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He was broken.
He couldn’t help it. He knew it was wrong. Knew he was the worst of the worst. A depraved, perverted, creep.
But he didn’t feel all that guilty about it.
No, in actuality the pleasure really drowned the shame out.
People always asked Mike why he treated Will so differently than others. His friends wondered why only they were attacked with such vitriol, snappy tone, shitty jokes. His mother always questioned his need to dote on and protect Will. At first, she thought it was adorable. She cooed at her baby boy trying his hardest for his best friend. But that only lasted till the were about 11. After that, it was a bit weird. She became progressively more concerned as they grew up—wondering if the boy had some kind of… illness she wasn’t aware of that would warrant that kind of treatment. Or maybe he was developmentally behind? But no, Will didn’t need it or have anything that made Mike do it—Mike just wanted to.
And so he was constantly met with confused stares and weirded out sneers even by the people closest to him. Like when he bent down to be at eye level with Will, crowding into the shorter’s personal space anytime Will opened his mouth to speak. Even if it was just a small comment, even if it wasn’t said to him, he bent at the knee as if he couldn’t hear the soft voice from all the way up there otherwise. Almost like he enjoyed reminding him of their height difference.
Knowing smirks would be thrown Mike’s way when his voice would become tender and warm in a way it never would with others, soft and quiet —just for Will’s ears. It was all too obvious.
Yet he would deny it. All of it.
And defend himself for the things he couldn’t.
”Will’s my best friend, has been for years—he’s just different.” He would say.
But it wasn’t true.
Because beneath his tender voice, soft enough to be a coo—was Mike’s eyes leering over every curve and dip of Will’s body. Gaze drinking up every sliver of pale skin, every mole committed to memory.
Because—like he said—Mike is a depraved pervert.
And he doesn’t feel bad about it.
Not when it feels so good.
Not when he can have best friend Will and the one in his fantasies.
The one with sweet heavy breathes and plush thighs.
Not when Will looked at him like that, eyelids crinkling gently, hazel irises shining a golden green, cheeks flushed, hair tussled.
It’s liked he wanted Mike to do it. Like he was asking for it.
But—it was starting to get inconvenient for him.
Jonathan barely trusted him around his younger brother, some kind of Will sense that made him know Mike was bad news.
And Hopper was worse, straight up pushing him away from Will if they sat too close together on the couch. One time, Hopper gripped Will’s shoulders and lifted him up, carrying him across the room to put distance in between the two, a glare shot a Mike as he did it.
So visits to the Hopper-Byers family home in Montauk were less than fun for Mike.
But worst of all, was how he could barely focus on anything other than visions of Will.
He would sit in front of his desk, ready to tackle a project or essay—letting himself get lost in the haze of writing pen against paper or fingers clacking against keys. Then he would come to himself back an hour later, realizing he completely forgot about the assignment and wrote ‘Will will will will will’ over and over again on pages and pages of his google doc.
And it was hard for his other friends not to notice. They caught him gawking at Will bending over to pick something up too many times for it to be a coincidence. But they didn’t do much other than crack jokes riddled with innuendos that confused Will. Sweet face scrunching up in puzzlement, one of Mike’s favorite expressions—only dethroned by Will’s bright genuine toothy smile and flushed cheeks whenever he went on tangents about his favorite movies or new campaign ideas.
After a particularly bad day, one where Mike found himself getting hard in the the middle of class after he zoned out of the lecture and into visions of Will’s plump, round, ass—entirely inappropriate—very embarrassing, he decided he needed some help. So he looked to his friends.
”What if… there was something you really wanted, but couldn’t have—and it was always close to you… and you needed to find a way to stop wanting it so much?” He asked, long and drawn out, as if he was struggling to carefully find which words would give just enough context but not enough to expose him.
Lucas and Dustin were sitting on the floor in front of him, playing some card game he didn’t care to join. He looked at them expectantly, like they were oracles that held all the answers he needed.
”Well—I guess you could find something similar to it that you can have.” Dustin offered, a little slurred, a few beers might have been downed already, “Just close enough that it will make your brain see what you’re obsessing over isn’t like the fantasy you thought it was—but really something completely human and normal.”
He was really so smart, and obviously he would be, he’s an astrophysics major. It seemed easy enough… but..
”I’m just worried… what if i get more obsessed? What if it backfires?” It was more of a rhetorical question than something to be answered, just something he wanted to voice.
“The only way to really know is to try it anyway.” Lucas stated, directing Dustin’s attention back to their little game, but not without sending a knowing smirk Mike’s way.
That conversation lead to Mike thinking of something.
He scrounged up a plan, if you will.
Which, to be fair, never ended up well, and he was aware of that. So any backfiring, in theory, did not fall on Dustin and Lucas. But that wouldn’t stop Mike from blaming them if it came down to it.
So, Mike thought—-since he was infatuated with Will’s round full ass, fixated on the way his jeans strained against the width of his hips, leered at how Will’s muscles flexed and gave as he sat down or crossed his legs—-he should think of an object, one he could realistically get to ease this obsession.
In this case, underwear.
Panties, boxers, undies, underpants, drawers, undergarments—-whatever you want to call them.
That was immediately what came to Mike’s mind when Dustin proposed his idea.
And while, technically he can’t have that either-—he has his ways...
Which was lying.
.
.
.
.
Pale fingers reached up to grasp metal, the nails painted a soft shimmery pink— so soft that it could look natural to unobservant eyes—but Mike was far from that when it came to Will. His hard gaze caressed the soft curves of milky fingers and analyzed the pearlescent sheen of fingertips like they hung the stars for him.
Will fixed the silver hoop to the cuff of his ear and stared in the mirror, eyes hesitant as he bit his lip in thought. Mike never got tired of watching that face, how it scrunched, how it reddened, how it softened…
”New earrings?” Mike asked, clearing his throat to interrupt the silence.
Will jumped in his seat, shoulders flinching in a way that made Mike’s jaw clench.
”When did you get here?” He turned on the stool of his vanity and questioned in disbelief, “Wait, why are you here?”
Mike chuckled, “Got here just now, used the spare key you gave me—answer my question first though.”
Will’s eyebrows furrowed but he turned back around, peering at himself in the mirror again.
”Hopper got them for me. Birthday present.” His hand reached up to tap on metal, “The earrings.” He clarified, “But…. I don’t know, i’m just a little scared that they’re too much…”
From where he stood, Mike could see how the silver brought out cool minty hues of Will’s green eyes—how the hoops somehow made his lashes look longer, cheeks more flushed. They were a little more flashy than the kind he normally wore, slightly bigger, way more bright—but they were beautiful—Will is beautiful.
“Nonsense. You look nice.” Mike reassured, “They suit you.”
Through the mirror he could see how Will’s face reddened, his lips pursing sheepishly, “Thank you, Mike.” He murmured with a pleased smile.
But then he paused.
”Wait.” Will turned around again, “Again, why are you here? I mean, I don’t mind—but this is very random.”
Mike reached behind him and heaved up a full heavy worn bag, shook it a little for emphasis, “Washer broke down at my place, was wondering if i could use yours.” He explained, setting it back down on the wood when the clothes proved too heavy for his wrist to keep up.
Will’s face relaxed, understanding spread across his features, “Oh of course!” He chirped and then exaggeratedly sighed, “What would Mike do without me?” He joked, shrugging his shoulders with a pitying pout before bringing his attention back to the mirror.
His glittery fingertips dragged through his shaggy hair, golden strands catching as he brushed them out.
He did look nice. Almost too nice. Like he was going somewhere. Well-fitting denim with a plain butter yellow dressy button-up instead of plaid or stripes, classy, but still Will.
Usually Mike would go on a long winded tangent demanding to know where Will was going, why he wasn’t told beforehand, and why, as his best friend, was Mike not invited?
But today?
Today, he just backed his way out of the doorframe—heart in his stomach—beating so hard it felt like it would explode. Because he didn’t actually need to wash his clothes, his washer wasn’t broken. Not at all.
It was fully functioning, as far as Mike knew. It was actually on the leasing clause that the landlord had to immediately replace their machines if they broke down—which it hadn’t so far in the two years he’s lived there.
But best friend privileges meant Will was all too trusting of Mike, never suspected him, always wanted to see the best in him.
And if Mike was a better person, this would not be a problem, it would never backfire on the sweet naive young man that was William Byers.
But Mike was not a particularly good person, he’s rude, snappy, and at most times inconsiderate. He made peace with that fact a long time ago.
So when he entered the laundry room and saw a familar tan woven hamper, one Will has had since they were kids, he didn’t hesitate.
This was his moment.
He practically ripped off the flat cover of the basket. He dug through it, throwing everything to the side, jorts, a hoodie, socks, gloves— all of it landed hard on the floor. Just a mere obstacle in his search of the one thing he needed. Then he saw it, a pair of navy blue boxer shorts with small cream colored buttons on the front.
He plucked them up from the bag quickly, looking around to see if anyone was there to watch his decrepit actions, almost paranoid—before stuffing it in his pocket for safe keeping.
Heavy in his pants as it was, the only thing Mike wanted to think about, he still had to do his laundry like he claimed. Or else even Will would start to suspect him. So he made sure to fill the washing machine up with his own clothes, popping a tide pod from the cabinet above the washer and starting it on the ‘heavy clean’ setting. Then he carefully picked up all of Will’s clothes from where he messily threw them on the floor in his frenzy.
He left with a shout of “I’ll be back in a couple hours.” In a bit of a sweaty daze of desperation just to get back home and do what he has been dreaming of for the past week.
And he didn’t even make it to his bedroom.
Leaning against his locked front door, he took out the underwear gawked at it—the weight of stealing his friends panties finally setting in.
But he didn’t even feel guilty.
Not when he felt so alive. Not when his lower half pulsed in need.
He analyzed it like a researcher examining cells. The elastic was loose and worn, probably weak from being stretched over Will’s wide hips for hours at a time— hours of his walking and swearing…
The back had molded to the very shape of the other’s bottom, a deep permanent crease in the middle from how it probably dug in Will’s crack, choked by two full globes of ass. Maybe it would even go so far as reaching his hole, rubbing up against it, making it flutter. Will probably had to take a finger around the trim and pull every so often, picking it out and letting the elastic snap back against his soft skin, making it irritated and pink.
Mike couldn’t help but shakily bring it to his face, burying his nose in the fabric. Depraved breaths heavy on his lips as he huffed the lingering scent of Will on the boxers. It still had a faint smell of detergent and the pleasant powdery scent of Will’s lotion, but above that was sweat, a salty tangy umami with a hint of sweetness— the scent of Will’s body. This was so close to Will that it held onto the very scent of his skin, not even just his creams or soap, but his own essence.
Mike was almost jealous of it.
Of this inanimate object for getting to live his personal dream. He wanted to be suffocated, get high off his face pressed against that soft skin.
But the smell made his dick throb.
”Fuck.” He murmured, muffled by the underwear tightly covering his face, as if he would be able to taste Will on his tongue if he got close enough.
He pulled out his cock and shivered at how the cold air bit it’s angry red skin. He breathed and gave it a tug, a groan spilling out of his mouth. Images of Will in nothing but these skimpy boxers stretched over his round cheeks flooded his mind. The jiggle of plush fat when he would pull them on or when he picked at the fabric in the times it got too tight. The shape it would take when he sat with his legs crossed—two milky full cheeks rounding out from a lithe waist, going into those thick yet dainty legs.
Mike was getting louder, his strokes more violent as his thoughts ran wild.
He imagined grabbing it. How the bottom, unable to be covered by the shorts would spill out between his fingers—pale skin turning red at his rough callused touch. He thought of the delicious sounds Will would make as he fondled them, the contrast of goosebumped skin and smooth cotton against each other.
His pace picked up, impossibly so, a haze of desperation and need.
He imagined that instead of just huffing against the underwear, he was in between the other’s legs— the feathering touch of his nose and tongue reaching through cloth and making Will quiver.
And that put Mike over the edge.
”Fuckfuckfuckfuck.” He chanted as he worked himself through it, white spurts landing on the wooden planks of his floor, still at the front door.
He breathed heavily through his flared nostrils, the air dry and harsh. His heart rate slowly eased it’s way down as the blinding lust went away with his cum hardening on the ground.
And Mike did feel a little bad about it as he cleaned it up. The picture he kept to the side of his walk-in area one of all 5 of his closest friends. Will’s big innocent smile smack dab in the center, staring down at him in shame. He felt like a creep with a trench coat in the park.
But that shame didn’t overshadow his pleasure, not at all.
And he quelled the little bit he did feel with the fact that thirsting over a piece of fabric would be better than doing it to Will himself… right? He would stop getting judged by his friends. He wouldn’t get the knowing glances and open stares he usually did when he was with Will anymore. No more ‘you’re too obvious’, pointed jabs from Max.
Surely, some sacrifice is necessary for improvement.
He busied himself with hiding the underwear in his bedside drawer for safe keeping. Not that anyone would even find them if he didn’t, he lived alone now (after the great roommate fiasco of 2024), but just for his own peace of mind. So he wouldn’t have to think about complicated things like his employment and apparent obsession with Will’s ass.
He even almost forgot about his laundry, which Will kindly moved to the dryer for Mike and reminded him to pick up 2 hours later. And listening to Will’s sweet soft voice on the phone, all he could think of was how he was just hours earlier imagining it tight and heated, moaning in pleasure.
Mike was a goner.
Mike later found out the exact make and model of the underwear he stole from Will through his own internet sleuthing. They were from brandy Melville and oddly enough named ‘boy shorts.’
Mike now owns 5 pairs.
He understands why Will wears them. They are like regular boxers but shorter, softer, and impossibly cuter.
For Mike, though, it’s not about how they feel, no—he would never wear them. He gets horny just by the sight because his brain associates them with Will’s butt.
In other words, the weaning hasn’t exactly worked.
He is just as obsessed with Will Will’s ass as he was before he started. Maybe even more so now that he has the scent, because now he wants the taste too.
If he’s being honest with himself, his plan was probably never genuine from the start. He just wanted something physical as an outlet for his perverseness.
He bought the other 4 boxers online and shipped them to his apartment. Which was partly a mistake, because Will ended up coming over the day it was delivered and saw the box with Mike’s name and address on it at the office’s package drop off. He ended up lying, which he has been doing frequently, and saying he bought it for him. Mike opened the box, grabbing the sweater that was on top and shoved it into Will’s chest with sweaty palms and a dry throat—kicking the package behind them so Will couldn’t peer in to see the rest of the things he bought.
Not completely a mistake, though, because Will’s face brightened in a way that made Mike’s heart clench. Lashes fluttering and pink lips spread in a sweet smile. A mumble of sheepish gratitude parting them just enough to see a glimmer of Will’s little bunny teeth. So it was worth it in the end.
His usual routine was to get back from a long day of classes and writing to suffocate himself with boy panties in the comfort of his own room—and who could blame him? It’s hard being a college student, everyone needs their chosen fix.
Mike’s was Will.
Or, Will’s panties.
But after a while, the addicting smell from the original pair had faded. Which Mike pretended not to care about at first. He ignored the ache in his heart at how each day he got less and less of the sweet scent of Will from the fabric, till it was barely anything.
Just a whisper.
But after being tried by a greater power for a long week, which was full of Will wearing tight curve hugging clothing and short shorts, he felt like he deserved a little treat.
One day after his history of literature class, Mike’s feet brought themselves to Will’s apartment all on their own. Mind clouded by the all-consuming desire to get another pair of used boxers. He didn’t even pause to think of how, would just be forced to bullshit his way in when he got there. Just hoping whatever that flew out of his mouth would suffice in him being able to leave with those undies.
He opened the front door with the spare key Will gave him, much like the first time. And made his way over to Will’s bedroom, creaking open that door with an alerting call of “Will—” but something stopped him. His jaw dropped in a silent gasp as he saw what was in front of him.
Something so unexpected he lost his ability to talk, or even breathe.
Will was clad in a pair of white lace panties. His sweater was oversized dipping right over them but just short enough that Mike had a full view of what was below it. The innocence of the white contrasted the lewdness of lace and the way the fabric stretched over his full ass. It was tight, maybe a size too small, cutting into the middle of his cheeks. Fat sweetly spilling out from the bottom. Milky skin littered with moles just begging for Mike for sink his teeth in.
But Will swiftly turned around, ripping the view away from the other.
”M-Mike?!” He yelped in a panic, his voice but a squeak of panic, “You need to knock!” He was flustered, face reddening to a shade one would think impossible even for him, as he tried to cover himself up with ends of his sweater.
Mike just gawked. Lanky legs frozen in place, just staring at the absolute wet dream that was Will standing there.
Will watched as he stood still with a pointed frown, stomping over, “Get out—now.” He said, pushing against the other’s chest—but it was weak—his eyes were watering and threatening to spill over.
Wait, no—he still had a lot more he wanted to see.
Don’t leave a guy high and dry after giving him that kind of show.
He gripped his wrist, ”Will—wait—can I have those?” He asked, pointing down to the very thing Will was covering.
It just fell out, the brain to mouth processing function of his body presumably broken, more like dick to mouth now.
A tear rolled down Will’s ruddy cheek and he took a deep breath before shouting, “I said get out!” Voice cracking and wet, just so embarrassed and ashamed.
His sweet face was scrunched in upset, and he pushed once more, a strong final press against Mike’s chest.
And Mike didn’t know what to do. So he left.
Tucked his tail between his legs and ran home.
A week has passed since the day Mike’s brain chemistry changed forever and he has since downloaded the app Pinterest to make a board (shrine) for the weave of fabric that is lace. Floral lace. Dainty lace. Embroidered lace. Pink. Blue. White. All of it. Mike is a new-found man and he wants to see Will in it all.
The desire is painful, an ache strong in his stomach and in his pants.
Unfortunately, Will has been ignoring him. But as the saying goes ‘hate to see them go, love to watch them leave’—-the boy’s sheepish huff and sigh as he turns around to avoid him, doesn’t just make Mike’s heart crumble into a million pieces, but also gives him a full HD view of round cheeks, which makes it a lot easier to deal with.
Mike has a new plan now though. A mission, if you will. And it is to get those panties.
.
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.
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“El, can you pass the salt?” Lucas asked, which she kindly obliged to.
They were having one of their rare entire-friend-group-get-togethers at a cute diner Max recommended. But as cute as the decor and booths were, the food was basically flavorless, and they needed to drown it in all kinds of salt, pepper, and hot sauce.
Red-heads aren’t the best at picking food spots he’s learned. They don’t really like spice, especially Max. Not sure why they keep letting her decide where they eat.
As soon as he got there, Mike plopped himself on the side of Will, which it seemed like the other didn’t like. But ever the peace-keeper, he didn’t move or make a fuss, just reserved to pouting at his pasta.
”Max did you see the new dress to impress update? It is so cute.” El perked up like she was meaning to ask for a while and just remembered.
Max nodded, shoveling some food into her mouth, “Played with my cousin like a week ago—it’s pretty cute—but I’ve been liking the scary games on Roblox more.” El’s eyebrows raised like this was crazy intel and nodded, “like flee the facility or doors.”
El offered to play them with her and Max grinned, sending her a very ominous sounding “Tonight.”
Will was still sat there silent, usually he would chat with the two girls about Roblox games—he was big into all kinds of video games, no one knew how he had the time to play them all, but somehow he did. Yet, he was quiet this time, and it seemed like Dustin noticed.
”Will, I saw that Blood orange is touring near us, was wondering if you’d wanna come with me to one of the shows.” He offered, trying to get Will engaged in the conversation.
”Um… I don’t know.” He mumbled, staring at his untouched plate, curling his fingers into the placemat under it.
Lucas’s eyebrows furrowed in concern, “But he was like your most streamed artist last year, wouldn’t you wanna go?” He questioned and Will sighed.
His lips pursed as he looked around in thought, blinking and seemingly deciding. He turned to dig in his letterman bag and pulled out a 50 dollar bill, setting it on the middle of the table, “I’ll think about it… I’m not feeling too great right now, my…. stomach kind of hurts… I’m just gonna go home and try to sleep it off.” he said as he looked at Mike for the first time that night, just to motion for him to get up and let him out of the booth.
He wished everybody a goodnight, pressing a chaste kiss on his sister’s cheek and walked right out the door. Bells chiming as it opened and closed.
Mike was stood there, watching him go, didn’t sit back down even when the retreating form was out of view.
”Dude—what the fuck did you do to him?” Dustin was the first to ask, and Mike turned back around to see them all staring at him like they just knew it was his fault.
“Told him ‘it’s not my fault you don’t like girls’ again?” Lucas questioned, “Or maybe something even worse? Even more bigoted?” He must be feeling like a detective with all his interrogations.
But it was nothing like that. Not this time at least.
”Oh my god, I was fourteen! I said sorry!” Mike defended, “Besides I didn’t do anything too bad this time… I hope… I just… didn’t remember to knock when I came into his room and saw him naked. I haven’t apologized yet so he’s still upset with me.”
Whether they believed this partial truth or not, Mike didn’t care—Will can’t drive, Lucas drove him here—which means he was going to walk home all alone, in New York at night. And Mike wasn’t going to have that.
He ripped a 20 dollar bill out of his wallet and put it on top of Will’s 50 before zooming out of the restaurant, chasing after his best friend.
He weaved through the crowded stream of people, broad shoulders nicking a few guys on the side, shouting apologies after them but not stopping. Mike caught up with him after a few minutes, with Will walking on short legs and Mike running on long ones—he cut the distance in half the time.
”Hey—Will!” He called, slowing down with a huff as he stopped to walk in line with the other, “Just wanted to check on you.”
Will’s jaw clenched and he sighed, “I don’t want to talk to you.” voice tight and upset.
Mike floundered at that, mouth opening and closing, feet faltering in step as Will kept going.
He stopped a moment to slow his breathing before catching up again, reclaiming his place beside the other.
”Will—please, just talk to me. It hurts me so much when you’re mad at me.” Mike pleaded.
Will stopped walking, right there in the middle of the sidewalk. He turned to Mike, his face blotchy and screwed up, “You’re hurt?” He scoffed.
He stepped back, running his hands through his hair and chuckling dryily, “You’re hurt?” He mocked with a faux pitying pout.
Mike nodded and shrugged as if to say ‘yeah’ and Will couldn’t help but scoff again.
”You’re hurt and I just had my best friend walk in on me while I'm wearing women’s underwear and look at me like I'm some disgusting freak!” He just almost shouted.
”Disgust—that is not—“ He stopped himself to swallow and lower his voice, “That is not what happened.”
”Oh it’s not? And then you ask me for my underwear—to what? To make fun of me? To laugh at your gay freak of a friend?” Will asked, just digging himself deeper, causing himself even more hurt.
”Are you—I would never—do you hear me? I would never think of you like that. Don’t say that ever again.” He warned, voice low and cautionary, like the very idea of that made him want to go crazy. Like if he heard it once more, he would lose control.
But then Mike looked down at Will’s trembling lips and tear soaked cheeks and any amount of anger he felt completely left his body, “I’m sorry… let’s just go get you home for now.” He sighed, gripping Will’s far shoulder and pulling him in safe against his side.
Will let it happen. Let himself be pulled home by strong arms and a gentle grip, the fight in him lost.
As soon as they got there, Will scurried off to his room, Mike followed to see him plopping down on the edge of his bed.
”I’m sorry.” Will said, the walk calmed him down some.
”Don’t apologize, you have nothing to be sorry for.” Mike reassured, joining him.
Will shook his head, “No, I overreacted. And I’m sorry you even had to see it in the first place.” he murmured, fidgeting with his hands on his lap.
And while Mike was surprised at the outburst, he thought Will’s avoiding was because he was mad at him for seeing something he wasn’t supposed to—not scared of judgement. And that certainly wasn’t Will’s fault. Mike was so far out from judging anyone, he had no right to with his own habits.
”Will—look at me—there is no world in which you should apologize for that.” He almost ordered, he just wanted to make it clear, make Will’s lip stop quivering, “Ok?”
Will paused looking into Mike’s eyes before he nodded and went back to staring at his fingers picking the shimmery polish off his nails.
”… Are you sure you aren’t like… disgusted though?” He asked after a few moments of silence.
”Why would I ask you for them if i was disgusted? Will—of course—I’m not. Nothing you do can disgust me.”
”Really?”
”I mean it. I promise I mean it.” Mike’s voice held finality.
He grabbed the smaller’s hand and hooked their pinky’s, bringing it up to stamp their thumbs together—a pinky promise—childish and immature, something they used to do when they were kids. But Will giggled at it, a sweet but crackily noise. Mike smiled back, the moment felt soft and sugary and it took all of his strength not to wrap Will up in a tight self-indulging hug. Instead he sighed and let their hands fall.
”You know,” He said after a beat, “I still want to see more.”
Will looked at him, eyes narrowing.
”Of the panties.” He clarified, shrugging as if it was a casual request and not the most important thing of his very existence.
”What?” Will asked, quiet and shocked, “Why would you…” He trailed off not even finding the words.
”Come on, I am your bestest friend in the whole wide world, shouldn’t I know everything about you?” Mike reasoned, furrowing his brows and widening his eyes in an attempt to make himself look more pitiful.
Will stared at him, “Why this though? Even if you aren’t grossed out, it’s still like—objectively weird that I own them.”
Mike could argue the act of having or wearing them would be the least odd thing about the whole situation. That his own inability to be normal when it came to Will was weirder. His ass kink is weird. His scent fetish is weird. His new-found lace obsession is weird. Will is not weird.
”You didn’t let me get a good look last time—I’m intrigued. And even if it is weird, we’ll be weird together .” He gestured between them.
Will bit his lip in thought, looking around.
”Ok” he said, “they’re in my drawer, right there. Have at it.” he spoke quickly as if to get out all the words before he could change his mind.
Mike’s eyebrows furrowed even more.
”Wait no… I want to see you in the panties…” he clarified, scratching behind his neck awkwardly.
” What?” Will screamed and was quickly shushed by the other.
”Come on, please .” He begged, shifting his weight and hearing the bed croak in response.
Mike let his knees fall to the wooden floor boards, head bowed, hands in front of him together in a prayer motion.
”Oh my god, what are you doing? Get up!” Will cried, horrified by the other on the ground in front of him.
”I’ll get up if you put them on.” He pleaded, “ Please, don’t you want to make me happy?”
Was it bad to pressure him? Yes. Evil even.
But Mike needed this.
He needed this so badly.
Will looked like he wanted to argue but then closed his mouth and pursed his lips.
”… stay like that.” He ordered, getting up from the bed and walking over to his bureau.
Mike obeyed, not wanting to risk this chance, letting out a breath of relief at Will’s agreement. His palms started to sweat and his heartbeat quickened— it was finally happening .
The sound of a drawer opening and snapping shut did little to ease his pulsing excitement. The shuffling as Will took off his pants and boxers to step into the panties made his dick throb with painful intensity.
”Are you done yet?” He excitedly asked, more of a beg.
Will exclaimed ‘no’ all too quickly. Mike waited only moments before asking again. He knew he was being annoying, but he couldn’t help it, he was practically jumping out of his skin in anticipation.
Will sighed from behind him.
”Ok fine, turn back around.” he murmured, voice soft, the timidness obvious in his tone.
Mike spun so hard he gave himself whiplash, but all he cared about was setting his eyes on that pale lace again. And honestly, this had to be the best day of his life.
The panties were a milky yellow this time, both blending and contrasting with the sweet pale skin of Will’s thighs. The leg bands were bunched up, cutting into the plush junction of full thighs to wide hips, making the skin dip and turn red. A small bulge was clearly printed in the front, the outline of his penis sitting there gently between his thighs. The weave of the lace was dainty and delicate like a flower never touched by dirty human hands, just the kiss of warm golden sunlight and brisk winds. He just knew it would be soft to the touch.
”Mike?” Will mumbled, “Say something… it’s awkward.”
He looked up. And oh Will’s cheeks were red and blotchy with humiliation, eyes still glassy and pink from crying, and lips bitten between his teeth. he looked so perfect.
All for Mike.
He scurried on his knees closer to the all-encompassing orbit that was the shimmering sparkle of Will in lace panties, too small, tight enough to cut into his skin sweetly. He wanted to get a better look. He wanted to touch. To pull at the elastic and watch as it snapped back against his skin.
Will looked like he wanted to back away, but Mike didn’t let him— he grabbed him by the sides of his thighs, the bare skin-on-skin touch dizzying his head. Will squeaked at the sudden movement but Mike paid no mind, using his grip to turn the other around so he could get a full view of exactly what he wanted to see.
Will stumbled a bit but Mike’s hands steadied him as he spun on his heels, and there it was. The fabric stretched tight over both cheeks, going translucent in the middle—ghost of a shadow where they parted. The yellow lace trim wrapping around the bottoms, fat still managing to spill out the edge. If he were trace a finger down that line, Will’s sweet fluttering hole would be right there—at mercy for the other to do whatever he wanted to it.
Mike’s mouth watered almost impossibly so, almost painful at how fast his body sent all the blood in his veins south and all the water up north. His breath was heavy and shaky as he pressed his face into the soft fat of Will’s ass.
“What are you doing?” Will cried, hands flying up to cup Mike’s larger ones.
But that’s all they did, touch. Not push or pull at them. Not kick him in the balls. Not try to run away.
He just stood there, squirming, a little shocked by the face in his ass—but not disturbed, not disgusted.
And Mike took that as a sign to continue.
He huffed, taking in a deep breath, smelling the scent of his sweet body cream and soap— he couldn’t get enough of it. It was as plush as he imagined it would be, warm like beams of sunlight, and as addicting as he feared. There was no going back after this, he would forever be tied to the chains of endlessly desiring Will.
Will’s skin behind the fabric was hot but the lace was cool, design slightly scratchy against his cheeks in a way that a back massager would be—satisfying and very welcome. He shook his head, relishing in the way he could feel the globes of fat jiggle in tandem with his movement. Digging deeper down to where the faint hint of sweat and musk cushioned his nostrils and made them flare out in desperation to take in more. A mix of a moan and cry poured out of Will’s mouth, going straight to Mike’s length, it was already dripping and aching for release, painfully hard in his pants.
He took one more deep breath, committing the scent and feeling to memory before making his way back up to his feet. Marking lips against Will’s flushed skin in his wake. From the bottom of his ass to the top of his spine, slowly pressing chaste kisses along the way, Will shivering with each contact, even through his tshirt. Goosebumps rough on his other wise soft skin. He moved his hands up to rest on wide hips.
”Are….a-are you done now?” Will stammered out as he could feel heavy breaths behind his ear.
Mike chuckled and pressed a kiss to the crown of Will’s head, as if to comfort him.
A rough hand trailed down from his hip bone, tracing along the lace till it got to the twitching hardness. It was still small, but undeniably erect. He flicked it, cruel and teasing, earning a broken whimper and shiver. Will rushed to put his hands on top on Mike’s once more and squeezed, not to push him away—but just to squeeze. So Mike let himself loose.
He ground against Will’s ass roughly. Thrusts hard and chasing while he rubbed the other through the panties. Sparks flew behind his eyelids, his head dizzy with arousal—hips jerking like a dog in heat. And Will wasn’t far behind, at some point, he had started bucking up into mike’s hand, moans spilling out of his bitten lips.
”Baby—you’re s-so fucking hot.” He huffed, almost cooing at Will’s sweet noises.
The hand gripping his hip shot up to grab at Will’s jaw, turning his head to the side so Mike could see it. His face was soaked with tears again, but not from sadness or disappointment, from pleasure—pleasure that Mike was giving him. His lashes were thick and glistening hypnotically so, and Mike dove down to kiss the red glossy lips. It was the cherry on top, a sweetness Mike couldn’t have even dreamed of. He tasted faintly of breath mints and the Shirley Temple he sipped on at dinner and something just so Will that it made Mike’s brain stutter as he lapped and sucked for more.
His thrusts got more erratic, more clumsy, he was already busting at the seams just looking at those panties—it was all too much for him.
He tucked his head in the side of Will’s neck and came embarrassingly fast on the soft cheeks, probably red and irritated at the harsh gyrating of Mike’s hips. His hands didn’t cease till he could feel the small length twitch violently and Will’s body overcome with shivers, a final cry signaling his release.
If Mike died today, he would die happy.
No complaints. He got what he wanted.
A dopey smile plastered on his face through the heavy breathing and he tumbled over to plop back down on the bed, taking Will with him. They caught their breath tangled in each others limbs, Mike starry eyed and Will sleepy—everything about the day had worn him down.
”W-why did you do that?” He drowsily asked the other.
Mike’s smile got even wider, “Because I wanted to.”
Will narrowed his droopy eyes, “But why did you want to?” He questioned, voice still soft, looking up sweetly from where he was pressed against Mike’s chest.
”Why do the roosters sing when the sun comes up? Why do dogs bark? Why do plants grow?” Mike questioned back with a sigh, all too philosophical for a guy with drying cum in his boxers, “Because that is what they were made to do.”
Will’s face scrunched up despite himself, confused and skeptical, carrying the air of judgement Mike usually got from others. Which would be annoying if it was anyone other than Will, but on him, it was adorable—something to coo at.
”I was made for you.” Mike answered genuinely, because that’s what he has always believed, that he was born to be with Will.
To protect him, to serve him, to love him.
And the other chose to be happy with that. Something close to recognition glazing over his tired eyes. He inched closer into Mike’s chest, thick lashes tickling his skin even through his shirt. They basked in the sweet silence for a moment, Will almost falling asleep when Mike opened his mouth open again.
”So…… could you give these to me? Like as they are, no washer.” He asked caressing the lace trim of the panties and pulling on the elastic, letting it snap back against the other’s waist.
That’s when Will really understood it, Mike was a pervert.
An adorably dorky lovable, pervert.
A pervert who went to sleep that night with high water pajama pants that were baggy on the ass and a red mark in the shape of a hand—sure to bruise—on his left cheek, and a pretty boy in his arms.