Chapter Text
The night was buzzing with anxiety, for Mike, and he couldn't put a finger on why.
Shutting his eyes tight, he attempted to get comfortable under the covers.
Waiting for sleep to arrive, but only greeted with this strange energy, unwilling paranoia setting in.
Mike wasn't one to be paranoid, or scared easily, exactly, but he'd get these episodes sometimes anyways.
And the overthinking set in, and suddenly being alone with his thoughts was the worst possible thing in the world.
Sighing, Mike sat up, glancing at his alarm clock; it was nearly one in the morning, already. Great.
The chill of loneliness bit at him, momentarily, searching for some kind of book, or anything to keep his mind quiet.
It was too late to walkie anyone for simple conversation, he knew that.
Mike ended up in the kitchen, mindlessly scouting the fridge and pantry; maybe a late night snack would aid his sleep, or uneasy brain, he figured.
Eyes scanning boredly, he weighed his options, ultimately closing the fridge door and cabinet. Nothing he was currently interested in, at least.
He glanced absentmindedly at the basement door.
Will was probably sleeping right now, but Mike did remember his troubles with it since...well.
Maybe he was awake, Mike considered, it wouldn't hurt to check.
Quietly, he walked to the basement door, a twinge of hesitation hitting him before giving a soft knock; nothing that could wake Will, per se, just alert if he was awake.
He waited for a beat.
No answer.
Mike frowned, the embers of hope for a late-night hangout with Will dying out in his chest.
Well, not his fault for having a normal sleep schedule, he figured.
But it was insanely boring, and annoying to be left with an under-stimulated brain which refused to rest.
Mike bit his lip, hesitating, before quietly turning the knob.
It wouldn't hurt to just make sure.
Mike, peeking his head down enough to see a shot of Will's mattress, blinked.
He tried, futilely, to blink the sight away, because it must not be real.
Will was sitting up, a hand over his mouth; the other frantically stroking his dick, and Mike could see it all, Will's shirt pulled up halfway - the sliver of stomach bare to his eyes, the sight of Will's eyes screwed firmly shut.
Mike doesn't think he's ever closed a door more quietly in his life.
He walked back to his room on autopilot, every movement executed to be the softest least audible sound possible.
Oh god
The guilt set in quickly, so did the shame, and Mike wishes that was the only thing he was feeling about this.
Everyone does it.
It's normal.
Of course Will does it, why wouldn't he? It's not his fault he had to share a house with Mike now.
But then there was this distinct throbbing he was unable to ignore, and a million things surfing through his mind.
Mike covered his mouth thoughtfully, trying to will away the heavy breathing and feeling of hot on his face, his blood boiling like the sun in all the wrong ways.
The loudest thought was, Will looked so pretty.
And there were more, worse, involuntary but entirely too true and revealing to Mike.
He wanted to stay and watch Will finish, hell, he wanted to help him with it. His mind drifted to the soft pink of his face, and the stuttering hand touching himself, and before Mike could think he was palming his aching dick through his pants.
This is extremely wrong, Mike noted, but it failed to halt the movements he was making; or even the degenerate stream of thoughts in his mind right now.
That was Will's private space. He shouldn't have seen that.
He shuddered, shuffling his pants and boxers down just enough to touch his leaking dick directly.
And god. Why did it feel so right.
It felt better than any other time Mike had jerked off, ever, it was like every nerve in his body was running on steroids and giving him a surplus of dopamine at arousal for each touch.
It was thrilling. Stupidly fucking thrilling.
And it was so, so wrong.
Will - his very own best friend, he shouldn't be thinking about him that way at all. He shouldn't have seen him that way at all.
But god. Something new was stirring and building that he couldn't stop now.
Mike allowed his thoughts to run, probably for the first time ever, about this confusing feeling in his chest for his best friend.
Something had been building. A sort of tension between the two.
He couldn't really place that tension, or the skips of his heartbeat, until now.
It was like a switch flipped - a minute ago Will was just his close best friend, and now he was something else entirely.
Mind drifting to the memory, clutching onto it like a vice before it faded, Mike thinks of Will's pleasured expression, and the flush and sweat visible on his face. The trembling in his shoulders.
And then Mike's face is beginning to look the same - heat just building over and over, and it felt unlike anything, it didn't feel mechanical, or like a challenge, and Mike did not have to focus every atom of his being on cumming just to feel good. It was like the thought of Will itself was running all his nerves for him, taking ahold of his arousal and flowing it through him much more naturally than it felt when he'd seen porn, or tried to fantasize about girls.
Mind hazy, and hand working fully on autopilot instead, Mike felt better than he knew possible, and that was too good to let shadows of guilt and questioning flow in.
Suddenly, Mike thinks, it's almost like we're getting off together - we're both doing it right now, and it's a fact. And the realization has him cumming messily before he has the mind to grab a tissue.
Mike's vision goes white for near a minute, the euphoria which flooded his body, and what felt like his very soul, more intense than anything to come before.
His muscles relax at once, body going limp while staring straight at his ceiling. And theres a comfortable bliss for a while before his brain is short circuiting.
He just jerked off to his best friend.
His male best friend nonetheless.
And he did not question that once. Not until he was finished.
Theres a burning thought now, that is involuntarily whispered aloud in shock.
"Holy shit...am I gay?" he wipes the sweat collected off his forehead, carding a hand through his hair and just blinking at the ceiling, thoughtlessly.
And of course, the situation itself bids him an obvious answer; Yes. Yes getting a boner from seeing a guy jerking off is gay - and so is fantasizing about it while jerking off yourself.
An uncomfortable feeling of forced acceptance washes over him, years of denial sorting themselves out quietly under his skin. And it feels all wrong.
It is not easy. It was not an easy thing to admit to. Because before doing something so straightforwardly gay, Mike could brush it off, and he did.
He brushed off every spark of tension he felt between them, and every touch that lingered too long, and every look that was wedged too deep in his soul to be comfortable with; He brushed off the way Will was always sneaking to the forefront of Mike's thoughts in general.
Tears met the chilled air before he'd realized they'd been born in the first place, flowing down hot and sure.
This was stupid, unbelievably stupid, a stupid thing to do, and a stupid way to come to that type of realization.
Mike huffed, tucking his dick away to clean up, and thankful for the sudden whisk of sleep granted to him after his...expel of energy.
Mike didn't think about anything but sheer embarrassment until he was halfway through the shower the next morning.
He really was a stupid boy, and had somehow sidelined the fact that he had to face Will after this. After not only seeing that; but sexually fantasizing about him, getting off to him, and realizing even deeper feelings that still begged to nestle themselves where Mike Wheeler could not fully unearth them.
It's not like Will would know. But Mike would know, and it would change everything, and he didn't know if he could act like usual through this, so what if Will eventually knew because of that..?
The thought sent a shiver through him.
Terrifying, the concept of Will being disgusted with him, or angry at him, the concept of Will knowing these shameful desires. It clawed at him.
And Mike knew this was a whole other genre of something than what he felt with El.
Surely the excitement was there for him, he had a girlfriend, before everyone else, and he had his first kiss, someone to be romantic with and experience relationship with for the first time.
But it kind of didn't click. Not like this feeling.
Mike recalled the synapses in his brain firing then, when the idea had been suggested to him as a kid, that he was interested in this girl. And right there he decided yes, I do feel that way, because it's only logical.
Because it was right, if you think about it, it fit perfectly, even if he hadn't considered the thought at all before. When boys and girls are friends like that, doesn't it typically go that way? Shouldn't he feel that way for this girl?
And thats kind of what he'd been running off, until him and El's breakup, going through the motions of life, having a girlfriend; not being in love with her, or feeling that need for her.
Mike sighed, shutting the shower faucet off and patting mostly dry with a towel. It was hard to think about. Even if in the background, he'd been confused about these things lately, nothing clicked like that, it was always piles on piles of denial and shaking off a passing consideration.
Opening the bathroom door, Mike immediately froze; met with a tired looking Will, back leaning against the wall and seemingly waiting for the bathroom's vacancy.
Memories came flashing back, that same tired face contorted in pleasure - a hand covering his heaving breaths. Oh god.
Suddenly very aware of only a towel covering his lower half, Mike averted his eyes too quickly, like Will was the one half naked, and speed walked to his room in a way he hoped wasn't too suspicious.
Their eyes had barely met for a second, and Mike was freaking the fuck out. There was absolutely no way he was getting through this.
Another part of his brain noted that Will looked stupidly good fresh out of bed with a half-awake expression and tousled hair.
Mike sighed heavily, attempting to ignore the crisis unfolding in his head, getting through the motions of dressing and relaxing on his bed.
He surely needed it, thankful for the closure of school, due to the upside down's convenient damage of the water piping system. but silently cursing the idea of being in the same vicinity as Will all the time until it was fixed.
A few minutes later, a knock arrives on his door.
Begrudgingly, Mike opens it, seeing a less-sleepy version of the subject of his emotional spiral.
"Oh hi, whats up?" Mike speaks, before quickly coming to the realization that he can't look Will directly in the face without thinking about that pink color across it last night, and the jittery movements of his hands on his dick.
Mike averts his eyes, swallowing and opting for a random poster at his wall to stare at.
"Well you didn't look so good when you got out of the shower, so I was worried.. But there's breakfast if you want any, I made enough for you too," Will rubs the back of his neck, concerned gaze unbreaking.
"Oh that, I just uh.. I guess I'm just super tired. Didn't sleep well,"
It's not a lie, but it's not the whole truth either.
Will nods, accepting the answer, as Mike's internal conflict on whether he'll feel like dying if he simply joins Will for breakfast or if he'd rather starve and worry him more.
"Me too, stayed up too late.. anyway, waffles?" Will points a thumb behind him, presumably towards the kitchen
"stayed up too late," repeats in Mike's brain like a mantra, and he bites his lip to try and force away the thoughts.
Will just wanted to eat together. Don't think about how you know why he woke up late too.
The pang of hunger in his stomach answers for him, shamefully, and he follows Will downstairs to the kitchen.
It's a mostly comfortable silence, as the two of them have an admittedly late breakfast, and Mike reads some article he doesn't care about in the newspaper left on the kitchen table to try and keep thoughts at bay.
Will extrends a hand to take care of Mike's dishes when they're done, as he always does, and this time Mike feels a little guilty for it, eyes lingering stupidly on Will's hands as he goes through the washing process across the room.
They're wider than his, and look stronger, but Mike's fingers are longer for sure, and much bonier and paler in comparison.
He shakes the automatic thought from his head of Will's hand wrapped around his dick last night. And he doesn't think about it wrapped around his own. He doesn't.
"Did you still wanna watch that movie today, Mike?" Will turns, drying his hands on a towel, and Mike averts his eyes like an idiot and blushes the second they make eye contact.
This was so stupid. He feels like a middle schooler right now.
"Umm..Yeah, sure," And its a reluctant answer - because Mike's brain is currently dreading every second with Will in eyeshot, but he'll be damned if he ends up avoiding him and hurting Will in some way. Any embarrassment was better than that.
Will gives Mike his usual smile, and it feels one trillion times brighter and more gorgeous than it usually does, which makes him feel stupid, and hang his head to look at the floor.
Mike absentmindedly wonders how anyone survives being in love with their best friend without exploding on the spot.
Wait, what.
In love?
Was that it?
Mike glances back up.
In a millisecond, there are so many more things falling into place than ever. Because maybe thats why he was always so protective and possessive over Will. Maybe that's why they always had a miles deeper connection than his other friendships, or even his relationship with El. And Mike feels absolutely stupid for not seeing this before.
Because he knew; Will and him had this sacred thing together, and no other person could ever replace him or come close to comparing.
He just didn't realize it could be in that context. More than a best friends kind of context.
At least, for Mike.
He had no idea how Will felt.
Will gives some kind of questioning glance his way, before shrugging it off.
"Okay, maybe at like, three or something?" Will offers, accepting the nod that answers him and walking off back to the basement.
Mike releases a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, running his hands through his hair in stress.
This was going to be hard to deal with.
On the walk back to his room, Mike contemplates if he could just make an excuse to avoid Will somehow. It was difficult to calm the beat of his heart, the way his mind would wander without permission during the very small timeframe around him just now.
Mike didn't know if he could make it through a longer period of time alone with Will today.
He thinks of that night, in the rain. The words that spilled from his lips before they traveled fully through his brain.
His time acting like an actual asshole to Will during his California visit.
It just isn't worth it, Mike decides.
It's not Will's fault that Mike can't stop being a pervert like this. Another wave of guilt settles in, remembering his invasion of Will's privacy.
That part wasn't Will's fault either.
Distractions. That's what he needs right now.
Not getting lost in his head about feelings or shame or Will.
Mike flips a random comic book open, brain fighting interest towards it, but eventually getting the hang of it and becoming mostly immersed.
Will is on the opposite end of the house, face similarly buried in a book - his sketchbook instead of a comic like the other boy.
His hands scribble shapes to life with a simple black pen across the page, quickly and messily with no care for carefully sketching anything.
The portrait is coming to life, deep black curls becoming clearer. Planes of soft and pale exposed skin bring themself to life similarly.
There is no struggle here, for Will; the easiest thing in the world to draw had become Mike.
Capturing that beauty, that unique and awe inflicting appearance had been a goal and a hard one for years. Slowly, with effort over years, Will learned to perfect it, and it came to him like second nature now; Mike's very beauty flowing through his nerves and expelling itself through the paper.
Thickening the last few lines, Will sighs.
It was outwardly perverted, looking back at it.
Staring back at Will from his sketchbook is a perfect image of the freshly-showered Mike that had greeted his groggy self in only a towel this morning.
It was stupid, embarrassing how even not fully awake, Will's brain could recall every inch a water droplet was falling, that strange and unplaceable expression on Mike's face.
Mike wasn't one to be so embarrassed around Will, usually. They'd seen eachother practically naked since childhood, but it'd lessened greatly by the time they were 12, some unspoken agreement settling that they were now too old for that to be comfortable.
But Will didn't expect the flustered look on his face to greet him at all - not that he expected a half naked Mike to greet him in the first place.
There was a nervousness, because while the sight had Will's breath stopping, he knew he wasn't looking at Mike especially weird, right? Will had adjusted to hiding his gaze in that way over these years, even calming the flush in his face grew to be a habit.
Maybe, somehow, Mike had realized in that moment how Will was thinking about him, reading his mind. Knowing exactly how Will wanted to lick his pale neck and collarbones, how he wanted to brush his fingers over every inch of Mike's still dripping skin.
And maybe Mike knew. And maybe Mike hated him.
He frowned at the beautiful face on his paper.
It wasn't possible, but it still hurt to think about.
Closing the page, Will took a breath.
It was a cute expression, on Mike, he'd decided, but it made him nervous all the same. It made too many possibilities run through his head. Despite the obvious most possible one being that Mike just didn't expect to be seen half naked that morning.
At the end of the day, Will didn't know if Mike completely picked up on his sexuality by now, part of him didn't ever want Mike to know. Another part wanted Mike to wordlessly accept him, without judgement and without assuming anything, and not change their friendship at all.
Even though if Mike did assume those things, it would be true. At least about Mike.
A stupider, daydreaming part wanted Mike to pick up on it, and then decide Will was the singular exception to his heterosexuality, and confess to him.
At least he had the mind to know that was unrealistic.
Will didn't love the idea of "coming out"
He wanted that relief, of knowing he was accepted, and not being scared anymore. But an angrier side just wanted to not be viewed as this odd thing, and he could just like boys without being seen as anything out of the ordinary.
Will flipped to a clean page in his sketchbook before tears could squirm their way through his eyes.
Pen met paper hastily again, and it carved another image out, the love of his life, angle accentuating his adam's apple and the way his dark hair fell past his neck just enough.
Will brushed a thumb over the sketch, he imagined brushing his thumb, softly, over Mike's cheekbone.
Will often dreamed of it, feeling out his face until he could make a clay sculpture from memory, fully blind, only based on touch.
Will shuts the sketchbook, flipping the elastic cord around it to keep it shut tight, and shoves it under his mattress like always.
Stupid, it was, to have an entire sketchbook mainly reserved for Mike Wheeler, that he had to hide. Stupid actions for an equally stupid and pointless crush.
Will abandons the self deprecating thoughts, in favor of taking a nap.
Sleep invites him easily, thanks to the restless night beforehand.
By the time he's up, it's almost four thirty.
Oh shit. How did he even sleep that long?
Will sits up, attempting to smooth his hair into a less ridiculous form of bird's nest, and heads upstairs.
Nobody but Mike and him are home still, to be expected. He makes a beeline for Mike's door, but falters before knocking.
Did Mike forget? Why didn't he wake him up? Did he not bother to check on him at all? Was he mad Will didn't come up to get him?
Will sighs, and knocks anyway.
One minute, two....no answer.
He tries a second, firmer knock.
Silence.
"Uh, Mike? you there?"
Anxiously planting his hand on the doorknob, Will listens for signs of life before intruding.
What greets him is a very asleep Mike Wheeler. His head is laying in his arms, head turned to the side with his face visible from the door, a comic book halfway through is planted infront of his sleeping body.
Oh. He looks incredibly cute.
Well, at least he wasn't mad, Will thinks.
But then comes the moral dilemma of waking his sweet best friend up. Mike was only occasionally grouchy when woken, but practically never with Will.
Taking a step further into the room, Will allows himself a good stare.
Mike's face, all relaxed like this, is perfect in every way. Comfortable, his eyelashes clear to see. Will wishes to retrieve his sketchbook and just sit here, taking the whole scene down in a page forever.
Instead, Will settles for gently nudging Mike on the shoulder, "Hey, Mike, you gonna get up any time soon?" Will tries not to let his adoration flow through his voice, and it comes out too softly anyways.
Mike groans quietly, which Will does not store in his head for wrong reasons, before his eyes flutter open to a squint.
"What time is it..." Mike sits up, a hand coming to rub sleep from his eyes.
Will bites a lip, "Its uh.. four twenty three...sorry, I kind of fell asleep too," he says, offering an apologetic look.
Mike's neurons seem to kick in, and his eyes are fully open - maybe too much - and the second he makes eye contact with Will, his whole demeanor changes.
Lanky shoulders tighten, and long, slender hands fidget amongst themselves, averting his gaze, Mike only replies with "Oh,"
And Will is frowning at that, looking and feeling confused. Nervously, he stands up, and backs away a bit, "Are you okay?" he settles for, instead of the various self-centered confusing conclusions in his mind.
Mike nods, and rubs his hands over his face, ending up running through his hair.
"Yeah, yeah I'm good. Just tired... Sorry," Mike tries to keep eye contact this time, "for falling asleep, I mean.. I know how excited you were to see it and.. is the theater open still?"
Will seems to squint at Mike's stuttering, and his heart leaps a little, suddenly feeling like an open book.
Paying no mind, Will responds, "It's open but uh, it's a little too late to see it.. anyway, I fell asleep too so it's fine," Mike nods in acknowledgement.
Fidgeting a little, Will adds - "Uh, we can watch it here, if you want though...I actually borrowed a copy incase you were too busy to go..."
Nervously, Will looks back, and swears he catches something like disappointment in the Wheeler's eyes, before Mike is nodding and blinking it away - "Yeah, that sounds good! I can uh, just make some microwave popcorn, it's not as good as the movie stuff, but it'll do?"
And theres his Mike again. The ever charming one, that doesn't hate him. Will must have been overthinking it. He nods excitedly in agreement.
"I'll give you time to wake up, meet me in the basement when you want," And Will is backing out of the room and shutting the door.
Guiltily, Mike breathes a quiet sigh of relief, and groans while rubbing his face.
This was going to be so much worse.
A theater was one thing, they didn't have to talk, or more so couldn't, and they'd just be sat next to each other - but also a bunch of random people, it was less nerve wracking.
Completely home alone in his basement was a whole different level. Because even the suggestion of that made Mike's head start to wander against his will - All alone with Will - it said, oh it would be so easy to do those things flowing through his head, to wrap a hand around Will's dick, and watch his face contort into that same flushed expression; but he wouldn't need to cover his mouth, and hide his sounds, because they'd be alone.
And god was it embarrassing, how easily the thought already had his lower belly pooling with that molten feeling.
Almost slapping himself in the face, Mike sat up, walking to splash cold water on his face, and make popcorn, and be fucking normal about his childhood best friend. Because that's what Will deserved. Not whatever perverted version of Mike Wheeler had recently possessed him.
Pouring the steaming popcorn into a bowl, and letting the smell of artificial butter calm his senses, Mike headed down to the basement.
Will smiled at him, movie already plugged in and paused at 00:01 on the screen, and Mike forced a smile back.
Mike did not think about the last time he walked into the basement, or about how many times Will had jerked off in this exact room before, and the way Will had been wearing one of Mike's sleep shirts didn't make him feel any particular way either.
Setting the popcorn between them, Mike sits cross-legged on the opposite end, before Will gives him a confused look.
"Lights?" Will gestures to the light switch he'd passed on the way in. Oh yeah, that.
Will shoots a grateful smile as Mike shuts the lights off, and the room is left illuminated by purely the TV. Something in that make's Mike's nerves shake, but he brushes it off.
A movie. He could focus on that. He just needs to get immersed in that. Not on the boy next to him.
Will hits play, and intro credits roll in, settling relief through Mike's tense spine.
And focusing is actually pretty easy, at the start.
But then a while into it, Will's hand brushes his while they're both reaching for popcorn, and it melts the composure all over again.
Admittedly, Mike notices Will flinch his hand back like he got burned, which he hadn't noticed him do before. Mike frowns and mutters an apology.
This time, the thoughts that occupy his brain are not perverted, at the least, but maybe that's worse. Because there is no excuse or explanation for Mike to be thinking about what it would feel like to hold Will's hand through the movie, or worse - Will leaning on his shoulder, comfortably, the popcorn bowl sat in his lap instead.
Idiotic, he notes to himself.
Mike has had a decently long relationship - and somehow this is new, this fantasizing and excitement. The realization makes him frown to himself, losing focus on the movie.
What was his time with El, then? He loved her, still now even, as friends. But was it even different before?
They made out, they held hands, they spent so much time together. So why didn't it compare to this at all?
Will grabs his shoulder excitedly, pointing at the screen, which makes Mike jump an embarrassing amount, "Pay attention, I think this guy's suspicious, he's totally acting different from the rest of the group right now! He has to be it, right?"
Mike feels guilty for not paying attention, and tries to comprehend whatever Will's getting at by staring at the screen dumbly, and shrugging. The sparks from having Will's touch on him for only a minute last stupidly long in his chest.
He glances at Will, the boy looks excited as ever, clearly too engaged in the movie to pick up on Mike's idiotic behaviour.
Relaxing, and settling back into the movie, Mike sighs.
It can still be enjoyable, thankfully. Through this weird assortment of feelings he's suddenly forced to face; it is still his best friend, and it is still a movie night, like when they were kids tucked into a pillow fort watching star wars the first time.
Mike doesn't fully comprehend the ending, but he pretends he does to listen to Will's perspective on it - to which he just offers an "I thought the exact same thing,"
Something in him shifts when he realizes, the movies over, he has to be apart from Will. And the feeling hits him more painfully than it has in years, since when they were forced apart by Will's disappearance.
"Mike?" Snaps the taller boy out of his sulking, along with a respectful hand on his knee.
Will's hand. On his knee. Oh no.
Mike tries to feign normalcy, quickly answering an "Uh, yeah?", thats met with an unplaced look from the other.
Will's hand. On knee. Jesus. Is all Mike's brain is currently preaching to him.
"You uh, you sure you're okay? You keep like, spacing out.. during the movie and just now. This morning, too. Did something happen? Did...Did I, uh..upset you?"
The pang of guilt that sentence invokes is felt in Mike's bones, which burns the perverted bubble in his head away. "No, no of course not Will, you didn't do anything, okay?" Mike sighs, placing a hand nervously over Will's on his leg.
"I just.. I don't know, I've been sick or something, or maybe I have insomnia. I don't know. It's not you, I promise," And suddenly looking right into Will's eyes is the easiest feat in the world, when he needs comfort, reassurance, when he needs Mike.
Will breathes a relieved sigh, but his eyes search semi doubtfully through Mike's before nodding.
"I hope you feel better, I had fun, thank you for watching it with me, Mike," Will forces a smile, releasing his hand, to the other's disappointment.
Mike nods, and mumbles a thanks before saying goodnight and heading up.
It was fun, but he really needs to get better at hiding..whatever this is. Thinking of the concern on Will's face, Mike frowns, angry with himself.
Will deserves a best friend, not someone who makes him feel uncomfortable, or awkward, or someone who thinks about a simple comforting fucking gesture with his dick of all things.
Once Mike's back in his room, he groans, disappointed at himself, rubbing a hand over his brow.
He glances at the time, and vaguely recognizes that everyone must be home, and dinner is probably being cooked right now.
Unfortunately, the thought fails to stop his hand from traveling the shameful path down his stomach, and over his pants to palm himself.
Of course.
Of course his body is reacting like this to spending time with Will now. That's just fucking great.
He stifles a groan, giving up basically immediately to the hint of guilt in his brain.
Because yes, it was weird and embarassing and probably violating to get worked up just by spending time with your best friend who you grew up with.
But it also felt too good, and too natural to stop. And the thoughts were breaking through the weak wall he attempted to build.
He'd been in the room Will jerked off in just last night. He'd been touched by that same hand. Will's presence was like a divine light to him now. Every touch, look, sight.
Mind trailing off, Mike wondered how often Will did it. Would he jerk off tonight, too? some people did that every day, right?
With the way Mike's brain was melting, he was on track to start joining that club. Allowing himself to touch skin directly, Mike buries his face in a hand. Eyes closed, picturing vague things, then clearer things. Jerking off Will just to see that expression was at the forefront, but so was kissing him, Will's hands on him too, Mike's drifting up the other's shirt and just feeling warm skin.
Will was always nice and warm, he thinks, that period where he'd been possessed was awful. He never wanted Will to be cold again. Mike could think of a way to assure that fact.
The image of Will's dick in his mouth invites itself before he has time to actually process it - and he's suddenly way too close way too soon, but theres a vague acknowledgement that he has to eat dinner soon, and he can't exactly last too long; so Mike lets it fester.
He doesn't brush away the imagery of Will, covering his face while Mike swallows down his dick shamelessly, and forces Will's hand away to get a good look at his flushed and sweaty expression. He let's his brain concoct the idea of Will's hand, softly brushing through his hair - to which Mike's own hand travels there, slim fingers planting themselves in his dark curls, and the thought slowly morphs into Will pulling, and then Mike's pulling - And suddenly there is a very wet mess on the inside of his boxers, and he's huffing and trying to slow his breathing like never before.
Well, he just learned something new about himself.
After a minute, with an annoyed grunt, Mike drags his boxers off and cleans up, changing and going to the bathroom to wash his hands. Because yeah. He did just cum all over his boxers and hand to the thought of giving his best friend a blowjob.
Theres a stupid guilt settling in, again, and Mike never wants to leave his room for the rest of his life.
He huffs a breath, returning to his sleep-abandoned comic and trying to get back into it as a distraction.
Dinner approaches dreadfully fast, and Mike clenches his teeth and tries to ignore his mom's calling from the kitchen. Maybe he could pretend to be asleep already.. But someone would probably wake him up anyway.
Defiantly, Mike doesn't get out of bed until Jonathan is knocking on his door - It'd usually be Nancy, but the face greeting him suddenly reminds Mike that she was currently visiting a friend.
Oh fucking awesome, it's great actually, because the immediate first thought that invites itself into Mike's brain is hey, Jonathan, nice to see you. I just jerked off to your little brother like twenty minutes ago.
Mike attempts to hide the embarrassment on his face, and Jonathan coaxes him downstairs for dinner in an overly friendly way, which is even worse.
Jonathan was the closest thing Will really had to a dad, growing up, and he was cool with Mike as he and Will were close, but there was still this edge to him around Mike that made him nervous and confused.
He tries to ignore the thought, and sits quietly in his usual place, some excuse about being tired leaves his mouth.
It's hard to eat, and it's harder to ignore the shame and guilt eating at himself while Will sits across the table.
They had such a nice, normal day, and Mike was acting like a complete idiot. Unable to talk, unable to even look at Will right now, let alone anyone else.
Theres a small brush of hurt on his soul when he thinks about how it's also especially hard to look at his father. Ted was quite the open homophobic, he preached it like any other brainless old man, but the thought of knowing that pretty much applied to him now pulled at his guts. It's not like Ted Wheeler was a good dad, or husband, or well, person. By any means, he was actually quite the opposite.
But the thought hurt still. And Mike swallowed painfully as he realized he would have to deal with that kind of thing now, too.
He couldn't just ignore it. It applied to him. The thought invited a stupid wave of disgust at himself that he tried to push away.
Mike didn't know whether he liked girls even, if his time with El was real or not. Everything was confusing right now. But the fact he liked Will that way was enough to be hated.
"Mike? you okay? You've barely touched your food, sweetie," Mike jolts, feeling a shoulder on his hand and looking up to meet eyes with his mom.
He nods, attempting to fix his very obviously sulking posture, and picks up his fork.
"Yeah mom, I'm okay. Just tired,"
Will shoots him a glance thats so worried he's forced to look back. And it's so painful.
The worry in his eyes is as beautiful as ever.
Will is as beautiful as ever.
Mike looks back down at his food, not offering an answer to Will's look.
He barely stomachs half of it before excusing himself to bed.
And thankfully, the sleep does not protest, accepting the stress as a reason to not overly fuck his schedule up.