Chapter Text
The camp had gone quiet hours ago.
The fire burns low enough to crackle instead of spark, orange light licking across the clearing in soft pulses. Beyond the trees, the woods breathe with quiet sounds. Distant insects, rustling leaves, the occasional groan of old branches shifting in the wind. Their horses slept nearby, and somewhere behind Will, Dustin snores loud enough to shake the bedroll beneath him.
“You scared me today.” The cleric swallows thickly before continuing. “You keep throwing yourself in front of things like your life doesn’t matter. You scare me.”
Michael hesitates, his hands trailing up Will's calves, looking up at him. “I know it matters. My life matters to you, does it not?”
Will closes his eyes briefly, hopeless. “Yes,” he whispers.
“More than the others?”
Lucas makes a miserable sound in his half state of sleep, rolling over, his arm slapping against their bard. “Dustin,” he mutters hoarsely. “You sound like a goblin. If you die tonight, I’m not carrying your body. I'll let you rot.”
Dustin snores louder in response, drool spilling over his chin.
Will huffs a quiet laugh under his breath before looking back down at his Mike. Sir Michael, paladin of the realm, terror of the sword, sworn knight with enough strength to cleave monsters in half. A man made of stories currently slumped against Will like he’d forgotten how to hold himself upright. “I’m not going to answer that. I'll ask you a better question- do you think Luke is going to smother him?”
“I hope so,” Michael hums. “It would give us less weight to bring back.”
“Don’t be mean- you would be devastated if anything were to happen to him,” Will murmurs softly.
Michael only grunts, his forehead pressed into the curve of Will’s throat. The scrape of his stubble drags against Will’s skin when he shifts lower, seeking warmth, his hands resting heavily on Will’s thighs where the cleric sits on a fallen log beside the fire. Every now and then his fingers flex unconsciously, squeezing the meat there. Possessive. Needy, even.
Will tries very hard not to think about it.
“You should’ve let me heal you sooner,” Will whispers.
Michael's armor lies scattered around them in pieces. His heavy steel helmet near the fire, his sword sheathed and tossed beside Will’s spellbook, his chainmail pooled darkly in the dirt. Every layer had come off slowly beneath Will’s careful hands, and Michael had let him remove each piece without protest, watching him the entire time with dark, exhausted eyes.
Now Michael sat in front of Will’s knees in nothing but loose trousers and worn boots, broad shoulders bare beneath the firelight, covered in bruises and cuts, scars dug in his skin, freckles stark and scattered across sore muscles.
Part of Will finds it devastatingly handsome, a man made out of strength and surety. The other is much more worried about the small hisses that Michael lets out under his breath when Will presses his palm against another gash along bruised ribs, fingers glowing gold.
Warm magic pours beneath skin and muscle alike, knitting flesh back together in shimmering threads of light.
“I love your spellcasting,” Michael murmurs against his throat. “Nearly as warm as your body. Indulge me?”
Will's fingers dig into a knot at the top of Michael's spine, working out the ache, trying not to throb at the weak groan huffed against his skin.
“You’re hurt worse than usual,” he says quietly, ignoring the heat crawling up his nape, refusing to acknowledge the question.
Michael hums against him. “Mm. Maybe I enjoy it.”
“That is not reassuring.”
He gives another squeeze against his thighs, and Will's breath catches just for a moment. Michael's hands were big, warm even with the cold night air, calloused from years of swordwork and combat. “I am well enough to take you, Will. I crave it. Must you neglect me?” Will can feel the grip of them through his trousers, heat slipping in, making his stomach twist.
“You nearly let that creature split you open,” Will scolds softly.
“And yet,” Michael huffs against his skin, voice rough with exhaustion, “here I am. The only splitting I wish to entangle myself with is the velvet of your core.”
Will rolls his eyes despite the little flutter low in his stomach. “You are out of control. Perhaps your head has been damaged? Surely, you must be acting this way because your mind has been shaken from your skull.”
Silence stretches between them for one awful, buzzing moment. The fire crackles, Dustin snores in his sleep, and Michael is silent. Perhaps offended, or merely tired, Will cannot tell.
Michael slowly lifts his head from Will’s neck, his face flushed from the heat of the flames, or maybe just Will's body. His dark curls were damp with sweat from battle earlier just that evening, the paladin having worn himself thin, embedding his sword into monster hide endlessly, wrenching it free, striking again. Will had wondered what his frame must have looked like under that armor, and now he distantly considers requesting for Michael to cut lumber for their camp, to keep the fire roaring. He can picture his shoulders rolling back, his forearms firm.
There was a cut just beneath his jaw Will hadn’t gotten to yet. He swallows, not allowing his thoughts to stray, and reaches for it with trembling fingers.
His fingertips brush a bobbing throat, warm light blooming beneath skin, pores catching on the printed pads of his pointer.
Michael's hands tighten hard enough on Will’s thighs to make him suck in a breath. So firm. His head felt as if it were swimming, foggy.
“There,” Will whispers, fingers lingering longer than necessary. “All healed… do you feel better?”
The paladin’s gaze dropped briefly to Will’s mouth, like it were a physical thing. Heavy, overwhelming.
“You need sleep,” Will manages quietly.
“Your magic feels wonderful.”
The words come low and rough, like a hand petting against skin, stroking him slowly. Will flushes instantly. “It’s healing magic,” he whispers weakly. “It is supposed to soothe. It is the same as any other.”
“Mm.” Michael leans closer again, nose brushing slowly along the side of Will’s throat. “Still wonderful. Do not compare yourself to other mages, it will only condemn them to shame when they cannot compare.”
Will’s hand slips automatically to the back of Michael's shoulders, allowing him to nuzzle close. He was broad, and scarred beneath his fingertips. Will could feel the tension still lingering in him even after the healing, the lingering edge of battle adrenaline.
His thighs press closer together, rubbing along one another.
Perhaps it wasn't adrenaline at all, and merely his body answering the call of a man who could take care of him.
“Michael,” Will says quietly. Michael makes another low noise against his neck, tongue dragging along the skin. “We’re being improper.”
“Improper,” Michael repeats, sounding amused. Will could feel the smile against his skin.
“Yes.”
“We’re alone. What are you ashamed of?”
“We are absolutely not alone, do not say foolish things if you know they are not true. Imagine if the others woke-”
As if summoned by the accusation, Dustin lets out a choking snore from across camp. Michael doesn't bother to glance over. “See? He is dead to the world. I am not ashamed to crave you.”
Will tries to glare at him, but it becomes significantly harder when Michael shifts closer, his grip sliding higher from Will's thighs to his hips, warm palms spanning almost the entirety of each side.
Will's breath stutters. “Mike.”
“Hm?”
“You need to get dressed.”
“I am dressed.”
“You are barely covered-”
“That sounds like a complaint.”
Will stares at him, and Michael keeps eye contact, his gaze teasing, eyebrows furrowed. The same look he always had when he was attempting to make someone bend to his will, when he had a desire to make a person crumble with a gaze and not a weapon.
Before Will could gather enough sense to speak again, Michael's fingers tighten suddenly around his hips, yanking his body closer, lips twitching upwards to show his teeth. Slightly crooked, overly endearing, but Will isn't allowed time to process it, startling hard as Michael bullies himself forward between his knees, forcing them apart wider so he could fit against him.
The movement drags Michael flush against Will's body, chest to chest, heat radiating off of him in waves. Will can't bring himself to wonder when Michael rose to his knees, a small sound slipping free before he could stop it, airy and light.
“Careful,” Will whispers, raising a hand to press against a bare shoulder, fingers instinctively clenching down before he forces himself to release.
Michael leans in slowly, deliberately breathing him in, Will's knees tightening around his hips in little pulses, timed with his pulse. “You smell like smoke,” Michael whispers.
“Well- we are sitting beside a fire… I'm tired, Mike-”
“And mint. Have you soaked your skin in it?” His nose presses against Will's jaw, inhaling hard enough that it was audible. “Mint perfume? How much gold did you spend? I would have gotten it for you.”
It had been a gift from Jonathan, which had technically been from Nancy, which had been from Karen. Will had a tendency to hoard things, so when Nancy hadn't wanted her mother's perfume that smelled ‘too strongly’, his brother had given it to him as a good luck gift. He hadn't anticipated it lingering this long. He hadn't anticipated Michael noticing, either.
“Coconut?” His mouth trails up to Will's ear, nose nestled against the hair curling past Will's temple, huffing him in. “You smell edible, Will. It's lovely.”
The shampoo his mother had packed for him weeks ago. It's something new, different than the cheap bars his family purchases at the market, four copper per slab. He feels rather indecent, as if he had prepared himself to be taken, even though it was unintended.
“Michael,” Will tries again, softer this time. His fingers thread into the hair at Michael's nape, tugging, a silent request for space to breathe.
“If you keep touching me like that,” Michael murmurs against his lobe, “I’m going to start wounding myself on purpose to get this close to you.”
Will nearly chokes. “You absolutely will not. If you harm yourself, none of us would look at you the same. I would be haunted.”
Michael only smiles faintly, far too pleased with himself. “If that is what I must do, then I will have to. I'll take advantage of your forgiveness, Will. I'll take advantage of your body, if given the opportunity.”
Will grips the curled hair at the nape of Michael's neck, tugging hard enough to force the paladin to look at him properly. Michael inhales sharply, his hips giving a delirious little hitch forward, eyes rolling backwards just for a moment before landing back onto Will's own. “Why must you be so difficult?”
That awful, heated tension winds tighter and tighter between them, Will's stomach weak, trying to ignore the way that Michael fits between his knees like he belongs there.
Will stares down at him, trying very hard to ignore the way Michael fit between his knees like he belonged there. Michael's tongue darts past his lips, deep maroon and chapped. Will feels every coherent thought slip past his mind.
Michael looked at him like a man starving. “Will,” he coos, just his name and nothing else. Prompting.
“You’re tired,” Will settles on after a painful second, trying to find something acceptable to say. Michael doesn't answer. “You’re exhausted,” Will presses softly. “You’re worn, and if we stay up much longer you’re going to lose what little sense you have left.”
Michael's mouth twitches. “That happened years ago.”
Will laughs quietly despite himself, the sound softening something in Michael's shoulders. “Very charming” he murmurs. “Come on, that's enough.”
Michael makes a dissatisfied sound immediately, tightening his arms for half a second before finally loosening his grip. “And what if I choose to keep you here?”
“You need rest,” Will says quietly, gathering what remained of his dignity as he shifts away. “I would also like to sleep before sunrise, if possible.”
Michael looks up at him from beneath dark lashes, still kneeling between his legs. The firelight grazes gold against the sharp edges of his face, softening the old scar near his jaw. Handsome, unbearably so. “You’ll sleep better with me awake.”
Will snorts softly. “That is not how sleep works.”
“It is when I’m guarding you.” The words come out easy, smooth like silk, as if it were obvious. As if Michael keeping watch over him was something given, something to be expected, to be anticipated.
Will’s chest tightens painfully. “You can barely keep your eyes open,” he points out.
Michael shrugs one broad shoulder. “I’ll manage.”
“You say that every time, and yet the bags under your eyes continue to grow.”
“It is a worthy price to pay when each morning you wake up alive.”
“…You’re insufferable.”
Michael grins faintly. Tired, but victorious.
Will sighs through his nose before finally nudging Michael backward enough to stand. His knees ache from sitting so long, and Michael's hands instinctively steady his waist the second he wobbles. It lingers, fingers digging in and shaking Will ever so slightly side to side, as if Michael needed to test the weight of Will's body between his palms, or to satiate himself by hefting his weight.
Will ignores the warmth rushing into his face and turns away before Michael could notice, crossing the campsite slowly, stepping over discarded packs and bedrolls.
Dustin remained facedown beneath three blankets, snoring loud enough to surely frighten wildlife for miles. Lucas had somehow wrapped himself entirely in his cloak like an annoyed burrito, his legs kicked over Dustin's own, pinning him to the ground.
Will smiles faintly to himself before crouching near the fire and unrolling his own blankets onto the ground. The night air bit colder now that he’d stopped using his magic. Without the constant glow in his hands, exhaustion settles heavy into his bones all at once. His shoulders ache, and his eyelids burn, the familiar throbs that come from a quest well done.
Behind him, metal shifts softly, a sword removing itself from its sheath, stabbing into earth for easy reach. Michael moving, settling down. Will tries not to think too hard about the fact that he could identify Michael's movements from sound alone.
He lays down carefully atop the blankets, curling onto his side toward the fire. Warm orange light flickers across the clearing, shadows dancing over tree trunks and armor alike. As comfortable as it could be in the wild.
A few moments later, Michael settles nearby with the low creak of leather and fabric, a small grunt leaving his lips as he tugs his boots off, tossing them to the ground. He must be cold, surely.
Will closes his eyes. It has nothing to do with him, now. They were companions, threaded together in the most intimate of ways when the thrill of the hunt gets the best of them. They were close, sworn together. Michael protects him, he fights for him, and in return Will keeps his sword gleaming and his skin stitched together. Michael kept him safe as Will enchanted him, and Will kept Michael defended as Michael slashes his blade. A fireball here, a spell of mending there, a touch that penetrates.
It was not Will's job to soothe him if they were not drunk on the high of adrenaline, when it was excusable.
Will lasts perhaps three minutes before exhaling sharply and cracking one eye open. “You are staring.”
“I’m watching for danger.”
“You’re watching me breathe.”
“I can multitask. Go on, rest.”
Will groans softly and buries his face deeper into the blanket. Michael was undoubtedly an idiot, though Will knew his heart and his soul rang pure. Another minute passes, and Will can still feel the eyes on his back, studying.
“Michael.”
“Hm?”
“I cannot sleep when I can feel you staring holes into the side of my head.”
A pause, then movement. Before Will could process it fully, Michael leans closer and drops a heavy hand against Will’s side. Warm, callused fingers spread against him through the thin fabric of his tunic before sliding beneath the hem with startling confidence, pushing the shirt upward enough to expose bare skin to the cold night air.
Will jolts. “Mike-”
“Would you rather feel my touch instead of my eyes?”
His voice had dropped lower again. Still rough with exhaustion, but somehow more unfair. It coils around Will's mind, prodding, Michael's palm resting heavily against the bare curve of Will's waist. His thumb drags once, slow and absentminded, and Will nearly forgets to breathe.
It is different like this, without the assistance of ale clouding his mind and the rush of celebration clogging his blood.
Will turns his head enough to glare at him over his shoulder. Michael looked far too amused, squeezing at Will's flesh, palm pushing down to cup at the softness of Will's lower stomach, gentle.
Will narrows his eyes, flicking his fingers. A tiny spark of gold snaps through the air, popping Michael in the forehead. Michael startles backward with a bark of surprised laughter, hand raising to press against the stinging spot.
“Why are you in a mood? I've done nothing wrong.”
Will tries to look stern, but the effect had to have been ruined somewhat by the fact that he was still blushing furiously, all the way to the pointed tips of his ears. “You deserved that.”
“I think you’re getting meaner with your magic.”
“I think you’re being annoying on purpose.”
“Correct. Are you planning to attempt to put me in my place?”
Will rolls his eyes hard enough it almost hurts, but Michael's grin only widens. “There is no need.”
With a long exhale, the paladin slumps back. “Mm,” he murmurs. “Actually… I’m tired too.”
“No,” Will deadpans. “Truly?”
“You are so cruel to me.” The bedroll dips behind him beneath Michael's weight, warmth immediately pressing against Will’s back as Michael stretches out behind him without an ounce of shame. A solid chest against his shoulders, one heavy arm settling across Will’s waist like it belonged there, palm finding his stomach again, fingertips slipping beneath his trousers, testing the waters. Lingering.
Will inhales sharply, gripping Michael's wrist. “We are going to wake the others.”
Michael fit against him too easily, snug and close, enough that Will could feel the slow rise and fall of his breathing through the thin layers between them. His nose brushes briefly against the back of Will’s hair.
“I'm not going to ravish you here, I am merely holding you. Sleep.”
Will swallows. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” Michael murmured sleepily, tightening his arm, “you keep me around.”
Will wanted very badly to argue with that, feeling it churn in his gut, but he sinks down into the heat despite it.
It took him no time at all to rest, protective heat laced along his spine, heartbeat lulling him under.
___________________________________
By morning, Michael had apparently decided he was going to become Will’s personal problem.
Will realized this roughly five minutes after waking when he bent to roll up his blankets and Michael immediately appeared behind him like some enormous armored curse, one hand spanning his waist before hauling him upright against a solid chest.
“Morning,” Michael had murmured directly beside his ear.
Will nearly elbowed him in the ribs. “Michael-”
“God,” Lucas groaned from across camp. “Already?”
Dustin had looked personally offended by it, his body shuddering. “Can he at least eat breakfast first?”
Michael's hand remained planted firmly against his stomach for several seconds too long before finally letting him go. Even then, he dragged his fingertips slowly over Will’s side on the way back, hips pitching forward, pressing against Will's body.
Deliberate. Michael had looked unthreatened, shoulders rolled backwards and standing tall, one boot on and the other dropped half-heartedly behind him. Having rushed once he got the opportunity, leaving his preparation as an afterthought.
Will shot him a warning look, and it had only unraveled since then.
By the time they were packed and back on the road through the forest trail, Michael had developed a truly unbearable habit of touching Will whenever physically possible.
If Will were to reach up to adjust the strap of his satchel, Michael's hand settled at his waist from behind, fingers squeezing once before sliding away, taking Will's bag from him with a gentle scolding.
Will crouched to refill their waterskins at a stream? Michael walked up behind him and slid a hand around his throat, tilting it back, looking down at him. Will distinctly remembers Michael dropping his other hand to the side of Will's face, pulling his bottom lip down, gaze heavy.
When Will leaned over Dustin’s map to point something out, Michael had hooked an arm around his shoulders and dragged him bodily against his side while pretending to examine the route.
It was impossible to ignore, and worse was how Michael seemed so smug over it, cheeks split from his smile.
“You’re acting insane,” Will hisses quietly.
Michael looks down at him mildly, raising an eyebrow. “I have no idea what you mean.”
“Quit grabbing me.”
“I’m touching you, not grabbing. Would you prefer it if I grabbed you?”
“That is the same thing, don't act a fool.”
“I think grabbing sounds more romantic, don't you?”
Will nearly trips over a root.
Ahead of them, Lucas makes a sound of absolute despair, head tilting back, hands moving to cover his face as he groans. “Please,” he huffs to the heavens. “Please make them stop. I'll do anything. I'll pray.”
Dustin points backwards accusingly without looking up from the apple he was eating. “How do you think I felt when you skipped out on our last quest-?!”
“It was a reward of three gold, Dustin. I wasn't wasting time on that!”
“It wasn't about the money, it was about seeing the lands-”
Michael snorts, and something prods between Will's shoulder blades, causing him to startle. His steps pause and Michael nudges him forward, dragging the blunt leather wrapped handle of his sheathed sword down the center of Will's spine as he prompts him forward.
“Did something catch your eye, cleric?”
Will swallows thickly, fuzz clouding out his ears. Michael digs his hilt at the base of Will's back, pushing him forward a step from the pressure, his chin dropping on the crown of Will's head, crowding over him.
Will jerks violently, Michael's head tilting down to press a brief kiss to his hair before stepping around him and continuing on the trail.
“Oh, that’s evil,” Lucas whispers, eyes wide. “We told you that if you were to lay with him he would never move past it- how many times?”
“What-?!” Will hisses, his face hot. “What are you talking about?”
“You and Mike! How many times have you two-”
“Sir Michael the Honorable has fallen,” Dustin jokingly wails, dropping his body weight onto Will's side, the back of his hand pressing against his forehead. “We are doomed!”
Michael glances back over one shoulder, entirely shameless. “It is extremely honorable to take care of one's party-”
“You have favoritism!" Dustin calls back, hooking an arm around Will's neck and yanking him down a little so they could press together, ever affectionate. “Why don't you take care of us, hm? Hm?”
Michael's eyes narrow at the contact for a moment, and Lucas hauls Dustin by the collar of his tunic, the bard kicking wildly in alarm as Lucas drags him away. “Do you have a death wish-?”
“Unhand me-! RELEASE ME- HELP! HELP, I AM BEING KIDNAPPED-”
“Shut up, Dustin,” Michael rolls his eyes.
Will's mouth opens and closes, feeling as if he's somehow slept past days and woken up groggy. Michael's lips twitch in a grin, and Will hurries his steps, eyes on the ground.
“HELP-”
“Shut it!”
“I'M BEING THREATENED-”
___________________________________
The road curves downhill through golden afternoon light, the distant rooftops of the village just barely visible beyond the trees now, smoke curling lazily from chimneys.
Civilization, close enough that Will could almost taste it. His stomach ached for a warm, fresh meal. He should visit his mother the moment he gets a chance, and drop off the scales he collected for his brother, though their homes were more towards the countryside. It would be a days journey, but if Will took off early he could make it there by tomorrow's nightfall.
A hand catches the back of his cloak and reels him backwards, Will barely managing a handful of steps. Michael's hand slides from his belt to Will’s hip the second he was close enough, squeezing once.
Will shoots him a look that should have killed a lesser man, but Michael only looks entertained, as if he were enjoying some sort of chase. “Yes?”
“You keep wandering off.”
“I walked six feet away.”
“Dangerous distance. You don't know who could be lurking, waiting to strike.”
“...Sure, Mike.” Michael grins, and perhaps Will shouldn't enable him like this, not so fresh after battle.
Most men returned from quests exhausted and filthy and half dead. Michael somehow came back looking worse in a way that only made him more unfairly attractive, dark curls disheveled from travel, sleeves rolled to his forearms, armor loosened at the throat, sunlight catching against old scars and the silver insignia on his chest.
If they were alone, Will could fist his chainmail and yank him downward, pushing up to his toes to capture Michael's mouth. If there were no witnesses, he would be able to stroke the heat in his belly, teeth nipping on his skin, fingers twisting deep.
Michael's eyes flutter, gaze flicking past Will's gaze to his lips, “You need to stop,” Will mutters.
Michael doesn't look away, his focus full of intent. “Stop what?”
“Must I say it?”
“You don't have to, but I would prefer if you acknowledged my advances here-”
Ahead of them, Dustin groans loud enough to echo through the forest. “I can’t believe we survived four entire hordes of pillagers just to perish from whatever weird mating ritual this is.”
Lucas points sharply at Michael, walking backwards. “Seriously, knock it off before we get back.”
Michael looks entirely unbothered, shrugging. “No.”
“No?” Will repeats.
“No.”
“What do you mean no-? You can't be serious-”
Michael leans closer as they walk, like some mutt that Will couldn't shake off. He was far too endeared by it. “No.”
Will opens his mouth to argue again, only for Michael to suddenly tug him sideways by the waist until their shoulders bumped together. Will stumbles into him with a startled noise, Michael steadying him with one large hand spanning almost the entirety of his side. “There,” Michael says calmly. “Much better.”
Will digs an elbow into his side, but finds himself leaning into the touch, ears hot. “I worry for your brain, if this is how you think.”
“You healed me too well,” Michael replies. “Now I have energy again. It is not my brain’s fault that you are magnificent. Any man with a working mind would want you.”
Lucas gags violently, and Dustin shakes his head, looking as if he were some suffering victim forced here against his will.
Michael ignores them again, leaving Will to suffer the embarrassment alone. He should have been used to it by now, but post-battle Michael has always been something distantly unique, difficult to comprehend.
The village gates finally come into view, looming overhead. Dustin breaks out into a shout, waving both arms, while Lucas cups his hands around his mouth to shout his greetings.
The moment the guards recognize them approaching down the road, one of them shouts toward the center of town, alerting others of their arrival. The pillagers have been slain, and the town was in a momentary lapse of safety once again.
Everything explodes into noise after that. Cheers rise and people flood the streets now that there is no danger within leaving their homes. Villagers crowd around them with relieved smiles and exhausted gratitude, calling out thanks as word spreads.
A woman grabs Lucas’ hands, thanking him profusely for saving her husband during the attack near the mills. Dustin accepts three separate loaves of bread from excited children like a conquering hero returning from war.
Someone shoves flowers into Will’s arms, bowing her head low. A child tugs at his leg, beaming up at him, asking if he could really enchant the stars. He couldn't, but the sentiment was sweet. A hand claps against his shoulder, an old farmer thanking him for saving their crop.
Michael's hand presses at the space once the farmer lifts his own, reclaiming. A woman tries to speak to him, but Michael waves her off with one hand, his face twisted, looking angered even though Will knew he wasn't. Michael always tended to have an unapproachable air to him, eyes dark and expression even darker. The woman hesitates before sulking off, heading towards Lucas instead.
Even surrounded by celebrating villagers, Michael's hand kept finding him, a palm settling against the small of his back or fingers hooking into the fabric at Will's hip whenever someone presses too close.
Will wanted to scream. Instead, he keeps his smile soft, attempting to seem as kind as possible.
A woman from a lovely bakery down the road lets out a laugh when both of Michael's hands grip Will's shoulders, steering him through the crowd and away from others, keeping his chest firmly planted against Will's back.
“Good luck with that one!” She calls to Will, waving at them with a white cloth in one hand, her child resting upon her hip on the other. “Soon he'll have you all cooped up, I'm sure!”
Will nearly dies on the spot, but Michael lets out a delighted noise, his fingers squeezing Will's shoulders, chin hooking over the top of his head.
“Mrs. Patel,” Will croaks.
She waves him off immediately. “Don’t ‘Mrs. Patel’ me, sweetheart. Everyone with eyes can see he's itching to have you locked up somewhere!”
Lucas makes a choking sound beside them, leaning closer. “Are you hearing this-?”
Dustin looked betrayed. “Yes! Those two are ruining our reputation-”
“Not like there's much of it,” one of the blacksmiths corrects while hauling ale barrels across the square. “Come grab a drink!”
Will buries his face in one hand, ignoring a child tugging on the fingers of his free hand for a moment, endlessly embarrassed. The child tugs again harder and Will pulls his fingers away to thread magic in the air, a small dragon swirling around her, looking as if it were painted on paper. The girl squeals in excitement, chasing it, her friends following along.
“You're good with them,” Michael whispers directly into his ear.
“And you’re enjoying this far too much.”
“Yes,” Michael responds, endlessly honest. “Very much so.”
Before Will could recover enough dignity to come up with something to say, Dustin bounds over and grabs at Will, pulling him free. Will takes a glance over his shoulder to see Lucas manhandling Michael away, pushed up on his toes to hook Michael's neck in his elbow, as if Michael were some cat getting scruffed.
“Tavern,” Dustin announces dramatically, squeezing Will's hand. “Immediately! I nearly died three separate times this week and I deserve alcohol.”
“You didn't even get involved in the last fight, you were busy trying to befriend their hounds,” Lucas huffs.
“I was being brave and rescuing the weak!”
“You cried when they bit your foot.”
“That was tactical! I couldn't appear as a threat-”
Despite the arguing, Dustin drags Will towards the nearest tavern, his stomach churning.
Will would have to head home tomorrow instead, and spend the night with one of his companions. Perhaps Lucas would spare room.