Chapter Text
Today might have been the roughest day Mike's had in a while.
In the morning he couldn't properly see Will off. Instead he had to sprint to his own class, otherwise the professor would've bitten his head off for being late again.
While Will's classes ended early, Mike's kept dragging on and on, his brain going more and more numb with every passing minute. Due to that Will had to walk home, which Mike found deeply upsetting.
Afterwards Mike had to rush to work. That part of the day was even worse. He felt like he was floating somewhere outside of his body, his limbs moving on autopilot.
He's used to getting rude customers, but today it seems like literally every person he came in contact with was born yesterday. They knocked over drinks and plates, yelled at Mike, asked him the dumbest questions imaginable. He could barely contain his eye rolls and snarky comments.
Then in the mind-numbing process of cleaning the bathroom and closing up the cafe, Mike completely missed his and Will's movie night. They've been planning this for the past week.
Mike curses under his breath as he changes out of his sticky uniform, as he walks to the car, as he stops by a bakery that's still open, thank fuck, and drives home.
He parks and shuts the engine off in one jerky motion, irritation radiating off of him. He roughly scrubs at his face until stars dance behind his eyelids, and sighs. His entire posture slouches until his forehead collides with the steering wheel.
After a short breathing exercise, Mike walks up to their apartment. It's already nearly pitch black outside, and half of the lights in their building either flicker or are completely blown out.
Still, he manages to make it to their door without tripping over. He fishes the keys out of his pocket, and carefully inserts them into the lock. It clicks, the sound feeling near to a gunshot in the dead quiet.
Mike winces, then pushes the door open with his hip. He shuts it just as slowly, sliding it into the frame with surgical precision. Afterwards he drops his heavy bag onto the floor, blindly pulls his shoes off without bending down and kicks them off to the side. All in the dark, with his hands occupied.
There's warm light coming from the kitchen, but it's quiet. Mike walks around the corner, pokes his head in. The kitchen is empty. Dishes are washed, there's a covered pan on the stove with a clean plate and a fork sitting off to the side of it.
A sharp sting of guilt shoots through Mike's chest. Will made him dinner, even did the dishes, despite them separating those tasks usually. One does the cooking, the other does the washing.
He whips his head around towards their couch, to see Will sprawled out on it. He's sound asleep, head resting on a pillow while his socked feet are perched up on the opposite armrest. There's a book laying loosely in his hand, just one small move away from falling down to the floor.
Mike just stands and looks at him for a second, a warm sense of fondness blooming in his chest. After some hesitation, he walks over to him, puts the brown paper bag from the bakery on the coffee table.
Will looks so beautiful like this. Unguarded, every muscle completely relaxed and lacking that tension he still carries with him everywhere he goes. The small silver hoop in his ear catches the yellow light from the kitchen.
Mike walks over to where Will's feet are resting on the armrest. His socks are mismatched, two different shades of grey. Mike smiles fondly, then tickles Will on the heel until his legs jerk away instinctively.
Will stirs, squeezes his eyes tighter before blinking them open. A little squeaky sound breaches his lips, and he stretches his back, arching it off the cushions.
"Hey," Mike whispers.
"Hey," Will's entire demeanor softens immediately. He closes the book in his hand and slowly sits up, rubs his sleepy eyes with his fist. "What time is it?"
"Uh," Mike whips his head around at the clock on top of their fridge. His face contorts with guilt. "Almost ten."
"Okay," Will says through a yawn, leans back to let his brain settle after the nap.
"Um, I got you a little.. apology treat," Mike mumbles, tapping on the brown bag with his finger. His voice is careful, posture a little tense as if he's bracing for something.
"'Apology'?" Will repeats, furrowing his brows in confusion. He looks up at Mike with concern.
"I missed our movie night," Mike sighs, rubbing the back of his sore neck.
"Mike," Will whispers. His brows curve in sympathy, lips stretch into a smile. He tilts his head as if Mike just said something amusing. "It's okay. We still have Saturday."
"I made you wait," Mike mumbles, starts shrugging his jacket off.
"Oh, I didn't mind. I finally finished this," Will fully laughs, waves his book around. His homework he's been putting away for over a week at this point.
"Okay," Mike nods, smiles now that the guilt has dissolved, leaving only immense gratitude for having such a perfect and understanding boyfriend. He walks back to the front door to hang his jacket up.
"Did Oliver hold you back?" Will yells across the apartment.
"Yeah," Mike rasps, rolls his eyes at the reminder. He keeps ranting as he paces around. "Someone threw up all over the bathroom, and he made me clean it."
"Oh, God," Will winces in sympathy, knowing how much Mike hates vomit and everything to do with it.
"Then he said 'Everyone left, and you're already here, so close up. Thanks, bye'," Mike pitches his voice up, mocking his manager's fake cheery tone, whips his hands around in sharp irritated gestures.
The rant continues as he drags his bag to the bedroom, not even bothering to pick it up off the floor, as he laps around the apartment, circles the couch. Will stays laying back against the cushions, smiling fondly as his eyes follow Mike.
"Next time he does this, I'll tell him to fuck off. I swear," Mike keeps grumbling as he makes his way into the kitchen.
"You'll get fired," Will chuckles, his voice thick with sleep.
"No, I won't. I'm the only one who actually knows what I'm doing- Is this for me?" Mike stops himself and points at the stove. Will shifts a little higher on the couch to get a peek.
"Yeah," he nods, settles back down comfortably. "It's pasta. Added extra cheese for you. It's probably cold, though."
Mike melts completely. He opens the pan, sees half of it filled with gorgeous looking cheesy pasta. Just the sight makes Mike's mouth water like he's a starving dog seeing a bone.
With a spatula, he scoops it into his plate, throws it into the microwave, then makes his way to the couch with his steaming hot dinner. They still don't have a proper dining table. Not that they really need it, though. Jonathan's old coffee table does the job perfectly fine.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you," Mike chants as he plops down onto the couch and peppers grateful kisses all over Will's cheek.
"You're welcome," Will says through a shy giggle, turns his head to capture Mike's lips with his own.
"You're the best, Will. God," Mike rambles against his boyfriend's mouth, unable to pull away.
"Just trying to keep up with you," Will compliments back, with a wide grin on his face. He cups Mike's cheek and presses one last squeaky kiss to his lips. Practically pushes their faces apart as Mike tried to chase for more.
"I love you," Mike says, his face an expression of full devotion. Maybe a little dramatic for some pasta, but he really does not care.
"I love you, too," Will says back softly, eyes glistening in the warm light. He rubs his thumb across Mike's cheekbone, then reluctantly pulls his hand away. "Eat. Hope it tastes okay."
"Everything you make is perfect," Mike blurts out, already twisting his fork in the pasta. Will just chuckles back, a little skeptical.
"We can have this for breakfast," he says, shifting his focus to the brown bag on the coffee table. He picks it up, and smiles when he sees the contents. "You don't have to buy me apology muffins, though."
"You don't have to make me dinner, but you still did," Mike argues with a shrug, puts a big bite of pasta into his mouth and sighs in relief.
"I mean," Will scrunches his nose. "I literally do."
"Whatever," Mike playfully rolls his eyes. He still feels bothered by Will taking on any responsibilities around the house, despite all his protests. Can't help it.
"How is it?" Will asks, shifting until he rests his chin on Mike's shoulder.
"Perfect. I'm in Heaven. Holy fuck," Mike rambles, nodding repeatedly. He can feel his body coming alive, all worries and irritation fading away.
"Okay, good," Will giggles, then yawns.
"Go to bed. I'll be right there," Mike whispers, kisses the crown of Will's head. Will whines in protest, nuzzling deeper into Mike's side, but it doesn't go far. "Go rest. Please."
"Fine," Will grumbles, reluctantly pulls away and stands up from the couch. He stretches, making his shirt ride up and reveal a strip of his tanned stomach. "Leave the dishes."
"Don't wait up for me," Mike ignores the request, shooting one of his own instead.
Will makes a little sound of disagreement. He grabs the paper bag and leaves it in the kitchen, then strides across the living room to their bedroom. Mike follows the movement, throwing his head back against the cushions and keeping his eyes glued to Will's side profile.
Mike finishes the pasta, washes the dishes, showers. He sighs as the grease and sweat of the long stressful day finally leave his skin and disappear down the drain.
With his hair still damp and clinging to his forehead, he walks to the bedroom. Will is already in his spot at the wall, face buried in his pillow. His pants are off, now hanging off their closet door. He hates sleeping with them on most of the time.
Mike stares at the way the moon softly illuminates the soft curves of Will's bare legs wrapped around the blankets. The hem of his shirt is stretched upwards, exposing a patch of his lower back. Like a magnetic pull, Mike's hand moves there, fingers grazing the little dimples.
He flattens his palm, gently rubs the heated skin as he settles into bed himself. The mattress dips under the added weight, despite how careful Mike is trying to be.
His palm glides over the curve of Will's waist to rest across his soft stomach instead. Mike shifts closer, not even bothering with the blankets, just laying on top of them.
He gently kisses Will's ear, the sensitive skin below it, then the back of his neck. Every touch is feather light, as gentle as he can physically manage. Will sighs contently at it all, his muscles melting into the bed.
"I love you," Mike murmurs into the back of Will's hair, inhales the cherry shampoo mixed with his natural unique scent.
"I love you, too," Will mumbles back, lazily moves his hand to slot it on top of Mike's.
"Oh, shit. Did I wake you?" Mike lifts himself up on his elbow, scrunching his face in guilt. Will shakes his head, the mess of his chestnut hair rustling against the pillow.
"I wasn't sleeping," he mumbles, turns around until he's peeking back at Mike over his own shoulder. The moon reflects in his shiny eyes like glitter, catches his long lashes. "Was waiting for you."
"I told you not to," Mike huffs out a laugh, lowers himself enough to brush his nose against Will's.
"I told you to leave the dishes," Will raises his brows in accusation.
"Okay. Fair," Mike rolls his eyes, grinning from ear to ear.
Will slowly rolls over onto his back, every move sluggish with sleep. He was just starting to doze off, but this is far more important.
This small window of time is always their favorite. No work or classes, no nosy neighbors to barge in and interrupt them. For this little bit, it's just the two of them in the universe of their cramped New York apartment.
"I missed you so much today," Will whispers, tenderly caressing the side of Mike's face.
"Me, too. I'm sorry, baby," Mike sighs, nuzzles into Will's palm for a second before leaning down and kissing him softly.
"Not your fault," Will whispers straight into Mike's mouth, moves his lips lazily. Mike quietly groans against him, pulls back to rant more.
"If Oliver tries to pull this shit again, I'll tell him to go fuck himself. Seriously. Never again," he rambles, his face jumping between a catalogue of angry expressions.
Will just fondly shakes his head at him and laughs. He hates when Mike gets like this, eats himself alive over small things. Sure, they were both looking forward to movie night, and Will did mope around the apartment for a while, but it's not the end of the world.
Even though the rent is taken care of by their families, Mike still works so unbelievably hard for the two of them. Keeps up with his studies, works at the cafe most days, takes over most of the chores at home, all while allowing Will to focus on his art
Since they got together the summer after graduating, Mike has grown into the protector he's always wanted to be. He seems to thrive in it, beams every time he gets to do something for Will, no matter how big or small.
Will doesn't mind being taken care of, so this works out. They still playfully argue over chores, though. Will doesn't want to be useless, wants to take part of the burden off of Mike's already overloaded shoulders.
He can handle a little change of plans and a missed movie night.
"I should've taken that mop and shoved it right up his-"
"Mike," Will cuts in, looping his arms around Mike's neck and pulling him back down. "Shut up and kiss me."
"Yup. Yeah. I can do that," Mike rambles, and Will swallows half of the syllables.
Their lips slot together and move against each other in a far too familiar rhythm. Starting slow, building up more and more until they're panting and gasping more than kissing.
Will tangles his hand in Mike's damp hair, pushes his dark bangs back out of both of their faces. Mike's hands roam all over Will's body. His soft stomach, the curve of his waist, his hips, shoulders, neck, face. Will's shirt gets pulled off at some point.
Neither of them registers when their positions shift. Mike lifts himself up. Will instinctively spreads his legs, inviting his boyfriend to rest between them. Mike does just that, knee digging into the mattress between Will's bare thighs.
He looms over Will, bracing himself up on his elbow, free hand exploring the soft honey skin. Will arches into the touch, sighs and gasps against Mike's lips, whispers his name on a loop.
He's become a lot more vocal over time. In their first months of dating and living on their own, he really restricted his sounds. No matter how much Mike reassured him, even went out of his way to shut the windows and close the doors, Will just couldn't bring himself to make too loud of sounds.
Maybe it's a habit he learned from childhood, being as quiet and taking up as little space as possible. He's getting rid of that slowly, one day at a time. Helps that Mike just can't leave him alone, kissing and giving him hickeys pretty much everyday.
"Mike," Will gasps when he feels a hot, wet kiss press up to the side of his neck. He clutches onto Mike's hair at the nape, slightly tugs on it. A silent warning.
"I know," Mike murmurs, kisses the pulse point once more before moving lower, to parts of Will that are easier to cover up.
He kisses Will's collarbones like they're something precious, almost worshiping. Grazes the skin with his teeth, drinks in the little sounds above him. He leaves a mark on one peck, right where Will's heart drums beneath the skin.
Will arches into it, lets out a shuddering breath when Mike pops off of him. A soothing kiss gets pressed on the mark right afterwards, an apology for the sting.
Mike moves lower and lower, leaving a trail of damp kisses behind him. Sometimes he nips at the skin, chuckling at the way Will braces himself every time.
The sheets are a tangled mess beneath them, wrinkling where Will clutches onto them, his fists trembling with effort. His feet dig into the mattress, thighs shake involuntarily.
When Mike kisses the burn scar on his hip, it's like electricity shooting straight through his spine. Every time feels like the first. Mike kisses it pretty much everyday, and if not, he rubs his thumb over it so tenderly it makes Will weak in the knees.
They've been dating for a while, but sometimes Will feels like he needs to pinch himself to make sure this is real, not some messed up vision or a dream he'll wake up from. He's dating Mike Wheeler, his childhood best friend, the boy he's been in love with for as long as he can remember, and they're living together in their own little apartment in New York.
The realization still hits like a physical blow, knocks all air out of Will's lungs.
He lifts himself up on his elbows to look down at Mike. He's resting between Will's legs, kissing down his stomach like there's no other place on Earth he'd rather be in.
Mike, almost as if he senses it, lifts his gaze, immediately locking eyes with Will. The contact feels like an explosion, sparks flying around. His eyes are already dark as they are, but right now they look like two bottomless voids, and Will can see his own reflection in them.
Like he's the only thing orbiting Mike's universe.
Mike's gaze is intense, eyebrows curved in concentration, fingers digging into the soft flesh of Will's waist. Will feels his bones turning into putty when another mark gets left right below his belly button. His hips move outside of his control, chasing the sharp and hot sensation.
"You're so gorgeous, Mike," Will whispers, messing with Mike's hair and untangling the strands.
Mike's features soften, almost making him look younger all of a sudden. He smiles against Will's skin, the kind of shyness he shows whenever he gets a compliment. A compliment from Will specifically, that is.
There's just something about the way he melts at it that Will finds so painfully endearing. At least he's stopped arguing against the words, saying he's 'not handsome, or beautiful, or gorgeous, or all that'.
Will finds it truly ridiculous. He's always thought that Mike is the most beautiful person he's ever seen.
"Says you," Mike whispers, the vibrations of it spreading through Will's body.
Still holding eye contact, he moves lower. In one fluid motion, he throws Will's leg over his own shoulder, presses his cheek to the soft inside of his thigh. Will trembles, both from nerves and anticipation.
Mike turns and kisses the sensitive skin. The first few pecks are tender, going over the mostly faded older bruises like they might still be painful. It doesn't last long.
Soon Mike starts biting and sucking on the skin all over again, urgent like he's been starving for it. Maybe he has.
Will cannot stay still for even a second. His muscles twitch, hands tingle to grab Mike's shoulders, hair, cheekbones. Eventually their free hands find each other in the tangled sheets and slot together, meeting perfectly like they were created for it.
When Mike bites down on a particularly sensitive spot, Will whimpers, bottom lip trapped between his teeth. His back arches off the mattress, grip on Mike tightens so hard his tendons stand out.
He feels so warm through all of it. His head is hot and swimming, cheeks burn up with blush, every nerve ending is on fire. But, mortifyingly, he feels heat rush downwards every time Mike sucks a new mark into his thigh.
"Fuck. You sound so pretty, Will," Mike breathes out, immediately dives in even lower to latch onto Will's thigh.
Will whines at the praise, face warming up even more, somehow. That, however, ignites the fire between his legs even more. With Mike's face being so close to it, a sense of panic settles in Will's chest.
"Mike," he whispers, pawing at Mike's shoulders and hair, but he seems to be too lost in tasting Will's inner thigh, like he's hypnotized. "Baby, please."
"Hm?" Mike finally pops off, eyes round and worried.
His gaze almost drops down, right where Will does not want him to look. He springs up, grabs Mike by the jaw to make him look up. Mike follows the pull obediently, looking into Will's eyes with that same adoration he's always had for him.
"You okay?" he asks, and the soft tone of it really doesn't help Will's predicament.
"Kiss me. Come up here. Please," Will rambles, tugging onto Mike's shirt and urging him to move.
Mike doesn't have to be told twice. He pulls Will's leg off his shoulder, settles it onto the mattress way more gently than necessary. He moves, practically crawls over Will until their faces line up, breaths mingling.
"Hey," Mike chuckles.
"Hey," Will giggles back.
In this half sitting position, he hugs Mike by the neck and pulls him into a lazy, slow kiss. Sleep is tugging at both of them again, but they refuse to let the night end so early.
Mike's muscles strain and tremble from holding himself up so long, and his lower back still aches from a long busy day. So he relaxes, lets himself lay down on Will's stomach without breaking the kiss.
Will's breath catches. The pressure in his boxers has been very distracting already, but with Mike's weight on top of it he feels his brain swim for a second. He prays that Mike can't feel it, the firm heat pressed against his stomach.
Like a cruel joke, Mike keeps moving and shifting, applying continuous pressure. Will puts his everything into suppressing his sounds, tries to think about anything that will make his arousal die down.
"You're so beautiful," Mike whispers like it's prayer, looks at Will through his lashes, face all flushed up.
That's not helpful at all right now.
Will lets out a breath, something flustered and annoyed all at once. The pressure in his boxers grows, the heat only intensifies. He tries to subtly shift away, adjust the position, but that just makes it worse.
He ends up grinding against Mike's stomach, the dull pressure turning into a brief flash of pleasure. With a startled gasp, Will drops back onto the pillows, slaps his palms over his face to hide. His heart hammers against his ribs so hard he feels like it's about to leap out.
"Hey, come here," Mike says softly, as if nothing happened.
That makes some of that tension leave Will's frame. Maybe Mike didn't notice, and this is all fine. Will pulls his hands away from his face, instead fists at the sheets beneath him.
That relief doesn't last long.
Mike moves upwards, closing the newfound distance between their faces. As he does it, he doesn't lift himself up. He lazily drags his body along Will's instead, too sleepy to put more effort in.
His hips, resting on Will's thighs before this, drag right over the bulge Will has been trying so hard to cool down and keep secret.
The contact is electric, pulling synchronized gasps out of both of them. The pleasure shoots through their spines, sends goosebumps to every nerve.
Will flushes up all over, startled and absolutely mortified. There's no hiding it now, judging by how Mike completely froze on top of him, every muscle stiff.
It's dead silent for an agonizing second. They don't look at each other, Will's eyes fixed on the ceiling and Mike's on the bedsheets. They don't even breathe, lungs closing up on their own.
Will's hands tremble against the sheets. He wants to say something, break the tense silence, but all words die out in his throat. All he can focus on are their hips, still connected, but frozen in place.
Mike lets out short, shallow breaths against his temple. Will can feel the smallest movements of his jaw, like he's looking for something to say, too.
Eventually, it's like Mike snaps out of a trance. His hips jerk away from Will's like he got burned, and he fully lifts himself up. The heat gone just as quickly as it came.
"Um," Mike starts, voice cracking. He clears his throat roughly, looks somewhere off to the side. "I, uh- I have this- I have an essay due tomorrow, I think. It- It completely slipped my mind, I- I should.. Should probably go do it now. Um."
He rambles, eyes fixed on the window and refusing to look down at Will. Slowly and clumsily, he climbs off the bed, every move looking unnatural. Like he forgot how to operate his limbs.
Will stays down on the sheets, bends his legs in the knees to hide the embarrassing tent in his boxers. His eyes are glued to the ceiling, and he gives a few shallow nods to Mike's nervous rambling.
"Um. Yeah," Mike continues, scratches his neck. "I guess I.. I guess I'll just go do it out there. Um. Don't- Don't wait for me. It will probably take, like, forever, so.. Yeah. Um. Yeah."
He stands there for a couple more seconds, hands hanging uselessly at his sides. Will gives him a breathy, barely audible 'okay', and only then does he leave the room. The floorboards creak under his feet, and he gently slides the bedroom door into the frame with a faint click.
Will exhales sharply, like he got punched. His bottom lip wobbles, but he bites it down. He doesn't bother with putting his shirt on or fixing the bed.
Instead, he just rolls over on his side, curls in on himself and blindly pulls one of the blankets over his body. His skin still burns everywhere Mike touched, but the annoying heat between his legs slowly dies down.
Mike's bag is still in the corner of the room, holding all his notebooks and pens. His typewriter is out in the living room, and Will waits for the clatter of keys to come, but it doesn't. It's completely silent outside the door.
Will sighs, buries his face deeper into the sheets and waits for sleep to take him.
The next morning is a little awkward, though they try not to show it. Will pulls on his pajama pants, even though usually he spends his mornings in just a worn shirt and boxers, shorts at most.
Mike's attire is different, too. Most mornings he's shirtless, letting the sun warm up his bare back as he makes breakfast. Today, though, he does have a shirt on, and there's noticeable tension in his spine.
Will asks about the essay. Mike freezes for a second, looking genuinely confused, before snapping out of it and rambling about how 'okay' it is. It's not convincing.
They're less affectionate, leaving small but incredibly painful distance between them. Their conversation is more casual than usual, about their schedules and groceries they need to buy on the way home.
Will doesn't end up perched up on the kitchen counter with kisses all over his face. Instead, he gets a soft peck on his forehead before they leave the apartment.
The tension dissolves once they park at NYU, and Mike walks Will to his class. They smile at each other, nod, and there's that. Once they meet at lunch, things are back to normal.
This has been happening a lot lately.
Not constantly, but enough to be noticeable.
Mike and Will are not completely new to intimacy. They show each other affection constantly. Be it holding hands, bumping knees, kissing, compliments, pet names, leaving hickeys.
But that's where it stops.
They've talked about sex, discussed their feelings on it, agreed that they want to do it together, whenever they're both ready for it. And for a while, that was it.
It never came up again, and they both felt content with it. Maybe it'll come naturally, work out, like things usually do with the two of them.
Only lately something has shifted. Neither of them is sure when and how it happened, but things have started to heat up.
When Will straddles Mike's lap, shifts a little too much, suddenly Mike remembers an essay he needs to finish. When Mike bites and leaves hickeys all over Will's thighs, he urges him to kiss his lips instead. When the kisses get a little too intense, their bodies press a little too close, breathy sounds breach their lips, they panic and cut it all off.
It's natural, of course, but something about following through on those reactions feels wrong. Talking about it is even more terrifying. So lately they've been like this. Pulling back as soon as things breach into sexual territory.
___
Today Will's classes start later, so he stays in bed while Mike goes through his morning routine. Makes breakfast, showers, changes. Will watches his silhouette from the sheets, drinking in the smooth curve of his lean back, the faint muscles of his arms.
Mike isn't muscular by any means, and he feels insecure about it sometimes, but Will loves it. Loves just how naturally beautiful Mike is, how everything about him is just so proportionate and perfect. And even if he does not have huge muscles, he's still strong enough to lift Will. What more can he ask for.
"Okay," Mike breathes out, quickly fixes his hair in the mirror. "You sure you don't want me to pick you up?"
"Mike," Will rolls his eyes with a sigh. Stretches his arm out, catches Mike's hand. "You're not gonna have time for it. I can walk."
"You sure?" Mike steps closer, bends a little to have a better look at Will's face.
"Yes, I'm sure," Will rolls his eyes one more time, pulls Mike down into a kiss.
Mike smells like mint and shampoo, a little like cologne. Will inhales, drinks in the warmth and softness of Mike's lips. Enough to get him through the morning.
Mike cups his face gently, fingertips tracing the soft line of his jaw. Then he drags his palm down Will's neck, chest, flattens it against his stomach, then gives his thigh a good squeeze. It pulls a little gasp out of Will, and they smile against each other.
"See you at lunch?" Mike whispers, his lips barely brushing against Will's.
"Yeah, of course," Will whispers back, voice shaking like a leaf in the breeze.
Mike smiles at him, looks over his face one more time before pressing one last kiss to his forehead. Afterwards all Will can hear are steps moving towards the front door, some quiet curses as Mike tries to pull his shoes on, clattering of keys.
"Bye!" Mike yells through the apartment.
"Bye," Will replies, voice a little groggy.
The door opens and closes. The lock twists shut, and Will is alone.
The apartment is quiet, low hum of the fridge filling the silence, along with Will's shaky breaths. His skin still tingles where Mike touched it, that heat in his lower stomach coming back in full swing.
He huffs into the vacuum of the room, growing frustrated by this point. This keeps happening to him, the arousal growing whenever he's around Mike. It seems to get stronger every time, too, painfully straining against Will's boxers.
He knows it's a natural reaction to having your boyfriend kiss you and take care of you and touch you the way Mike does. So why does it feel so wrong?
Whenever it happens Will just leaves it alone, waits for the fire to die out, no matter how painful that coil in his stomach gets. His patience is wearing thin, however.
He shifts and shifts in the bed, trying to just fall asleep until he has to get up and start getting ready. No matter what he does, his head is restless.
All his senses are full of Mike. His scent lingering in the sheets, the burn of his palms on Will's skin, the sound of his voice and how thick it gets in the morning, how his hair tickles Will's face and neck when they sleep.
Will can't shake those thoughts away no matter how much he tries, his face physically straining with the effort. Eventually, he gives up and just lays flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling.
The tent in his boxers has only grown bigger, clearly not going down anytime soon. Will closes his eyes, listens in on any noise outside the door. He knows Mike is gone, he heard it. Heard the lock click shut. But something in him needs to be sure before he does what he's about to do.
He slowly moves his hand under the blanket, drags it to his own stomach, then slides lower. When his fingertips graze the hem of his boxers, he stops, listens again. No movement.
He hesitates at first, traces the edge of the elastic with his fingers, but doesn't go under. His breathing grows shallow, chest rising and falling along with it.
His body feels boiling hot beneath the blanket all of a sudden, but he refuses to move it. He needs that shield. From what, he isn't sure.
Mike's sleeping shirt is hanging on the back of a chair. It's so close. Will could easily grab it if he just stretched his arm out, but he doesn't. He looks at the navy blue fabric, then snaps his eyes shut so fast it's painful.
His hand moves slowly, fingers trembling. He traces the shape of himself over the fabric, feels the heat, the wet patch soaking through.
A choked up breath breaches his lips when he presses down, hips buck up instinctively into the touch. Finger by finger, Will makes contact until he's fully palming himself through his boxers.
His thighs tremble, vision swims. He keeps moving along his length, presses down harder at the tip. It pulls more gasps, pants and muffled moans out of him.
Every time he makes a sound he deems too loud, he stops. His eyes shoot open, and he listens. That worry never leaves him, the feeling that he's about to get walked in on, like he's doing something wrong.
Then he resumes, speeds up the rhythm of his hand while shallowly thrusting up against it. It feels fine. Just fine, and that's the issue. It's not enough to relieve that pressure, dull that heat. If anything, Will just craves more.
His eyes lock on Mike's shirt again. He stares at it, panting heavily as he rubs himself. The sensation intensifies slightly, but it's still so painfully far from enough.
Will is growing frustrated. With a huff, he reaches out and snatches the shirt from the chair, presses it up to his face. He can eat himself alive over this later. Laundry is his responsibility, anyway.
He inhales, lets his head fall back onto the pillow. The fabric smells like everything. Mike, his shaving cream, the dinner the two of them had yesterday.
There's still a dark stain on the front from the tomato sauce Mike spilled on himself. He tried to wipe it off, ended up making it worse while cursing like a sailor. It should be the opposite of sexy, but Will feels himself twitch under his palm.
The pressure is only building, the coil in his stomach tightening with no release. Will's hand speeds up more, rustling the blankets. At this point his arm is starting to cramp up, core hurts from bucking up so much. Still, he isn't making progress.
He stops, melts into the bed and desperately tries to catch his breath. This shouldn't be this difficult. Frustration quickly boils up in him, and he almost wants to give up.
He would most days, but he's so hard right now it's definitely not going down anytime soon, and he has less than an hour before his classes start. He would rather die than go like this. It needs to get taken care of, one way or another.
Will lifts himself up on his elbows, Mike's shirt sliding down his chest. He looks at the alarm clock. He has almost half an hour left. With an exasperated sigh, he falls back onto the sheets, puts the shirt back up to his cheek, feeling the lingering warmth.
His hand resumes its path, stopping at the elastic. Touching himself over the fabric did nothing. If anything, it just made things worse. So, Will decides to slip under.
One finger first, hesitant and shaky. Second, third, before his entire hand is under, hovering over his erection. He takes another inhale of the shirt, and wraps his fingers around himself.
This touch is so much brighter, making his back arch off the mattress immediately. He squeezes at the base first, catches his breath, before stroking himself slowly.
A quiet, muffled whimper breaches his lips, bouncing between the bedroom walls. He swipes his thumb over the tip, and gasps. His eyes shoot open from the sensation, and he pulls his hand out like he got burned.
Not here. Not in this bed where he and Mike sleep every night. No, this is wrong.
Will looks at his trembling hand, precum smeared over his thumb and palm. Shame starts clawing at his guts, stubborn and far too familiar.
He looks down at Mike's shirt and feels like it's been contaminated, even though all he did is hold it and smell it. Nothing he hasn't done before.
He and Mike take each other's clothes all the time. Will especially loves wearing Mike's grandpa sweaters with the weird patterns. Loves feeling his presence throughout the day.
This is different.
Still, the problem is not going away. Will is still hard, the tension of his boxers bordering on painful. He climbs out of bed, pulling the blankets away from his crotch, just in case.
His bare feet hit the floorboards, the cold soothing and grounding him just a bit. He grabs the shirt and walks out into the living room, still listening in for any movement.
He whips his head around the apartment like prey looking out for a predator. Checks every corner, multiple times over, and remains uneasy no matter what.
The apartment is empty. Breakfast is cooling down on the kitchen counter. There's paper scattered over the coffee table, a comic is laying on it face down. Mike couldn't finish it yesterday. Will's easel is resting in the corner, with one of his unfinished assignments drying down.
Everything is just how they left it. Will gives the place one last long look, and steps into the bathroom. He throws Mike's shirt into the laundry basket without even looking at it, feeling like he's not allowed to.
He strips, back turned to the mirror. His shirt lands on the floor, then he slowly slides his damp boxers down and kicks them aside, not even sparing them a glance.
The bathtub feels almost freezing cold in contrast to Will's heated skin, but he doesn't mind that right now. He shuts the curtain, the rattle of it drilling in his ears. This is redundant, really, but feels safer.
It's dead quiet in here. Way too quiet, so Will turns the shower on. Still not enough, so he turns it up. Then he remembers the water bill and lowers it again, until it's barely enough for some background noise.
His erection is still standing, irritated and eager. Will wraps his fingers around himself, gasps at the skin to skin contact, then starts stroking. A little more confident this time, but still careful.
Even after obsessively checking every inch of the apartment, he can't get rid of that anxiety in the back of his mind. It's almost physically holding him back, stopping him from fully relaxing into the pleasure.
He leans back against the wall, somewhat braces himself. His chest stutters, fighting between holding back his sounds and just letting himself loose.
This feels better, much better, but it's not building up. The pleasure just stays in place. Will huffs, frustrated all over again. He closes his eyes, tries to think of something that can finally take him over the edge.
The only image his brain can conjure up is Mike. Of course.
Will tries to picture something else, something more abstract, but it all just keeps morphing back into Mike. His eyes, his curls, his smile, freckles, big pale hands.
"Oh, God," Will croaks, finally feeling progress. His fist speeds up, knees almost buckle from the heightened pleasure.
He's desperate now, so he clings to those visions, anything to get this over with. He shuts his eyes so tight there are stars dancing behind his eyelids. Looks like Mike is in the middle of a starry sky.
Will focuses on that, the way Mike touches him, how groggy and raspy his voice gets in the morning, how soft it becomes during the day and night. His warmth, the grounding pressure as they cuddle to sleep. The way Mike laughs until his nose scrunches.
Will's hand moves so fast up and down his length it becomes a blur of desperate motion. He doesn't bother holding back his sounds anymore, mind too occupied.
He gasps, whimpers, moans into the vacuum of the bathroom. The weak stream of water does nothing to cover up the noise.
"M- Mike," slips past his lips, breathy and high pitched. His lips tremble around the syllables.
Will grabs his own thigh, trying to recreate the sensation from this morning, the sweet squeeze Mike gave him, but it's so different. The angle is all wrong, Will's hand is so much smaller and warmer than Mike's, fingers too short to grip properly.
It almost makes him want to cry out of frustration. He strokes himself without pausing, ignores the steadily growing cramp in his arm. The knot in his gut tightens more and more, but still not quite enough.
"Please, please," he pants, throws his head back, feeling the cool tiles against his scalp.
His chest rises and falls rapidly with every uneven breath. There's sweat collecting in his hairline, rolling down his temples. He almost feels lightheaded, but holds himself up.
"Come on. Please," Will pleads. With who, he's not sure. His face is all screwed up with a mix of pleasure and desperation.
Eventually his moves stutter, the muscles in his arm tensing up so much they refuse to cooperate. Despite that, Will doesn't stop. He fully presses his back against the tiled wall, braces his feet in the bathtub.
The contrast of it all against his heated skin is so much. So sharp and bright. Will keeps thinking of Mike's big hands, how they feel on his thighs and waist. The way those long bony fingers dig into his skin, or stroke it tenderly.
"Mike. Oh, God- Mike-"
Will is not filtering himself anymore, letting moans and breathy words spill out freely. Mike's name in particular seems to really do it for him, the pleasure spiking up every time he says it.
His brain wanders, imagines it's Mike's hand stroking him instead of his own. He can almost feel it, the colder skin against him, those long fingers caressing him and touching him just how he likes it.
"Oh, please- Like that- Mike-"
Will swipes his thumb across the sensitive tip, hips thrusting forward to chase the sensation. He feels the knot finally tightening, the tingles of pleasure spreading through his body in a frightening progression.
"Almost- Almost there- Please. Please, Mike- Come on-"
A few more frantic strokes and swipes, and the pressure finally snaps. The long awaited orgasm shoots through Will like electricity. He folds forward, braces himself against the edge of the bathtub as he keeps slowly stroking himself through the overwhelming pleasure.
He's panting, loud. His cheek is pressed against the porcelain, fingers cling to it so he doesn't slide down. The movements slow, then stop once the orgasm fully passes and any touch feels almost painful.
Will lets his sticky and incredibly tired hand fall by his side, under the weak stream of water. His heart is hammering so hard he can hear it in his ears, pulsating in his temples.
Once all of it fades and he comes back to reality, he feels awful. He just spent God knows how much time jerking off to the image of his boyfriend, which shouldn't be bad, but it sure feels like it.
They haven't talked about this, if they're quite at this level yet. Will curls in on himself, pushes his sweat soaked hair out of his face. For a little bit he just sits in the bathtub, knees pulled up to his chest.
He tries to rationalize this, calm himself down. Mike is his boyfriend. People think about their boyfriends like that. It's fine.
But what if it isn't? What if Mike finds out and feels disgusted? Violated, even?
The thought makes Will forget how to breathe, a thick lump of guilt clogging up his throat.
With a trembling hand, he turns the water up, lets it roll over his back as he stares ahead. As the sweat and shame wash off of him, he starts feeling better.
This was just one time. He was alone, feeling desperate. No one has to know. He can just throw Mike's shirt into the laundry, scrub his skin raw, and forget about this. Yeah, that's it.
So that's exactly what he does. He washes himself so thoroughly his skin is raw and irritated afterwards. The shirt and Will's stained boxers get hidden under other clothing. It will get taken down to the laundromat later.
All that's left is just get changed and go to classes. Easy. Nothing to worry about.
With a newfound rhythm to his step, Will opens the door and walks out, already constructing a plan in his head.
It all shatters once he sees Mike, standing at the front door.
Will freezes mid step like he just saw a demogorgon instead of his own boyfriend. His face is a mask of pure terror, red as a tomato both from the rough shower and the embarrassment consuming him whole.
Mike looks startled, eyes wide, mouth hanging open. His cheeks are flushed. Will tells himself it's from the cold weather outside.
The two stay like this for a long agonizing moment, frozen mid action, staring with round frantic eyes. Mike blinks a few times, finally coming back to reality.
"Um. Hey," he says, his voice a little rough.
"H- Hey. Um," Will stutters, clinging to the towel around his hips. "You- You're back?"
"Oh, I- I just stepped in," Mike scrambles, points back at the door awkwardly. His hands shake, car keys fall out of them and he bends down to quickly pick them up. "Class ended early, um.. Thought I- I could pick you up."
"Okay," Will whispers after a very tense pause. He tries to swallow, his throat contracting painfully around the action. He feels too exposed out here, too vulnerable. "I- I'll go change, then. Be- Be right there."
"Yup. Yup, okay. I.. I'll wait in the car, then," Mike rambles.
"Yup."
"Yup."
All Will hears is the door closing, and he's left in the dead quiet all over again. He nearly collapses onto the floor with how suddenly his knees give out. This is bad. Very bad.