Chapter Text
London, 1814
Spring had arrived in London. Along with it, quick showers that left a blanket of dew over the flowers blooming in estate gardens during the early mornings. Today, the fog clung to the cobblestones like a wet shroud, but inside the grand townhouse of Lord Michael Wheeler, the air was stiflingly warm and thick with the scent of beeswax and desperation.
“Look at them,” Will whispered, his voice soft compared to the sound of silver clinking against fine china that echoed up the banisters.
They stood on the balcony together, their arms folded on the fine oak as they leaned over to look at the vastly overdecorated breakfast room below. Morning light spilled generously across the gilded moldings and porcelain pieces lining the walls through the open terrace doors, casting an ethereal glow over the space.
Their wives, Lady Jane and Lady Nancy, sat in animated conversation down below, their heads bent together like conspiring sisters. The sun favored them, as though they were meant to be seen and admired, while everything true remained hidden in the shadows above.
Those shadows concealed what the glow below could not be allowed to touch. Mike was close to Will in a way that was both too close for propriety and not nearly as close as he wished to be. Even through the wool of his coat brushing against Will’s soft linen shirt, Mike could feel the radiating heat of his skin.
“They seem happy,” Mike murmured, his dark eyes fixed on the pair, though Will knew his gaze wasn’t really on them. It was more like he was looking straight through them, his mind roaming somewhere entirely different.
Will hummed, drawing his chin beneath his arm as he let his gaze linger on Mike’s face. “Well, someone should be…” Jealousy threaded through the words before he could stop it. The pit in his stomach grew heavier each day, resentment settling toward their wives and the rigid society that framed their lives.
Mike stilled. His jaw tight, the muscles feathering beneath pale skin as he ground his teeth together. “They are happy, Will. That is the entire plot of this farce, is it not?” He cut a glance toward Will, tension staining the bridge of his nose red.
“Is it?” Will leaned up on his elbows, forcing Mike to fully meet his gaze. The longing he saw there mirrored his own entirely- it was a sharp, aching hunger that decades of polite lavender marriages had done nothing to dull. Will reached out, letting his fingers dance along the hem of Mike’s woolen sleeve cuff. “Because I seem to recall a rather passionate argument in the garden last night that suggested otherwise.” Will’s voice came in a hot whisper.
A flush crawled its way up Mike’s neck, dusting his pale cheeks with a soft pink. He glanced nervously at the open doors leading off to the outdoor balcony, ensuring the servants were out of earshot. “You make me reckless. That’s what happened last night,” Mike hissed, dragging Will into the narrow shadows of the hall. He crowded him back against a column, fists clenched in his fine linen shirt. “One of the footmen could have seen us. If your brother had caught us-”
“Jonathan is too busy brooding in the country to care about London gossip,” He shot back, cutting Mike’s statement short. Will’s hips pushed up against the pressure, teasing. He could feel his heart hammer against his ribs and the bite of a mischievous grin he held stubbornly in check. The thrill of the forbidden was a potent drug, one they had both become utterly addicted to. “Besides, it was you who pulled me behind those hydrangeas, Mike. You who kissed me as if the season depended on it.” Will traced his thumb along the full, pink swell of Mike’s bottom lip before settling his palm against his chest lapels. Mike’s eyes darkened, heat pooling in their depths as his angular features shifted into something heavier.
“Because I cannot stand it much longer,” Mike bit out, his voice frayed by years of denial. He ran a hand through his dark hair, ruining the careful styling his valet had most likely spent an hour on. He leaned in closer, the scent of honey and tobacco lacing his breath as it fanned over Will’s face. “I cannot stand sitting at that table every morning, drinking tea and eating toast, trying to pretend that my entire world isn't sitting three chairs away from me wearing a ring that I couldn't put there.”
“It’s taking every ounce of restraint I have,” he whispered, head bowed between them. “That’s why I kissed you last night, because I am quickly losing this game we have been playing.”
The sentiment made Will’s heart ache. Mike’s words sank into him, familiar in a way he had never dared to give voice. He reached out, his fingers trembling slightly as he caught Mike’s wrist. “You know why we did it.”
Mike was still for a moment, the sound of his soft breathing ebbed between them. “I know why I did it,” He corrected, eyes dropping to Will’s hand on his skin. Rather than pulling away, he bent and pressed a small, reverent kiss to Will’s knuckles. “My father was bleeding the estate dry. He needed a merger with your family’s shipping fortune. And you- you wanted the protection. You said you didn't want to be the subject of the scandal sheets.”
It was true. In a world where sodomy was a hanging offence, Will had traded his hand for safety. He had married Mike’s sister, a sweet girl who loved books and horse-riding and who, thankfully, had no interest in a husband’s bedchamber. In return, the Byer’s family saved the Wheeler legacy from ruin, and Mike married into a wealthy title to keep his own family afloat.
It was a sensible arrangement. It had made perfect sense on paper, but paper couldn't account for the way Mike looked at him across a crowded ballroom with a gaze so heavy that it felt like a physical touch. It couldn't account for all of the stolen moments in between shelves at the library, the frantic encounters in the back of carriages… or the nights Will spent lying next to his wife, trying not to imagine the rough scrape of Mike’s stubble against his thighs.
“I am sorry,” Will said softly, the fight draining out of him. “I am sorry I was such a coward. I was afraid they would find out… afraid they would have us killed for this.” He shook his head at himself, shame creeping up his neck.
“No,” Mike said fiercely, stepping closer again, backing Will further up against the cold marble stone of the manor walls. He bracketed Will’s head with his arms, caging him in. His eyes burned with an intensity that made Will’s knees weak. “You are not a coward, Will. You are surviving, just as I am.” His voice faltered as his gaze slipped helplessly to Will’s mouth. “But God help me, I am tired of surviving. I want to live.”
“I want… you.”
He leaned in, his breath hot against Will’s lips. It was a dangerous game they played, especially now that the social whirl was at its peak and eyes were everywhere. But right now, with the smell of dew and expensive cologne filling his senses, Will could hardly bring himself to care. He smiled, his forehead pressed to Mike’s, their noses brushing as he lingered there. “Then live,” Will whispered, waiting for Mike to close the distance.
The kiss that came was not gentle. It was a collision of months of pent-up frustration, of breakfasts and ballrooms endured. Mike’s mouth was hot and demanding, claiming every inch his tongue ran across. Will gasped into it, his hands fisting in the lapels of Mike’s jacket, greedily pulling him closer. He felt the hard line of Mike’s body against his own, the undeniable proof of his desire pressing against his hip.
“Mike…” Will breathed against his lips as they finally broke apart, both of them panting. Mike pressed his mouth to the heated skin of Will’s neck, scattering soft, open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive flesh. “The party… The Henderson ball is tonight-” A small moan cut off Will’s warning, stealing the words from his lips.
“I know, I know- We just have to play along,” Mike said, coming up and pressing his forehead to Will’s. His hands had slipped down, gripping Will’s waist and letting his thumbs rub circles against the fabric of his silken trousers. “I will dance with my wife, I’ll smile and drink refreshments. I will nod at the right people and I will try and keep my eyes off of you while doing all of it.”
“And then?” Will pressed a kiss against the corner of Mike’s mouth.
Mike pulled back just enough to look him in the eye, a slow, wicked smirk curving his lips up. It was the kind of smile that had made Will fall in love with him when they were just boys riding horses through the countryside, long before titles and duty tried to tear them apart.
“And then,” Mike promised, his hand sliding down the knobs of Will’s spine and tucking under the hem of his waistband. “I will meet you in the gardens again, at midnight.” His fingers continued their descent along Will’s backside, prompting his soft flesh to rise in feverish blooms.
Will swallowed hard. “What if we are seen?”
Mike feigned an air of smugness and rolled his head to the side, “Let them look,” Mike said, his voice dropping to a ragged whisper, filled with a dark and reckless hope. The bridge of his nose drew a line up Will’s pulse point until slowing at the space below his ear. “Let them write whatever they wish in the gossip pages. I am done pretending that you do not belong to me, Will Byers. Even if the world insists you belong to someone else.”
Will’s cheeks flushed hearing his full name on Mike’s lips. He loved hearing it in every setting, especially when voiced so unabashedly at the summit of proceptive intimacy.
“I’ll be waiting for you.” Will said, softly.
Mike brushed the hair from Will’s forehead, his gaze lingering far too long. He paused for a moment, closing his eyes and drawing in a slow breath, as if collecting himself, before straightening his coat and turning back toward the breakfast room.
Will’s eyes followed him, trying to commit every movement to memory. Mike was elegant. In all aspects, but especially in the deliberate set of his shoulders, the way his hands flexed at his sides, the faint tilt of his head that made the shadow of his jaw impossibly sharp. He had been the subject of every painting Will had ever made, each brushstroke a quiet attempt to capture the way he moved, the way he lingered in his mind long after he’d gone.
By the time Mike disappeared down the grand staircase, Will was breathless, leaning against the marble column and praying it could hold him. His chest ached with a mix of desire and frustration, the memory of Mike’s lips still burning against his own. He stayed there, staring at the polished floor, replaying the weight of Mike’s hands, the press of his body, until the sound of the wives’ departing footsteps drifted up from the foyer, pulling him back to the present.