the quiet dark. "Step up one more."
Will braced his boot on the top rung, and with a coordinated, powerful pull, Mike hoisted him forward. Will tumbled over the window sill, his knees hitting the familiar soft carpet of his bedroom floor with a muted thud.
Before he could even process that they had made it, Mike reached out, grabbed the window frame, and slid it shut with a quiet, decisive click.
The silence of the bedroom settled over them, thick and heavy, broken only by the sound of their ragged, synchronized breathing.
Will lay on the carpet for a second, his chest heaving, a sudden, giddy laugh bubbling up in his throat. They had actually done it. They had escaped a party, survived Max with a rolling pin, completely wrecked the backseat of Mike's car, and successfully broken into the chief of police's house right under his nose.
"We're alive," Will whispered into the dark, his voice shaking with a mix of leftover adrenaline and pure amusement.
"Barely," Mike’s voice rumbled from somewhere right above him. A second later, the floor creaked as Mike collapsed onto his knees on the floor next to Will, his warm hands immediately reaching out through the dark to find Will’s shoulders, pulling him up into his space. "Jesus, Will, my heart is going to explode."
"Mine too," Will admitted, letting himself be pulled forward until his forehead rested right against Mike's chest. He could hear the frantic, rapid thrumming of Mike's heart beneath his ear, steady and strong.
Mike’s arms wrapped tightly around Will's back, holding him so close it felt like he was trying to press their bodies into a single entity. The coldness that had settled into Will's skin from the climb began to evaporate instantly, replaced by the heavy, radiating heat of Mike’s body.
"You're freezing," Mike muttered, his hands sliding down Will's back to press against the thin material of his white shirt, his fingers digging into the flesh of his waist. "Come on. Let's get out of these clothes and get into bed before Hopper decides to do a perimeter check."
Will nodded against his chest, a soft, content moan escaping his lips as Mike leaned down to press a warm, lingering kiss against the crown of his head. The danger was passed, the cabin was quiet, and for the first time all night, they had nowhere else they had to be.
For a long moment, neither of them moved, just listening to the synchronized rhythm of their own ragged breathing and the faint, distant hum of the refrigerator downstairs. The knowledge that Hopper was just one floor below, pacing the kitchen with a mug of coffee, added a thrilling, dangerous edge to the silence.
Slowly, Will pushed himself up from the soft carpet, his knees a little shaky from the leftover adrenaline and the lingering weight of the tequila. Mike rose right after him, his tall, lanky silhouette moving with a quiet, reverent slowness through the dark space.
Without a word, Mike walked over to Will’s unmade bed and sank down onto the edge of the mattress. The old springs gave a tiny, familiar creak that made both of them freeze for a second, eyes darting toward the bedroom door. When no heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs, Mike let out a low, relieved breath, his long arms resting on his knees as his dark eyes locked onto Will’s shadow in the center of the room.
Will stood right there, in the narrow space between his desk and the foot of the bed, directly in Mike’s line of sight. The darkness hid the finer details, but the heavy, possessive pull that had been dragging them together all night was stronger than ever. Will reached down, his fingers gripping the hem of the thin white undershirt. With a smooth, unhurried motion, he pulled it up and over his head, tossing it blindly toward the laundry hamper in the corner.
Mike’s breath caught in his throat. Even in the dim light filtering through the edges of the heavy curtains, he could see the pale, graceful curve of Will’s torso, the way his chest heaved with every shallow breath.
Then, Will reached for the button of his tight black denim jeans. The sharp clack of the metal button undoing felt incredibly loud in the quiet room. He slid the zipper down slowly, the rough sound sending a violent shiver straight down Mike’s spine. Will stepped out of his boots one by one, then kicked the stiff denim down his long legs, stepping out of the jeans entirely and leaving them crumpled on the floor.
Will turned, taking two slow steps toward his bedside table. He reached out and clicked the small ceramic lamp.
The room was instantly flooded with a warm, soft amber glow, chasing away the heavy shadows and revealing everything.
Mike sat frozen on the edge of the mattress, his hands gripping the sheets so tightly his knuckles turned white. There Will was, standing in the center of the bedroom, completely bare except for the pastel yellow lace panties stretched tight over his hips. The soft light caught every detail—the flush of color rising on Will's cheeks, the dark, bruised mark Mike had sucked into his jawline earlier, and the wet, translucent patch at the front of the lace where Will had leaked through earlier. The backs of his pale thighs still bore the faint, shiny traces of Mike's frantic release, a visual reminder of what they had just done in the dark woods.
Will looked down at him, his heavy-lidded, glassy eyes full of a sleepy, tequila-fueled confidence that made him look utterly breathtaking. "Like what you see, Wheeler?" Will whispered, a small, teasing smirk tugging at his wet lips.
Mike didn't answer with words. He couldn't. His brain was completely fried by the sheer audacity and beauty of the boy standing in front of him. Driven by pure, primal instinct, Mike stood up from the bed. He reached down, grabbing the hem of Will’s yellow flannel that he was still wearing, and yanked it over his head, throwing it carelessly onto the floor. His bare chest was heaving, his own pupils blown out so wide they looked entirely black under the amber light.
He walked over to Will, his long strides closing the distance until his bare chest was pressed flat against Will’s. The heat radiating between them was instantaneous and suffocating.
"You're a menace, Byers," Mike growled softly, his voice thick with a dark, heavy authority as his large hands came down to anchor firmly on Will's hips, his fingers digging right into the edge of the yellow lace.
Will let out a low, shaky moan at the contact, his arms wrapping around Mike’s neck as he tilted his head up. "Shut up and kiss me."
Mike leaned down and devoured him.
The kiss started with the same rough, possessive hunger from the car, their mouths clashing together in a desperate, bruising rhythm. Mike’s tongue slid easily into Will’s mouth, claiming him, tasting the leftover sweetness of the liquor and the deep, intoxicating warmth that belonged entirely to Will. He nipped at Will’s lower lip, earning a high, needy whimper that vibrated directly into his own chest.
But as the seconds ticked by, the frantic energy began to shift. The warmth of the room, the safety of being behind a locked door, and the heavy weight of the alcohol still running through Will’s veins started to take their toll. Will’s movements slowed down, his body growing heavier and softer against Mike’s strong frame.
Mike noticed the change instantly. He softened the pressure of his mouth, his tongue sliding against Will's in slow, deep, lazy strokes. His hands moved from Will's hips, traveling up the smooth expanse of his bare back, his long fingers tracing the delicate line of Will's spine, holding him up as Will’s knees began to buckle slightly.
"Mmh... Mike," Will murmured against his lips, the sound incredibly small, sleepy, and entirely undone. His head rolled to the side, his forehead resting heavily against Mike's collarbone, his breathing turning deep and rhythmic.
"I got you, baby," Mike whispered into his hair, his heart swelling with a wave of tenderness so fierce it almost physically ached. He didn't break the contact, his lips traveling down to press a soft, lingering kiss against the dark mark on Will's jaw, then up to the sensitive skin behind his ear.
Will let out a long, content sigh, his fingers loosely tangled in the belt loops of Mike's jeans, his eyes fluttering shut. He was completely spent, the exhaustion of the emotional rollercoaster and the physical intensity of the night finally catching up to him. He was floating in a warm, hazy cloud, completely safe in the circle of Mike's arms.
Mike carefully guided them backward toward the bed, keeping Will’s body flush against his own so he wouldn't freeze in his state of undress. When the back of Mike’s legs hit the mattress, he slowly lowered them both down. He shifted Will onto his back, the soft blankets catching them as they settled into the center of the bed.
Will didn't even open his eyes. He just instinctively reached out, his hand finding Mike’s bare chest and pulling him closer, a soft, sleepy whine escaping his throat when Mike tried to create an inch of distance to pull the heavy comforter over them.
"Don't go," Will mumbled, his voice slurred with sleep and liquor, his face buried into the pillow.
"I'm not going anywhere, bunny," Mike promised, his voice a low, soothing purr in the dim room. He pulled the thick blanket up over their shoulders, sealing them into a warm, private cocoon. He settled down right beside Will, his long arm wrapping securely around Will's waist, pulling Will’s back tight against his chest.
Mike leaned forward, pressing one final, deep, adoring kiss right against the nape of Will’s neck. He held him real tight, his fingers resting softly against the smooth skin of Will's stomach, just above the waistband of the yellow lace. Listening to the steady, peaceful rise and fall of Will’s chest, Mike finally let his own eyes close, a profound sense of peace settling over him as they both drifted off to sleep, completely tangled together in the quiet sanctuary of the cabin.
The heavy cloud of sleep had barely settled over the bedroom when the quiet of the cabin was brutally shattered.
From downstairs, the heavy wooden front door flew open with a loud, violent SLAM that echoed right through the floorboards. It was immediately followed by the chaotic, stumbling sound of heavy boots, muffled giggles, and a loud, wet thud as someone clearly tripped over the umbrella stand in the entryway.
"Shh! Max, stop laughing, you're gonna wake up the bear," a slurred, incredibly loud voice whined. It was Jane, completely blasted on cheap fruit punch and whatever else had been floating around that kitchen circle, her feet dragging heavily across the linoleum.
"I'm not laughing, you're laughing!" Max’s voice chimed in, equally drunk and entirely lacking a volume filter. "Lucas, stop pushing me, I know where the stairs are!"
"I'm trying to get you guys inside before the Chief shoots me!" Lucas’s frantic, desperate whisper cut through the noise. He had clearly been given the impossible task of designated driver and babysitter, and his voice was laced with pure, unadulterated survival panic. "Okay, Jane is on the couch. Max, get up the stairs. I'm leaving, I was never here, goodbye!" The front door clicked shut as Lucas bolted for his life into the night.
In the upstairs bedroom, Mike’s eyes snapped wide open in the dark. The lazy, warm haze of sleep vanished in a fraction of a second, replaced by a cold spike of absolute adrenaline. He sat bolt upright, the blankets falling away from his bare chest as his heart began to hammer like a piston. Beside him, Will let out a low, disgruntled groan, his eyes fluttering open as he tried to process the racket.
Before either of them could even breathe, a massive, thunderous voice boomed from the kitchen, shaking the very foundations of the cabin.
"What the hell is going on out here?!"
Hopper had officially entered the chat.
The heavy, rhythmic thud-thud-thud of his work boots advanced from the kitchen into the living room. "Jane! El! Whatever your name is tonight—what did I say about midnight? Look at the clock! It is two-thirty in the morning!"
"Hi, Hop," Jane chirped, followed by a loud, muffled sound that sounded suspiciously like she had just face-planted into a couch cushion. "The party was... shiny."
"You're drunk," Hopper roared, his voice escalating into that terrifying, authoritative register that made grown men in Hawkins tremble. "Are you kidding me? You smell like a brewery! And Mayfield—don't you think you're sneaking up those stairs, get back down here!"
"I'm a guest in this house, Chief, you can't lecture me," Max slurred defiantly, though her footsteps stopped on the bottom step.
"I can and I will! Both of you, on the couch, right now! I want names, I want to know who gave you this stuff, and God help me, if I find out Wheeler was involved in this—"
Upstairs, Mike’s entire body went rigid. He looked down at Will, his face completely pale under the amber glow of the lamp. He knows, Mike thought, his brain short-circuiting as he stared at the bedroom door. If Hopper comes up those stairs to check on Will and finds me shirtless, in Will's bed, with Will in nothing but yellow lace lace panties... I'm not making it to graduation.
Will’s eyes were wide now, the alcohol completely burning out of his system as he gripped Mike’s bare arm, his fingers digging in tight. "Don't move," Will whispered, his voice trembling as they listened to Hopper loudly lecturing the girls downstairs.
"Baby, I should go," Mike breathed, his voice a panicked, hyper-ventilating whisper as the thunderous sound of Hopper crashing around the living room downstairs continued. "Hopper is right down there. If he decides to come up here to vent about El, I am a dead man. Literally a dead man, Will."
Will looked up at him, his glassy eyes full of a soft, stubborn warmth despite the chaotic yelling filtering through the floorboards. He reached out, his hand wrapping around the back of Mike’s neck to pull him back down toward the mattress.
"Kiss before you go," Will murmured, his lips already parting. "Just a kiss."
Mike didn't need to be told twice. He leaned down, burying his face in Will’s warmth one last time. The kiss was deep, quiet, and filled with a frantic, desperate sweetness. Mike's tongue slid against Will's in a slow, lingering stroke, capturing the taste of him, while his hand slid down to give Will's hip a final, possessive squeeze through the delicate yellow lace. Will let out a soft, content moan into Mike's mouth, his fingers tangling in Mike's messy curls until Mike reluctantly tore himself away.
"I love you," Mike whispered roughly, his chest heaving as he stood up from the bed.
Moving with absolute, agonizing slowness to prevent the old floorboards from creaking, Mike crept across the carpet. He picked up his boots from the floor, deciding it was way too risky to put them on inside. Clutching the heavy leather shoes in one hand, he glided over to the window.
Will pushed himself up onto his elbows, sitting up in just his panties under the amber glow of the bedside lamp, his eyes glued to Mike’s retreating, bare back.
Mike reached the window and carefully parted the heavy, dark curtains. He unlocked the latch with a tiny, metallic click that made them both hold their breath, then smoothly slid the glass pane upward. The cool, mist-heavy night air rushed into the warm room, making Will shiver slightly against the pillows.
Mike looked back over his shoulder, throwing Will a quick, breathless wink before swinging one long leg over the sill. He gripped the rungs of the wooden extension ladder they had left leaning against the house, carefully shifting his weight onto it.
Will watched from the bed as Mike slowly disappeared down into the dark, foggy night, his heart swelling with a mix of terror and absolute adoration.
Downstairs, the heavy, alcohol-fueled atmosphere in the living room was rapidly deteriorating into sheer exhaustion.
"I am going to my room," Jane announced, her voice incredibly loud and flat as she groaned, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes. "Headache. Everything is spinning and... loud."
"Yeah, good chat, Hopper," Max slurred sarcastically, her hand waving dismissively in the air as she tried to balance her weight against the wooden banister of the stairs. "Really inspiring stuff. Ten out of ten."
"Hey! I am not done with you both!" Hopper’s voice boomed, the floorboards vibrating right up into Will’s bedroom. He slammed a heavy mug down on the kitchen counter, the ceramic clinking sounding like a gunshot in the tense silence. "You think you can just wander into my house at nearly three in the morning, smelling like a damn distillery, and just walk away? Absolutely not!"
"Hop, please," Jane whined, her footsteps shuffling heavily toward the hallway.
"Don't 'Hop' me! You are both grounded until you're thirty! And just wait until I catch your brother, Jane!" Hopper roared, his heavy pacing resuming as he marched toward the living room couch. "He thinks he's slick? Sneaking out, driving that station wagon all over the county? I know he was at that damn party, and the second he walks through that front door, he’s going to wish he stayed home!"
Upstairs, Will clamped a hand over his mouth, a silent, terrified gasp escaping his throat as he sat frozen on the edge of the mattress. Through the open window, the cool night air was still rushing in, and he could just barely make out the distant, frantic rustle of the bushes outside as Mike hurried to get clear of the property.
"Off to bed, both of you!" Hopper’s commanding voice echoed out one last time, followed by the heavy, resigned sigh of a man who was completely out of his depth. "We are having a very long, very quiet conversation at breakfast. Move it!"
The heavy thud of the girls' bedroom doors closing finally brought a tense, fragile quiet back to the cabin. Will slowly let his hand drop from his mouth, letting out a long, shaky breath as he collapsed backward onto his pillows, his heart still hammering violently against his ribs. He stared up at the ceiling, completely exhausted but wearing a faint, secret smile, listening intently to the quiet night outside to make sure Mike made it safely back to the car.
The sudden, sharp BANG-BANG-BANG of heavy knuckles slamming against hollow wood split through the morning quiet like firecrackers.
Will bolted upright in bed, a strangled gasp catching in his dry throat as his heart instantly kicked into a panicked, frantic rhythm. The movement was a horrible mistake. The second his head left the pillow, a blinding, white-hot spike of agony shot straight from the base of his skull right behind his eyes, making his vision swim with nauseating gray spots. He groaned, pressing the heels of his palms hard against his temples, his teeth grinding together against the sheer force of the headache.
But the noise didn't stop. It wasn't his door being pounded on; it was Jane's, right next room over through the thin, poorly insulated cabin walls.
"Get up! Both of you, get the hell up right now!" Hopper’s thunderous voice boomed through the hallway, entirely devoid of any morning sympathy. The heavy thud of his work boots vibrated through the floorboards, each step sending a corresponding pulse of pain through Will’s throbbing brain. "You have work in an hour! It’s ten o’clock in the morning, you have a half-day shift at the mall, and you are not missing it! Wake up before I come in there and drag you out by your ankles!"
From inside the next room, a loud, pathetic groan muffled by a pillow echoed out. "I am up! I am up!" Jane’s voice whined, high-pitched, scratchy, and thoroughly miserable.
A second later, Jane’s bedroom door clicked open. Will sat frozen under his comforter, blinking against the harsh, unforgiving shafts of bright morning sunlight pouring through the gaps in his heavy curtains. Through the crack of his own door, he heard the shuffling of bare feet. Jane stumbled out into the hallway wearing her oversized, faded nightdress, her dark hair a wild, tangled nest around her pale, exhausted face. She looked completely wrecked, her eyes squinting painfully against the daylight.
Right behind her, Max emerged from the room, stumbling slightly as her foot caught on the hallway rug. She was wearing a pair of baggy, mismatched pajamas, her long red hair knotted over one shoulder. Max looked equally dead to the world, her usual sharp defiance replaced by the heavy, sluggish movements of a brutal hangover.
Hopper was standing at the top of the stairs, his massive frame practically filling the hallway. He had a mug of black coffee gripped in his hand, a dark, unimpressed scowl settled deep into the lines of his face. He looked at the two girls, his eyes narrowing as he took in their pathetic, shivering states.
"You both look like hell," Hopper grunted, taking a slow sip from his mug. He didn't lower his volume one bit, clearly enjoying their physical misery as a form of cosmic punishment. "That’s what you get. Serves you right. But that's not my main problem right now." He paused, his heavy gaze shifting down the hallway toward Will’s closed door, his jaw tightening. "Your brother still didn't come home last night."
Will’s heart skipped a beat in his chest, a cold sweat breaking out across his skin.
Down the hall, Max let out a dry, scratchy cough, leaning her shoulder heavily against the wall to keep herself upright. A lazy, thoroughly wicked smirk crossed her face despite her pale complexion. "Probably having morning se—" She caught herself, her eyes widening slightly as Hopper’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "I mean... nothing. Breakfast? Is there breakfast?"
"Mayfield," Hopper warned, his voice dropping into a dangerous, low rumble. "Don't play with me today. My patience is exactly this thin." He held up two fingers, barely a millimeter apart. "Downstairs. Both of you. Drink some water and get dressed. Now."
"Fine, fine," Max muttered, grabbing the back of Jane’s nightdress to guide them both toward the stairs. The two girls shuffled down the steps like a pair of zombies, their bare feet slapping quietly against the wood until their soft grumbles faded into the lower level of the cabin.
Upstairs, Will was left in absolute, suffocating silence.
The hangover hit him in full force now that the immediate distraction of Hopper’s shouting was gone. His mouth felt like it was coated in thick, dry cotton, his throat parched and screaming for water. He was profoundly dehydrated, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth as he swallowed hard, trying to quell the wave of nausea rolling through his stomach. The bright yellow sunlight cutting through the room felt like a physical weight, forcing him to keep his eyes squeezed half-shut.
Slowly, painfully, Will peeled the heavy comforter back, preparing to drag his aching body out of bed to find some aspirin.
But as the blankets slid down his torso, he froze.
He looked down at himself, and a wave of profound, dizzying confusion washed over him. He wasn't wearing his pajamas. He wasn't wearing his soft t-shirt or his sweatpants. He was sitting in the middle of his bed, completely bare, except for the tight, pastel yellow lace panties stretched across his hips.
Will’s breath hitched. He blinked down at his own body, his brow furrowing into a tight, tight knot. What?
He shifted his legs slightly, and a strange, tight friction against his skin made him look closer. There, spread across the soft skin of his upper inner thighs and tracing down toward the lower curve of his lap, were streaks of dried, white, flaky moisture. It was completely dry, tight against his skin, mapping out wild, chaotic lines where something thick and warm had once pooled and cooled.
Will reached down with a trembling hand, his fingertips brushing against the dried patch on his skin. It flaked slightly under his touch. He looked at his fingers, his heart rate suddenly spiking into a frantic, terrifying rhythm.
Is this... cum?
His eyes flew to the front of the yellow lace. The delicate material was stiff in the center, a large, dark, dried ring of moisture completely warping the pastel fabric right over his front.
Will’s mind went entirely blank. A cold, hard wall of panic slammed into his chest. He reeled back, his head throbbing violently as he desperately tried to claw through his memory of the previous night.
Nothing. It was a complete, terrifying void.
He remembered the beginning of the party. He remembered the loud music, the flashing lights, the crowded living room of the Wheeler house. He remembered the burning, bitter taste of tequila sliding down his throat—one shot, two shots, three... after that, the timeline shattered into unreadable fragments. He had fuzzy, distorted images of a kitchen circle, a tense argument, the smell of rain and damp wood, and the distant rumble of a car engine. But the actual sequence, the details, the entire middle and end of the night were totally gone, wiped clean by the alcohol.
"What did I do?" Will whispered aloud, his voice a broken, horrified crack in the quiet room.
His eyes darted frantically around the bedroom, looking for clues, his chest heaving with shallow, panicked breaths. On the floor by the foot of his bed, his black denim jeans were crumpled into a messy heap, inside out and abandoned. A few feet away, his white undershirt lay twisted on the carpet like a discarded rag. And right next to his desk, a bright splash of color caught his eye—his yellow flannel shirt was tossed carelessly onto the floorboards, looking thoroughly lived-in.
Will scrambled to the edge of the bed, his bare feet hitting the cold floor as he ignored the blinding pain in his head. He dropped to his knees, his hands trembling as he reached out to pull his jeans toward him, checking the pockets, looking for his wallet, his keys, anything to explain how he had gotten here, why he was stripped down to his underwear, and whose release was currently dried all over his skin.
The phrase Max had muttered in the hallway echoed through his mind like a physical blow. 'Probably having morning se—' Will gasped, his hand flying to his mouth as the pieces tried to click together in his foggy, aching brain. Hopper said he hadn't come home last night. But he was home. He was in his own bed. Did he sneak in? Who brought him back?
And more importantly... who was in this bed with him?
The dried fluid on his thighs felt like a terrifying mystery locked inside a night he couldn't remember. He pressed his back against the side of his mattress, his breath coming in short, ragged pants as he stared at the clothes on the floor, completely lost in the terrifying, blacked-out void of the best—or worst—night of his life, with absolutely no memory of how it ended.
He couldn’t just sit on the floor of his bedroom staring at the walls forever. If Hopper decided to march back up those stairs to look for a missing tool or check on him, the visual evidence currently plastered to Will’s skin would ensure his immediate demise.
Moving with the tentative, fragile caution of a man made entirely of glass, Will stood up. Every movement felt heavy, his joints stiff, his mouth tasting like literal ash.
He bent down, a low groan escaping his lips as his head throbbed in protest, and gathered the crumpled black jeans and the white undershirt from the carpet. Finally, his fingers brushed the delicate, pastel yellow lace of the panties. His cheeks burned hot, a sudden, inexplicable flash of heat blooming in his lower stomach despite his total lack of memory. He didn't look too closely at the stiffened center of the fabric. He just shoved the entire bundle into the very bottom of his wicker laundry hamper, burying it beneath three layers of heavy winter sweaters where absolutely no one—especially not his mother—would ever casually find it.
Naked and shivering from the drafts cutting through the old cabin, Will slipped into his private adjoining bathroom. He shut the door softly, leaning his back against the wood until the latch clicked into place, isolating him from the rest of the house.
The face staring back at him in the mirror was a disaster. His messy brown bangs were sticking up in three different directions, his eyes were bloodshot and heavy, and his lips were slightly swollen, a faint pink sting radiating from his lower lip when he accidentally bit it. But what caught his attention—what made his heart do a violent, erratic stutter—was his jawline.
Right below his left ear, extending down toward the sensitive column of his neck, was a dark, purple-red bruise. A hickey. It was deep, fresh, and aggressively possessive. Will reached up, his trembling fingertips tracing the edge of the mark. A dizzying sensation washed over him, a faint whisper of a memory trying to break through the fog—the feeling of long fingers burying into his hair, a deep, rough growl vibrating against his throat, and the smell of cheap tequila mixed with a familiar, comforting scent. Mike.
The thought hit him like a lightning bolt, but before he could grasp the memory fully, the blinding pain in his forehead dragged him back to reality.
Will shook his head, instantly regretting the motion as the room spun. He grabbed his toothbrush, loading it with a massive glob of mint paste, and brushed his teeth with a frantic, punishing intensity, desperate to scrub away the stale, bitter taste of the liquor. Once his mouth felt reasonably human again, he stepped into the shower, turning the handle until the water was scalding hot.
He stood under the heavy spray for a long time, letting the steam fill the small bathroom and soothe his aching muscles. He took a washcloth and thoroughly, aggressively scrubbed his inner thighs, watching the dried, flaky remnants of the mysterious night dissolve and wash down the drain into nothingness. By the time he stepped out, his skin was flushed a bright, vibrant pink, his mind marginally clearer, though the central mystery of his blackout remained entirely unsolved.
Back in his bedroom, Will dressed with slow, deliberate care. He pulled on a fresh pair of dark denim jeans that felt thick and grounding against his skin. Then, he reached into his closet and pulled out a soft, cotton short-sleeved shirt with alternating blue and white horizontal stripes—a shirt he usually wore when he wanted to feel comfortable, ordinary, and invisible. He pulled a thick pair of clean white socks over his cold feet, the soft fabric offering a tiny bit of comfort against the drafty floorboards.
He walked to his bedroom door, his hand hovering over the brass knob for a full thirty seconds. Downstairs, the muffled sound of plates clinking, cabinets shutting, and the low, gravelly rumble of Hopper's voice told him the morning execution was already underway.
Will took a deep, steadying breath, opened the door, and stepped out into the hallway.
The walk down the wooden staircase was a test of endurance. Each step creaked softly, the sound vibrating right up his spine into his throbbing skull. As he rounded the corner into the open-concept kitchen and living room, the overwhelming, heavy scents of the cabin hit him all at once: sizzling bacon, burnt butter, strong black coffee, and the sharp, acrid tang of tobacco.
Joyce was standing by the stove, her frantic, nervous energy on full display as she expertly flipped pancakes in a cast-iron skillet, her hair tied back in a messy clip. Hopper was seated heavily at the wooden dining table, looking massive and imposing. A half-empty mug of coffee sat in front of him, and a lit cigarette was perched between his thick fingers, a thin trail of blue smoke curling up toward the ceiling window.
At the other end of the table sat Jane and Max. Max, who was currently staying as a guest in the cabin for the week while her mother was out of town, looked utterly miserable, her chin propped in her hand as she stared blankly at a plate of bacon. Jane looked equally defeated, her head resting flat against the wooden surface of the table, her eyes closed.
"I’m just saying," Max slurred loudly, her voice dripping with morning venom as she complained about her life choices. "I hate Scoops Ahoy. I hate Mike. I hate the bells. If I have to say 'Ahoy, matey' one more time today, I’m going to shove the metal scooper down someone's throat."
"At least you do not smell like onions and old pineapple," Jane whimpered from the table, her voice muffled by the wood. "The Surfer Boy Pizza hat is sticky. Argyle makes me carry the big boxes. The grease gets into my skin, Hop. It does not wash out. I look like a giant pepperoni."
"Oh, cry me a river, the both of you," Hopper grunted, taking a deep drag from his cigarette before exhaling a massive cloud of smoke. "You wanted spending money for the summer. You wanted freedom. Freedom means paying for your own gas and your own movies. You have a half-day shift, it’s a Friday, the mall is going to be packed, so get your asses in gear."
Joyce turned around from the stove, a bright, slightly manic smile on her face as she held a plate of fresh pancakes. "Good morning, sweetie!" she chirped, her eyes locking onto Will as he slowly slunk into the room.
The sudden volume of her voice made Will flinch, his hand instinctively twitching toward his temple. "Morning, Mom," he mumbled, his voice scratchy and dry. He practically collapsed into the empty chair next to Max, trying his best to look completely normal, ordinary, and entirely uninvolved in whatever criminal activity had taken place the night before.
Hopper’s sharp, analytical eyes instantly snapped to Will. He lowered his cigarette, leaning forward over the table, his heavy gaze scanning Will’s pale face, his bloodshot eyes, and the tight, tense way he was holding his shoulders.
"Well, look who decided to join the living," Hopper growled, his voice a low, suspicious rumble that made the hair on the back of Will's neck stand up. "Your sister and Mayfield here crawled in through the front door at two-thirty in the morning looking like a pair of drowned rats and smelling like a discount bar. But you? You were completely missing in action. Care to explain where the hell you were all night, Will?"
Will swallowed hard, his throat feeling like sandpaper. The pressure in the room suddenly felt immense, the bright kitchen light exposing every flaw. "I... I was just..." Will stammered, his brain scrambling for a plausible lie, his fingers gripping the edge of his blue-and-white striped shirt.
Max sideways-glanced at him through her messy red hair, a slow, knowing grin spreading across her face as her eyes drifted down to his neck. Before Will could stop her, Max’s gaze locked directly onto the dark, prominent hickey sitting right on his jawline. She let out a sharp, sudden chuckle that quickly turned into a cough when Hopper glared at her.
"Oh, come on, Chief, leave him alone," Max smirked, her tone dripping with a dangerous, playful amusement that made Will want to crawl under the floorboards and die. "Clearly, Will had a very busy night. Probably a lot more active than scooping ice cream or delivering pizzas. Isn't that right, Will?" She nudged his shoulder with her elbow, her eyebrows bouncing suggestively. "Some people just can't handle their... schedule."
Will’s face burned a furious, violent shade of red. He quickly pulled the collar of his striped shirt upward, trying to shield his jaw from Hopper’s terrifying, narrowing eyes.
"Max, please," Jane groaned from the table, still refusing to lift her head. "No talking about... schedules. My brain is melting. Just give me bread."
Joyce frowned, stepping over to the table and setting down a massive glass of ice-cold orange juice directly in front of Will. "You look pale, honey. Drink this. Are you feeling okay?" She reached out, her warm, motherly hand pressing against his forehead to check for a fever.
"I'm fine, Mom, just... tired," Will mumbled, eagerly grabbing the glass of juice and taking a massive, desperate gulp.
The heavy rumble of Hopper’s truck finally engine-roared to life in the gravel driveway, the sound vibrating through the cabin walls until it slowly cut away into the distance. A few seconds later, the front door clicked shut as Joyce hurried out to her own car, her frantic footsteps fading down the porch stairs.
The moment the property was officially clear, Will let out a massive, ragged sigh of relief, his shoulders completely slumping forward as he rested his forehead against the cool edge of the wooden dining table.
"Oh thank god," Will muttered, his voice a broken whisper.
Across the table, Jane slowly lifted her head from the wood, blinking her heavy, exhausted eyes, while Max immediately sat up straighter, her sharp blue eyes locking onto Will like a hawk targeting its prey. The sleepy, hungover misery on Max's face instantly evaporated, replaced by that dangerous, thoroughly wicked curiosity that usually meant trouble.
"Okay, they’re gone," Max said, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper as she leaned across the table, her elbows propping up her chin. "Spill. What the hell happened last night?."
Jane nodded sleepily, reaching out a hand to blindly grab a piece of bacon. "Yes. Mike looked desperate. He ran out the door after you. We thought he was going to kill you."
"Yeah, well, clearly he didn't kill him," Max smirked, her finger flying out to point directly at the dark, prominent purple bruise sitting right on the sensitive column of Will’s jawline. "Unless he killed him with his mouth. Look at that thing, Will. It looks like a literal crime scene. Did you guys kiss or what?"
Will’s face burned a furious, violent shade of red. He quickly pulled the collar of his blue-and-white striped shirt higher up his neck, his fingers trembling against the cotton fabric. "I... I don't remember," he mumbled, his voice dropping into a tight, panicked register.
Max blinked, her smug expression faltering into pure confusion. "What do you mean, you don't remember? Will, you don't just accidentally get a hickey the size of a quarter and forget who put it there."
"I mean I literally don't remember shit, Max!" Will hissed, his eyes darting toward the hallway to make sure Hopper hadn't magically reappeared. He lowered his voice even further, his heart hammering against his ribs. "After those three shots of tequila... everything just goes completely black. I have zero memory of the rest of the night. None."
Jane frowned, her brow furrowing as she chewed her bacon. "A blackout. Like in the movies when people drink too much juice."
"Yeah, except it wasn't juice," Will groaned, burying his face in his hands as the blinding headache behind his eyes gave a violent throb. "I woke up an hour ago when Hopper started banging on your door. And... and it gets worse."
Max leaned in even closer, her eyes widening. "Worse how?"
Will hesitated, his cheeks flushing so hot he felt like he was running a fever. He looked at Jane, then at Max, realizing they were the only people in the world he could actually talk to about this. "I woke up, and I wasn't wearing my pajamas. I was just... in my underwear. My black jeans and my shirt were thrown all over the floorboards. And when I looked down at myself..." He swallowed hard, the word sticking in his dry throat. "There was... dried cum. All over the backs of my thighs. And in my panties. It was completely stiff."
Max’s mouth fell open into a perfect 'O' shape, her jaw practically hitting the table. "Holy shit," she breathed.
"I don't understand," Jane said, her innocent, foggy brain trying to process the mechanics of the sentence. "If Mike followed you, did he...?"
"That's the thing! I don't know!" Will cried out softly, his hands gripping his hair in absolute frustration. "I don't remember climbing up the stairs, I don't remember getting undressed, and I don't remember who was in my room. I think... I think Mike and I... but I can't remember it!"
The sheer panic of the unknown was suffocating. Will stared blankly at his glass of orange juice, his mind desperately clawing at the empty, dark void of his memory, begging for even a single crumb of context. The frustration was an physical ache in his chest. How could something so massive, something he had secretly dreamed about for years, happen entirely without his conscious brain being there to witness it?
And then, without warning, the wall in his head cracked.
Like a sudden, violent flash of lightning cutting through a pitch-black storm, a memory didn't just return—it violently slammed into his consciousness with the force of a runaway train. The sensory details hit him so hard his breath was completely knocked out of his lungs.
He wasn't in his bedroom. He was in the dark, cramped backseat of Mike's station wagon. The windows were entirely blanketed in a thick, suffocating layer of heavy fog, sealing them away from the dark woods outside. The air inside the car was hot, thick, and smelling heavily of sweat, leather, and tequila.
He could feel the cold glass of the side window pressed flat against his forehead, his palms smudging the condensation as his back arched deeply, his bare ass pushed up and trembling in the cool air.
“Please, please, Mike...” The sound of his own voice echoed in his ears, completely real, sounding incredibly small, broken, and desperate as he twisted his head around in the dark. He could see Mike hovering directly over him on his knees, Mike’s dark curls wild and messy, his long-limbed frame completely shirtless and throwing a massive shadow across the vinyl bench seat. Will’s own eyes in the memory were wide, glassy, and totally blown out, his wet lips parted as he begged for the one thing his body was screaming for.
“I don’t care. Just do it.”
In the memory, Mike let out a low, ragged groan that vibrated right through the chassis of the car. He didn't push forward into Will's tight hole. Instead, Mike leaned his heavy weight down, his broad, warm chest pressing flat against Will’s arched spine. He buried his face into the crook of Will’s neck, his lips hot and smooth as he pressed a heavy, grounding kiss right behind Will’s ear.
“You’re tipsy, Will. And you’re not prepped, baby,” Mike’s voice rumbled, the dark, thick cadence of it sending a violent, white-hot shiver straight down Will’s back. Mike’s large, warm hands came down, his long fingers sliding over the bare, smooth flesh of Will’s ass cheeks, squeezing the soft skin firmly to hold him still. “My soft bunny... I’m not hurting you in the back of a car.”
Will let out a frustrated, needy whimper in the memory, his hips instinctively rocking backward against Mike’s groin, desperately seeking relief from the agonizing ache between his legs. The friction of his leaking front against the vinyl was absolute torture. “Mike, please, I need something...”
Mike looked down through the dim darkness, his burning gaze tracking the soft, smooth expanse of Will’s long thighs, a dark, possessive idea taking hold of his sober brain.
“Let me fuck your thighs,” Mike growled softly against his skin, his voice thick with a dark, commanding authority that completely mastered Will’s entire body. His large hands slid down the sides of Will's hips, his fingers digging into the tops of Will's legs, pulling them tightly together. “Your pretty thighs, baby. Let me put it between them.”
Will’s breath hitched violently, a heavy, electric shiver running down his spine as the sheer weight of Mike’s words settled over him. “Mmh... yes, please, Mike. Right now.”
"Will? Will, hey, breathe!"
A sharp, firm hand slapping against his shoulder abruptly shattered the vision, dragging Will violently back into the bright, sunlit kitchen of the cabin.
Will gasped, his chest heaving as he lunged forward, nearly knocking over his glass of orange juice. His whole body was trembling, a dark, intense crimson flush spreading rapidly from his chest all the way up to his ears. His heart was racing at a dangerous speed, and beneath the wooden table, a sudden, heavy throb of heat bloomed right between his legs, the memory so incredibly vivid he could almost still feel the ghost of Mike’s heavy chest pinning him down against the car seat.
Max was staring at him, her eyes wide with genuine alarm, her hand still resting on his striped shoulder. "Jesus, Will, you completely spaced out. Your face is literally red. Did you just remember something?"
Will couldn't even speak. He nodded slowly, his fingers gripping the edge of the table so hard his knuckles turned white. The mystery was solved, but the sheer, scandalous intensity of the reality was almost too much for his hungover brain to handle. He remembered the car. He remembered everything Mike had called him.
"Yeah," Will choked out, his voice a breathless, trembling whisper as he looked at Max and Jane’s wide, waiting eyes. "I... I think I remembered everything."
Will shook his head frantically, his face burning so hot he was certain he was going to spontaneously combust right there at the kitchen table. He stared down at his orange juice, completely unable to meet Max’s piercing, triumphant glare.
"I can't say it," Will choked out, his voice cracking as he pulled the collar of his striped shirt up even higher. "I'm not saying anything. It's... it's private."
Max’s jaw dropped, a massive, predatory grin spreading across her face as she slammed both her hands flat on the wooden table. "Oh my god! You remember! Will spent the night with Mike!"
Jane let out a sudden, loud burst of giggles, her tired eyes lighting up as she pointed a piece of bacon at him.
"Stop! Please, just stop, this isn't funny!" Will groaned, burying his face completely in his hands. His head was throb-thumping with a brutal vengeance, and having his sister and Max cackle at his absolute undoing was not helping his survival chances.
Meanwhile, across town in the bedroom of the Wheeler house, the atmosphere was entirely different.
The morning sun was cutting through the high basement windows, throwing sharp bars of light across the cluttered floorboards, but Mike hadn't even noticed. He was pacing the length of his room like a caged animal, his long legs eating up the space between his desk and his bed in three strides. He was wearing a pair of wrinkled grey sweatpants, his dark curls a wild, tangled nest, and his face was completely pale.
He wasn't hungover. He hadn't even been drunk last night. He was in a state of pure, unadulterated, catastrophic panic.
Every time his brain replayed the final moments of the night—climbing out of Will's window, his boots hitting the damp grass, the cold air rushing over his bare chest—a cold sweat broke out across his skin. It wasn't the fear of Hopper catching him. It wasn't the fear of getting grounded.
It was the memory of what he had whispered right against of Will’s neck before he left.
“I love you.”
The words echoed in Mike’s ears, sounding incredibly loud, heavy, and irreversible. Fuck, Mike thought, his hands flying up to grip his hair as he dragged his palms down his face. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I said it. I actually said it out loud.
They had been building up to it for months—the stolen glances, the suffocating tension, the absolute territorial jealousy that had exploded in the car last night. But Mike had a plan. He was supposed to say it somewhere perfect, when they were both completely sober, completely awake, and not hiding in the back seat of a station wagon or sneaking through a second-story window.
Instead, he had let it slip out in a desperate whisper while Will was practically unconscious.
Mike froze in the center of his room, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. Did he hear me? Mike thought frantically, his eyes darting to his rotary phone on the desk. He was so out of it. He was practically asleep. What if he remembers? What if I completely ruined everything because I couldn't keep my mouth shut?
He collapsed heavily onto the edge of his unmade mattress, burying his face in his hands as a low, stressed groan tore from his throat. The memory of Will's soft, smooth thighs and the helpless way Will had whimpered his name was still burning in his mind, but now, it was entirely overshadowed by the sheer terror of those three little words. Mike stared at the silent telephone, desperately praying that the tequila had done its job, while simultaneously wishing more than anything that he could go back to the cabin and say it all over again.