Work Text:
Mike isn’t a romantic person by nature.
His parents weren’t exactly the ideal example of romance to grow up with. They weren’t bad to each other, not as bad as some, but they were cold. Distant. They were never the type to be affectionate or say casual I love yous. They were never the type to… well, anything, really.
They fought about everything. Some days they would yell, but most days they would just go quiet, icing each other out as they drifted through the same space. They were practically just roommates. Housemates, really, since his dad lived on the couch most days.
Maybe it’s because of that that Mike never properly learned how to deal with stress in a relationship, or what a healthy response to conflict is supposed to look like. He can psychoanalyze himself enough to get that far. But just knowing that doesn’t exactly solve his problem.
He and Will have been dating for almost a year and a half now. They got together their last year of college after an embarrassingly long time dancing around their feelings for each other, and once they finally did, everything just… clicked.
It was perfect.
It is perfect.
They’ve been living together since graduation, in a small apartment in New York City. They moved in right after finishing their degrees, Will in art, Mike in writing, so excited for whatever was on the horizon.
Turns out, being an up-and-coming writer or artist in New York makes you one in a million.
They’re struggling to get their footing, but it’s fine. Really. They expected this. It’s the price of pursuing your passion. They both picked up side jobs, Mike at a local library, Will as a waiter, and in their free time, Mike works on his manuscript while Will paints. Neither of them can cook for shit, but Mike can spend some down time at the library looking up recipes and tips, so he takes on most of the cooking. Will handles most of the cleaning.
They’re busy, but they always make time for dinner together. Always make time for each other afterward. And Mike loves Will. He loves him.
So of course he loves living with him. He loves getting to hear his voice every morning, loves coming home knowing Will is there waiting, ready to talk about annoying customers while Mike cooks. Loves being able to curl up next to him on the couch without thinking about it. He loves all of it.
So, as mentioned, it’s perfect. Or at least, it was.
Until yesterday.
Mike gets home, and Will isn’t there.
Which is fine. He probably just had a customer come in last minute and stay past closing. Wouldn’t be the first time. Mike kicks off his shoes, throws his coat over one of the island chairs, makes himself some instant ramen, and sits down to work on his manuscript. He finally manages to hammer out a scene he’s been stuck on for days, completely lost in it. He doesn’t even hear the door open.
“Mike.”
He startles, turning in his chair. Will is standing behind him, bag still slung over his shoulder.
He looks exhausted.
Mike immediately stands, crossing the room. “Baby, I didn’t even hear you come in.” He leans down, pressing a quick kiss to Will’s forehead. “Customers keep you late?”
Will doesn’t answer. Not really. He just stands there.
And then Mike notices. He’s not in his uniform. He’s dressed up. A white turtleneck, slacks, his hair parted slightly to the side like he actually put effort into it. Will looks up at him, eyes tired, something unreadable sitting behind them.
“Mike,” he says, voice quiet. “You really don’t know why I came back so late?”
Mike frowns, confusion flickering, and then it hits.
Oh.
Oh, fuck.
The art show.
The one his old fine arts professor got him into. The one Will had been so excited about, his first real shot at getting into the art world. The one he told Mike about weeks ago, practically glowing. The one Mike was supposed to be at.
Four hours ago.
Mike’s stomach drops.
Fuck.
“Will, oh my God, I’m so sorry,” Mike rushes out. “I didn’t mean to. I finally figured out a scene I’ve been stuck on, and I got so caught up writing it down that it just slipped my mind.”
He reaches out, not even sure what he’s trying to do. Touch his arm, hold his hand, something.
Will slaps his hand away.
Mike freezes, eyes widening.
“Slipped your mind?” Will repeats, stepping back. His voice is low, but sharp, his eyes fixed on the floor. “It just… slipped your mind.”
Mike swallows.
“I’ve been talking about this for weeks,” Will continues, his voice rising. “Weeks, Mike. And it just slipped your mind?”
“Will, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I can do to make it better—”
“Make it better?” Will lets out a harsh laugh. “No. You don’t make this better. Making it better is when you forget to switch the laundry. Making it better is when you burn dinner. This,” he gestures between them, “this isn’t something you fix.”
“Will, I—”
“No. No, let me talk.”
Mike goes quiet.
“I work every day,” Will snaps. “Every day, Mike. I’m on my feet dealing with people who don’t even know how to order, with a boss who expects me to pick up everyone’s slack. Being a waiter wasn’t exactly my dream job, but someone has to make more than a librarian if we’re going to afford this place.”
He paces, agitated. “And I come home, and I clean, and I keep everything together, and I tell myself it’s fine. That we’re both just busy.”
He stops, looking at Mike. “But it’s not fine. Because you can’t even make that part easy for me.”
Mike flinches.
“You’re such a slob sometimes,” Will continues, voice sharper now. “You get this nice, cushy job where you can sit around all day, and then you come home acting like you ran a marathon, throwing your shoes, your coat, everything everywhere, leaving it for me to deal with.”
“I cook,” Mike says quietly.
“And then you’re done!” Will fires back. “You cook, and you leave everything else for me. The dishes, the mess, everything. You get to come home, cook, and then do nothing, and I’m still cleaning up after both of us.”
His voice cracks slightly, but he pushes through it.
“And I didn’t say anything, because I didn’t want to make it a whole thing. I thought I could just deal with it.” He lets out a shaky breath. “But tonight? The one night I’ve had off in weeks, weeks, Mike, I had to stand in that stupid, stuffy room with people I don’t even like. And I kept telling myself it was fine, because my boyfriend was going to be there.”
His eyes are glassy now. “And you couldn’t even remember.”
The words hang in the air.
“The one thing that actually mattered to me. The one thing I asked you to do.”
“Will, I’m sorry. If you had called me or—”
“Called you?” Will cuts him off, staring at him in disbelief. “No, you know what? I thought about that. I thought about calling and asking where you were.”
He shakes his head. “But I kept thinking, no, surely he wouldn’t forget this. Not this one thing I’ve been talking about for weeks. Weeks, Michael.” His voice drops, but it’s harsher now. “I shouldn’t have to call you. I shouldn’t have to remind you. I shouldn’t have to hold your hand and walk you through showing up for me like I’m your fucking mom.”
Maybe Mike should argue back. Defend himself. Say something, anything. But he can’t.
Will’s right. About everything.
He messed up. He really messed up. He’s a horrible roommate and an even worse boyfriend. How did he let it get like this? Let Will bottle up all this resentment without even noticing?
Mike was supposed to know everything about him. Be able to read him without trying. But he couldn’t. He’s been so caught up in his own world, he forgot they’re supposed to be a team.
“Nothing to say, huh?” Will scoffs.
“Will, I’m really sorry,” Mike says quickly. “I’ll do better. I’ll be better. Please.”
Will just shakes his head. “No. You know what? Forget it, Mike. I don’t feel like talking right now. I’m going to get some fresh air.”
He turns and heads for the door.
Mike glances at the clock. Just past ten.
He can’t let him go out like this.
Mike hurries after him, catching up at the front door and grabbing his shoulder. “Will, please don’t go. Not right now.”
Will turns back to him, eyes tired and wet. “Mike, I… I can’t even look at you right now.”
He turns again, reaching for the door, and then it happens fast.Will’s foot catches on something, and suddenly he’s slipping, his body hitting the ground with a dull thud.
“Will!” Mike drops beside him immediately. “Are you okay? What—”
His eyes land on it.
Oh.
Oh.
His shoe.The one he kicked off earlier.
That’s what Will slipped on.
Mike’s stomach drops. He looks back at Will, panic rising.
Will is trying to push himself up, arms shaking, legs still sprawled awkwardly on the floor.
“Will, I’m so sorry. Here, let me help you—” Mike reaches for him, one hand on his shoulder, the other grabbing his arm.
Will cries out, sharp and sudden, tears spilling down his face.
Mike freezes. That’s really not good.
The rest of the night blurs together.
Mike grabbing an ice pack, pressing it gently against Will’s ankle. Will biting back sounds, quiet sniffles and shaky breaths filling the silence. Mike scooping him up and rushing him out to the car.
The drive to the emergency room is a blur of red lights and tight grips on the steering wheel. Will doesn’t say a word the whole way, just small, uneven breaths that make Mike’s chest tighten.
Mike snapping at the nurses because they’re taking too long. The long wait. The silence. Mike trying not to spiral, trying to stay focused, trying not to think about how this is his fault.
Eventually, they’re told it’s just a sprain. Nothing broken. But it’ll take time.
Mike helps Will change when they get home, moving carefully, gently. It’s nearly two in the morning now. Will looks exhausted. Mike helps him into bed, propping his ankle up with a pillow, making sure it’s elevated just like the doctor said. Then he goes to grab a glass of water and sets it on the bedside table.
“Comfy?” Mike asks quietly.
Will nods, still a little dazed.
“I…” Mike hesitates. “I want you to have the whole bed, obviously. But I’m gonna stay in here, just in case you need anything, okay?”
Will doesn’t look at him. Just nods again.
“So I’ll sleep on the floor,” Mike adds. “If you need to get up or anything, just wake me, okay?”
Another small nod.
And that’s that.
Will falls asleep pretty quickly.
Mike doesn’t. He lies on the floor, staring up at the ceiling at first, then eventually turning his head to look at Will. Watching him breathe. The slow rise and fall of his chest. Guilt gnaws at him. Everything from tonight keeps replaying, over and over. What he said. What he didn’t say. What he forgot. How badly he messed up. How he’s going to fix it.
Eventually, at some point, exhaustion wins.
That brings them to morning.
Mike wakes to sunlight hitting his face. For a second, he doesn’t remember where he is. Then it all comes rushing back.
He sits up quickly, glancing toward the bed. Will’s still asleep. Good.
Mike gets up quietly and heads to the kitchen. He makes breakfast, pancakes, sausage, eggs, taking a little extra care with everything. It’s the least he can do.
When he comes back into the room, Will is awake, staring up at the ceiling.
“Hey,” Mike says, a little awkward, holding the tray.
“Hi,” Will says back, voice quiet.
He’s talking to him. That’s… good. That’s a good sign.
“I made you breakfast,” Mike says, lifting the tray slightly.
He walks over as Will slowly pushes himself up. Mike carefully sets the tray in his lap. Will just looks at it. Then he reaches for the small bottle of syrup.
“Here, let me,” Mike says quickly.
He takes it, hands careful, and drizzles the syrup over the pancakes, trying to make something. It ends up looking like a badly drawn wizard hat.
Mike looks up at him expectantly. “Eh?” he says, hopeful.
Will’s lips twitch slightly.
A small smile.
Mike lets out a quiet breath. That’s good. This is good.
Mike picks up the silverware and starts cutting into the pancakes.
“Mike.”
Mike’s head snaps up.
“You don’t have to do that,” Will says, watching him. “My hands work perfectly fine.”
“Nonsense. The doctor said you need to conserve your energy, right?” Mike replies, lifting the fork toward Will’s mouth.
“I’m pretty sure he didn’t mean I can’t feed myself, Mike.” But Will still leans forward and takes the bite anyway.
They fall into a quiet rhythm after that, Mike cutting, Will eating, until the plate is empty and Will looks a little more awake.
“Here,” Mike says, quickly taking the tray and rushing it back to the kitchen before returning just as fast. “We need to get you ready.”
Before Will can question it, Mike scoops him up bridal style.
“Mike!” Will’s arms instinctively wrap around his neck, eyes wide.“I can use the crutches. You don’t have to do this.”
“Will,” Mike says softly, looking at him, brows raised slightly, something almost pleading in his expression. “Let me take care of you. Please.”
Will blinks at him, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks. He hesitates for a second, then buries his face into Mike’s shoulder. “Okay,” he mumbles.
Mike carries him into the bathroom, setting him down carefully before helping him change. He ties a plastic bag around the brace, then helps him into the shower chair. He moves slowly, carefully, washing him gently and making sure not to hurt him. When he starts on Will’s hair, Will leans back, eyes closed, relaxing into it.
Afterward, Mike helps him out, dries him off, and grabs the blow dryer, running it carefully through his hair. He pulls out a pair of clothes, soft lounge shorts and a shirt, and hands them over.
Will’s eyes widen.“Oh my God, Mike, work. I have work today. It’s Sunday.”
Mike looks up at him. “Will, you obviously can’t go like this.”
“No, no, you don’t understand,” Will says quickly, panic creeping in. “I didn’t call him. I’m supposed to be there at noon. I can’t just last minute tell him I’m not coming in for weeks. He’s going to be pissed.”
“Will,” Mike says gently, placing a hand on his knee, his thumb rubbing slow circles. “This isn’t your fault. You sprained your ankle I’ll call him and explain.”
“Mike, it should probably be me—”
“Please,” Mike cuts in, softer this time. “Let me. Let me fix this.”
Will looks at him, brows furrowed, studying his face. “…Okay.”
Mike finishes helping Will get dressed and carefully gets him back into bed. He reaches up, brushing his thumb lightly under Will’s eye before pressing a soft kiss there.“I’ll be right back, okay?”
Will nods, still a little dazed.
Mike heads into the kitchen, grabs the phone, and dials.
It rings. Once. Twice.
“Benny’s. Ben speaking.” The voice on the other end is flat. Uninterested.
“Hey, Ben. This is Mike Wheeler, Will’s roommate,” Mike says quickly. “I just wanted to let you know Will had an accident last night. He sprained his ankle pretty badly, so he won’t be able to come in today, or, uh, for a bit. But we have a doctor’s note. I can swing by later and—”
“Does he have a shift replacement?”
Mike blinks.
“…No. This all kind of just happened last night, and he hasn’t had time to call around yet—”
“He knows the rules. Find a replacement or it counts as a strike. Three strikes, you’re out.”
Mike feels something in his chest snap.
“Yeah, yeah, he knows your rules,” Mike says, already getting heated. “But he didn’t exactly have time to organize a backup plan mid-trip. We’ll call around for the rest of the shifts, but for today? No one’s coming in.”
“It will be difficult to find coverage for that many shifts.”
“Yeah, no shit,” Mike mutters.
“I don’t like your tone.”
“My tone?” Mike scoffs, pacing now. “You’ve been giving me attitude since you picked up the phone!”
“Well, Mike, you’re the one calling on behalf of Will, since apparently he can’t speak for his fucking self—”
Mike stops pacing.
Oh, he’s done.
“Okay, okay, Benny, listen,” Mike says, voice tight. “Will had a terrible day yesterday, and I’m trying to make his life a little less stressful. Because if I were him, talking to you would be my last fucking straw.”
Silence.
Mike keeps going.
“I don’t know how he puts up with you all day. You expect him to do more than everyone else, you micromanage everything he does. It’s weird.”
“…Weird.”
“Yes, weird!” Mike snaps. “And don’t think I didn’t notice you staring at us the other day when I came to pick him up. That was creepy.”
“Creepy?”
“Yes! Creepy!” Mike throws a hand up like Ben can see him. “Will doesn’t get paid enough to deal with your bullshit. You work him six days a week, expect him to pick up extra shifts on his day off, and then can’t even give him a little grace when he gets injured? What, you expect him to just crawl back into your shitty restaurant?”
“There is nothing ‘shitty’ about this restaurant,” Ben says coldly. “Our food is made from recipes that have been passed down from my great-great-grandfather.”
“Oh yeah?” Mike fires back instantly. “Well, your great-great-grandfather is a shit cook!”
Mike is practically yelling now, pacing in circles, running a hand through his hair, and then there’s silence.
A beat passes.
“…Hey, Wheeler.”
Mike freezes.
“Tell your friend not to bother finding a replacement.”
A pause.
“Or coming back.”
Click.
The line goes dead.
Mike slowly lowers the phone.
“…Oh.”
Mike hangs the phone back on the wall. His heart is hammering.
Well… shit.
Will is going to kill him.
His mind is already racing, trying to figure out how he’s supposed to explain this. How he’s supposed to fix it.
Mike makes his way back to the bedroom. Will is sitting up, eyes wide, already looking at him. They lock eyes. Mike swallows.
“So,” he starts, voice a little too tight. “I talked to Ben—”
“I heard it all,” Will cuts in sharply.
Mike’s expression softens immediately. “Will, it’s really not that bad, we can—”
“Not that bad?” Will interrupts, his expression hardening. “Not that bad, Mike?”
“Will—”
“You got me fucking fired, and it’s ‘not that bad’?”
“Will, that’s not what I meant—”
“No. No, I’m done letting you talk,” Will snaps. “Clearly that’s what got us into this situation in the first place.”
Mike flinches.
“I was trying to give you a chance to make up for the absolute shit show last night,” Will continues, voice shaking now, “but I knew. I knew not to trust you to talk to him. God, I’m such an idiot.”
He drags his hands down his face.
Mike just stands there, brows furrowed, mouth pulled tight. It feels like they’re right back in the same fight from last night, only worse. So much worse.
“Oh my God. Oh my God,” Will breathes, panic starting to creep in. “Mike, we’re going to lose the apartment.”
“We’re not going to lose the apartment, Will.”
“Yes, we are!” Will snaps. “I don’t have a fucking job anymore, Mike! And you can’t afford this place on that stupid library salary, and I can’t even go job hunting because you broke my ankle!”
That stings.
Mike’s jaw tightens.
Will is spiraling now, eyes glassy, breathing uneven. “I… I just can’t believe you, Mike.”
The words come faster now, like he can’t stop them.“You’re a slob. You forgot the one thing I asked you to remember. You made me break my ankle because you can’t clean up after yourself.” Tears start falling. “You got me fired because you don’t know how to control your temper.”
Mike takes a step closer.
“You’re going to make us lose our apartment—”
“That’s not going to happen, Will,” Mike says, quieter now, but firm.
“Yes it is, Mike!”
“And you, and you—”
Will looks up at him, tears fully falling, words catching in his throat—
“You won’t fucking touch me,” Will chokes out, wiping roughly at his eyes.
Mike freezes.
What?
“And I’m so pent up—” Will’s eyebrows twist upward, fresh tears sliding down his cheeks. “I kept trying to get you to pay attention to me. But you wouldn’t even look at me like that anymore.”
His voice cracks.
“Am I that undesirable to you now?”
He’s sobbing hard, shoulders shaking with it.
Something in Mike snaps.
He doesn’t know how to fix the art show, or the job, or the ankle, or the weeks of resentment that have been quietly piling up. But this—this he can do right now.
He surges forward, knees hitting the edge of the bed as he cups Will’s face in both hands and kisses him hard.
“Mmff!” Will makes a muffled sound against his mouth, then pulls back just enough to gasp, “Mike, what are you—”
Mike cuts him off with another kiss, deeper this time. Will’s eyes start to glaze, dazed and wet. “I—”
Mike slides one hand to the back of his neck, the other settling at his waist, and kisses him again. He feels the exact moment Will begins to unclench, a tiny muffled “mph” vibrating against his lips before Will’s eyes flutter shut and he melts into it.
Mike takes Will’s bottom lip between his own and sucks gently. Will lets out a quiet, broken sound. Mike shifts, throwing one knee onto the bed between Will’s thighs, straddling just above his crotch. He licks into Will’s mouth as he slowly lowers him back down into the pillows, his thigh pressing deliberately between Will’s legs.
Will breaks the kiss with a sharp gasp, head tipping back and exposing the long line of his throat. Mike latches on immediately, kissing and sucking at the sensitive skin while he rocks his thigh upward, feeling Will start to harden against him. Tears are still slipping down Will’s cheeks, but his hips twitch, chasing the friction.
“I—” Will tries, the word dissolving into a soft moan as Mike sucks harder at his pulse point. “I hate you,” he grunts out, tears falling faster.
Mike tenses for half a second, chest aching, but he doesn’t stop. He rocks his thigh down harder instead. Will whines, high and needy.
“I know, baby,” Mike murmurs against his jaw, kissing down the side of his neck. “Let me make it up to you.”
His hands slide up under Will’s shirt, slowly dragging the fabric with them. He breaks away from Will’s neck just long enough to pull the shirt off and toss it aside. When he looks down, the sight hits him like a punch- Will trembling beneath him, eyes and cheeks soaked, long wet lashes framing those big doe eyes, hair ruffled, chest rising and falling fast. The soft expanse of his torso is scattered with moles, flushed and begging to be marked.
How could Will think he didn’t want this? That Mike wouldn’t want him every single chance he could get?
Mike yanks his own shirt off and throws it to the floor. Will’s gaze drags over his chest and stomach—Mike isn’t jacked, but he’d started working out after the embarrassing time he tried to fuck Will against the door and they both just slid down because his arms gave out. The added tone clearly does something for Will, and right now that’s all that matters.
Mike dives back down, hungrily sucking at Will’s collarbones, hands roaming up and down his sides. His mouth eventually finds one nipple, sucking with feverish need. Will cries out, loud and raw, fingers twisting into Mike’s hair and tugging. The pull drags a groan from Mike’s throat.
Will looks up at him, glossy-eyed and desperate. “Mike, please—I need—”
Mike keeps rocking his thigh against him. “Yeah? Tell me what you need, baby.”
“I need you,” Will chokes out.
“Yeah?” Mike smirks, voice low. “Where do you need me?” He kisses just below Will’s ear, drawing a full-body shudder. “Here?” He licks over the nipple he’d just been sucking. “Or here?”
“Mike! Please,” Will moans, hips jerking.
As much as Mike would love to keep teasing, he’s trying to make this right. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of Will’s shorts and underwear, tugging them down carefully, mindful of the boot on his ankle. “We’ll have to watch out for this,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss just above the brace once the clothes are clear.
When he looks back, Will is fully naked, cock flushed and hard, already leaking precome onto his stomach.
“You’re so pretty,” Mike breathes. He leans in and kisses the inside of Will’s thigh, then works his way up the soft flesh, biting and sucking gentle marks as he goes.
Will threads shaky fingers through Mike’s hair. “Mike,” he shudders, voice breathy and wrecked.
He’s been so patient, letting Mike mark him up while his own cock weeps for attention. Mike finally wraps a firm hand around the base. Will seizes at the contact, more precome dripping out.
“M-more, please, Mike—”
Mike doesn’t make him wait. He presses open-mouthed kisses across Will’s soft stomach, then lower, past the light trail of hair. He drags his tongue in one long, slow stripe up the length of Will’s cock.
Will shudders hard.
Mike places a wet, lingering kiss to the tip, then takes him down to the halfway point in one smooth motion. Will’s hips flinch upward, a loud, broken whine tearing through the room. The tears that had started to dry are falling again, sliding down his flushed cheeks. Mike grips his thighs hard—hard enough to leave bruises by morning—and swirls his tongue around the sensitive head.
“M-Mike… I’m not gonna last much longer.”
Will didn’t need to say it. Mike already knows the signs—how Will’s breath catches, how his thighs start to tremble. It only makes Mike suck with more hunger, taking him deeper, until Will is desperately tugging at his hair like he can’t decide whether to pull him off or hold him there.
Will comes with a broken moan, hips jerking. Mike takes everything he gives, sucking him through it until the last tremor fades and every drop is gone. His own eyes water from the effort. He pulls off with a wet pop, a thin trail of cum dripping down his chin.
Will stares down at him, eyes dazed, chest heaving, completely blissed out.
Mike doesn’t give him time to come down. He shifts lower, spreading Will’s cheeks with his thumbs to expose his hole. Leaning in, he lets the cum still pooled in his mouth spill out, letting it drip warm and messy over the tight ring of muscle.
Will hisses at the slick contact, but Mike is already moving—one finger circling the entrance before pushing inside, dragging the cum deeper with it.
“MIKE!” Will yells, bolting upright. His arms fly around Mike’s neck, face burying into his shoulder.
“I-I can’t—” Tears flood down his face from the overstimulation. “I just came—”
“Baby,” Mike murmurs softly, voice low and steady against his ear.
He gently guides Will’s face up so he can press a tender kiss between his eyebrows. “I gotta show you how much I want you.” Another kiss, softer this time. “I gotta make it up to you. Please… let me make it up to you.”
Will lets out a shaky sob, shaking his head frantically even as he clings tighter.
“Use your words, come on,” Mike coaxes gently.
Will buries his face deeper into Mike’s neck, voice muffled and desperate. “Please, Mike…”
Mike eases them both back down onto the pillows, Will still wrapped around him like he’s afraid to let go. Only then does Mike start moving his finger again, slow and careful, until Will is relaxed enough for a second. He pulls out briefly, then pushes his middle and pointer fingers in together.
Will cries out, but his spent cock twitches, slowly starting to fill again. Mike scissors them gently, opening him up, until he finds the right angle and starts rubbing relentlessly against his prostate.
Will falls apart—moans and whimpers spilling out nonstop, no coherent words left.
“So beautiful, baby,” Mike whispers, kissing along his neck. “Crying for me like this… I’m so lucky.”
He keeps the pressure steady, curling his fingers with every thrust. “You gonna come for me a second time? Hm?” His voice is soft, almost teasing. “You gonna come on my fingers?”
Will can’t form a single word anymore, completely lost in the overstimulation. Mike adds a third finger, pumping harder and faster, pressing right into that spot deep inside him.
That’s all it takes.
Will comes again with a choked cry, making a warm, messy spill between their stomachs.
Will’s chest heaves rapidly as Mike kisses his way up his stomach, trailing soft, open-mouthed presses along sweat-damp skin until he reaches his face. He whispers praises against Will’s lips between gentle kisses.
“So good for me.”
“So pretty.”
He kisses Will slowly, deeply, as Will comes back down from the high, hands threading into Mike’s hair. They stay like that for a while—sloppy, lazy kisses, Mike murmuring sweet nothings right into his mouth—until Will’s breathing finally starts to even out.
“Mike,” Will whispers between kisses, voice low and soft, eyes still dazed.
“Hm?” Mike hums lazily, now kissing along his jaw.
“You’re still hard.”
It’s true. Mike is painfully hard, aching, but he’d needed to take care of Will first—make sure he was okay.
“It’s okay, baby,” Mike murmurs, kissing away the last tear sliding down Will’s cheek. “Don’t worry about me.”
Will doesn’t answer with words. Instead, he shifts beneath him, legs spreading a little wider.
“Mike,” he breathes, “I want you.”
“But—”
Will doesn’t let him finish. He hooks his good leg around the small of Mike’s back and pulls him closer until their crotches press flush together. Mike is still in jeans, and the sudden friction makes them both hiss.
Mike is sweating now, flush spreading hot down his neck and across his chest. “I don’t want to hurt you—with your ankle—”
“Mike,” Will cuts in, rutting up against him. Mike groans at the pressure. “You won’t hurt me.” Another slow roll of his hips. “You haven’t fucked me in almost two weeks.” Another rut. “I thought you were going to make it up to me.” And again. Mike is panting now, barely holding on. “Show me how bad you want me.”
That’s all it takes. Mike snaps.
He pushes up quickly, shoving his pants and boxers down in one motion. His cock springs free, flushed dark and leaking so much precome it drips down the length. He wouldn’t last long like this.
Grabbing one of the pillows from the makeshift bed on the floor, he climbs back between Will’s thighs.
“Lift your hips for me, baby.”
Will does, with Mike’s careful help, and Mike slides the pillow underneath to tilt his hips up.
Mike scoops up the remaining cum still slick between their bodies—thankfully not dried yet—and strokes it down his own cock, slicking himself thoroughly. He lines up, the head of his cock nudging against Will’s hole.
“I’m gonna go slow, okay?”
Will nods, eyes heavy-lidded.
Mike presses in slowly, hissing as the tight, wet heat finally envelops him. Will moans loudly, still riding the edge of overstimulation from his previous two orgasms. His arms wrap around Mike’s back, holding on tight. Mike bottoms out and pauses, giving them both a moment to adjust, before he starts to move—slow, careful rolls of his hips.
“So good,” Mike groans, thrusting deep. “Will, you feel so good.”
He rocks in again.
“You’re always so good… so good to me.”
Another thrust.
“I can’t believe you let me have you like this… let me make you feel good.”
Will responds in shaky sobs, each word broken by the slow drag of Mike’s hips.
“A-always working so hard for me—”
Mike thrusts again. Will whines.
“I wanna take ca-care of you like you do for me—”
Another slow thrust.
“I want to be who you rely on.”
Mike thrusts deeper. Will’s nails dig into his back.
“I want it to be where you don’t have to work. Just have to sit and look pretty… making your pretty paintings all day.”
Mike angles his next thrust just right. Will whines sharply as he hits that spot.
“And I can do it,” Mike pants. “I’ll pick up a second job so you don’t have to work.”
He thrusts again.
“You—you were right. The library is easy anyway. It hardly counts. Plus I can work on my manuscript with my free time there.”
Will is fully crying again, incoherent sounds spilling from his mouth between sobs.
“And then I’ll come home every night and I’ll cook for you…” Mike continues, voice rough.
Thrust.
“And clean up after myself so you don’t have to worry about a thing.”
Thrust.
“And I’ll fuck you… I’ll fuck you so deep into the mattress you won’t even let the possibility of me not wanting you cross your mind.”
Another thrust. Will starts shaking, moaning helplessly—he’s getting close.
“And I’ll be a good boyfriend…”
Another thrust.
“Someone you can be proud of.”
Another.
“Someone who puts you first…”
Another.
“Who doesn’t make you hate him.”
Mike is crying now too, hot tears slipping from his eyes and falling onto Will’s face as he keeps thrusting slow and deep, his whole body trembling.
Will is blissed out and overwhelmed, but he forces the words out through his sobs.
“M-Mike…”
“I don-don’t hate you.” His breath hitches, full-on sobbing now. “I could… I could never hate you.”
Mike’s eyebrows lift, eyes wide and wet.
“And I’m so proud of you,” Will manages, reaching a shaky hand up to cup Mike’s face. Mike keeps his slow, steady thrusts. “So—ah—so proud… how passionate you are about your manuscript.”
He sobs again, clinging tighter. “I just… felt like you forgot about me.”
Mike kisses the tears running down Will’s cheeks.
“No, no, baby. I could never.” His own tears fall faster now. “I get so hyper-focused on things… I know I do. But you’ll always come first. I’m so sorry… so, so sorry.”
“I’m sorry I said you were a bum.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t give you enough attention.”
“I’m sorry I yelled.”
“Will, stop apologizing,” Mike says softly, still moving inside him. “You didn’t do anything.”
“That’s not true—”
“No, it is,” Mike insists, thrusting in deep.
“I’m sorry I forgot about the art show. I’m sorry I don’t clean up enough. I’m sorry I made you feel undesired. I’m sorry I got you fired from your job… and I’m sorry I sprained your fucking ankle.”
“Mike…”
“I’m sorry I let it all bottle up inside me instead of talking to you about it.”
“I’m sorry I don’t know how to properly make it up to you so I’m fucking you instead,” Mike cries out, voice cracking.
They’re both barely holding on. Will’s nails dig hard into Mike’s back. Mike’s hand slides between them and finds Will’s cock, stroking him firmly in time with his thrusts.
“I’m sorry I said I hate you,” Will sobs. “I love you.”
“I love you so much.”
“I love you so much, Will,” Mike gasps, tears dropping freely onto Will’s skin.
And just like that, they both come with broken cries—Will spilling hot over Mike’s fist and between their stomachs as Mike buries himself deep, shuddering through his own release.
Mike flops to the side, both of them lying there for a long minute, chests heaving as they come down from the high. Then Mike leans in and presses a soft kiss to Will’s cheek.
He springs into action, hurrying to the kitchen to grab a bowl of warm water and a clean washcloth. When he returns, he settles carefully beside Will and starts cleaning him up—slow, gentle strokes. Will shivers as the cool cloth touches his oversensitive skin, still buzzing from the orgasms. Mike presses soft, apologetic kisses wherever the cloth goes, soothing him through it.
Once he’s done, Mike reaches for the glass of water on the bedside table and helps Will drink, holding it steady while he takes small sips. Then Mike quickly wipes himself down, pulls on a pair of boxers, and grabs another pair for Will. He helps him slide them on carefully, mindful of the braced ankle.
Finally, Mike flops down beside him again, gently pulling Will into his arms as best he can—angling himself so Will’s injured leg can stay straight and elevated. He holds him close, warm and careful.
“I meant what I said, by the way,” Mike murmurs.
Will blinks at him, still a little dazed.
“About getting a second job.”
Will smiles softly.
“Wouldn’t that be a lot for you, though? I don’t want you overworking yourself.”
“Nah,” Mike says, nuzzling his face into Will’s neck. “It won’t be for long anyway. After all, I’m sure that art show got a lot of people looking at your work. It won’t be long until opportunities start coming in. And it’s the least I can do to make up for everything.”
“Okay… I guess I’ll let it happen, just for now at least,” Will replies, still smiling. “But I need you to tell me if it gets too stressful. We have to start communicating properly.”
Mike smiles against his neck.
“Of course, baby. And the same goes for you—if anything bothers you, you tell me right away. I’ll fix it immediately.”
Will’s smile widens.
“Yeah… we’re a team, after all.”
“Yeah,” Mike whispers, pressing a kiss just below Will’s ear. “A team.”