Archive of Our Own

Will hates the back of his neck.

It sounds stupid when he thinks about it like that, as if he just chose one random part of his body to hate, but it hasn’t been random in years. After everything with the Mind Flayer, the skin there never really went back to normal. It has been sensitive ever since, too aware of cold air and anyone standing too close behind him. Most of the time, he can ignore it. Most of the time, it’s just another leftover thing he has learned how to live around.

Lately, though, the goosebumps have started coming back.

Not normal goosebumps, like the kind people get when it’s cold outside or when a music hits at the right part. These are like the old ones, the ones that crawl up the back of his neck and make his whole body lock before his brain has time to remind him that nothing is there. They feel too much like they used to, back when that sensation meant something was wrong and his body would know before he did.

He hates that his body never seems to learn that it’s over.

The first couple years after everything happened had been better than he’d expected. Not perfect, if it could ever even be perfect after everything, but better. Therapy and time had helped him a lot. He’d built a life that actually felt stable. He has his friends, his art, plans for a future he can actually picture himself having. Most days, he wakes up and thinks about regular, normal things like deadlines and grocery lists, boring life stuff that means he made it out. For the first time maybe ever, it feels like he’s actually allowed to live a normal life.

Which is why the goosebumps coming back pisses him off so much.

It started about a month ago. A cold draft slipping through a window. Someone walking up behind him. A hand brushing too close to the back of his neck. The sensation is always the same, a sudden prickle across his skin, every muscle in his body locking up before he can stop it, that awful crawling feeling that used to mean ‘danger, danger!’.

The first time it happened, Will nearly threw up. It was all too overwhelming. One second he’d been standing in his kitchen, and the next, he was sixteen again. Scared and frozen, like his body was waiting for something his mind knew wasn’t coming.

He saw the Mind Flayer die. He saw Vecna get his literal head chopped off. He watched it end with his own eyes. There is no part of him that actually believes something is still hiding out there, waiting to take him over again.

His body doesn’t care at all about that.

Lately, he’s caught himself reaching for the back of his neck without realizing it, rubbing at the skin or pressing his palm there like he can force the feeling away. He’s noticed people looking at him afterward, especially Mike, because Mike seems to notice everything when it comes to him.

Will catches himself staring into space more often now, losing time to memories he doesn’t actually want to think about. Sometimes he comes back to himself and realizes he’s sweating through his shirt over a fucking cool breeze.

It’s embarrassing. Worse than embarrassing, actually.

It’s infuriating, because he’s supposed to be past this. Moving on with his life, making plans, acting like a person who survived instead of a person still waiting for the next bad thing to happen. But the sensitivity is still there, tucked under his skin like proof that some part of him never got out.

On Friday night, Will is in Mike’s basement with a bowl of popcorn in his lap. Dustin is arguing like the fate of the summer depends on which movie they put in first.

It feels stupidly normal. Summer break has dragged everyone back to Hawkins, all of them home from different colleges with different schedules and stories. The basement looks mostly the same, too. Same couch. Same old blankets. Same D&D manuals stacked on the shelf. The TV is newer, but the VCR still makes a horrible grinding sound when Mike shoves the tape in, and Lucas immediately says, “That thing is going to explode.”

“It’s not,” Mike says, hitting the top of it with his palm.

Will looks over from the couch. “That’s not fixing it.”

“It helped.”

“It just made an even worse sound.”

“That means it’s working through something.”

Dustin, still holding two rejected horror movies under one arm, points at Mike. “Exactly. Let the machine process.”

Lucas gives him a look. “You picked a movie called The Bog Man.”

“It’s supposed to be terrifying. It fills people’s lungs with mud until they suffocate.”

Mike pauses with his hand still on the VCR. “That’s just gross.”

“Exactly,” Dustin says, vindicated.

Will leans back into the couch, smiling despite himself. Mike drops down beside him a second later, close enough that their knees touch when he reaches for the popcorn bowl. He doesn’t ask before taking a handful, and Will doesn’t tell him to stop. They have been doing things like that all summer, little casual points of contact just like when they were kids.

The movie starts, and it’s awful almost immediately.

The monster is very clearly a man in a rubber suit covered in mud. The first victim trips over absolutely nothing. The swamp looks less like a swamp and more like someone’s backyard after a storm. Dustin still watches with complete seriousness, elbows on his knees, while Lucas spends the first twenty minutes saying every character deserves to die for making such bad choices.

“If I hear a noise in an evil swamp,” Lucas says, “I’m leaving.”

“Well they don’t exactly know it’s evil yet do they, Lucas?” Dustin argues.

Mike snorts beside Will, and Will feels it more than hears it, their shoulders brushing when Mike shifts. The first jump scare gets Lucas badly enough that he kicks the coffee table. The second gets Dustin, though he tries to pretend he was coughing. Mike only tenses once, barely, but Will catches it because he is sitting right next to him.

“You jumped,” Will murmurs.

Mike looks offended. “I’m just reacting.”

“That was definitely a jump.”

“I was just aware of what was happening on the screen and reacting to it. Not a jump.”

Will rolls his eyes. “Sure.”

Mike nudges his knee against Will’s, and Will smiles down at the popcorn bowl instead of looking at him for too long.

Halfway through, Dustin finally turns away from the screen and squints at him. “Dude, how are you not scared by any of this?”

Will shrugs. “After everything we’ve been through, it’s kind of hard to be scared by a guy in a costume.”

“He’s not just some ‘guy in a costume’. He’s an ancient mud demon.”

“You can see the zipper when he turns.”

Lucas laughs from the floor, though he still has one hand half-raised like he’s ready to cover his eyes.

Dustin looks betrayed. “The man fills people with mud until they suffocate, Will. And you’re just watching it like the morning news.”

Will takes another handful of popcorn. “The blood doesn’t even look real.”

Mike leans a little more into Will’s side. “Will’s never been scared easily.”

Will glances at him, but Mike is watching the TV again like he did not just say something that makes Will’s stomach feel strange. Mike says things like that sometimes, casual and certain, like he believes in a brave version of Will that Will has never quite managed to be.

Before Will can think too much about it, Dustin gets up to use the bathroom and tells them not to pause the movie. Lucas immediately steals his candy. Mike steals some too, then silently holds a piece out to Will, palm open.

Will takes it causing their fingers to brush.

By the time Dustin comes back, Will has sunk lower into the couch, tired and comfortable in the dim blue light from the TV. The basement is cool, Mike is warm beside him, and for once he feels safe.

Then Dustin leans over the back of the couch and breathes against his skin.

“Boo.”

Will jerks so hard the popcorn bowl flies out of his lap.

It hits the carpet and spills everywhere, but Will barely registers it. His hand is already clamped over the back of his neck, fingers digging into the skin as goosebumps crawl up beneath his palm. The basement stretches thin around him. Dustin’s laugh sounds too far away. The movie keeps playing. Someone says his name, maybe, but all Will can feel is that old cold warning rushing through him before he has a chance to tell himself it’s nothing.

It is nothing.

Dustin is behind him. Dustin, who is annoying and loud and harmless. The monster on the TV is fake. The real ones are dead. He knows all of that, but his body never cared about what he knows.

“Dude, that was perfect,” Dustin says, still laughing. “I knew I could get you somehow!”

Lucas laughs too, softer. “Whoa, I’ve never seen Will jump like that.”

Mike’s hand settles on Will’s shoulder.

Not hard. Just enough pressure that Will can feel it through his shirt.

“Will?” Mike says.

Will looks at him because Mike’s voice is the easiest thing in the room to follow. He’s not laughing. He’s watching Will’s face, then Will’s hand, then his face again, the concern there makes Will feel exposed.

Will nods.

But It’s not very convincing.

Dustin’s smile drops. “Wait, shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you that bad.”

“It’s fine,” Will says, though his voice comes out rough enough that he has to clear his throat afterward. “You just came out of nowhere.”

“Yeah, sorry.”

Lucas shifts on the floor, looking guilty now too. “Sorry for laughing.”

Will forces a small smile. “It’s okay. Seriously.”

Nobody looks like they believe him, but Dustin starts cleaning up the popcorn, muttering another apology under his breath, and Lucas gets the little broom from the closet. Mike keeps his hand on Will’s shoulder for a few seconds longer before letting go, and Will spends the rest of the movie pretending not to notice every time Mike looks at him.

By the time the credits roll, Will is exhausted.

Dustin is still complaining that mud should not burn that easily, and Lucas is trying to find his other shoe when Mike suddenly stands up and says, “Okay, time for you guys to leave.”

Dustin pauses. “Wow.”

Lucas looks up. “Subtle.”

“It’s late.”

“It’s summer,” Dustin says.

“Great. Enjoy it somewhere else.”

Dustin looks from Mike to Will, then back again. “You’re not kicking Will out.”

Mike’s ears go faintly pink. “Will’s sleeping over.”

Lucas squints. “Since when?” 

“Since now.”

“You never ask us to sleep over after movies.”

“That’s because I don’t want you to.”

Dustin presses a hand to his chest. “After everything we’ve been through?”

Mike grabs him by the shoulders and starts steering him toward the stairs. “Go.”

It takes another five minutes to actually get them out, mostly because Dustin remembers the tape, then his candy, then argues with Mike about his hospitality. Eventually the front door closes upstairs, and the basement goes quiet.

Will pulls the old sleeping bag from the closet just to have something to do.

“You don’t have to do that yet,” Mike says.

Will keeps unrolling it. “I’m tired.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Something about the way he says it makes Will pause. He smooths his hand over the sleeping bag. “You don’t have to be weird.”

“I’m not being weird.”

“You kicked them out like you were their dad.”

“They were annoying.”

“They’re always annoying.”

Mike comes closer but stops near the coffee table, arms crossed loosely over his chest. “Will.”

Will sighs because that tone never means anything good. “What?”

Mike looks at him for a second, then glances toward the back of his neck so quickly Will might have missed it if he had not been waiting for it.

“Oh,” Will says.

Mike winces. “I’m not trying to make it a thing.”

“You are kind of making it a thing.”

“I know.” Mike rubs a hand over his face. “Sorry. I just… Dustin scared you, and you looked really freaked out.”

“I got startled.”

“Will.”

There is no point trying to lie to Mike. Will still wants to, because the words are right there, familiar and easy. I’m fine. It was nothing. Don’t worry about it. But Mike is watching him with that stupid focused look, like he already knows every answer and is just waiting for Will to stop pretending.

Will sits back on his heels. “It’s stupid.”

“No, it’s not.”

“You don’t even know what I’m talking about.”

“I know you.”

Mike sits on the couch instead of coming closer, leaving space beside him. “You don’t have to tell me. I just wanted to ask before you do that thing where you pretend nothing happened and then don’t sleep.”

Will huffs. “I don’t do that.”

“You absolutely do that.”

“You’re one to talk.”

Mike’s mouth twitches. “Yeah. I know.”

Will looks down at the sleeping bag, picking at a loose thread near the zipper. The basement is quiet except for the TV humming softly behind him. When the air conditioner kicks on upstairs, a cool draft slips through the room and brushes the back of his neck. His shoulders tense before he can stop them.

Mike sees it but he doesn’t say anything.

“It’s my neck,” Will says finally, and the words sound ridiculous out loud. Too small for how much space they take up inside him. “The back of it. It’s been sensitive since everything happend. Sometimes it just happens again. The goosebumps, or whatever. Like before.”

Mike goes still. “Like with the Mind Flayer?”

Will nods. “I know it’s over,” he says quickly. “I know that. I’m not sitting here thinking Vecna’s hiding in your laundry room.”

“That would explain the smell.”

Will laughs before he can stop himself.

Mike looks relieved for half a second.

Will rubs at the back of his neck, then makes himself stop. “It just keeps happening. A draft, someone behind me, anything, and for a second my body reacts like it used to. Like it’s warning me. I know it’s not real, but it still feels real before I can talk myself out of it.”

Mike is quiet for a moment. “How long?”

Will looks away. “About a month.”

“A month?”

“Not every day.”

“Will.”

“I didn’t want to make it a big deal.”

Mike lets out a short, humorless laugh. “You’re terrible at deciding what counts as a big deal.”

“It’s embarrassing.”

That softens him immediately. “Why?”

“Because it’s been years.”

“So?”

“So I thought I was better than this.”

Mike looks like he wants to argue. Will braces for it, for the speech about healing and trauma and how none of it is his fault. He knows all of that already. He has heard it in therapy. He’s said it to himself and still felt stupid afterward.

But Mike doesn’t give the speech. He just looks at him and says, quieter, “I hate that it still gets to have any part of you.”

Will’s throat tightens.

Mike seems to notice that too, because he leans back and nods toward the couch. “Come sit up here for a minute.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re too far away.”

“I’m setting up my sleeping bag.”

“It’s a sleeping bag. You don’t need to set it up.”

Will hesitates, then gets up and sits beside him. Mike doesn’t touch him right away. He just shifts until their shoulders are close, almost touching, and lowers the TV until the room is mostly quiet.

For a while, neither of them says anything. Will is grateful for that.

Then Mike says, “Next time it happens, you can tell me.”

Will stares at the TV. “Okay.”

“I mean it.”

“I know.”

“And if you don’t want to talk, you can just say that too.”

Will nods. “Okay.”

Mike thinks about that, then adds, “And if Dustin does that again, I’ll kill him.”

Will laughs under his breath. “Please don’t. I like Dustin.”

“Fine. I’ll maim him.”

Will shakes his head, but he’s smiling now, and this time it doesn’t feel as forced. Mike’s shoulder finally brushes his, deliberate but still light enough that Will could move away if he wanted to.

He doesn’t want to.

Instead, he lets himself lean into it, just a little.

At some point, the TV becomes background noise, the couch gets warmer, and Mike’s shoulder ends up under his cheek. One minute he is watching some late-night rerun with his knees pulled up on the couch, and the next he is drifting somewhere soft and half-awake, close enough to feel Mike breathing beside him.

Then he wakes up cold.

It runs straight down the back of his neck, sharp and sudden, and Will sits up before he’s even fully conscious. His hand flies to his neck on instinct, fingers digging into the skin below his hairline as the feeling spreads fast, too fast, like something seeping under the surface of him.

Beside him, Mike jerks awake. “Will?”

Will barely hears him. His own breathing is too loud, his pulse too hard in his ears, and the only thing he can think is get it off, get it out, stop it before it gets worse. His nails scrape over the back of his neck, not hard enough to really hurt at first, but hard enough that Mike’s hand catches his wrist almost immediately.

“Will, don’t do that.”

Will pulls against him. “No, Mike, I—”

“Hey, stop. You’re going to scratch yourself.”

“I can feel it.”

“I know.” Mike sounds wide awake now, even though his voice is still rough with sleep. He shifts closer, one hand around Will’s wrist and the other hovering near his shoulder like he is trying to figure out how to help without making it worse. “Will, look at me.”

Will tries. He really does. But the feeling keeps crawling, and his free hand reaches back again before he can stop it.

Mike catches that one too. “Will.”

There is something in his voice this time that makes Will freeze for half a second. Mike moves before Will can start clawing at his neck again, covering the back of it with his own hand like he can block the feeling with his palm. His thumb presses just below Will’s hairline, warm and steady, and the other hand stays wrapped around Will’s wrist.

“Nothing’s there,” Mike says quietly. “You’re okay. Nothing is after you.”

Will’s first instinct is to argue, except the words slip away before he can find them.

Mike’s hand is warm.

That’s the first thing Will notices, he doesn’t feel the chill anymore or the crawling. Just Mike’s palm spread over his nape, his thumb moving in slow circles against the sensitive skin at the top of Will’s neck.

The feeling doesn’t vanish all at once, but it changes. The sharpness dulls. The panic loosens. Will’s shoulders drop before he realizes he was holding them up near his ears, and the breath he takes next comes easier than the one before it. Mike keeps talking, soft enough that the words matter less than the sound of them.

“You’re okay,” he says again. “It’s just the basement. It’s just me.”

Will’s eyes go unfocused.

He doesn’t mean for it to happen. He’s sitting rigid on the couch, and next thing he knows he’s leaning back into Mike’s hand like his body has decided without him. His head tips slightly, his neck pressing more fully into Mike’s palm, the goosebumps are gone now, but the skin still feels awake in a way he does not know what to do with.

Not bad or scary. Just too much and not enough at the same time.

Mike’s thumb pauses.

Will makes a small, embarrassing sound before he can stop himself, barely more than a breath, and Mike starts moving again immediately.

For a few seconds, Will lets himself sink into it. His head ends up against Mike’s shoulder, his eyes half-lidded, every thought in his brain going quiet under the slow drag of Mike’s thumb. It’s strange. Almost humiliatingly nice. He has spent years hating anyone being near that part of him, and now Mike is touching him there and his body is melting like it has been waiting for it.

“Will?”

That snaps him out of it.

Will sits up too fast, face going hot as he realizes exactly how relaxed he’d gotten. Mike pulls his hand away at the same time, not far though, his fingers curling awkwardly against his own knee.

“Are you okay?” Mike asks.

“Yeah.” Will blinks, trying to collect himself. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I think the air conditioner kicked on or something and it freaked me out again. I don’t know what happened.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“Because I freaked out and woke you up.”

Mike looks at him like that is the dumbest thing he’s ever heard. “You didn’t wake me up on purpose.”

“No, but you still had to deal with it.”

“I didn’t have to deal with anything,” Mike says, quickly. His face goes a little pink. “I mean, except stopping you from scratching the back of your neck off, which seemed important.”

Will looks down at his hands. “Right.”

Mike is quiet for a second. When he speaks again, his voice is careful in a way that makes Will nervous. “What was that?”

Will’s stomach flips. “What was what?”

Mike rubs at the side of his face, embarrassed now too. “When I touched you. You just kind of… I don’t know. You relaxed. Like, really relaxed.”

Will’s ears heat immediately. “I don’t know.”

“Oh.”

“I mean, I really don’t know.” Will presses his palms against his knees, trying not to fidget too obviously. “That’s never happened before.”

Mike’s eyebrows pull together. “Never?”

“No one really touches me there.”

The words hang there for a second, and Will wishes he could grab them out of the air and shove them back into his mouth. Mike’s face changes, not in a bad way, just enough that Will has to look away.

“I just mean,” Will adds quickly. “I don’t even like thinking about it most of the time. But when you did it, it was… I don’t know. Soothing, I guess.”

“Soothing?”

“You don’t have to repeat it.”

Mike’s mouth twitches, but he doesn’t smile fully. “Sorry.”

Will lets out a frustrated breath and covers his face with both hands. “This is so embarrassing.”

“Hey.” Mike’s voice goes soft again. “It’s not.”

“It is.”

“It’s really not.”

Will drags his hands down his face and looks at him. Mike is still pink, but he doesn’t look like he’s making fun of him. If anything, he looks weirdly serious, like he's trying very hard to understand this correctly.

“So you’re saying it helped?” Mike asks.

Will hesitates, then nods. “Yeah. I think so. It was like my brain turned off for a second, but not in a bad way. I felt relaxed.” He picks at the hem of his shirt, unable to look at Mike for too long. “I never thought the back of my neck could feel like anything except that.”

Mike’s expression softens.

Will immediately wants to crawl under the couch. “Anyway,” he says, too fast, “I’m sorry I woke you up. I can move to the sleeping bag now.”

He starts to stand, but Mike catches his wrist. “Don’t.”

Will looks down at Mike’s hand.

Mike lets go almost immediately, like he is afraid he grabbed too quickly. “I mean, you can if you want, obviously. But you don’t have to.”

Will slowly sits back down.

Mike shifts beside him, more awake now, hair messy from where Will had been sleeping against him. “Maybe it’s good,” he says.

Will stares at him. “Me freaking out?”

“No. Not that.” Mike makes a face. “Obviously not that. I mean the other part.”

“The part where I acted weird because you touched my neck?”

“You didn’t act weird.”

“Mike.”

“You didn’t.” Mike pauses, thinking, and Will can tell the exact second an idea starts forming because his whole face changes with it. “Maybe it helped because it was me.”

Will goes still.

Mike seems to realize how that sounds almost immediately, because his face goes pink. “I– I just mean because you trust me. So maybe your brain didn’t treat it like a threat.”

Will looks down at the couch cushion, rubbing his thumb over one of the seams. “I don’t feel anything when I touch it myself.”

“Because you expect it.”

“Maybe…”

“But when I did it, you didn’t. And it still didn’t scare you.” Mike shrugs, trying to make it sound casual and failing. “It did the opposite.”

Will hates that it almost makes sense.

“So maybe that means it’s not impossible for it to feel different,” Mike says. “Maybe your body can learn something else.”

Will looks at him then. “What am I supposed to do with that information? It’s not like I’m always going to have someone I trust around to grab the back of my neck.”

“No,” Mike says, then pauses. “But what if we practiced?”

Will’s mouth goes dry for no reason at all. “Practiced.”

Mike’s blush gets worse. “I just mean, maybe we can get you used to it. Touching there, I mean. Surprises that aren’t bad. So when something happens, your brain doesn’t immediately go to ‘monster danger!’.”

Will stares at him. Mike stares back.

The TV hums quietly in the background.

“Train it,” Mike says.

Will’s eyebrows lift. “Train it?”

“Yeah.”

“My neck?”

Mike opens his mouth, then closes it again. “Okay, when you say it like that, it sounds stupid.”

“It sounded stupid before I said it like that.”

“Fine, then forget I said train.”

“No, no.” Will is smiling despite himself now, nerves and embarrassment twisting together until he does not know what else to do with them. “I want to hear this. How exactly would we go about training my neck?”

Mike’s face goes red.

Will’s smile fades a little when he realizes Mike does not have an answer yet, or maybe he does and does not know how to say it.

The basement suddenly feels much warmer than it did a minute ago.

Mike looks away first, dragging a hand through his hair. “I guess we’d start slow.”

Will swallows. “Right.”

“Getting used to touch. Just my hand again,” Mike says, quieter now. “Only if you want.”

Will looks at him for a second too long, then nods.

“Okay,” he says. “Slow.”

Neither of them move right away.

Will is sitting cross-legged in the middle of the couch, facing Mike, while Mike sits turned toward him with one leg tucked awkwardly under the other. It shouldn’t feel like a big deal. It is just Mike. It is just his hand. He has already touched him there once tonight, and it helped, which should make this easier instead of making Will suddenly aware of every inch of space between them.

Mike looks at him through tired, half-lidded eyes. “So, like… now?”

Will’s face warms. “Only if you want to.”

“I asked you.”

“Right.” Will clears his throat and looks down at his own hands. “Yeah. Sure. Why not.”

Mike nods like that is a perfectly normal answer to a perfectly normal situation. Then he looks at Will, then at the couch, then back at Will again. “Maybe you should turn around.”

Will blinks. “Oh.”

Will lets out a nervous laugh and turns before he can think about it too much. He scoots back until he’s sitting close enough that Mike doesn’t have to reach far, but the second his back is to him, his stomach twists. It’s different like this. Facing Mike, he can read his expression, can see what he’s thinking before he says it. With his back turned, all he has is the quiet basement, and the knowledge that Mike is right behind him.

“You good?” Mike asks.

Will nods, then remembers Mike cannot see his face properly. “Yeah.”

“Okay.”

The first brush of Mike’s fingers is barely anything.

It still sends a shiver straight down Will’s spine.

Mike pauses immediately. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay.” Will tries to sound normal and has no idea if he manages it. “You just startled me.”

Mike waits another second before touching him again. This time, his hand settles more fully over the back of Will’s neck, palm warm against his skin, fingers curving carefully around his nape. The tension in Will’s shoulders loosens. It’s almost embarrassing how quickly his body recognizes the pressure and decides it is safe.

“How does it feel?” Mike asks.

Will lets out a slow breath. “It doesn’t really feel like anything yet. Just pressure.” He thinks about it for a second. “But good pressure. Like a weighted blanket or something.”

Mike hums softly behind him, for some reason the sound makes Will’s face heat worse than the touch does.

Then Mike takes his hand away.

Will almost turns to ask why, but before he can, two fingers trace lightly down the back of his neck.

The feeling is different this time. Less grounding. More delicate. Mike’s middle and pointer fingers move carefully over the small space below his hairline, up and down, testing the touch like he is afraid of doing too much too quickly. It sends another chill through Will, but not the bad kind. Not the cold, crawling warning that makes his whole body lock up. This is softer and stranger, a sensitivity he does not have a name for.

Mike’s fingers slow into small circles making Will shudder.

“Is this okay?” Mike asks.

Will hums.

The circles stop.

“Will.”

His eyes open halfway.

“I need words.”

Will’s face burns. “Yeah,” he says, voice coming out quieter than he means it to. “It’s nice.”

Mike is silent for a second, then his fingers start moving again.

Will sinks back a little without meaning to. His eyes feel heavy, his thoughts going loose around the edges in a way that’s not panic and not fear. It’s the opposite, almost. Like his body has been waiting years to be told it does not have to brace for this. Like Mike’s hand is convincing him one slow circle at a time.

“You know you have a mole back here?” Mike asks.

Will huffs weakly. “I mean, yeah. Kind of.”

Mike’s fingers shift, and then his thumb presses gently near the middle of Will’s nape.

Will whines.

not a gasp. It is not even close to one. It is an actual, humiliating sound that leaves him before he can stop it, thin and soft and completely impossible to explain away.

Mike freezes.

Will freezes too, but for a very different reason.

For half a second, neither of them says anything.

Then Will is moving, standing so fast he nearly trips over the edge of the sleeping bag still half-spread on the floor. His hand flies to the back of his neck, covering the spot like that can somehow undo what just happened.

Mike is already sitting forward, eyes wide. “Will, I’m sorry– I’m so sorry. That was stupid. I know it’s sensitive back there, I shouldn’t have pressed, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Will’s face feels so hot he wants to open the basement window and stick his head outside. “You didn’t hurt me.”

Mike blinks. “But you…”

“I’m fine.”

“You made a sound.”

Will wants the floor to open up under him. “That’s probably enough for now, right?”

Mike looks confused, worried, and embarrassed all at once. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. However much you want.”

“Great.” Will nods too many times. “Thank you. For helping. I’m just going to, um. Bathroom.”

“Will–”

“I’ll be right back.”

He gets up the stairs faster than necessary and shuts himself in the first-floor bathroom, locking the door behind him with shaking hands. For a few seconds, he just stands there in the dark, listening to his own breathing.

Then he turns on the light.

His face is bright red in the mirror. His hair is a mess from sleeping against Mike’s shoulder, and the back of his neck still feels warm, almost buzzing, like Mike’s hand is somehow still there.

Will stares at himself. He hadn’t been in pain.

It felt good.

˚⟡˖ ࣪

Will spends the rest of the day thinking about it.

Not on purpose. He tries very hard not to, actually, which is probably why it keeps coming back every time his mind has half a second of silence. He already knew the back of his neck was sensitive after everything that happened. He just didn’t know it could be sensitive like that.

He keeps thinking about the sound he made.

A real life honest to god whine.

Will has replayed it so many times in his head that he wants to crawl out of his own skin. He wants to jump out the nearest window. He wants to move to another state and change his name and never look Mike in the eye again, which is inconvenient because Mike is still his best friend and also because Will volunteered to help Mrs. Wheeler clean out the attic that afternoon like an idiot. 

The worst part is that he can’t even blame Mike. Mike was trying to help him. Mike had looked so worried when he thought he hurt him, eyes wide and guilty, already apologizing before Will could even get his brain working again. Poor Mike has no idea what he actually did. He doesn’t know that Will spent ten minutes locked in the bathroom staring at himself in the mirror, face burning, trying to come to terms with the fact that his body had reacted like that because Mike touched the back of his neck.

It was good.

That’s the part Will keeps getting stuck on, because it feels wrong to even think it. He feels awful and twisted. Mike had been kind and careful and Will had managed to make it weird in his own head. He’s the only person alive who would get worked up over his best friend trying to help him.

By the time the attic is done, Will is dusty, sweaty, and in a worse mood than when he started. Mrs. Wheeler thanks him three separate times and sends him downstairs with a box of old mugs she thinks Joyce might want, which Will accepts because it’s easier than explaining that his mom absolutely doesn’t need twelve more mugs with faded Christmas bears on them.

He leaves the box on the kitchen counter and ducks into the bathroom to wash his hands and splash cold water on his face. It doesn’t help much. His reflection still looks guilty.

When he steps back into the hall, Mike is there.

Will stops so fast he almost bumps into him.

Mike’s face lights up for half a second before it shifts into something more careful. “Oh. Hey.”

Will looks at the wall beside his head. “Hey.”

Mike studies him, and Will hates that. He hates it even more because Mike is good at it. “Are you okay? You kind of ran out this morning.”

“I didn’t run out.”

“You went to the bathroom and then left my house.”

“I had plans with Max.”

“You didn’t say bye.”

Will winces. “Sorry.”

Mike’s expression softens a little, “Did I hurt you?”

Will looks at him then because he can hear it in Mike’s voice, the thing he was trying to avoid all day. Mike isn’t just asking because he wants to know. He’s asking because he already decided he did something wrong and has been sitting with it for hours.

“No,” Will says quickly. “No, Mike, you didn’t hurt me.”

“You don’t have to lie.”

“I’m not lying.”

Mike doesn’t look convinced.

“I promise,” Will says, quieter. “You didn’t hurt me at all.”

Mike watches his face for another second, like he’s searching for the part Will isn’t saying. Will tries very hard not to give him one, which probably makes it worse because Mike’s eyes narrow slightly.

“Okay,” Mike says eventually. “Then… do you want to try again?”

Will’s stomach drops.

He has no reason to say no. The problem is Mike didn’t hurt him, and it did help, and refusing now would only make Mike think he had done something terrible. Also, buried underneath all the panic and humiliation, there is a small, awful part of Will that wants it to happen again. He hates that part of himself.

“Yeah,” he says, too fast. “We can.”

Mike blinks. “Only if you want.”

“I said yeah.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

Will lets out a frustrated breath and finally looks at him properly. “I want to. Okay?”

Mike’s ears go a little pink. “Okay.”

They end up in the basement again, which feels too much like the last time. The TV is off now, the room quieter than it was this morning, and Will sits on the middle cushion with his back turned before Mike even asks. If he thinks about it too long, he’ll change his mind. It’s easier to sit down, tuck one leg under himself, and stare at the wall while Mike settles behind him.

“Okay,” Mike says, voice soft. “I’m gonna start now.”

Will grips the denim over his knees. “Okay.”

Mike’s hand comes up slowly, giving Will enough time to prepare for it. The first touch still sends a shiver across his shoulders, but then Mike’s palm settles warm and steady against the back of his neck. Will feels himself loosen almost immediately, the tension bleeding out under that gentle pressure.

Mike rubs small, slow circles below his hairline with his thumb. “Still okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Good?”

Will swallows. “Yeah.”

Mike’s touch stays careful and patient, nothing like the moment from this morning. Just  slow, soothing circles that gradually make Will’s grip on his jeans loosens. For a few minutes, it almost feels normal– strange, but safe. Like they really can turn this into something simple if they keep trying hard enough.

Then Mike asks, quiet, “Do you trust me?”

Will doesn’t even have to think. “Of course I do.”

Mike goes quiet behind him.

Will is about to ask what that means when Mike shifts closer. The couch dips. The warmth of Mike’s body presses in. Then a soft exhale ghosts over the back of Will’s neck, stirring the fine hairs there.

Will tenses.

Mike stops immediately. “Is your brain panicking?”

The question is so blunt Will almost laughs, except he’s too aware of how close Mike’s mouth is to his skin.

He waits for the cold rush. The alarm bells. The crawling feeling.

Nothing comes.

“No,” Will says, surprised by his own answer. “Not at all.”

Mike hums, low and thoughtful. Then he blows gently across Will’s nape again.

This time Will shudders, a full-body ripple that leaves him breathless.

“M-Mike,” he says, hands tightening on his jeans. “What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to help,” Mike answers, voice already a little rough. “You said cold air freaks you out. I’m seeing if it still does when you know it’s me.”

Will closes his eyes. “I guess that makes sense.”

“I have good ideas sometimes.”

“Sometimes.”

Mike huffs a warm laugh against his skin and Will’s shoulders jump again at the sensation.

“Still not panic?” Mike checks.

“No.”

Mike’s hand moves again, thumb stroking slow lines over the same spot. Will’s thoughts start to drift, the basement growing hazy at the edges. Then Mike’s fingers slide carefully up toward his hairline and every coherent thought slips away.

A few seconds pass. Then Mike asks, much quieter, “Can I try something?”

Will opens his eyes. “What?”

“Just… something different. I’ll stop if you say stop.”

Will should ask what. Instead he whispers, “Okay.”

Mike doesn’t move right away. Then something impossibly soft presses to the center of Will’s nape.

Will’s breath catches.

It is barely a kiss, just the lightest brush of lips, but it erases every thought in his head. Mike’s hand stays spread across the side of his neck, anchoring him.

“Still okay?” Mike asks.

Will nods, then remembers. “Yeah… it’s okay.”

Mike kisses him again, a little closer to his hairline this time. Then again. Each press is warm and careful, almost hesitant, like Mike is waiting for Will to flinch. Will doesn’t. His eyes slip shut. His head tips forward without meaning to, offering more.

Mike’s hand slides down to rest at Will’s waist, fingers tightening gently.

The kisses grow firmer, slower. Mike’s mouth lingers. Every warm press pulls tiny, helpless sounds out of Will, soft exhales, little hitches of breath he can’t quite swallow. He feels looser, lighter, floating further away from the part of himself that knows how to be embarrassed.

Then Mike finds the spot again.

His mouth closes over it gently, and this time he sucks.

Will shudders hard, a broken little noise slipping out before he can stop it.

“Mike—”

Mike stops immediately, pulling back. His hands loosen at Will’s waist.

Will comes back to himself all at once. His face burning, fingers white-knuckled on his jeans, body buzzing. He shifts forward, one hand flying back to cover his neck like that could undo everything.

Mike’s face is flushed dark red when Will turns around. His eyes are wide.

“Oh god,” Mike says. “Will, I’m sorry. I should have asked more clearly. I was trying to help with the cold thing and then I just—” He cuts himself off, looking horrified. “I’m sorry.”

Will stares at him, heart hammering for an entirely different reason now.

Mike looks miserable.

“You didn’t hurt me,” Will says quickly.

Mike’s brows pull together. “You keep saying that.”

“Because you keep thinking you did.”

“You said my name like—”

Will’s face burns hotter. “I know how I said it.”

Mike goes quiet.

Will looks away, staring hard at the edge of the coffee table. “You didn’t hurt me,” he repeats, softer. “That wasn’t why I said it.”

Mike’s breath catches.

For a long second neither of them moves. Then Mike’s gaze drops to Will’s lap, to the obvious, growing bulge straining against his jeans.

“Oh,” Mike breathes.

Will wants the couch to swallow him whole. “Yeah,” he mutters, voice cracking. “Oh.”

The silence stretches long enough that Will starts to feel sick with it.

Mike is still staring at him, cheeks flushed dark, eyes wide, like he’s trying to process everything Will just accidentally admitted. Will wants to sink straight through the couch cushions. He wants to rewind the last ten minutes and go back to when this was still just Mike trying to help him, before his traitorous body turned something into this.

His mouth opens before his brain can stop it. “I’m sorry,” he blurts. “I don’t know why that happened. I mean, I do, kind of, but I don’t. My neck’s sensitive because of everything, and I guess it’s sensitive in… other ways too, and I didn’t know that, obviously, or I wouldn’t have—” He cuts himself off with a frustrated, embarrassed sound, dragging a hand through his hair. “You were trying to help me and I made it weird.”

“Will.”

“I did.” His face is burning. “I made it weird. You were being nice, and I was sitting there making sounds like—”

“Will.”

He stops, mostly because Mike’s voice has gone low and rough in a way that makes Will’s stomach tighten.

Mike shifts closer on the couch, not touching him yet. “You didn’t make it weird.”

Will lets out a short, miserable laugh. “Mike.”

“I’m serious.”

“You don’t have to be nice about it.”

“I’m not being nice.” Mike’s eyes flick down to Will’s lap for half a second before he forces them back up, his own face going even redder. “I mean, I’m trying not to be an asshole, but that’s not why I’m saying it.”

Will stares at him, confusion cutting through some of the panic.

Mike swallows hard. “You think you’re the only one who reacted?”

The words land slowly. “What?”

Mike looks away, jaw tight, but then he reaches for Will’s hand. He does it carefully, giving Will plenty of time to pull away. Will doesn’t. He lets Mike take his wrist and guide his palm down between them until it’s pressed firmly against the front of Mike’s jeans.

Will’s breath catches sharply.

Mike is hard.

Really hard. The heat of him radiates through the denim, the hard line of his cock unmistakable under Will’s palm. Mike’s breathing is shallow and uneven, his thighs tense.

“Oh,” Will says faintly.

Mike lets out a short, nervous laugh that sounds just as wrecked as Will feels. “Yeah. Oh.”

Will pulls his hand back, not because he wants to, but because if he keeps touching him, he might actually pass out. Mike lets him go immediately, though his fingers stay curled loosely around Will's wrist for another second before falling away.

“I don’t understand,” Will whispers.

Mike looks at him, eyes dark. “I know–”

“No, I really don’t. You were helping me.”

“I was.”

“So why—”

“Because–I–“ Mike says, then winces. “I mean, I did want to help. I do. But then you relaxed like that this morning… and the sounds you made…” He rubs a hand over his face. “God, I’m such a douche.”

Will’s voice is small. “What?”

Mike peeks at him through his fingers. “You were driving me insane.”

Will’s whole body flushes hot.

Mike drops his hand and starts talking faster, like he’ll lose his nerve if he doesn’t get it out. “This morning, when I thought I hurt you, I felt horrible. But then tonight you let me try again, and you got all quiet and soft, and I just…” He shakes his head. “I liked it. I liked being the one touching you there. I liked that it helped. I liked that you trusted me enough to let me do it.”

Will’s throat feels tight.

“And then I kissed your neck,” Mike continues, voice dropping lower, “and you kept making those soft, needy little sounds, and I stopped thinking about helping in a normal way. All I could think about was how warm your skin was under my mouth, how you shivered every time I sucked a little harder…”

Will lets out a shaky breath. “Mike.”

“I know.” Mike looks miserable and desperate at the same time. “I know. I should’ve asked better. I’m sorry I’m an asshole–”

“You’re not an asshole.”

“I kinda am.”

“You’re not,” Will says, stronger this time. “I wanted it too.”

Mike goes still.

Will looks down at his own lap, too embarrassed to hold his gaze. “That’s why I freaked out. Not because I didn’t want it. Because I did. And then I realized you were the one doing it, and I thought I’d ruined everything.”

“You didn’t ruin anything.”

“I feel like I did.”

“You didn’t.” Mike moves closer, slow and careful, until their knees press together. “Will, I’ve been trying not to want you all summer.”

Will’s breath catches.

Mike’s face is painfully red now, but he keeps going. “Longer than that, probably. I don’t even know anymore. I just know that every time you lean against me, or laugh at something I say, or look at me for too long, I feel like I’m going to crawl out of my skin. And then tonight you were right there, trusting me with this thing that scares you, and I wanted to make it good for you so badly I couldn’t think straight.”

Will can barely breathe around it. “You want me?”

Mike stares at him. “Are you kidding?”

Will shakes his head, because no, he’s absolutely not kidding. He’s spent too many years training himself not to believe impossible things just because he wanted them badly enough.

“I don’t know,” Will says, voice small and uneven. “Maybe. I mean, maybe you think you do because of tonight, or because you’re trying to make me feel better and you’re Mike, so you always have to fix everything. I just…” He looks away, embarrassed before he even finishes. “I can’t tell if you just feel bad for me.”

Mike’s expression changes at that, the softness coming in quick but not like pity. More like it hurts him that Will could even think that and he knows exactly why he does.

“Will,” he says quietly.

Will shakes his head again, faster this time. “I’m serious. I need you to not say it just because I’m being pathetic right now.”

“You’re not being pathetic.”

“I feel pathetic.”

“You’re not.”

Will swallows, still staring somewhere near Mike’s shoulder because looking at his face feels impossible. “Just tell me the truth–”

Mike moves closer, slow enough that Will could stop him, and cups the side of his face with one hand. His thumb brushes over Will’s cheekbone, careful enough that Will almost can’t stand it.

“This isn’t pity,” Mike says. “And it’s not just helping. I do want to help, but I want you too. Both can be true.”

Will’s breath catches.

Mike’s eyes flick down to his mouth, then back up. “I like you so much it hurts.”

Will wants to ask him again. Wants to make him say it five more times, just to see if the words change shape or disappear. He also wants to believe it immediately, wants to throw himself into it without thinking, but there’s still that small, miserable part of him waiting for the catch. Waiting for Mike to blink and realize he said too much. Waiting for the moment this turns back into Will wanting more than he’s allowed to have.

But Mike is still looking at him, his face red and nervous.

Will lets out a weak, disbelieving laugh. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Mike says, cheeks red. “So can I please kiss you before I say something stupid?”

Will looks at his mouth before he can stop himself. “Yeah,” he says, barely above a whisper. “Please.”

Mike looks at him for another second, like he wants to be sure, and Will can’t stand the space between them anymore. He leans in first, just enough to make the decision for both of them, and Mike meets him halfway.

The kiss is softer than Will expects.

Mike kisses him slowly, careful in a way that makes Will’s chest ache. His lips press against Will’s once, then again, lingering a little longer the second time. Will can feel Mike breathing through his nose, warm against his cheek, can feel the slight tremble in the hand that comes up to touch his jaw. Will presses closer.

Mike makes a quiet sound at that, barely anything, but Will hears it and feels it at the same time. It makes something low in his stomach pull tight. He opens his mouth a little, not even really thinking about it, and Mike follows him immediately, the kiss deepening by small degrees until it isn’t careful so much as barely restrained. Mike’s hand slides from Will’s jaw into his hair, fingers curling there, not pulling, just holding. Will makes a small noise into his mouth when Mike tilts his head to kiss him better, and Mike answers with a groan so soft and wrecked that Will’s whole body goes hot.

They shift awkwardly on the couch, knees knocking, hands catching on shirts and cushions, both of them trying to get closer and neither of them doing it very gracefully. Will ends up half in Mike’s lap, one hand braced against Mike’s shoulder, the other twisted in the front of his shirt. Mike keeps kissing him like he’s scared to stop now that he’s started. His thumb brushes over Will’s cheek, then down to his jaw, then along the side of his neck, and Will shivers so hard Mike pauses against his mouth.

“Okay?” Mike asks, breathless.

Will nods too fast. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s good.”

Mike kisses him again, slower this time, like he’s testing whether Will means it. His fingers trail up the side of Will’s neck, not even touching the back yet, and Will’s body still reacts. His breath catches. His shoulders draw up before he can stop them, then drop again when Mike rubs his thumb there. It’s embarrassing how much his body gives away, how every careful touch pulls some little sound out of him, a broken breath, a hum, a soft noise that makes Mike kiss him harder for half a second before pulling back again.

Will thinks he might go insane if Mike keeps being this careful.

Mike is still kissing him, still holding his face like Will is something delicate enough to break if he moves too fast, and it’s good, it’s so good, but Will can feel the question sitting between them every time Mike’s thumb brushes the side of his neck and stops there.

Mike pulls away just enough to breathe. His mouth is red, his eyes dark and nervous, and his hand is still hovering at Will’s jaw like he’s trying not to touch what he actually wants to touch.

“Can I?” Mike asks.

Will blinks at him, dazed. “Can you what?”

Mike’s eyes flick to the side of his neck, then lower, toward the place hidden beneath Will’s hair. “Touch you there again.”

Will’s stomach drops and twists at the same time.

“Oh.”

“Only if you want,” Mike says quickly. “I just… I want to. I want to make it feel good again.”

Will’s face burns so hot he almost looks away, but Mike’s expression is too open, too serious, too wrecked for him to hide from. He isn’t looking at Will like this is some weird trauma experiment anymore. He’s looking at him like he knows exactly what that place does to him now and wants to be trusted with it anyway.

Will swallows. “Yeah.”

Mike’s breath catches. “Yeah?” he asks, quieter.

Will nods, then remembers Mike keeps making him use words. “Yeah. You can.”

Mike kisses him once, soft and quick, almost grateful. Then he shifts them, careful but not slow enough for Will to overthink it, until Will is turned in front of him with his back against Mike’s chest. Mike’s legs bracket his on the couch, one arm sliding around his waist to keep him close, and Will can feel him behind him, warm and solid and already breathing unevenly against his ear.

The first touch is Mike’s palm settling over the back of his neck.

Will goes quiet. It’s immediate. Embarrassing. His whole body pauses, then loosens under the weight of Mike’s hand like it’s been waiting for that exact pressure. Mike doesn’t even do anything at first. He just holds him there, broad palm covering the place Will has spent years hating, fingers curled carefully beneath his hairline.

“Still with me?” Mike asks, mouth close to his ear.

Will nods.

Mike’s fingers flex once. “Words, Will.”

The sound that leaves Will is barely a word at all. “Yeah.”

Mike hums, pleased and low, and starts rubbing slow circles with his thumb.

Will’s eyes flutter shut.

It isn’t like fear. That’s the first thing his mind manages to hold onto. It isn’t cold or sharp or wrong. It doesn’t make him want to claw at himself or get away from his own skin. It makes everything soften. His shoulders drop. His head tips back toward Mike without him deciding to do it. His breathing goes uneven, little shaky exhales slipping out every time Mike’s thumb circles over the sensitive spot below his hairline.

“There?” Mike asks.

Will’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

Mike’s hand stills.

Will makes a frustrated sound, almost a whine, and Mike’s breath catches behind him.

“Right there,” Will manages. “Don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” Mike says, voice rougher now. “I’ve got you.”

The words do something to him. Heat spreads low in his stomach, and Mike must feel the way he sinks back into him because his arm tightens around Will’s waist.

Then Mike changes the touch.

His palm lifts, and two fingers trace lightly up the center of Will’s nape.

Will shudders so hard his knees draw together.

Mike makes a soft sound against his ear. “God.”

Will’s face burns. 

Mike’s thumb returns to the sensitive spot and presses gently, just enough to make Will’s breath hitch. 

Mike’s fingers are moving again, stroking up into his hair and back down, then rubbing little circles at the base of his skull, then scratching lightly through the fine hair there until Will’s thoughts start fraying apart at the edges. Every touch pulls a new sound out of him. A breath when Mike presses. A hum when he rubs. A small, helpless noise when Mike’s nails drag gently over the spot that made him whine before.

Mike’s mouth brushes his ear. “You’re so sensitive.”

Will squeezes his eyes shut.

“That’s not bad,” Mike says, softer. His hand cups Will’s nape again, firm and warm. “I like it.”

Will makes another sound at that, and Mike groans like it hurts him.

For a moment, Mike just holds him there, hand on his neck, arm around his waist, mouth pressed to the side of his head. It feels sweet enough that Will’s chest aches, and then Mike’s lips trail lower, brushing the edge of his hairline. Will realizes what he’s about to do a second before it happens. Mike kisses the back of his neck.

Will’s whole body melts.

The kiss is soft, barely there, right over the place that used to make him lock up in terror. For a second, his body waits for the old panic because that’s what it knows how to do. It waits for cold, for wrongness, for the crawling feeling that means something is coming.

But Mike kisses him again before any of that can take shape.

Warm mouth. Gentle pressure. One hand steady on his waist and the other holding his nape like a promise.

Another kiss follows, slower this time. Then another. Mike’s lips part against his skin, and Will’s fingers curl uselessly into the couch cushion.

The memories don’t vanish. Will doesn’t if memories ever truly go away. But they keep getting interrupted. Every time the cold tries to rise, Mike’s mouth covers it. Every old warning meets the wet heat of Mike’s tongue. Every awful piece of fear has to make room for Mike breathing against him, Mike wanting him, Mike touching the exact place that used to make Will feel least like himself and making it feel like his body belongs to him again.

Mike drags his tongue up Will’s nape in one slow line.

Will whimpers.

“There it is,” Mike breathes, voice rough.

Will should be embarrassed. He is, distantly, but it’s hard to care when Mike’s hand tightens at his waist and his mouth closes over the same spot again, sucking gently until Will’s hips twitch back without permission.

That’s when he feels it. Mike is hard behind him. He’s known this but feeling it against him is different, dizzying.

Will freezes for half a second, but Mike doesn’t move away. He doesn’t push either. He just breathes hard against Will’s neck, clearly trying to keep still. Will’s stomach twists.

Then he pushes back.

Mike’s hips jerk up against him, sharp and helpless, and they both make a sound.

“Will,” Mike says, wrecked.

Will’s face burns. “Sorry.”

“No.” Mike’s hand slides fully over the back of his neck, firmer now, holding him in place without forcing him down. “Don’t apologize.”

Will goes still under the pressure. Not scared or trapped. Just held. The whole room narrows to the warmth of Mike’s palm and the line of Mike’s body behind him.

“You can do that,” Mike says, low against his ear. “You can move. You can make noise. I want you to.”

Will’s head goes light.

“Mike.”

“I mean it.” Mike kisses the side of his neck, then the back, then the spot that makes Will’s breath fall apart. “I want to hear what it does to you.”

Will’s hips press back again, smaller this time, testing.

Mike groans and rocks up to meet him.

The friction is rough through their jeans, muted but heavy enough to send a shock of pleasure through Will’s body. Mike’s arm tightens around his waist, keeping him close, and his mouth returns to Will’s neck like he can’t help himself. He kisses him as he moves, each slow rut up against him paired with another open-mouthed press of lips, another drag of tongue, another soft suck that makes Will’s body go looser and hotter.

“You’re doing so good,” Mike murmurs. “So good, Will. Just let me have this. Let me make it feel good.”

Will makes a broken noise.

Mike’s hand flexes at his nape. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” Will gasps. “Yes.”

“Good.” Mike’s voice dips lower. “Then stay with me.”

The words hit him hard enough that his eyes go unfocused. His head tips back against Mike’s shoulder, giving him more room, and Mike takes it immediately. He kisses along the back of Will’s neck, slow and wet and thorough, like he’s determined to cover every inch. The old memories try to flicker up, but they can’t compete with this. Not with Mike’s cock dragging against him every time Will rocks back. Not with Mike’s hand holding him steady. Not with Mike whispering praise into his skin like he’s learning what makes Will fall apart and loving every second of it.

“Pretty,” Mike breathes, almost like he doesn’t mean to say it out loud. “You’re so fucking pretty like this.”

Will’s face burns, but he can barely hold onto the feeling. His body is too busy listening to Mike. To the pressure at his neck. To the rhythm of Mike’s hips. To the sweet, filthy warmth of Mike’s mouth sucking at the sensitive place below his hairline until Will’s thoughts turn slow and hazy.

Then Mike’s hand shifts from his waist.

Will barely registers it until Mike’s palm settles over the front of his jeans.

Will gasps so sharply he almost chokes on it.

Mike freezes immediately. “Too much?”

Will shakes his head, frantic enough that Mike’s fingers tighten at the back of his neck to keep him steady.

“Will, words.” Mike says, voice strained.

“No,” Will gets out. “No, it’s good.”

Mike exhales against his skin, shaky and hot. “Yeah?”

Will’s hips twitch into his hand before he can answer.

Mike’s breath catches. “Fuck.”

Will wants to die from embarrassment. He also wants Mike to do it again so badly his hands shake.

Mike seems to understand that too, because his palm presses down more firmly, rubbing him through the denim in slow, careful strokes while his mouth returns to Will’s neck. The combination hits so hard Will’s eyes roll shut. Mike’s hand on his nape keeps him soft and pliant, Mike’s other hand working him through his jeans with just enough pressure to make every thought fall apart. Every time Mike’s palm drags over him, his mouth sucks gently at that hypersensitive spot, and Will can’t stop the sounds anymore.

They come out of him messy and breathless.

Little whines. Broken hums. Mike’s name, once, so wrecked that Mike groans right into his skin.

“That’s it,” Mike says, voice rough. “That’s what you needed, huh?”

Will makes a strangled sound, his face burning.

Mike kisses the back of his neck, softer than the words. “Tell me.”

Will can barely think. His body is trapped between Mike’s mouth at his neck, Mike’s hand over him, Mike’s cock rutting against him from behind in small, helpless rolls that make it obvious Mike is losing control too. The basement has gone soft and distant around them, nothing clear except the places Mike is touching him.

“I—” Will swallows. “Yeah. I need—”

Mike’s palm presses down again, slow and firm.

Will’s voice breaks.

Mike’s hand tightens at his nape. “Need what?”

Will shudders hard. He doesn’t know how Mike manages to sound gentle and filthy at the same time, but it makes the floaty feeling worse, makes him sink back against Mike like his bones have gone soft.

“More,” Will finally gets out. “I need more.”

Mike goes still.

For a second, Will thinks maybe he said too much, but then Mike makes a sound against his neck, low and ruined.

“Okay,” Mike says. “Okay, yeah. I can give you more.”

His hand leaves the front of Will’s jeans for a second, and Will almost complains before Mike’s fingers go to the button.

Mike pauses. “Can I?”

Will nods too fast.

“You gotta say it, baby.”

The pet name makes his whole body shiver. “Yes. Please.”

Mike curses softly under his breath and opens his jeans with careful, shaking fingers. He doesn’t rush, even though Will can feel how badly he wants to. His mouth keeps moving over Will’s neck, kissing, licking, soothing every sensitive patch of skin while his hand slips inside Will’s pants.

The first touch makes Will jolt.

Mike’s arm tightens around his waist immediately, holding him through it. “Still good?”

Will can’t answer at first. Mike’s hand is warm and real around him, and the fact that he’s still kissing the back of Will’s neck seems to heighten the feeling. His brain has nowhere to go. Every nerve in his body seems to run through that one place now, from Mike’s mouth at his nape to Mike’s fingers wrapped around him.

“Good,” Will gasps. “Good, Mike, please.”

Mike groans. “God, Will.”

He strokes him slowly at first, almost like he’s afraid Will will break apart too fast if he does any more. His other hand stays firm at the back of Will’s neck, thumb rubbing slow circles while his mouth works the sensitive spot below Will’s hairline. Will’s whole body reacts to every touch. His hips buck into Mike’s hand. His head falls back against Mike’s shoulder. His mouth opens on a thin, helpless whine when Mike sucks at his neck and strokes him at the same time.

“There,” Mike breathes. “Right there. You like that?”

Will nods wildly, beyond words now.

Mike doesn’t stop this time. “I know. I’ve got you. Just let me take care of you.”

Will can feel the old memories getting buried under it all. Under pleasure. Under trust. Under Mike’s voice in his ear telling him he’s safe, he’s good, he’s allowed to want this.

It builds fast after that.

Too fast.

Will tries to warn him, but all that comes out is a broken little sound and Mike’s name.

Mike understands anyway.

“Already?” he asks, voice rough enough that Will shivers.

Will squeezes his eyes shut, mortified. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t.” Mike’s hand tightens at his neck, his other hand stroking him a little faster. “Don’t be sorry. That’s so fucking hot.”

Will’s whole body jerks.

Mike kisses his neck again, mouth wet and insistent over the spot that started everything. “Come on. I’ve got you. Come for me.”

Will breaks.

He comes with a sharp, helpless cry, hips bucking into Mike’s hand as pleasure tears through him hard enough to make everything go white at the edges. Mike holds him through it, one hand working him through the first rush and then slowing when Will starts to shake too hard, the other steady at the back of his neck, mouth pressing soft, messy kisses over the skin that’s still buzzing under his lips.

Will shakes through it, breath coming in little broken pieces.

Mike doesn’t let go.

He just keeps kissing him, softer now. The back of his neck. The side. The place beneath his ear. His shoulder. Back to his nape again, like he can’t stop touching the thing that made Will fall apart.

“That’s it,” Mike murmurs. “You’re okay. I’ve got you. You did so good.”

Will barely hears all of it.

His body is still loose and warm from coming, thoughts drifting somewhere soft and far away where everything feels blurred at the edges. Mike’s mouth is gentle now against the side of his neck, nothing like the hungry, messy way he’d been kissing him earlier. Just slow, careful presses of lips like he’s trying to soothe every place he touched. One hand rests warm over Will’s stomach. The other stays at the back of his neck, thumb rubbing slow circles beneath his hairline, and Will keeps slipping under it on instinct.

Then Mike shifts behind him, just barely, and Will feels the hard line of him still pressed against his ass through their jeans.

Mike goes still immediately.

Will’s eyes open slowly. “You’re still hard,” he says, voice rough and small.

Mike lets out a breathless, embarrassed laugh against his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it.”

He kisses the back of Will’s neck again, gentle and careful, thumb still moving in those slow, grounding circles. It should be enough to pull Will back under, but now that he’s noticed, he can’t stop noticing. Mike is still hard because of him. 

Will’s face burns.

Mike kisses him again, softer. “You okay?”

Will nods, then remembers. “Yeah.”

“Good.” Mike sounds relieved. He kisses the side of Will’s neck, lingering there. “Just breathe for a second, baby.”

The word makes Will’s stomach dip, warm and helpless. He tries to do what Mike says, but Mike is still pressed close behind him, still hard, still breathing unevenly like he’s trying not to move. Will doesn’t want him to try. He doesn’t want careful distance anymore. He wants Mike close enough that there’s no room left for anything else.

So he presses back.

Mike’s breath catches hard against his skin.

Will does it again, smaller but deliberate, rolling his hips back against him. Mike’s hand tightens at his waist, not stopping him, just holding on like he’s trying very hard not to lose his mind.

“Will,” Mike says, voice strained.

Will turns his head enough to look at him over his shoulder. His hair sticks to his forehead and his face still feels hot, but Mike looks so wrecked that the embarrassment fades for a second. His cheeks are flushed dark, mouth swollen, eyes fixed on Will like he’s afraid to blink.

“I want to keep going,” Will says.

Mike’s whole body goes tense behind him. “You just came.”

“I know.”

“You don’t have to do anything, I just wanted you to feel good.”

“I know,” Will says again, then pushes back against him because words feel too slow and Mike understands his body too well now not to get it. “I want to.”

Mike makes a sound like it gets punched out of him. His forehead drops to Will’s shoulder for a second, breath hot and shaky against his skin. “You’re gonna kill me.”

Will almost laughs, but then Mike’s hand slides back to the nape of his neck and the laugh turns into a shaky exhale. Mike holds him there while he kisses up the side of his throat, over his jaw, to the corner of his mouth. Will twists enough to meet him, and the kiss goes messy immediately, all the softness from before snapping into something hotter.

Mike helps turn him onto his back without breaking away for long. Will goes easily, dizzy and pliant, and Mike follows him down, settling between his legs with one hand braced beside Will’s head. He keeps the other at the back of Will’s neck, fingers spread wide there, and it quickly makes him melt again. Mike kisses him like he can feel it happen, groaning low into his mouth as Will’s body softens under him.

“You’re sure?” Mike asks against his lips.

Will hooks one leg around Mike’s hip and pulls him closer.

Mike’s hips rock down before he can stop them, dragging hard against Will through denim, and they both moan into the same breath.

“Yeah,” Will says, voice breaking. “I’m sure.”

Mike kisses him harder.

For a few seconds it’s just that, Mike rutting against him in slow, desperate rolls, Will’s legs opening around him, the couch creaking softly under the rhythm. Will is sensitive from coming already, almost too sensitive, but the pressure is so good it makes his eyes burn. Mike’s mouth keeps returning to his neck between kisses, not always the back now, sometimes the side, sometimes under his jaw, but his hand keeps finding the nape like he knows that’s where Will comes apart easiest.

Will’s shirt is twisted up under his arms by the time Mike pulls back, breathing hard.

“Can I take this off?” Mike asks.

Will nods, dazed.

Mike’s fingers curl in the hem, but he waits.

Will huffs, impatient even through the haze. “Yes, Mike.”

Mike’s mouth twitches. “Okay.”

He pulls Will’s shirt off carefully, like he has to remind himself not to rush, then freezes for half a second looking down at him. Will wants to cover himself. His hands twitch uselessly against the couch, but Mike catches one and kisses his palm before pressing it back beside Will’s head.

“You’re beautiful.”

Will’s face heats.

Mike kisses him before he can answer, then drags his mouth down Will’s throat, over his collarbone, lower to the center of his chest. His hands follow, warm and careful over Will’s ribs and stomach, like he wants to touch everywhere at once and doesn’t know where to start. Will feels too exposed and not exposed enough. When Mike’s mouth returns to the back of his neck, Will’s whole body arches like Mike pulled a string.

“God,” Mike whispers against him. “Can’t get over how sensitive you are.”

Will grabs at the bottom of Mike’s shirt, clumsy and insistent. “S’not fair.”

Mike pulls back, breathless. “What?”

Will tugs again, frustrated by the fabric between them, by the fact that Mike has seen so much of him already and Will still hasn’t gotten to feel enough. “You still have this on.”

For a second, Mike just stares at him. Then his face goes red in a way that makes Will’s heat up to match.

“Oh,” Mike says.

Will pulls at the fabric again. “Off.”

Mike makes a rough, disbelieving sound and sits back just long enough to drag his shirt over his head.

Will forgets how to breathe.

Mike is flushed and lean above him, hair wrecked from Will’s hands, mouth red from kissing. His chest rises and falls too fast, and Will’s eyes drop before he can stop them, over the line of his stomach to the dark trail of hair disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans.

He stares.

He doesn’t mean to, but he does.

Mike notices. Of course he does. His breath catches, and something in his expression goes darker, more pleased than embarrassed.

“Will,” he says, voice low.

Will drags his eyes back up, face burning. “Sorry.”

Mike shakes his head once. “Don’t be.”

Then he’s over him again, and the first full press of bare skin against bare skin makes Will’s entire body go still.

It’s too much.

Mike’s chest against his. Mike’s stomach brushing his. The heat of him everywhere, sweat-warm and real and so much better than anything Will tried not to imagine. He can feel Mike breathing against him, can feel the shift of muscle under skin every time Mike moves, can feel the hard line of him pressing down when their hips meet again. Will’s hands flatten against Mike’s back just to feel more of him, and Mike shudders under his palms.

Will likes that.

He likes that Mike reacts too. Likes that he can make him shake. Likes that Mike is trying so hard to be careful and still keeps breaking a little every time Will touches him back.

Mike starts moving again, hips grinding down into Will’s, and the friction is sharper now that Will’s shirt is gone and Mike’s skin is hot against his. Will’s legs hook behind Mike’s back without him really deciding to do it, heels pressing into him, pulling him closer every time Mike rocks down.

Mike groans. “Will.”

Will’s mouth finds his ear because it’s the only place he can reach. “I want you inside.”

Mike stops so fast it almost hurts.

For one second, neither of them breathes.

Then Mike lifts his head and stares at him, eyes wide and dark. “What?”

Will’s face burns, but he doesn’t take it back. His legs tighten behind Mike’s back, pulling him closer until Mike’s hips press hard against his again. “I want you.”

Mike’s face does something complicated, want and panic and tenderness all crashing together. “You don’t have to say that because I’m still—”

“I’m not.”

“Will.”

“I want it,” Will says, voice shaking now, not because he’s unsure but because he’s so sure it scares him. “I want you inside me.”

Mike makes a broken sound and drops his forehead against Will’s. “Jesus Christ.”

Will rolls his hips up.

Mike’s whole body shudders.

“Okay,” Mike says, almost to himself. Then again, to Will, softer. “Okay. But we’re going slow.”

Will nods quickly.

“I mean it.” Mike’s hand comes up to the back of Will’s neck, thumb rubbing once beneath his hairline. The touch makes Will’s eyes flutter before he can stop them. “I need you to tell me if you don’t like anything.”

“I will.”

“And if you need to stop—”

“I’ll tell you.”

Mike studies his face for another second, then kisses him, deep and almost shaky. “Okay.”

Mike helps Will out of his jeans and underwear with slow hands that keep pausing to touch , steadying him, soothing him, like he can’t quite help himself. Will is a mess from coming in his pants, and the sticky heat on his skin makes his face burn.

But Mike only goes softer when he notices.

He leans down and presses a slow kiss to Will’s stomach, right over the mess, then lower to his hip, then the inside of his thigh. His mouth is warm and reverent, murmuring something too quiet to catch.

Will’s face burns hotter. “Mike.”

Mike looks up from between his legs, eyes dark and soft. “What?”

“Don’t look,” Will says, voice small, one arm coming up to cover his face.

Mike’s expression shifts  something tender and a little wrecked. He doesn’t look away. If anything, he looks at Will more openly.

“I like looking at you,” he says quietly, mouth still close to Will’s skin. “All soft and messy and mine to take care of.”

Will makes a mortified sound and covers his face completely, but he doesn’t pull away. Mike presses another slow kiss to the crease of his hip, then rests his cheek there for a second, like he’s content to stay right there.

“I do,” he murmurs. “I really do.”

He kisses him again, then again, up his stomach, over his ribs, back to his chest. By the time Mike reaches his mouth, Will is needy enough to be annoyed by how slowly he’s moving.

“I’ll be right back,” Mike says against Will’s lips.

Will makes a small, miserable sound and catches his wrist before he can stop himself. He knows Mike is only moving away for a second. He knows there is a reason for it. It’s just hard to make his body understand that when he is still floating, still warm and open and aching, and the idea of Mike not touching him makes his fingers tighten.

Mike’s expression softens. He leans down and kisses Will’s forehead, lingering there.

“I know, baby,” he murmurs. “Just a second.”

Will grumbles, embarrassed even as he does it, and Mike’s mouth twitches against his skin.

“Lube,” Mike says quietly. Then, a little redder, “And a condom.”

Will blinks at him. Some part of his brain probably should ask why Mike has those things in his basement, but Mike’s thumb is still brushing the back of his neck and Will is naked on the couch, shaking from how badly he wants him, so the thought never fully forms.

“Hurry,” Will says instead.

Mike kisses his forehead again. “I will.”

He is gone for less than a minute, but it feels longer. Will lies there overheated and exposed, the back of his neck still buzzing like Mike’s hand is burned into the skin. Every second makes him more aware of himself. The cool basement air on his bare skin, the sticky mess drying on his stomach from when he came earlier, the slow, heavy ache building again low in his belly because Mike isn’t there.

By the time Mike comes back, Will is half-ready to crawl out of his own skin.

Mike barely has time to set the lube and condom down before Will reaches for him. 

“Mike.” It comes out wrecked and needy, and Mike’s whole face changes like the sound hits him somewhere deep. He drops back onto the couch, and Will grabs at his arm, his shoulder, whatever he can reach, pulling him down until Mike is over him again.

“Hey,” Mike says softly, voice already rough. “I’m here.”

Will drags him closer, legs shifting restlessly around Mike’s hips like he can’t stand even an inch of space between them. Mike lets him. More than lets him, really. He comes down with a shaky exhale, bracing one hand beside Will’s head, and kisses him hard enough that Will forgets to be embarrassed for a second.

“Missed me that much?” Mike murmurs against his mouth.

Will’s face burns. “Yeah.”

Mike kisses the corner of his mouth, then his cheek, then under his jaw. “Needy little thing.”

Will shuts his eyes, mortified.

“I like it,” Mike says, softer against his skin. “I like that you need me this bad.”

Will makes a helpless sound, and Mike’s hand comes up, slow and deliberate, settling over the back of his neck.

Will goes quiet instantly.

It happens so fast now. Mike’s palm finds his nape and Will’s thoughts loosen like his body has been waiting for it. The basement goes soft around the edges. His breathing stutters, then evens out under the slow circles of Mike’s thumb.

Will blinks, slow and dazed, until Mike’s face comes into focus. He is flushed, hair falling into his eyes, mouth red from kissing him, looking wrecked in a way Will has never seen before.

Will exhales like something inside him finally lets go.

Mike keeps one hand at the back of his neck while he reaches for the lube, kissing him through every nervous inhale, every little twitch of his body. He slicks his fingers carefully, then settles between Will’s spread thighs again.

The first touch is slow.

Mike’s slick fingers slide between Will’s legs, pressing gently against his hole. Will’s breath catches. He’s still sensitive from coming earlier, his cock soft and messy against his stomach, but it gives a small, lazy twitch the second Mike’s finger circles him.

“Breathe,” Mike murmurs against his ear. “I’ve got you.”

Will nods, eyes fluttering.

Mike pushes in slowly. Just one finger at first, careful and patient. Will feels the stretch, the slick drag of skin against skin, the way Mike’s finger sinks into him inch by inch. It’s intimate in a way that makes his face burn hotter than anything else tonight. Mike’s other hand stays firm at the back of his neck the whole time, thumb rubbing slow circles while he works Will open.

“That’s it,” Mike whispers, voice low and warm. “You’re doing so good for me. Gonna make you feel good, baby.”

Will whines softly, hips shifting. His cock is slowly starting to fill again, thickening against his stomach as Mike gently fucks him open with one finger, then two. The wet sound of lube and skin is obscene in the quiet basement. Every time Mike curls his fingers, Will’s breath breaks into something shaky and desperate.

Mike kisses the side of his neck, then lower, sucking gently at the sensitive spot below his hairline causing a shiver to run down Will’s spine. “Feel that?” he murmurs. “You’re getting hard again already. Fuck, you want it that bad?”

Will’s face burns. His cock is half-hard now, twitching against his stomach with every slow thrust of Mike’s fingers. He can feel how wet and open he’s getting, how easily Mike’s fingers slide in and out of him now, the slick drag of skin and lube making everything feel filthy and good at the same time.

“Mike,” Will gasps, voice breaking.

“I know.” Mike’s voice is rough but still so sweet. “I know, baby. You’re taking my fingers so well. So fucking pretty like this.”

He adds a third finger carefully, stretching Will open even more. The burn is good now, turning into deep, liquid heat that makes Will’s thighs tremble. His cock is fully hard again, flushed and leaking against his stomach, and every time Mike’s fingers brush that spot inside him, it twitches and spills another bead of precome.

Mike groans softly at the sight. “God, Will. You’re so wet for me already. Look at your cock… leaking all over yourself while I finger you open. You like this, huh? Like me stretching you out so I can fuck you?”

Will can’t answer with words. He just nods frantically, hips rocking down onto Mike’s hand without thinking. The feeling is back in full force now, heavy and warm, and every time Mike’s thumb presses at the back of his neck it gets worse. Or is it Better? He feels completely gone, held open and exposed and so, so wanted.

Mike leans down and kisses him, slow and deep, while his fingers keep moving inside him. In and out, slow and filthy, the wet sound of it mixing with Will’s soft, broken whimpers.

“You’re doing so good,” Mike murmurs against his mouth. “So perfect for me. I’m gonna take such good care of you, baby. Gonna make you feel so full.”

Will’s cock throbs against his stomach, fully hard now and leaking steadily. Every slow drag of Mike’s fingers makes it twitch and spill more precome, and Mike notices. Of course he does.

“Look at that,” Mike whispers, voice dark and sweet at the same time. “Your cock’s so hard again already. Dripping for me while I open you up. Fuck, Will… wanna make you feel good.”

Will whines, high and desperate, and Mike kisses him again, swallowing the sound.

Mike’s fingers keep working him open, slow and thorough, until Will is shaking and pushing down onto his hand, chasing more without shame. His cock is flushed dark and leaking against his stomach, and every time Mike curls his fingers just right, another bead of precome slides down his length.

By the time Mike finally pulls his fingers out, Will is shaking with impatience, head turned to the side, neck bared without thinking. Mike’s mouth finds the exposed skin immediately, kissing the sensitive spot, and Will whines before he can stop himself.

“Mike.”

“I know,” Mike says, voice rough. “I know, baby.”

“No, you don’t.” Will grabs at him, clumsy and desperate. “I need you. Now. Please.”

Mike’s eyes go dark.

Will hooks his legs around him again, trying to pull him down, and Mike makes a strained sound. “Will, wait.”

Will does not want to wait. He has spent years waiting, wanting, pretending, surviving his own body, and now Mike is here, hands shaking with how much he wants him, mouth gentle on the part of Will that used to mean fear. Will doesn’t want distance anymore. He wants close. He wants weight. He wants Mike with him while Mike’s hand holds the back of his neck and keeps him floating somewhere warm and safe.

“Please,” Will says, voice cracking. “I want you.”

Mike curses softly and moves back just enough to get ready. It is awkward and rushed, which should make this less intense, but it doesn’t. It makes Will want him more. Mike is flushed and nervous and shaking because he wants Will so badly his hands are barely working.

Will reaches for him.

Mike catches his wrist and kisses his palm. “Give me one second, baby. I’ve got you.”

Will makes a frustrated sound.

“I know.” Mike’s voice is breathless. “I know. I’m gonna give you what you need.”

Will shivers.

Mike keeps one hand on the back of Will’s neck, rubbing slow up and down and sending shivers down Will’s spine, while he reaches for the condom with the other. He rips the packet open with his teeth, eyes never leaving Will’s face, and rolls it down his cock one-handed. The sight makes Will’s hole clench and his cock twitch against his stomach.

Mike lines himself up, the blunt head of his cock pressing slick and hot against Will’s hole. He pushes in slowly so fucking slowly  letting Will feel every inch as his body stretches open around him. The drag of skin, the slick glide of lube, the thick fullness of Mike’s cock sinking into him inch by inch makes Will’s mouth fall open on a broken sound. His hands fly up to grip Mike’s shoulders, nails digging in.

Mike stops the second he feels the tension, forehead dropping to Will’s. “Breathe, baby. I’ve got you.”

Will forces himself to exhale, shaky and overwhelmed. Mike’s hand never leaves the back of his neck. His thumb keeps moving in those slow, steady circles, and the pressure makes everything soften, makes the stretch turn from too much into something warm and deep and good.

Mike pushes in another inch.

Will whimpers.

“That’s it,” Mike murmurs, voice rough. “You’re taking me so well. So tight, fuck—”

He sinks in deeper, slow and careful, until his hips are flush against Will’s ass and he’s buried all the way inside. They both go still for a second, breathing hard. Will feels impossibly full, stretched open around Mike’s cock, every nerve ending lit up. His own cock is trapped between their stomachs, hard and leaking, twitching every time Mike shifts even slightly.

Mike’s forehead drops to Will’s. “Okay?”

Will nods, then forces the word out. “Yeah.”

Mike kisses him, slow and sweet, while he stays buried deep. “You feel so fucking good,” he whispers against Will’s mouth. “So warm and tight around me. Been thinking about this for so long, baby. About how perfect you’d feel.”

Will’s eyes flutter. The floaty feeling is back in full force now, heavy and warm, and every slow circle of Mike’s thumb at the back of his neck makes it worse. Better. He feels completely gone, held open and full and so, so wanted.

Mike starts to move.

He draws his hips back in one long, slow pull, his cock dragging thick and hot against Will’s inner walls before sinking back in deep. Steady and purposeful, the wet sound of lube and skin filling the quiet room. Every thrust sends a shiver racing down Will’s spine as Mike’s hand stays firm at the back of his neck, thumb rubbing slow, soothing circles over that hypersensitive spot. The touch grounds him even as it unravels him, sending constant little tremors through his whole body.

Will feels it everywhere.

The deep, rolling stretch of Mike’s cock inside him. The slick, intimate drag every time he pulls almost all the way out before pressing back in, filling him completely. The way Will’s own cock rubs and drags between their stomachs with every movement, leaking steadily onto both of them. The relentless, perfect pressure against that spot inside him that makes his toes curl. And underneath it all, Mike’s hand on his neck rubbing and rubbing until Will’s thoughts melt into soft, hazy static.

Will can’t stay quiet. Soft, broken sounds keep slipping out of him, shaky gasps, low whimpers, helpless little moans that Mike swallows with gentle kisses against his throat and jaw. His hands clutch at Mike’s back, fingers slipping over sweat-damp skin as his body rocks with every deep, controlled thrust.

Mike’s voice is low and rough but so, so gentle against Will’s ear. “That’s it, baby… just let it feel good. I’ve got you. You’re safe.” His hand never leaves the back of Will’s neck, thumb moving in those slow, grounding circles even as his hips keep rolling deep and steady, fucking him with careful, loving intensity. Every time Will makes a sound, Mike answers with another soft kiss to his neck, another whispered praise. “You’re doing so good for me… so perfect… just feel it. I’m right here.”

Will’s head tips to the side without him deciding to do it, offering his neck, and Mike makes a low, ruined sound.

He kisses him there immediately.

The old panic doesn’t even get a chance to rise. There is no cold warning, no crawling dread. Only Mike. Mike’s cock moving inside him, slow and deep. Mike’s mouth hot and wet over the sensitive spot below his hairline. Mike’s thumb rubbing steady circles at his nape like he knows that’s the only thing keeping Will from floating away completely.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” Mike whispers against his neck between thrusts. “All floaty and open for me. Taking me so well.”

Will whimpers, legs tightening weakly around Mike’s waist.

Mike’s hand flexes at his nape. “You like when I talk to you like that?”

Will nods, hazy and desperate.

“Yeah?” Mike’s voice drops lower, dirtier. “You like hearing how good your hole feels around my cock? How tight and warm you are? How fucking perfect you look when you’re letting me fuck you like this?”

Will’s cock twitches hard between them, leaking more precome onto his stomach. He can’t answer with words anymore. He just makes soft, broken sounds and lets Mike hold him there, floating and safe and completely undone.

Mike keeps moving, slow and deep and devastating, every thrust paired with another kiss to the back of Will’s neck, another filthy-sweet murmur against his skin.

“You’re doing so good for me, baby.”

“I’ve got you.”

“You’re safe.”

“So perfect.”

Will’s eyes sting. It’s too much.The fullness, the praise, the way Mike keeps touching the exact place that used to mean fear and turning it into this. Warmth. Want. Safety. Mike’s cock dragging inside him, hitting that spot over and over until Will’s whole body is trembling.

Mike’s rhythm starts to falter. His breath is hot and ragged against Will’s neck, hips snapping harder, deeper, like he’s losing the last threads of his control. His voice comes out low and shaky, almost like he’s talking to himself, words tumbling out between thrusts and kisses pressed to the back of Will’s neck.

“I wanna make you feel good… safe… I don’t want you ever feeling scared again… wanna take care of you… I love you… love you so much…”

The words are messy, desperate, spilling out of him like he can’t hold them back anymore. Every one of them hits Will straight in the chest.

Mike’s voice cracks. “I love you.”

Will’s eyes flutter, glassy and wet. His body clenches down around Mike’s cock, and the orgasm crashes over him hard sudden and overwhelming. His cock pulses spilling hot and messy between them as he shakes apart, a soft, wrecked sob tearing out of his throat.

Through it, Mike never stops moving. He fucks Will through every pulse, every tremor, his thumb still rubbing slow circles at the back of his neck like an anchor.

Will’s voice comes out small and broken, barely above a whisper, but full of everything he feels.

“I love you… I love you so much… you make me feel so safe… so good…”

Mike breaks.

The second the words leave Will’s mouth, Mike buries his face in the curve of Will’s neck and comes with a low, shattered groan. His hips press deep, cock throbbing inside as he spills, his hand on Will’s nape tightening almost desperately. He shakes hard above him, breath hot and ragged against Will’s skin, and doesn’t stop touching him, not his neck, not his body, not for a second until both of them are spent and trembling.

Only then does Mike finally slow, hips rolling in one last lazy, shaky thrust before he stills, still buried deep, still holding the back of Will’s neck like it’s the only thing keeping him together.

Will’s eyes are wet. He doesn’t even know when that happened. He just knows that Mike is still touching him there. Still rubbing slow, grounding circles at the back of his neck and that for the first time in years, that feeling doesn’t make him want to run.

Mike lifts his head slowly, eyes glassy and soft and so full of love it hurts to look at. He kisses Will’s forehead, then his cheek, then the corner of his mouth, all while his thumb keeps moving at the back of Will’s neck.

“I love you,” Mike whispers, voice rough and shaking. “So much. You’re everything.”

Will lets out a wet, shaky breath and pulls Mike down into a kiss — slow and messy and full of everything they mean to each other.

Mike’s hand never leaves the back of his neck.

And Will doesn’t want it to.

When the last of it fades, neither of them moves for a long moment. Mike stays tucked against him, breathing hard into his skin, his hand still covering the back of Will’s neck like letting go too fast might undo something. Will lies beneath him, loose and shaky and almost painfully warm, every tiny aftershock still rippling through his body. The skin at his nape is tender now, oversensitive, buzzing from Mike’s mouth and Mike’s hand and every whispered thing Mike pressed into it, but it doesn’t make him feel ruined. It makes him feels wanted.

Mike lifts his head eventually, slow and careful. “Okay?”

Will blinks at him, still floaty. “Yeah.”

Mike watches him for another second, then kisses him once, soft and relieved. “I’m gonna move, okay?”

Will makes a small, unhappy sound before he can stop himself.

Mike’s expression softens. “I know. I’m not going far.”

He eases away carefully, one hand still brushing Will’s side like he can’t quite stop touching him. Will feels cold for half a second without him there, exposed and oversensitive, but Mike comes right back after dealing with the condom. He grabs a couple of tissues from the box on the coffee table, then gently wipes the mess from Will’s stomach and chest with slow, careful strokes. His other hand never leaves the back of Will’s neck, thumb rubbing slow circles the whole time like he knows Will still needs that anchor. Will shivers at the tenderness of it, but doesn’t pull away.

Once he’s done, Mike tosses the tissues aside and reaches for the blanket half-fallen near the edge of the couch. He pulls it over both of them and gathers Will close, guiding him onto his side so Will’s forehead rests against his chest. Will sinks into him immediately. Mike’s hand returns to the back of his neck, and Will shivers again.

“Bad?” Mike asks quietly.

Will shakes his head against his chest. “No.”

Mike’s thumb strokes carefully beneath his hairline. “Still good?”

Will’s throat tightens. “Yeah.”

Mike exhales, and Will feels it against his hair. “Good.”

For a while, it is just that, Mike’s hand on his neck, Mike’s heartbeat under Will’s cheek, the basement quiet around them. The air is cool outside the blanket but warm where Mike is wrapped around him.

Will waits for the shame to come, but it doesn’t. Embarrassment, maybe, a little. Enough that he knows tomorrow he might not be able to look Mike in the eye without blushing himself into a coma. But the ugly feeling he expected, the panic, the wrongness, the sharp little voice telling him his body had betrayed him again, never shows up. His body feels more like his. Tired. Overwhelmed. Tender in places. But his.

Mike kisses the top of his head. “You’re quiet.”

Will’s lips twitch against his chest. “You kept telling me I get quiet.”

“Yeah,” Mike says softly. “Because I get nervous.”

Will huffs a weak laugh.

Mike relaxes a little, thumb still moving in slow circles at the back of Will’s neck. “Talk to me.”

Will closes his eyes. The words take a while to come, not because he doesn’t know them, but because they feel too big to say casually in Mike’s basement with a blanket twisted around their legs.

“It doesn’t feel like his anymore,” Will says finally.

Mike goes completely still.

Will swallows, throat aching. “My neck. That spot. It always felt like… proof that something was still wrong with me. Like even after everything ended, my body still belonged to what happened.” His fingers curl lightly against Mike’s chest. “But tonight it didn’t feel like that.”

Mike doesn’t say anything. His hand stays exactly where it is, warm and steady.

Will keeps going because if he stops, he might lose his nerve. “It felt like mine again.”

Mike’s breath catches.

“And maybe that’s stupid,” Will says quickly, face warming. “Maybe tomorrow I’ll still get freaked out by a draft or whatever. I know one night doesn’t magically fix years of trauma, but…” He presses his forehead more firmly to Mike’s chest. “It feels different now.”

Mike’s arm tightens around him. “It’s not stupid.”

Will’s eyes sting.

“It’s not,” Mike repeats, stronger this time. “And if it happens again, then we deal with it again. That doesn’t mean tonight didn’t matter.”

Will lets out a shaky breath.

Mike bends and kisses the back of his neck ,soft, lingering. Not hungry. Not teasing. Just a kiss. A promise pressed to the exact place Will used to hate. Will shivers, but this time he smiles.

Mike feels it. “Good shiver?”

Will nods against him. “Yeah.”

Mike kisses him there again. “I love you.”

Will closes his eyes. The words settle into him slowly, warmer than the blanket, warmer than Mike’s hand. He has imagined Mike saying them before, in cruel little daydreams he never let last too long. He imagined it would feel impossible. Huge. Terrifying. It does feel huge. But not impossible. Not anymore.

“I love you too,” Will says.

Mike’s arm tightens around him like he can’t help it. “Yeah?”

Will smiles into his chest. “Yeah.”

Mike lets out a shaky, disbelieving laugh. “Sorry. I might need you to say that like fifty more times.”

Will presses his smile into Mike’s skin. “I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love—”

“Okay,” Mike says, hiding his face in Will’s shoulder, embarrassed and laughing under his breath. “Okay, I believe you.”

Will laughs too, quiet and tired, and tilts his head slightly, just enough to bare the back of his neck without really thinking about it. Mike notices, of course he does. His thumb stills for a second, then resumes the slow, gentle circles beneath Will’s hairline. Will melts into him. The shiver comes again, soft and warm, rolling down his spine like an answer. His body does not warn him. It remembers. Mike’s hand. Mike’s mouth. Mike saying I love you against the place the past used to live.

Will breathes out and lets himself stay there, safe and heavy in Mike’s arms, the back of his neck warm under Mike’s palm. It’s not like it’s healed all at once. It’s not erased.

But it is his.

Finally, finally his.