Archive of Our Own

The first time it happens, Will is three orgasms deep and approaching his fourth as Mike fucks him from behind, holding Will up against him with his arm locked around Will’s neck, just enough pressure to make his gasping breaths more difficult, the other hand stroking Will’s dick in time with his thrusts. Mike can tell Will is getting close again because he’s writhing against Mike’s hold like he wants to break free, saying—

“I can’t, I can’t—” even though Will knows what words he’d have to say to make it stop, but he’s too much of a slut when he’s like this to even dream of saying them.

Will says a lot of things when he’s close to coming. There’s the please, and close and Mike’s to start. By the second orgasm, it might be more desperate—more, harder, fuck me, Mike. By the third, they graduate to I can’t, and too much, and no, no, no’s that Mike knows better than to believe, now. Sometimes, when Will is feeling bratty, he’ll add a fuck you that lacks fire under how desperate and dazed he gets when he’s lost in pleasure. Sometimes, Will loses his words all together, letting out an endless string of low moans, whining whimpers and unintelligible sounds that Mike seems to fuck right out of him. Sometimes, after coming a couple times, Will gets the kind of floaty and desperate where he exists purely in state of pleasure, helpless against Mike using his body and bringing him over the edge until Will is crying and screaming with it, babbling, until he’s so high up he needs Mike’s careful hand to coax him back down to reality when it’s all done.

Mike loves Will like this. He half-thinks Will should be like this, always, on the edge of ruin, a few orgasms in and trusting Mike enough to take more.  

“I’ve got you, sweetheart, you can take it,” Mike says, sweet and pitying as his hips piston into Will’s, cock stretching Will open from behind. Will feels fucking incredible, but Mike isn’t coming before he wrings one more out of Will, until Will makes a mess over them both. 

“I can’t, it’s too much, it’s too much—” Will babbles. 

Mike tightens his arm around Will’s neck to choke him tighter, to arch Will’s back further so the angle of each thrust goes even deeper. 

“How about this, baby? You can be good for me and beg really nicely to come one more time. Or you can keep being a brat, and I’ll make you come three more times.”

“Th-three?” Will stutters, genuine distress pinching his brows as Will’s eyes fill with tears. “No, no—no, please, I can’t, please.”

“Then ask nicely,” Mike smiles. 

Will’s crying in earnest now, and Mike has slowed his hips from its punishing pace to a slow, torturous roll against Will’s sweet spot, grinding deep inside him. 

“P-please, Mike, Mike, please.” Will is grasping at Mike like he’s the only buoy in an ocean, fingers digging a bruising grip on Mike's shoulders, making hurt noises. 

“Please, what, baby?”

“Please can you make me come? Please, I’ll be so good, if you would please let me come again—”

“God, you’re greedy,” Mike says. “You’ve come three times already, you know that, Will? You’re such a slut.”

“Yours,” Will slurs.

“Yeah, my perfect slut. You were made for my dick. And you need it, don’t you?”

“Yes, I need it, please, daddy, can I come?”

And Will says a lot of things when he’s close to coming. But he’s never said this before. Trust that Mike would remember. Hell, he would have baked a cake.

Mike barely manages a “Yeah, baby, come for me,” before he’s coming his own brains out. Because his boyfriend, his best friend of twenty years, just called him daddy while he was balls deep inside him and Mike finds it unreasonably, dangerously hot. 

After, Will is flushed, embarrassed and apologizing even after they’d both come harder than they had in their whole lives. So, once they’ve cleaned up, managed to put on underwear and t-shirts, Mike makes Will tea and they sit down on the couch to talk about it—Mike, curious and open, Will shy but brave. 

“I just feel… really protected with you?” Will admits, nose and face scrunched up adorably, like it’s something embarrassing. But it’s music to Mike’s ears. “Really safe. And I never really felt that way with Lonnie, so it’s not like—” Will huffs, redirects. “I never liked being babied, but I like… being your baby.” Mike gives a small smile of encouragement, scoots closer on the couch, brushes Will’s hair out of his eyes where it’s getting too long. “I guess when I’m—really out of my head, with you taking care of me? I feel so—um, small. And cared for. Like—”

Like a kid with their dad. Jesus fucking Christ. 

Maybe Mike’s face does something weird with the way all the blood is rushing to his dick, because Will goes flushed and mortified again and says, “But I know it’s totally weird and you’re just being nice—”

“Will,” Mike says. “It’s really fucking hot.”

“It’s embarrassing,” Will insists.

The thing is, Mike kind of thinks it’s hot when Will is embarrassed, when he gets all bashful and blushing and squirming and trying to hide, when they both know Will likes it. Like now—Mike knows Will liked calling him daddy, knows he wants to do it again, considering the way he’d tensed around Mike’s dick as he trembled through an orgasm that seemed to last forever.

But they’ve explored together enough over the years for Mike to know he has to let Will come to him on things like this. 

“If it’s not comfortable, we can drop it,” Mike says. “But if you change your mind… just say the word.”

Will pulls Mike into his chest to snuggle on the couch for a while, and that’s where they leave it. The ball is in Will’s court, and Mike’s fine with that.

Except, Mike kind of can’t stop thinking about it. But Will isn’t thinking about it at all, or at least, he doesn’t say the word.

Like, the next day, Mike wakes Will before his alarm by sucking his dick, and Will is so hazy with sleep that Mike is sure he’s going to say it as he’s begging to come, but he doesn’t. 

Okay, Will was going to be late for work. Not the best time for kink exploration, Mike can admit. Besides, it’s not like Mike is disappointed—he doesn’t expect anything from Will, he just knows him. So he takes it as a challenge. He’d brought it out of Will once. He can do it again. 

A few days later, Will gives up on riding Mike in favor of going limp, letting Mike move his hips for him and thrust into him, and Mike is mouthing off like he does when he’s really lost in it, something about Will being “so cockdrunk you can’t even move” and “probably can’t even think” and “did I fuck you stupid” and Mike thinks Will is just about to break and say it as his climax builds. He’s begging so pretty and sweet until he bites his lip as he comes, stopping himself from letting out any more than a keening whine.

And that? That just won’t do. 

So Mike keeps thinking about it. When he’s sitting home typing away at his manuscript, he’s thinking about it. When he’s working the desk at the library, checking out books for a crabby old lady, he’s thinking about it. Conjuring up evil, evil plans on how to get Will to that place he’d been last time, too out of his mind for shame or embarrassment or anything besides needing Mike so bad he’d called him that.

He starts planning how, exactly he’d want to play this.

That’s one of the things he loves about his relationship with Will, about domming Will—he gets to think up his filthiest fantasies, carefully enact them, and see how Will reacts and sings for him. He plays his part perfectly, sometimes surprises him by making it even better, but he’s so good and trusting and obedient for Mike, and only for Mike. And, sure, sometimes they switch things up, sometimes Will wants control and Mike gladly surrenders it, but he thinks they’d both be lying to say this isn’t what they like most: Mike, having his way with Will. Will, pretending he doesn’t want all the twisted things Mike says and does to him, pretending to be embarrassed until Mike makes him beg for it.

The first step, Mike decides, is to wait for Will to want him. This is not a step that should take very long, as Will is hornier than a feral tomcat during mating season on a good day, and there’s not often a day that goes by without Will giving Mike that up and down look through his lashes that means he’s hungry. But Mike needs Will even hungrier than normal, needier than normal. He needs Will desperate. 

He also needs a good handful of hours to block out of their schedules, because Mike thinks this may take a while.

It’s a Friday morning that Mike wakes up to Will oh-so-sleepily rolling his hips and his hard length into Mike’s thigh, one leg hitched over Mike’s, letting out little sleepy huffs against Mike’s shoulder—right as Will’s alarm rings. Will wakes with a needy, high whine. 

“Please, need you, Mike,” Will gasps. 

It’s beautiful—to be his last thought before he falls asleep, to be his first thought on waking. Mike wants so desperately to give in. While Mike is the type to snooze an alarm a dozen times before waking, Will has a tightly-packed morning ritual that, he insist, cannot be interrupted for sex. Usually it’s Will insisting they save it for later, or else wake up earlier to accommodate any urges, but considering Will had fallen asleep stuffed with Mike’s come, they hadn’t gotten around to setting a backup. 

“We don’t have time, love,” Mike says regretfully. 

“We do,” Will whines. “I’m still stretched from last night.”

And that almost breaks him—the idea of Will being wet and ready for him—but he knows he’ll get an earful later if he acquiesces to a sleepy-horny-brained Will, because he’s got this fancy apprenticeship thing at an art gallery for a complete asshole of an artist that runs him ragged and absolutely does not tolerate tardiness. But it’s a job that Will adores, and Mike is so proud of him it hurts, so he will bravely and valiantly and selflessly deny himself this.

Except, it’s not totally selfless, because he’s starting to think, Yeah. Today’s the day.

“Baby, you’ve gotta go to work.” He soothes a hand up Will’s waist, along the planes of his shoulder blades, not encouraging his clumsy humping but not pushing him away either. “Besides, I’ve got something in mind tonight, if you’re up for it.”

This piques Will’s interest as he pauses in his movements, pulling back from Mike’s skin to look at him. His eyes are heavy-lidded, glazed over from sleep and the edges of that something that takes over Will when he’s submissive. 

“I’m up for it,” Will says.

He doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t ask what he has in mind. He just agrees. 

Mike is a lucky bastard. But Mike also knows Will’s boundaries—he isn’t going to be the one to break the ice on the daddy of it all. As much as Mike would love to whisper filthy things about it in Will’s ear right now, it has to be Will who breaks. 

Mike is going to have a lot of fun breaking him.

“Then I need you to get up and get ready for work,” Mike says. Will immediately opens his mouth to protest so Mike rushes to add, “And if you’re good for me all day, I’ll take extra special care of you. Sound good?”

Mike expects Will to pout, but he melts at gentle whispered promises like it soothes something in him. His hips give one last twitch before he rolls back, and stretches, yawning with sounds like a baby dinosaur. 

“Fine,” Will says, and he is pouting a little bit, lifting his cheek pointedly in the way he does when he wants a kiss from Mike. Mike is happy to oblige, kissing him on each cheek, his nose, the bend of his brow, his chin, until Will is laughing and swatting him away. 

Mike doesn’t have to be at the library for another two hours, but he wakes up anyway to make coffee, because Will claims Mike makes it better and that he can never get it right. Mike’s pretty sure it’s bullshit, because it tastes the same every time to him, but Mike thinks it’s cute. Will pretends to be helpless just because he knows Mike will gladly do it all for him. Mike revels in it. Maybe he shouldn’t, but Mike wants Will to lean on him, to need him, to depend on him. To be so well taken care of that he’s stupid and naive and brainless and—

And Jesus Christ Mike is not going to last all day thinking thoughts like these. He needs to leave Will wanting, as part of the plan, but he can’t be this desperate later. He’s gotta keep his cool. He’s definitely gotta keep from busting his load the second he gets his hands on Will. So when Will finally says goodbye at the door with a lingering kiss, Mike locks the door behind him, sighs dreamily, and promptly jerks off in the shower. 

Twice. 

Sue him.  

Mike endures work. It’s a blur. It doesn’t matter. When he’s home, he uses his last hour before Will gets home to prepare. He changes the bedsheets, even though he’s hoping they’ll ruin them, puts fresh towels by the bed, makes sure they have enough lube. He calls in a takeout order for their favorite Thai place, though he’s hoping they’ll be good reheated in a few hours if they… get distracted. 

Either way, he’s reclined on the couch with a book when Will comes through the door. He’s gonna be honest here—he hasn’t processed a word in the few minutes he’s staged himself here oh-so-naturally so that Will doesn’t find him waiting at the door like a dog. But then, as soon as Will enters, Mike perks up to greet him like a dog anyway. He might as well have a wagging tail, the way he lights up. 

“Hey, babe,” he says.

Usually this is where Will enthuses or groans about his day, or starts asking about their takeout order, since Friday nights mean no cooking in this household. Today, Will plucks the book out of Mike’s hand and puts it down on the table, splayed so Mike’s spot is marked. Then he hooks a leg over Mike’s lap, sits down, and kisses him hard and sliding and wet and wanting.

It’s a hell of a greeting.

“I’ve wanted you all day,” Will say between kisses.

Okay, plan get-Will-desperate-and-needy is in full swing, apparently, and Mike has a lapful of Will, kissing him and grinding down on him as Mike tries to get a word in between kisses.

“Will—” Kiss. “Baby.” Kiss. “Slow down.” Kiss. Oh, and a slip of the tongue. “Mph.” Jesus, Mike takes a sick amount of pride in the fact that he’s the filthy bastard who taught Will how to kiss like that. 

Mike has to whip out a sharper, sterner voice that he usually saves for when Will’s really being a brat when he says, “Stop, baby.”

And Will stops. Pulls back with a slick parting of their lips, pants against Mike’s cheek, eyelids lowered where he can’t tear his eyes from Mike’s lips, like it’s all he can do not to dive back in. 

“Good girl,” Mike says.

And really, that’s playing dirty. That’s just plain cheating. Because they both know that Mike talking to Will like he’s a girl is basically a cheat code to hack Will right to that cloudy, hazy headspace where he’ll do whatever Mike tells him. 

But that’s what Mike wants. And he’s not afraid to play dirty to get it. 

“But I ordered Thai food, and I’ve gotta go pick it up.”

“Mike, seriously?” Will pouts, nostrils flaring. He looks exactly as intimidating as an angry bunny rabbit. “I waited all day.”

“And I thought you were going to be good?” Mike challenges. Will inhales sharply, eyebrows raising minutely as understanding flickers across his face. Oh, that’s how this is going to be. The scene starts now. It already started this morning. 

Will shifts out of Mike’s lap.

“I am,” Will says. “I’m being good.”

Mike pecks him on the lips once more in reward before he stands. 

“I know you are, baby,” Mike says. 

He puts on his jacket, grabs his keys and wallet. Feels Will’s eyes on him the whole way to the door. 

He turns over his shoulder right before he opens the door to leave. He cannot let himself look at Will, or he’ll break. Mike is barely holding back from launching across the room and pouncing on Will like a wolf, but he’s gotta keep his cool. 

“And Will?” Mike asks. 

“Hm?”

“Don’t even think about touching yourself while I’m gone.”

Will gasps. Mike hears it, just before he closes the door behind them. 

There. Gauntlet thrown. Mike wonders if Will had even been considering it before Mike put the idea out there to haunt him. He probably was, the slut. 

Mike waits outside the apartment door for a minute. He’s gotta get this boner down, or they’re not going to let him inside the Thai restaurant. 

Mike returns with a plastic bag full of cartons and containers seventeen minutes later. Yes, Mike was counting, keeping an eye on his watch, tapping his foot at the counter as he waited and probably looking like an impatient asshole until he tipped an unreasonable amount and bolted home. Because he wants Will worked up and wanting, but he doesn’t want to keep his baby waiting. Not too long. 

Will isn’t in the living and kitchen area when Mike enters. The only sign that he’s there at all are the faint squeaking sounds coming from the bedroom. 

Mike smiles. Thinks, gotcha. The cat that got the damn canary. 

Slowly, carefully, and without muffling any sounds, he puts the takeout down on the table. He hangs up his jacket, his keys. 

“Ah, ah—” comes from the bedroom and Mike has to close his eyes and exhale a long breath to keep himself from losing his cool. 

No matter how much he wants to, he can not jump Will’s bones the second he sees what’s making Will make those noise. Because he’d set a rule, and part of taking care of Will and taking him apart is setting boundaries, holding him to the rules he sets, making sure there are consequences. Even if they’ll both enjoy the “consequences” a bit too much. 

Mike slowly approaches the bedroom, lingers in the open doorway and watches Will, pillow stuffed between his thighs, humping against the softness of it feverishly, the pink on his cheeks and ears spreading down his chest where a soft t-shirt is still hanging from his shoulders, the rest of him bare. Mike traces the curve of his body with his eyes, the plump roundness of his ass where it jiggles with each fumbling thrust forward into the pillow. 

“Baby,” Mike sighs, letting disappointment ring through his voice even as he’s growing hard in his jeans. “I thought I said no touching.”

Will looks over his shoulder at Mike, flushed, already dazed and needy and, notably, still rocking his hips into the pillow. Mike’s mouth goes dry, and he thinks, yeah, if Will doesn’t say it today, he’s probably not gonna say it at all. This is exactly the Will that Mike wanted today: desperate and unabashed and horny. 

“‘m not touching,” Will points out. 

Which, yeah. He’s right, and Mike fucking loves him for it, the brat, but he’s got to set boundaries. What kind of daddy would he be if he didn’t?

“I see that,” Mike says, and watches another long moment before saying, “but I know you knew what I meant, babygirl, and now look at you.”

“Mike,” Will whines. “Come on, are you gonna touch me or not?”

“Do you think you deserve it?” Mike asks, even as his fingers a trembling from holding back from reaching out and doing exactly what Will wants. “When you’ve been grinding your needy cunt against the pillow like a slut?”

Will’s hips stutter and stop their movements, Will looking up at Mike wide-eyed like he’s realizing that Mike isn’t going to bend this time.

“I’m sorry,” Will says, puppy-eyes wide and round, lip trembling a little, because Will is an evil mastermind. “I was so good all day, Mike. I just need it so bad.”

Finally, Mike lets himself cross the distance to the bed, reaching out to put a hand on Will’s cheek, relishing the way Will leans into Mike like a flower seeking sunlight, eyes fluttering closed for a moment like even this slight touch is a relief.

“I know, baby. If you need it so bad, I won’t stop you.”

Will’s eyes slam open, instant and hurt. “Wait, what?”

“You can keep humping the pillow, okay? If you need it that badly.”

“But—I thought—you said…”

And oh, his baby is so spoiled that the idea of having to get himself off instead of letting Mike touch and love him the way he needs is downright offensive.

“I said I had something in mind if you were good, sweetheart,” Mike says gently, like this situation has disappointed him, when in reality, Will is playing into Mike’s hand perfectly, and they’ve barely gotten started. “If you want to get off, this is what you get.” 

Mike withdraws his hand, pulls up the ottoman at the end of their bed to sit down and watch.

“Are you serious?” Will gapes as Mike pulls away.

“I’m serious,” Mike says, and nods toward the pillow between Will’s thighs like, go ahead, I’m waiting. “You’re already leaking and making a mess all over the pillow, so don’t act like it’s not enough for you.”

Will’s hips twitch as if involuntarily, his cock rutting into the soft pillow. “It’s not enough.”

“No? Why not? What do you need, baby?”

“I need you,” Will says. He’s pouting even as he starts to roll his hips again, finding a slow rhythm that makes him gasp. 

God, Will has him. Has every single part of him, aching to get up and hold and touch and have his wicked way, but—

“Will,” Mike says, sighing as if disappointed again. “Use your words.”

“You know what I need,” Will says. 

“I do,” Mike agrees. He knows what Will needs even when he’s too scared or embarrassed to admit it. Which is why he won’t back down. “And maybe, if you make yourself come fucking this pillow like a pathetic teenager, and if you use your goddamn words when I tell you to, maybe you’ll get it. So are you gonna be good for me, or are you gonna keep being a brat?”

Will’s eyes fill with tears. Got him. 

“M-Mike I, I want to be good for you,” Will says, hips rolling a little faster against the pillow. “I will. It’s just not enough, I need more, I need—”

“Words, sweetheart.”

“I need you to fuck me. I need you inside me.”

“Better,” Mike says. “But you can give me more than that.”

“Mike,” Will protests, embarrassed. Mike still needs to break him more, so he loses that pesky sense of mortification. 

Mike just raises a brow, leans back on his hands on the seat, enjoying the show Will’s putting on as he ruts into the pillow, neck craned to look up at Mike for instruction.

“I want—your dick,” Will stutters. “My, my pussy needs it so bad, Mike, please.”

“There you go, gorgeous,” Mike smiles, and stands from his seat to take off his sweater so he’s only in a thin t-shirt, jeans growing too-tight. He has to fight the urge to palm his hard-on, needs to focus on Will through the next few orgasms (three, to be exact) before even thinking about getting off if he wants to hold it together long enough to pry that word out of him. “You look so pretty like this, angel. Such a perfect slut for me.”

“I’m not,” Will mumbles.

“No? What do you call someone who couldn’t wait ten minutes for me to pick up food before rutting against the nearest surface? Sounds like a slut to me.”

Will moans, long and low and drawn-out. Then, “I’m, ah, close.”

“Yeah?” Mike says gently. “And so worked up without barely even being touched. Like I said: slut.”

“Fuck, ah, Mike, please touch me. Please? I’ll be so, unh, good, I’m being so good.”

“You’re being good now, yes,” Mike says. “But you weren’t earlier. If I touch you now, what kind of precedent would I be setting?”

Will moans. He’s said before that he gets worked up at how well Mike holds himself together during sex, how he doesn’t lose his usual eloquence, that he can still string together full sentences with decent vocabulary words. Will says it makes him feel pathetic, when he’s falling apart and barely able to string words together. Little does Will know, Mike isn’t keeping it together at all—though he is blessed and cursed with the inability to forsake the rules of grammar, even in the bedroom, even when Will is sprawled out like this, ass up, getting their pillow filthy with the way his dick leaks like a faucet when he’s close. 

“Mike, Mike, please, I—I need you. I, please, mm, hah, I’ll do anything, just—please put your hands on me, I can’t—can’t get off without you, please—”

Mike crosses to the bed and, still towering over Will, strokes a hand through his hair before grabbing it roughly and pulling back so Will’s neck is craned to look up at him.

“You’ll do anything, huh?” Mike asks, voice soft even as his hands are rough. “We’ll see about that.”

And that’s all it takes before Will’s movements grow stuttered and uneven as he fucks into the pillow, thrusts a few more times, wild and needy, letting out a string of desperate sounds mixed with Mike and please as he comes, body arching with pleasure. He hadn’t needed Mike’s hands anywhere near where he really wants it—just needed Mike’s hands on him. Mike would say he’ll try not to let that one go to his head, but it already is. He feels that heady feeling of power and control coming over him as he watches Will respond to his touch as he twitches through his orgasm, and Will has no idea what Mike has planned, and Mike feels drunk with it. 

“That’s it, sweetheart. Good girl,” Mike coos, soothing his hand through Will’s hair more gently now. “Just feel it. Good girl.”

When Will comes back to himself, eyes blinking open blearily, he says, “Thank you.” Mike’s perfect slut. Then, “Kiss me, please?”

“So polite,” Mike says, and lowers himself to steal Will’s lips in a kiss, gentle and sweet. “You did so good for me, angel.” Will moans into the kiss in answer. “But we’re just getting started, okay?”

Slowly, Mike lets the kiss turn filthy, sliding his tongue into Will’s mouth, letting his own spit pool in his mouth as he pushes it into Will’s, wanting to claim him in every way he can. Will just kisses back and swallows greedily, pliant in Mike’s arms. Perfect. 

Mike’s hands drop to Will’s hips, hooking underneath the fabric of his t-shirt and lifting up, hands trailing to lines of Will’s side as he pulls the shirt up and off Will. Now Will is fully bare, and Mike is still in his t-shirt and jeans, the contrast between the two of them endlessly sexy. Mike coaxes Will to lie back on the bed again, picks up the pillow smeared with Will’s release and tosses it aside. 

“Scoot back, yeah? ‘Til your head can fall back off the bed.”

Will does, obedient, lets his head hang off the edge of the bed, arching his neck and exposing his throat beautifully. And, like he knows what’s coming, he opens his mouth.

“God, you really do need it, huh?” Mike says. 

He’s still amazed, sometimes, that he gets to have this. That he gets to be with his best friend and favorite person for the rest of his life, and that his favorite person also happens to be a slut who will do anything Mike asks of him. 

Mike circles around the edge of the bed to stand over Will. Will looks up at him, upside down, mouth open and waiting and wanting. Because when Mike uses his mouth on Will, he likes to suck him down, work him over, all finesse and flicking tongue. When Will uses his mouth on Mike, though, he takes it deep, wants it filling him up so he can’t breathe. Especially when Will is already so needy, and when Mike’s intention is to bring him ever higher, fucking his mouth like this is a sure fire way to get Will into that headspace where he’ll do anything Mike tells him.

“Tell me,” Mike says. 

He doesn’t need to elaborate. Will answers.

“Please fuck my throat, Mike,” he says, voice wrecked. “I’m yours—use me.”

Yeah, Mike is a lucky, lucky bastard. He starts tugging at his belt, undoing the buckle, trying not to fumble or rush even as the idea of being buried inside Will’s hot, wet mouth and the tight suction of his throat is reminding him how hard he is, how much he’s neglected his own needs while thinking of ways to ruin Will. He unzips his pants just enough to pull out his cock, hard and red and aching. He lets the jeans stay hooked on his hips—being clothed while Will isn’t is doing something terrible to Mike’s ego, and he’s not willing to let go of it quite yet. 

“Mike,” Will whines, the word containing multitudes: awe, desperation. Mike can so perfectly imagine Will using that same tone of voice around a different word, calling out for Mike in a different way. 

“I know, sweetheart,” Mike shushes. 

He strokes his dick a few times as Will watches, hanging upside down, mouth dropped open, waiting. He steps forward, lets his leaking head nudge against Will’s cheek, uses his hand to guide it to trace a loving circle along Will’s lips. Will’s tongue flicks out to taste, the brief stimulation against Mike’s sensitive head making him inhale sharply. 

Mike lets his cock tease a circle at the edge of Will’s lips once more time before he presses into the heat of Will’s mouth. Will wraps his lips around him immediately and obediently, sucking, swirling his tongue around the head, and it feels fucking good, Will is insanely gifted at the art of giving head, but it’s not what Mike wants today. Today, Mike needs to fuck Will stupid. He needs Will out of his mind and floating amongst the stars. And that means—

“Relax, my baby,” Mike says. “Let me use you.” 

And his hips press forward, hitting the back of Will’s throat, his dick absorbed into the wet-hot-tight of Will’s throat, prying a groan from Mike’s throat.

Will chokes and gags for a second, but Mike doesn’t relent, only pulling back a moment before thrusting back in. Saliva drips at the corners of Will’s mouth, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. He’s so beautiful. 

Mike cants his hips back again, and fucks forward. 

“My good girl,” Mike says, as he settles into a leisurely, unhurried pace of thrusts, fucking Will’s mouth like they have all night. Mike knows that they do. “Like you were made for choking on my dick.”

Mike reaches out to cup a hand around Will’s chin, lovingly holding him in place as he thrusts in to the hilt, as deep as he can go, watching the bulge that appears in Will’s throat with the indentation of Mike’s cock. Mike presses his thumb to the spot on his throat where Will bends and bulges for him. Like Mike is carving out a place inside Will just for him. 

And yeah, no, Mike got himself off twice in the shower earlier, quick and rough, but he’s only human, and Will Byers gagging around cock would probably be enough for anyone to bust in seconds. So as much as Mike would love to keep doing this, slow and measured, fucking in and out of Will’s throat, he knows he’s gotta put a stop to this if he’s going to fuck Will the way he intends to. 

When Mike finally pulls back and out of Will’s mouth completely, Will arches his neck to try to follow him, whining in frustration as his mouth and throat are left empty. Will’s face is streaked with wet lines of tears and drool dribbling from him. His cock—spent, only a few minutes before, already hard again, red and angry as it bobs against Will’s stomach, leaving sticky drops of pre above his navel. 

“So wet just from sucking me off,” Mike muses. 

Will writhes, hands fluttering as if to reach for Mike but unsure if he’ll be allowed. He’s pitiful right now, lost and needy but not knowing how to ask for what he wants when he’s already so brainless from bending to Mike’s whims. He lets out a whimper, says, “Mike, please,” like he doesn’t even know what he’s asking for. 

“I know, beautiful,” Mike says, coaxing Will to sit up again, thumbs gently wiping away tears from under his eyes, drool from the corners of his mouth. “You’re doing so good for me.”

Mike kisses his eyelids, his cheeks, his nose, finally his lips, Will responding by muscle memory, letting his mouth fall open for more of Mike’s tongue and spit. Mike presses his thumb to the hollow of Will’s cheek, pressing until his mouth opens wider, tilting his head back a bit so Mike can look at him.

And yeah, his boy’s already wrecked. Eyes hazy and clouded and teary, locked on Mike like he’s the only thing in the world, completely mindless and slack and waiting for Mike’s commands. 

“Wow,” Mike says. “You’re so beautiful when you’re fucked stupid.” Then, “Open.”

Obediently, Will’s lips part wider as he opens his mouth, tilts his head back. 

Mike’s mouth waters at the image, at the instant response, and he gathers that pooling saliva before tilting his face over Will’s and spitting it into his mouth. He follows it up with the most delicate of chaste kisses to Will’s lower lip, whispers, gentle and soft, “Swallow.” 

Will does.

Okay. Now they’re cooking with gas. Will is floaty with the need to please, and Mike is drunk with power, and Mike could do such. Evil. Things. To Will right now. He’s soft and pliable, he’d do anything Mike says. Because he trusts Mike to take care of him. 

“God, your head’s fucking empty, isn’t it?” Mike wonders aloud. “Not a single thought in that pretty head of yours.”

Will’s head bobs a desperate nod. Mike doubts he even knows what he’s agreeing to. Mike manhandles Will, arranging him so he’s lying on his back, lifting his hips for him as he tucks a pillow under to prop him up so his hole is on display, presented for him. Mike withdraws for a moment to pull off his t-shirt, tossing it aside, pushing his jeans the rest of the way down and kicking them away before he crowds in to kneel between Will’s legs. Will reaches for him as soon as he's close enough, hands gripping Mike's shoulders like there's a chance in hell Mike would try to leave right now. Mike grabs the bottle of lube he’d set out on the bedside table for them earlier with one hand as the other maps the expanse of Will’s lithe but muscled chest, the soft skin of his belly.

“Is that what you like?” Mike asks, not expecting any sensible answer. “Me making you feel so good you can’t think of anything else?”

Will babbles out nonsensical sounds, the only clear words being Mike and Please. 

“Good. This is what you’re made for. Being a perfect, mindless, cockdrunk slut.”

Mike kisses a trail down the knobs of Will’s spine as he one-handed flicks open the lube and begins to coat his fingers, warming the cool liquid between his fingers.

“Here’s how this is gonna go, angel. I’m gonna finger you until you come.” Mike’s slicked fingers find the cleft between Will’s cheeks, circle at the pucker of his hole as Will’s hips twitch back into the touch. “You’d better forget about that pathetic clit you call a dick, because I’m not touching it tonight.” Mike presses the first finger inside, and Will lets out a whine muffled by the pillow he’s already wetting with his tears. “When you’re ready to really beg for it, I’ll fuck you. And I’m not stopping. Even if you’re oversensitive. Even if you’ve come a dozen times. You’re gonna keep taking it like a whore until I say. Does that sound good?”

Will’s only response is a drawn out, wanting moan as Mike adds a second finger, fucks deeper, carefully and pointedly avoiding the spot Will wants the most.

“Words, baby.”

“Oh, God, Mike—Mike, please—please, I can’t, I need—”

And, okay, maybe Mike is breaking Will’s brain harder than he’d meant to by this point, so he pulls his fingers out. Will lets out an offended, mournful sound at the loss, so Mike leans forward to duck close to Will’s face, kissing his shoulder and nudging his nose into Will’s cheek.  

“Will, baby,” Mike says, hands stroking up and down Will’s arms, coaxing him back down to earth. “I need you to turn your brain on for one more second, and then I swear you don’t have to use it the rest of the night. Can you do that for me?”

“Mike, I’m, I need, I—” Will babbles, eyes a thousand miles away and simultaneously locked onto Mike and only Mike.

“Baby,” Mike says again, more stern. “Do you know what word to say if you want this to stop?”

“No no no no no.” Will’s eyes leak more tears and the desperate draw of his brows together, the adorable scrunch of his nose nearly breaks Mike’s heart. “Don’t stop, don’t, please, Mike, I need it, I’ll be good—”

“I won’t, I know,” Mike shushes gently, still making soothing repetitive motions as he rubs Will’s arms. “I promise. But can you show me you know it?”

“I,” Will says, mouth working around wordless sounds. He looks so lost for a moment that Mike thinks he’s going to have to cut this short to bring Will back down to this galaxy, let alone planet. Finally, he manages, voice rasping, “Radagast.”

Mike feels a surge of warmth and pride in his chest, feels like he could explode with how much he loves this boy. He presses a kiss to the corner of Will’s mouth. “Good job, baby, that’s right. Are you calling it now?” 

“No!” Will’s answer is so fast and so affronted that Mike can’t help but let out a low chuckle.

Mike peppers more kisses along Will’s jawline. “If you can’t say it but you want me to stop, what do you do?”

“Three taps,” Will says, demonstrating with three sharp taps of his fingers on Mike’s shoulders. He seems somewhat more coherent, but Mike knows he’ll slip back into that foggy place once Mike allows him to.

“Good,” Mike says. “Color?”

“Green. Green, Mike, if you don’t put your fingers back inside me I’m going to—”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, because Mike is pressing his fingers back inside, immediately deep and searching, crooking to find that bundle of nerves—

And knows he’s found it when Will spasms in his arms, back arching, immediately wiping the words from his mouth as he’s reduced to a writhing, moaning mess under Mike’s touch. 

“That’s it, gorgeous, no more thoughts needed, I promise,” Mike says, hammering relentlessly into Will’s prostate as he thrusts his fingers hard. “You can go back to being stupid and desperate for my dick again. That’s it.”

There’s something about having the smartest, most creative, witty and sharp person you know reduced to this: unable to string more than a few words together, rocking his hips back against Mike’s fingers as they thrust in and out, hard and fast. The wet squelch of every thrust is obscene in the quiet of the bedroom, alongside Will’s desperate whines and moans, so whorish and unapologetic. 

“Mike, I can’t, it’s too much, I need—I need—”

“I’ll give you what you need, my baby. I promise.” When Mike pulls his hand out next, he re-enters with three fingers, stretching Will wide. But Mike’s not worried about preparing Will for his cock—right now, he’s single-mindedly drilling into Will’s prostate, desperate to overstimulate him into his next orgasm. “But it’s nice to see you so needy. Sometimes I think you should be like this for me, always. God, can you imagine? I could keep you tied up to the bed, make it so you’re not allowed to wear anything but a pair of lacy panties, strap a vibrator up against your pathetic little clit and leave you for hours while I go to work so you’re ready to beg for my cock by the time I get home, even if you’ve come more times than you can count. Would you like that? Being my sex toy, my pet, my sweet little girl?”

“Yes, anything, anything, ‘m all yours, please, please—”

And Will comes, untouched, spurting over his stomach and chest as he twitches, hands clawing down Mike’s back. Mike’s wrist is cramping but he fucks Will hard through it, slamming into his sweet spot again and again and again until Will is coming down, oversensitive, squirming away, begging—

“I can’t, please.”

Only then does Mike slow the pace of his hand. Still fucking him, but his pace isn’t rushed anymore, his aim isn’t lethally precise. He’s slow, meandering, barely brushing Will’s prostate every few thrusts to tease him.

“Please what, baby? Please stop? Please fuck you harder?” 

“Please,” is all Will says again. “Please, Mike.”

“God, you can’t even get a full sentence out,” Mike says, wondrous. He decides to take pity on him. “What is it? Do you want my dick inside you?”

Will nods into the pillow. “Need it,” Will agrees. “My pussy needs it, please.”

Will calling it his pussy without prompting is a very good sign for where this is going, and Mike’s cock agrees, throbbing and near-painful from being neglected while he’s focused on Will. Mike wants to give in immediately and give them what they both want. But he told Will he’d make him beg. 

So he pulls his fingers out of Will’s hole, ignoring the mewling sound Will lets out at the absence as his hole clenches obscenely around nothing. He grabs Will by the hips, arranging him like a ragdoll to spread his legs even more widely, obscenely. Mike kneels between his legs, looks down at the buffet that is his boyfriend. Will’s face is tear-stained, he’s flushed pink all over, his stomach stained with his own cum, his spent cock already twitching with interest again. Mike ghosts his fingers over his hole, not pressing back inside even as Will presses his hips back into it, keening.

“You’re kinda greedy, baby,” Mike says, like he’s contemplating rejecting Will’s pleas. As fucking if. “You already came twice, you know. Are you sure you can take my cock?”

Will’s hands flutter up to hide his face, until Mike grabs them, forces them away. “Eyes on me,” he says fiercely. “Answer.”

“Please, yes, I can take it. I know I’m—I’m greedy, I’m a slut, but I’m your slut, Mike, please.”

And what more could a guy ask for? Mike kisses Will’s neck, then his jaw. He reaches down to slick his lubed hand around his cock, guides himself to Will’s entrance. 

“That’s my girl,” Mike says, and sinks in. 

“Oh, fuck,” Will says, so deep and fucked out that Mike gives in, ditches the slow build and drops his hips down to the hilt, fucking deep into Will, hard, so that Will’s next “Oh, fuuuuck,” is higher pitched.

Will feels so ridiculously good, hot and tight, squeezing around him like a vice, hands grasping at Mike’s shoulders for purchase, letting Mike rearrange his legs around him. 

“God, you’re gorgeous,” Mike breathes. “You feel so good, like your pussy was made for this.” 

Mike could come embarrassingly quick if he lets himself think about how good it feels, how hot it is, so he’s laser focused on Will’s pleasure. He draws back and thrusts forward and watches Will’s face twitch and crumble with pleasure as he builds up his pace, fucking into Will, lifting Will’s hips so he can get the right angle to hit his already-abused prostate over and over again.

“Holy—fuck, I can’t, Mike, wait—”

“Christ, you’re pathetic. You were begging for it a second ago, so don’t act like you’re not a slut now.”

“I’m close, I can’t Mike, it’s really—it’s really—it’s too much, stop, please stop—”

“I told you before, baby, I’m not stopping just because you say so. Unless you say the safe word.” He leans forward, bracing himself on his arms over Will for leverage, whispering into his ear. “But I know you won’t, because you like it.”

“No, no, no, no—”

“Because I know you, baby. Inside and out. I know what makes you sing, what makes you cry, what makes you shake apart. I know just how to take care of you, like no one else can, like no one else ever will.” Mike presses Will’s legs up to his chest so he’s just about bent in half, fucks deeper, harder, skin slapping against Will’s. “I know that if I keep fucking you like this?” A rough, deep thrust, straight to his spot. He presses his hand down over Will’s abdomen where the faintest bulge appears on every thrust. “Hitting this spot right here? You’re not going to beg me to stop. You’re going to beg me to let you come.”

Will’s face twists up, eyes flooding with more tears, cries, “I can’t.”

And his angel is so pathetic sometimes, so sad and pitiful, Mike can’t help but soften. His thrusts slow to a shallow grind and he lets himself collapse onto Will so their chests are pressed together, Will’s earlier release sticky between their skin, freeing Mike’s hands to cup Will’s face, to gently wipe away the fresh and freely falling tears.

“It’s okay, my baby, look at me,” Mike says. His hair, getting too long, falls in a curtain around them, so the world narrows down to Mike and Will, looking into each other’s eyes, moving with each other, connected in every way, both of them floating high in the clouds with only the other tethering them. “Look at me.”

Will does, eyes shiny with tears and still so far away with the pleasure of submission. He gasps at every grind of Mike inside him, but otherwise seems incapable of conjuring words.

“You’re so good for me,” Mike says. “You are so beautiful like this. I love how needy you are. I love how badly you want this. You’re allowed to want things, my baby. You’re allowed to have it.”

And, like he’s broken open by the words, Will erupts into a heavy sob, buries his face in Mike’s shoulder like he’s trying to hide, clings to him, and says—

“Please, please can I come? M-Mike. Daddy. Please—“

And—oh.

Oh.

“That’s it, babygirl,” Mike breathes. “Come for daddy.”

Will lets out a broken moan at Mike’s use of the word, and Mike thinks, bingo. It’s a struggle and a concentrated effort for Mike not to come then and there as Will lets out a long whine of Daddyyyy that draws out for the length of his climax as he arches his whole body, tightening fiercely around Mike’s dick, cock twitching as it spurts a truly pathetic amount of come onto his stomach. 

But Mike isn’t coming yet. Not a chance. Why would he stop when he’s just gotten what he wanted? He fucks Will through it. His movements are gentle through Will’s orgasm, but as Will begins to twitch and tremble—

“Oh, fuck, wait, too much, my p-pussy is so sensitive, I can’t—”

—Mike only fucks him harder, letting out the animalistic needs he’s been pushing down for hours at best, at worst his whole life. Because Will says that word, and Mike’s floodgates open, words flowing out like a tidal wave Mike can’t stop as he fucks like he means it, fucks like Will is his to own and love and break.

“No, baby, daddy’s not gonna stop,” Mike says. “You can take it, baby. You were made for taking daddy’s cock. Don’t get shy now. Sing for me.”

Mike pulls back, grips Will’s hips, and slams forward. And Will sings. Wails, long and high, collapsing back into the pillows as soon as Mike is no longer supporting him, so Mike has to adjust his grip on his hips, tug his ass up higher so the angle is perfect to hit against his prostate with every hard, unrelenting thrust. Their skin slaps together, the headboard is banging against the wall, the mattress is squeaking and they’re definitely going to get another noise complaint filed against them but Mike can’t care with the way Will’s hole is sucking him in, impossibly tight and hot around him.

“So perfect, fuck,” Mike says. “Fuck, baby. Who’s pussy is this?”

“Y-yours, yours, I’m all yours.”

“No, baby, tell me who.”

“Yours, daddy, fuck, please, oh my god—”

“That’s right. Daddy’s taking care of you, fucking you so well, yeah? Fucking every thought out of that stupid little head of yours? Tell me.”

“Yes, daddy, yes, can’t—” he hiccups pathetically, “can’t, I’m, I’m, daddy it’s too much it hurts—”

“Aw, does it hurt?” Mike coos sarcastically. “Is it too much, angel? Is daddy fucking you so good you can’t take it?”

“Yes, yeah, yeah, it’s too—it’s too—it’s so—”

Will is crying in earnest now, staining the pillow wet, letting out rough sobs, struggling to breathe, and he’s never been more beautiful. 

“You’re mine to have my way with. Mine to take care of. Mine to fuck. Say it.”

“Y-y-yours, Mike.”

“Whose?” Mike presses, needing him to say it, to keep saying it forever.

“Yours, daddy, fuck, oh my god, ‘m gonna come, it’s so much—”

“That’s it, baby. Who’s doing this to you? Tell me.”

“Daddy, daddy, fuck—” 

God, Will would do or say anything Mike told him too, right now, a thought that makes Mike feel drunk with power. Mike could slap him, and he’d moan out the most beautiful, fucked-out sound. Mike could wrap his hands around his throat and squeeze until he can’t breathe, and would only have Will coming on his cock. Mike loves him so fucking much, loves that he lets Mike take out his demented fantasies on him, loves that Will loves it just as much as he does, love that Will trusts Mike enough to see him like this, pliant and mindless, a version of him that is for Mike and only Mike. 

But Mike just wants to take care of him, like he always does. So all he says is, “Come for me, my love. Come for daddy.”

“Oh,” Will is saying, deep and guttural like it’s being pulled from him. “Oh, oh, oh my god.”

And, yeah, it’s gonna be over for Mike too, the way Will is crying out for him, moving against him as he practically bends off the bed with the force of his climax. 

“That’s it, good girl,” Mike says. “Daddy’s got you.”

And Mike does, fucking him through it even as he’s clenching and tightening around Mike’s dick like he’s trying to drink him dry, even as Will’s nails drag down Mike’s back hard enough that Mike’s sure they’ll leave a mark. He fucks Will with single-minded determination, needing to get Will off, to take care of his baby even as Mike’s teetering toward the edge himself. 

Mike pistons his hips until he feels himself at his limit, ready to snap, says through the haze, “That’s right, squeeze that perfect cunt for me. You’re so good for me, letting daddy fill you up—”

And that’s all before Mike can’t say anything else, mouth occupied with hanging open in awe and letting out hn’s and ah’s as the feeling explodes over him, cock pulsing deep inside Will who is taking every bit of it, limp in Mike’s arms.

Mike only lets himself collapse on top of Will for a second, before pushing himself up on his arms again, kissing Will’s slack mouth lovingly as he pulls out with a wet sound as a lewd mix of cum and lube leak from Will. If Mike feels floaty and high, he can only imagine what Will is feeling, and it’s Mike’s job to bring him down, when it’s time.

Though, as Mike looks over his handiwork, at Will splayed out, covered in sweat and cum and still trembling, Mike thinks maybe it’s not time yet. 

He scoots down, his own legs still shaky from exertion, and hooks Will’s legs over his shoulders.

“Hm?” Will barely manages to ask, sleepy, eyes heavy-lidded but sliding open enough to watch Mike settle between his thighs. “Wait, M-Mike—”

Mike does not wait. He dives in. He laves his tongue over Will’s opening, licking up his own leaking cum with a disgusting slurping sound as Will’s hips buck wildly to get away. Mike’s grip on Will’s thighs tighten, shoving his hips down, forcing him to be still and take it. 

“Shh, shh,” Mike says gently, even as his hands holding Will down are anything but. “Just let daddy take care of you.”

Mike takes his time, cleaning him thoroughly with his tongue as Will whimpers and writhes away with pitiful sounds like a wounded animal as Mike’s tongue points and dips deeper, pressing inside Will’s stretched, sloppy, abused hole. 

Mike wonders if he could get hard again, if Will could even take another round. He wants this to last forever, wants to live and die between Will’s thighs with Will calling him daddy and telling him how badly he needs him. Mike sucks at Will’s sensitive pucker, scrapes his teeth over it in a way that evokes a genuine shriek from Will and he’s shocked to feel Will’s hands in his hair, pulling hard, to feel Will’s completely wrecked voice saying, “I’m c-close.”

So Mike takes care of him. Sucks and licks and tongue-fucks until Will is arching once more, shaking and coming completely dry, dick twitching uselessly on his stomach and spilling nothing. Thoroughly spent. Mike’s never seen something so hot. How many was that from Will? Five? The idea of going for six has Mike’s cock twitching awake again. Maybe he’s insatiable, a complete pervert, obsessed with Will to the point of no return, but that’s something he’s willing to live with, when Will is crying again, tugging Mike up by the hair to kiss him, tasting Mike’s cum in his mouth.

As they kiss languidly, Mike draws back his hips, hitches Will’s legs up on his waist, and lines up to sink back in.

“Oh no no no no no—” Will starts babbling, “I can’t, not again, Mike, really. Really, I can’t—”

“You can,” Mike says, lets his head catch at the sensitive hole without going deeper, feels Will tense against him. “You will.” This time, he sinks in an inch, just the tip. “One more, my darling, my beautiful perfect angel. One more for me.” He presses in the rest of the way, the two of them connected, Mike buried to the hilt inside him as Will trembles and shakes, as his brows draw together and more tears fall from his eyes to join the streaked mess he already has on his cheeks. “That’s it. Just take it, baby.”

He’s slow, rocking into Will. It would almost be gentle love-making, if not for the fact that Will is approaching orgasm number six and is crying from the overstimulation. But still, Mike rolls his hips into Will so gentle, so lovingly, pressing into that spot inside him and grinding there. Will’s dick twitches, trying valiantly to get hard again as his prostate is absolutely abused by Mike’s cock. 

“Say it,” Mike says, and maybe he’s the one who’s begging now. “Baby, say it.”

Will’s eyes are heavy-lidded, blinking through tears, looking at Mike like a kicked puppy as he’s fucked past his limits, little uhn sounds at each thrust. 

“Daddy?” he says, tentative. 

“Yeah, that’s right,” Mike says, giving Will a sweet, beaming smile of pride, too innocent and loving to be shared in the middle of this, but Will seems to preen under the gentle attention, so Mike ducks down to kiss each of his fluttering eyelids. 

Only then does Mike pick up the pace to fuck harder, faster, deeper again. 

“Mike,” Will says, then, “daddy. It’s too much. ”

“I know, sweetheart. That’s only because daddy’s made you feel so good today. You came so many times and you were perfect, fucking beautiful, but I need one more from you. One more. Can you be good for me, my sweet girl?”

Will’s brow furrows. “I, I think—I dunno—uh—ah—“

God, Will feels fucking divine, and looks even better, and finally, Mike lets himself forget being gentle and loving, forgets that Will is overstimulated to hell, and just lets loose, thrusting into Will with reckless, animalistic abandon. Because that’s what his baby needs. He fucks and fucks and fucks until Will is whining and sobbing and pushing at Mike like he wants to get away, until he’s saying—

“Too much, can’t, can’t, oh my god,” and Mike just keeps murmuring, “Yes, you can.”

Finally, Mike brings his hand up to touch the one place he’s been avoiding all night. But he doesn’t wrap his hand around Will’s dick, no, just circles two fingertips at the sensitive, flushed head, rubbing at it like it’s a clit. 

“I’m going to—going to—“ Will stutters. A few last thrusts directly against Will’s prostate, and Mike’s fingertips press harder against the head of Will’s dick, and Will says, “Feels weird, daddy, wait—”

And that’s all Will says before he breaks off into an honest-to-god scream, hips bucking up like he’s coming. But he doesn’t come. Doesn’t just come, at least, because then he’s spurting a hot stream of piss all over himself, splashing hot between them.

And, okay, they’ve never done that before. They’ve never talked about it. They’re definitely going to have to, later. 

But now, Will tight around his cock, coming so hard and so many times that he’s pissing himself all over both of them? Will sobbing and gasping and saying “I’m sorry, daddy, ‘m so sorry—” as his hips twitch through it? Will, completely out of control of his body, submitting to Mike, trusting him completely?

Yeah. It works for Mike. He comes, hard, spilling deep inside Will with a low grunt and a last, “Good fucking girl.”

With that, they’re just holding each other, trembling, wet and sticky, as they finish riding the waves of it, coasting on pleasure, panting against one another’s lips. 

Eventually, Mike pulls out to collapse next to Will, slinging an arm over him, uncaring for the sticky warmth coating them both. 

“You did so good.” He kisses Will’s shoulder. “So perfect.” Props up on a wobbly elbow to kiss the curve of Will’s brow. “My baby.” His cheeks, first the bone, then the hollow. “I love you.” His chin. “So much.” The corner of his mouth. His jaw.

Will is unmoving, eyes closed, lets out a little hum of acknowledgment. 

“Come back to me, Will,” Mike says, nudging his nose with Will’s. 

Will hums again, lifts a shoulder minutely. After a minute, stretches, back expanding, stretching out his legs, smacking his lips like a dog waking from a nap in the sun. His eyes are still closed when he says, “Holy shit, Mike.”

Mike tugs Will back against his chest, kisses his hair. “I know, baby. You were so good, thank you.”

“Mhm,” Will hums, still not moving, voice low and gravelly. “You broke me.”

“You’ll be okay,” Mike says, stroking his fingers idly through Will’s hair, the other tracing patterns against the soft skin of his stomach. “I’m gonna run us a bath.”

“Don’t leave,” Will murmurs. His first movement and sign of life is lifting his arm to find Mike’s hand on his stomach, winding their fingers together, squeezing weakly. 

“I know. Whenever you’re ready, okay? And I’ll grab you some water, reheat that takeout. Is there anything else you need?”

Will stretches again, shifts and rolls to curl into Mike’s side more solidly. “Music, please,”

Mike huffs a laugh, kisses Will’s hair again, holds him tight. Will always likes music after sex, if they haven’t but it on before. Music and cigarettes, though Mike doesn’t approve of the latter. 

“Okay,” Mike says. “Just let me know when you’re ready to let go.”

Will’s grip tightens on him in answer. Not yet. 

They just breathe for a while, clinging to each other, limbs heavy, bodies sated.

“Mike,” Will murmurs against Mike’s chest. “I can’t believe you made me pee.”

Mike bites back a laugh. Says, “It was kinda hot, though, wasn’t it?” 

“It’s gross,” Will says, nodding a little toward it drying sticky between them. He tucks his face back into Mike’s chest when he admits, “But it was hot.” 

Another minute, and Will is willing to relent to Mike’s absence for a maximum of two (2) minutes for Mike to start the bath and grab them both some water. He grabs a couple of towels while he’s at it, to do a preliminary wipe-down so they can cuddle more without the stickiness. Finally, he puts on one of Will’s records—something by The Cure. Soon enough, Mike is back to snuggling up tight against Will, telling him how good he did and how hot that was.

Will says, “Was I imagining things, or did you like the daddy thing even more than I did?”

Mike’s arm tightens around Will. “You weren’t imagining things,” Mike sighs.

“Wow,” Will breathes. “I thought you were being nice when you said it was hot. But. Jeez.”

“So can we do that again?” Mike asks, maybe too eager.

“I can’t go again for like—twelve hours at least,” Will laughs.

“I meant—the daddy thing,” he says, lowering his voice over the one word like it’s a swear word, like it’s scandalous. “But what I’m hearing is you can go again tomorrow morning,” he says, miming like he’s setting an alarm on an imaginary watch at his wrist.

“Shut up,” Will says, blushing, shoving Mike’s chest, but it’s playful, sweet. “But—yeah. I mean, yeah. If you’re really okay with it.”

“Will,” Mike deadpans. “I made you come three times just to hear you say it, and then made you come three more times because you got me hooked. Did I seem unenthusiastic? Because I could probably get it up again if you need convincing—”

“No, Mike, please,” Will laughs. “I just. I liked it, okay. It was really good. You were—unreasonably hot.”

Mike preens under the praise. Will may live for the praise during a scene, need it to ground him after one, but outside of the intense moments, Mike needs more praise than Will. He needs the reassurance that he didn’t go too far, that Will liked it, that it was as mind-numbingly good for Will as it always is for Mike. 

“Yeah?” Mike asks, suddenly bashful. 

“Yeah,” Will says. 

“You know,” Mike starts, “you can tell me when you want something.”

Will smiles. “I know that, Mike.”

“Like, you could have told me you want to call me daddy.”

“You could have told me you wanted me to call you daddy.” And, yeah, fair enough. Though Mike hadn’t known he wanted it until Will had said it the first time. Will presses on, swats at Mike’s chest. “Now go check on the bath, I’m sick of being sticky.”

Mike grins and leaps up to obey. The tub is just about full, and he feels the water, which is just the right side of hot without being scalding. He returns to Will, squats down next to the bed.

“My liege,” he says, kneeling, offering his back for Will to ride on. Mike’s done a little bit of reluctant weight-lifting for the sole purpose of throwing Will around in the bedroom, but the princess-carry is murder on his back, so this is what they get. 

Will giggles, though, and crawls across the bed to wrap his arms around Mike’s shoulders, letting Mike lift him. Will kindly doesn’t comment when Mike wobbles a little under their combined weight before straightening and heading to the bathroom. 

He helps Will into the bath first, then leaves him to grab them each a glass of water, perching it on the ledge of the bathtub. He even gets Will a cigarette, lighter, and an ash tray, because he’s nice, even if he’s going to judge and wrinkle his nose at the smell. 

Finally, he lowers himself in as well, only sloshing a little water onto the floor as he does. They’re a little too big to be sharing a bath, but they arrange themselves with practiced ease, Will slotting his back against Mike’s chest, between Mike’s legs.

With careful hands, Mike washes them both and Will comes back to himself gradually. First, it's just him absently humming along to the music, Just Like Heaven crooning from the record player in the bedroom. Eventually, his limbs gain enough strength for him to trail his hands along Mike’s arms as he washes them both. After a few minutes, he cranes his neck to turn and capture Mike’s lips with his own. Mike smiles against his lips, presses a glass of water into his hands, watches as he drinks obediently, gulping it down.  Finally, Will takes the cigarette between two fingers, brings it to his lips, lights it, takes a deep drag. His head falls back to lay against Mike's shoulder as he exhales smoke in a dramatically contented sigh. 

Will says, “God, I fucking love you.”

Mike says, “I love you too.”