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I spend the days with my vanity
I'm lost in heaven and I'm lost to earth
Will doesn’t realize just how different Mike’s music taste is from his own, until it’s humming low within the confines of his newly-bought Firebird— though the nineteen-seventy-something model is anything but.
Some pop song Will doesn't recognize buzzes through the radio static, in-tune with the engine, as they cruise down dodgy roads and pass forgotten street signs. The summer sunlight cuts through the finger-smudged windows, heat reflecting off the hardwood. The AC is most definitely broken, as Will felt nothing more than a lukewarm air. It spews at him like a taunt from hell.
Will almost laughs at the irony, as Mike’s hand rests against his own. Sweaty palms are clasped together, clammy fingers slotted past the bony crookedness of their knuckles.
Will watches the scenery pass him in blotches of droughted grass, dully complimented by the fog of the windows. Like the grass, Will doesn’t think these windows have been treated for years; Mike spent an entire hour with a sponge and cleaner meant for bathroom mirrors, scrubbing at the glass until his fingers grew sore from digging the lemony polyester against ancient fingerprints and kicked-up dust.
Those same fingers twitch occasionally, where they wrap around Will’s own. Will’s hand starts to dig against the leather of the console, but he doesn’t have the energy or will to remove his hand. Not as Mike begins to stroke at his thumb with his own in slow, mindless ellipses.
Wiping his sweaty forehead with his free hand, Will removes his gaze from the bland colors of the summer, to the glowing view, just to his left.
Mike.
In all his years of knowing the boy next to him, he has not once gotten over the divinity of Mike’s features; black waves that just about brush his shoulders, wispy bangs that blow every which way with the AC fans, occasionally exposing his forehead and thick, expressive brows. Or the curve of his nose, akin to some sculpture of a Greek God, Will’s sure of it, and the gentle hooding of his dark brown eyes through long, black lashes.
Will’s eyes flicker as they slow for a speed bump, landing on Mike’s jaw. Sharp enough to cut through ice, and his cheekbones too— perfectly sculpted (he doesn’t care that Mike spends way to much time cursing himself over his, what many people would classify as, ghoulish features; Mike’s always been a beauty to Will, an-out of-this-world creature that Will’s convinced is too gorgeous to be human anyways.)
When you were there before my eyes
No one planned it took it for granted
Mike shifts his grip on the wheel, eyes glancing toward Will for no more than a second. It’s enough to make the corners of his plush lips turn up coyly, in a way that’s unique to Mike, exhaling softly through his nose.
“We’re almost there,” Mike says. Will licks his lips. He shifts his weight to his left leg and arm, so he can stare for longer, admire Mike for more time than what was normal.
“Do I get to know what it is, yet?”
Mike’s smile grows. Will can feel the rhythmic ba-dump, ba-dump in his chest with each second that passes.
“Defeats the point of a surprise.”
“Well,” Will says, squeezing Mike’s hand. “It’s the least you could do after dragging me along with you in this shitty car.”
“Hey,” Mike’s brow creases in faux offense. “She’s my shitty car. Fixed her up just for you.”
Will squints his eyes. By the grimace that Mike takes on, he already knows how and why Will’s glaring at him.
“Okay, Nancy did a good chunk of the ‘heavy duty’ stuff.” Will can’t help his snort at the sarcasm laced in Mike’s tone. Mike squeezes his hand back.
“It’ll be worth it I promise.”
“Better be,” Will teases. “My shirt’s sticking to my back.”
“I shit you not I—” Will flicks his shoulder. Mike winces away.
“Nancy and I just worked on the AC.” They slow as they approach a stop-sign. With an expertise Will’s gotten acclimated to, but never necessarily ‘gotten over’, Mike uses his one hand to crank the wheel far enough right, to turn the corner and not let the vehicle slip into the wrong lane. It should be criminal to look so good while doing something so simple. Will can see the flex of his arm— bless the person who invented rolled sleeves— as he held the wheel right until they were in the lane. Mike is still lean, however he’s been working out more. Will makes sure to remind him that he doesn’t need to, and that he shouldn’t feel insecure about his body. Though, that doesn’t stop him from enjoying the view of what work Mike has pursued on his own.
Before Will gets the chance to offer the stupidly obvious option of taking the car in to a mechanic, Mike lifts Will’s hand up to his lips, fingers still intertwined. Twisting their arms so that Will’s is facing Mike, he leans down to place a chaste kiss against the leather-pressed skin. He straightens out the wheel at the same time. Blood rushes to Will’s cheeks.
“Just trust me.” Another kiss is placed to his hand, by the delicate lips of Mike. “I promise it’ll be worth it.”
There his heart goes, fluttering like it’s their first date all over again. He could blame his light head on the lack of cool air in the dry summer mad humid car. He can feel the beads trail down his back through his flannel, down his spine ‘til it soaks against the waist of his pants.
However, that wouldn’t be fair to Mike. He needed to give very due credit to the sweet, albeit foxy smile, guile eyes that watch Will when he can, tongue that darts out to lick his dry lips in a similar fashion to Will, and of course, the sweat that covers his neck and collarbone, the same sweat that sticks the baby curls to Mike’s temples and nape. The radio hums the lyrics low:
Missed chances and the same regrets
Kiss the thief and you save the rest
Breathlessly, Will nods, fumbling fingers reaching to roll his window down just a crack.
“I trust you.”
With a third and final peck to Will’s hand, Mike lowers their hands back to the console. When the road smooths, Mike takes no more than two seconds to release the wheel and roll down his own window. Enough to get oxygen in the warming car.
Shifting forward in his seat, Will lets his eyes linger a tad longer on Mike’s lips. Mike most definitely feels his gaze burning holes into his cheek, if the slow swallow wasn’t a telltale sign, a silent victory for Will.
Will decides he doesn’t mind the heat as much when he’s with Mike.
~~~
Mike was the first to get his license out of everyone in the party.
There were many factors that led to his decision, a few of them being A. An uncomfortable guilt with constantly asking Nancy, or Steve, to drive him, B. Aching to start a life outside the confines of his very conservative parents, and C. Wanting to pick up Will and drive with him for as long as his body would let.
Granted, Mike received his license before he and Will got together, while he and El were riding out the last few threads of their relationship. The ends had been frayed for far too long, and it took a heartfelt apology and break-up letter from El for him to finally realize.
In hindsight, Mike thinks he could’ve handled the break-up better. Instead of actively doing his part in finding solutions to the end of the world, he spent most hours biting out snide remarks to anyone that dared to approach him. Even El and Will.
After all the unnecessary shit Will was given, after all the shit he was still going through, he never brought his feelings up to Mike, keeping quiet while the rest of the party turned a blind eye to his silent suffering.
Within the same week, Mike found himself kissing Will for the first time, like it was the last kiss he could ever spare. After an overdue argument filled with raw screams, tears, and tension so grandiose Mike forgot what they were even arguing about, they found themselves wrapping arms around each other. Screams turned into sobs, fearful tears into relief, and tension dissolved, all by the hands of Will— literally.
Mike doesn’t know how he got so lucky. Three years later they’re alive and well, graduating from high school in just a few days, and not a trace of the Upside Down— of Vecna. Will no longer shivers like he used to. It would be concerning of him in any sense, especially with the hotbox Mike drives.
When they fall into another comfortable quiet, aside from a CD he burned full of artists from the seventies, there’s only five final minutes before Mike’s turning into an abandoned parking lot. The tires meet cracked pavement, overgrown with browned weeds.
Ahead of them, Mike sees the final destination; an old backyard shed, with wood warped from years worth of muggy weather. The roof is caving in on top, and overall looks in questionable condition.
Looking at it from a distance, Mike’s confidence in this project begins to simmer away. He remembers his initial goal when going on a road trip for the first time was to find something for Will. Away from Hawkins, away from high school, away from the Wheeler’s basement; a place that Will could call his own, and that only Mike could share with him.
Mike’s not what you would consider rich (I mean, the kid works at a movie store for just under four dollars an hour) so he fretfully knows that there’s the possibility that this won’t be as adequate of a gift as Will deserves.
Mike’s hand is clammy against the wheel, the other sweaty against Will’s own. He wonders if Will can feel his nervous sweat condensate, and is simply choosing not to care. Mike wouldn’t care either, but in the already miserable heat, he doesn’t want to risk any unpleasant experiences for Will, small or large.
But, even as Mike pulls into the parking lot, parking askew to the faded white lines below due to his lack of a hand to steer, Will’s grip doesn’t slip. It’s firm, his soft, warm hand fitting like a glove into Mike’s. Mike doesn’t even realize he’s stroking Will’s hand until he steps on the brake, bringing the car to a stop.
Will’s eyes are trained curiously onto the worn-down building in front of them. His lip is pursed, telling Mike he’s about to ask what exactly it is they’re looking at.
Mike stretches his fingers out, enough that Will does the same. When Mike slips his hand out from under Will’s, he can’t ignore the heat that coils far inside him when the soft pads of Will’s fingers stroke against his palm once more, tickling his skin.
Inhaling quietly, slowly, Mike reaches for the key, switching off the ignition. He tries not to focus on the musk that radiates in the car, from their sweat. Not even the cracked windows provide the ventilation they so desperately need.
“Are you sure it’s safe in there?”
A stab right into Mike’s heart. Will obviously doesn’t mean anything by it, and yeah, the building has a shoddy exterior. The comment doesn’t ease Mike’s nerves, nor does it thrill him to show Will his gift as much as it did before they started driving.
The concept to Mike was nice— build Will his own art studio, a place he can call his, after the whole incident with Castle Byers (which was Mike’s fault.)
“It looks pretty old.”
Another sheath of the knife. The concept seems so silly now.
“I— yeah,” Mike huffs awkwardly, unbuckling his seatbelt. “I couldn’t really find anything better.
Then Will turns to him again. Mike cranes his head as well. Now, he’s able to hold his gaze for as long as he wants.
Mike doesn’t know how Will’s able to wear flannel in this weather; it clings to his arms where they’re rolled up (but hell, does he look good in it). Will’s gorgeous hazel eyes are analyzing his brown ones. Mike notices the slight tousle of Will’s bangs, from constantly messing with his hair and wiping his face. He definitely likes Will better with his hair grown out. it curves just under his ears, a hint of curl that he gets from Joyce. His eyebrows are set, and Mike loses count of the amount of times he looks to Will’s lips, pink as the flush of color on his cheeks.
Mike licks his lips. Will cocks his head.
“Are you nervous to show me?”
“What?” Mike grimaces. “No, of course not.”
Blindly, Will reaches for the hand that Mike had previously disconnected. When he finds it resting against Mike’s lap, he lifts it into his own. As if the heat beating down onto their seats isn’t enough, Mike’s limbs melt further into the leather. Will turns his palm upward, and uses his other hand to scratch at Mike’s palm.
“You sure?”
Mike wants to fight back, because the twitching of Will’s mouth twitch tells him that he already knows that Mike’s nervous. He’s more open of a book than he’s willing to admit.
Mike swallows the rising saliva, apprehension plaited in his face.
“I don’t know if you’ll like it.”
“Well I better,” Will prods. “We’ve been driving for an hour.”
Mike can’t even hold his scowl when Will’s fingernails tickle his palm. Rather, it makes his brain skip a few beats. It’s inevitable that he turns to mush whenever Will is touching him.
Unable to do anything but sigh, Mike nods. He leans over the middle console, and closes the tempting distance between their lips.
For a short, sweet moment, Will kisses back, mouth warm and soft, breath intimate where it leaves his nose, tickling their faces.
Mike pulls back after a few glorious seconds of smothering himself against Will. It’s like that was his way of saying “it’s going to be shit, so I apologize in advance”.
With one final press of his thumb into Mike’s hand, Will pulls away to unbuckle his seatbelt as well.
“I’m sure I’ll love it.”
God, I hope so, Mike almost says.
There’s the slightest chance that Will won’t like it. That he’ll laugh the moment they walk in, or that he’ll be repulsed or offended or disappointed in Mike’s lack of expertise.
Well, there’s no way to know until Mike gets out of this sweaty car and shows him himself.
~~~
Will leaves the car shortly after Mike, both of them squinting when they leave the car’s shade. Mike begins for the shed, over the overgrown grass and muddy patches. Will follows once his eyes adjust to the brightness.
Flannel is definitely a bad idea, Will admits, but Mike’s complimented it on him before. If it grants him a few elongated stares here and there, then the sweat will have been worth it.
Mike leads Will to a garage-like door, metal that’s spotting in mold and rust. Will’s not one to worry about the sanitary condition of things, but he can’t shake the concern of how the building looked about ready to collapse.
With a huff, Mike squats down and grips the door’s handle. He pauses, Will watches as he stares at his hand.
It’s not gonna open itself, he almost jokes. If he didn’t catch the nervous inhale from Mike, he would’ve poked fun at him.
Will doesn’t understand Mike’s hesitance. They’ve ripped ass in front of each other on numerous occasions. Will’s been there when Mike’s made his most obscene of jokes, or when he’s flunked tests he never studied for. They’ve both done humiliating shit with each other around.
But, in Will’s opinion, the single fact that Mike, in this moment, is anxious to screw something up (he who talks so grand about his confidence,) tells Will all he needs to know. Even if whatever he’s about to see looks like a children’s drawing presented to their parents, he’s going to adore it. Because it’s Mike’s work, his masterpiece for Will to admire.
Finally getting over himself, Mike lifts the garage door with a grunt. Will bends down to help him. The door sputters against its rusted hinges, as it rolls up and reveals the inside of the room.
Will scrunches his face, following Mike inside. it’s a little dark on the inside— or maybe it’s just dust in the air, as there looks to be sunlight pouring into the room through broken windows.
As soon as his eyes adjust, Will takes in the sight before him. His breath immediately catches.
It’s definitely dusty. An old couch sits against a wall where the window’s been taped shut in lieu of glass. Old shelves stand along another, metallic, namely for holding tools and other technical equipment. These walls are in no better condition than they are outside; they only seem good at holding wood dust in.
In the center of the room lays an old, circular red carpet. On it is the only piece of furniture that looks to be in mint condition; a wooden tripod about four feet tall, with its legs messily nailed together. It stands straight though, right in the center of the room. Beside it lies a stack of rectangular canvases, dust collecting on the top one. But they remain relatively fresh.
On a table beside the canvas stands a stack of cups, a few painting palettes varying in size, multiple different brushes in many sizes, and bottles of paint in a wide array of colors.
“Um…” Will remembers Mike’s presence just then. His lanky figure is walking toward the side of the old sofa, an uneasy smile on his face.
“Here’s uh— here’s the fridge.” Mike opens it, revealing packs of water on the inside.
“It’s a piece of shit, but it keeps water cool.” He whips his head back up to Will. Will can’t move where he’s standing. His eyes however, deftly leave Mike, and the sketchy fridge. His eyes move back to the center of the room.
Mike did all this.
He created this for him.
“Yeah, I—” Will hears Mike clear his throat behind him. “I know it’s not great.”
Will wants to laugh. He wants to fight Mike back immediately. How dare he? He creates all of this, and proceeds to call it ‘not great’?
But Will is stuck. It’s all so beautiful to him. He doesn’t know how he’ll wrap his head around the actuality that is Mike’s work.
For no one but him.
Mike walks into view, and Will catches how he wipes his hands against his jeans, waking to the center of the room.
“I had to work with what I had– which really wasn’t a lot, and I spent all the money on the art stuff.”
Will finally peels his eyes away from the canvases, from the brushes and furniture, and finds his boyfriend beside them. Mike’s own brown beauties have trouble staying fixed on Will. They do that anxious glancing pattern of his, which Will has grown so fond of over the years. Mike’s doe eyes, fresh as the art supplies, are unable to remain still.
Not that Will is any better with his attention; awe has overtaken him. He can’t possibly soak in all this beauty in one sitting. He needs to take hours, days to thoroughly appreciate every broken edge, every imperfect, gorgeous detail that Mike put into this shed with his own bare hands.
And now, he stares at the gorgeous sight that is Mike. He’s still going on and on, rambling with his eyes low. He mentions something about spending all of his savings on the supplies on the red carpet, beside the tripod. His shoulders are about stacked to his ears with uncertainty. Maybe Will’s speechless gaping at the place is contributing to that.
“...And– and you’re going off to college soon– I mean we both are– but you’ll be here, and I don’t know if you’ll want to always stay at home– or maybe you do–”
“Mike,” Will tries. With each word that leaves Mike’s mouth, Will feels his eyes grow wetter, a pool of tears forming in his lids.
“Anyways I’m talking a lot I know, I know that—” Mike nods, like he’s trying to convince himself that he’s making any form of sense with his rambling.
“But I did really want this to be special, so if you don’t like anything that’s okay— that’s perfectly okay if you don’t like it, because it’s not that great—”
“Mike,” Will tries again. those familiar first-date butterflies arise. He’s so overwhelmed with emotions right now (Mike’s fault, honestly). He takes a few steps toward a tense Mike.
“And I know it’s not anything like Castle Byers, and nothing ever will be.” Mike stops for a moment. Will continues to walk toward him. When Mike sees this, his eyelids flutter open a little wider, before their attention is diverted to the ground once more. Will’s heart pings with nostalgia, and a hint of something bitter. Any sour mood from that day had otherwise been forgotten.
“But this is…” Mike motions to the painting supplies. “This is as much of a birthday present as it is an… an apology, because I am sorry, because I was such an asshole to you that day, but now I have the chance to make it up to you—”
“Mike.” Will shortens the distance to only a few feet. Mike’s diverted eyes could see Will’s feet in his peripherals.
“I really wanna…”
Will, with a trembling breath, reaches for Mike’s face with both hands.
Mike’s breath stutters against Will’s face, as Will forces his partner to stop avoiding him.
See me, Mike, Will wants to tell him.
See how much this means to me.
At first, Mike’s face resembles an expression of fear. Spooked, even. He doesn’t even get this nervous driving, or taking a test. His thick brows are knitted together, puppy-dog eyes gleaming in the sun that peeks through the entrance.
Will doesn’t realize how wide he’s been grinning, until his cheeks begin to grow sore from the extended use of his facial muscles. He probably looks a little insane because of it.
But maybe Mike doesn’t think so, because he doesn’t grimace. Rather, his own, pouty lips curve into a reciprocated smile. The crease between his brows is beginning to disappear, and finally, Will thinks his lover begins to understand how he truly feels.
Mike, with a crooked smile, leans into Will’s hands. He steps forward, closing the already-close distance. His hands settle atop Will’s.
“Is it really that bad?” Mike jokes, voice slipping into that gentle, sweet tone that Will loves.
“Oh my god,” Will laughs, sharing a chaste kiss with his sweetheart. He nudges his nose against Mike’s.
“It’s perfect.”
Mike appears elated at that, hands wrapping around Will’s shoulders, pulling him into his arms. Will reciprocates, pouring out all of his love into Mike’s arms.
Though it is hot, humid and gross everywhere, Will welcomes the warmth in his heart, against his body. If there’s one thing he hopes he never grows out of, it’s Mike’s hugs. It doesn’t matter the time of day to him, the occasion, or the weight of his emotions, because he begins to float whenever Mike’s here, in his arms.
“I love you,” Will mumbles into Mike’s shoulder. He muffles himself, as to not alert Mike of how emotional he’s getting. Mike squeezes him tighter.
“I love you too.”
~~~
Much to Mike’s relief, the canvases were the perfect idea. Yay!
Almost too perfect though, because Will begins to cry. Which in turn, resulted in the longest hug of Mike’s life. So, it wasn’t all that terrible.
Until Will himself pulled away. Boo. (With that being said, it is still grossly hot, and neither of them had any plans on passing out.)
So, Mike allows Will to explore, and sift through his new supplies. He doesn’t tell Will that he had to consult Jonathan for some assistance in buying the paints. He already risked the embarrassment of Will rejecting his gift– he doesn’t need to give Will any reason to laugh at him.
About a half an hour in to arriving, they’ve both settled in. There’s no music anymore. Just the ambient whir of the ceiling fan (that took mike hundreds of tries to get going), and the sound of the soft brush strokes against the canvas. It’s still hot, but Mike can breathe better in the old shed, miraculously. The car limited the space for oxygen, for better or for worse. He wouldn’t mind losing his breath to Will. Will could suck out every breath of oxygen Mike has to offer, and he would never utter a single complaint about it.
Mike’s laying on the couch, soda in hand as he has a book propped up in his legs, spine resting in the crook of his thighs.
He’s not paying all that much attention to the words on the page– he simply thought to bring something along with him, to allow Will as much peace and time he wanted to enjoy himself.
Taking the last sip of his soda, he lets his eyes wander back to Will. He’s met with Will’s own pleasant ones. As though he’s been caught red-handed, Will does a double take, before they fall back onto the canvas. Mike catches the rosy tinge of his cheeks.
Albeit supposedly staring at Mike when he’s unaware, Will’s quite focused on whatever he’s working on.
It relieves Mike in every way he can imagine, for the best possible outcome is for Will to feel calm enough to relax and enjoy himself. He’s not forcing himself to like it. He made that very clear to Mike.
Elongating a yawn, Mike tosses the can onto the floor.
“Whatcha drawing?”
Will pauses in the middle of his work, paintbrush lifting from the canvas. His eyes flicker to Mike. They scan the expanse of his gangly limbs and freckled face. When He meets Mike’s eyes again, he smiles playfully.
“The view.”
Ah. Makes sense. Not– not that Mike believe he was anything worth staring at. Will however, always begged to differ.
With that familiar tingle in his face, Mike hides his smile with his tongue, slipping past his lips just enough to wet them. Were his lips always this dry?
Mike’s stomach flips when he notices that Will’s staring at him more intensely now. He slowly sits up, closing the book in his lap and setting it aside.
“Can I see?”
Will blinks slowly, as if he doesn’t want to waste any millisecond with his eyes not on Mike. It feels like the taller of the two is about to be devoured alive. Will makes him feel vulnerable, which excites him even further.
Considering for a moment, Will slips the tip of the wooden brush between his teeth. Ultimately he turns back to his painting, and proceeds.
“When it’s done.”
“Okay,” Mike huffs out, not truly annoyed. Again, as much time as Will needed, Mike was here to grant him.
As Will continues with his painting, Mike stands up from the tattered couch and makes his way over to the fridge. He opens it to grab a condensation-coated bottle of water. The heat must’ve been at its prime, considering the height of the sun in the air.
Mike shuts the fridge with his foot, unscrewing the cap of his water. He turns back around, about ready to shuffle back over to the book awaiting him on the couch.
But he doesn’t get the chance to sit back down. In fact, his limbs freeze, because he catches Will in the middle of discarding his shirt.
“It’s so hot,” Will remarks, a low whine laced in the end of his sentence. He doesn’t look away from his canvas when the button-up is fully undone, and sifts the sleeves off his arms like he’s home alone, without anyone watching him. When his shirt falls down, he picks his palette and brush back up, continuing like it was nothing.
It pisses Mike off. It pisses him off because Will’s a little shit, and he most definitely knows what he’s doing.
So, playing along with his game, Mike remains by the fridge and takes a sip of his water. He convinces himself that at any point, he’s free to return to the comfort of the couch (lies, all of it— Mike is stuck in place because Will has rendered him as such.)
Mike watches Will like a kid in a candy store– bug-eyed, youthful wonder as he takes in such a sweet, delicious view.
And oh, was it delicious indeed: watching Will’s biceps twitch with each stroke against the canvas, neck strained with focus and torso taught, as though to center all his energy into the skilled fingers that wrap delicately around the wooden brush.
Holy hell if this man isn’t the most beautiful creature to ever walk the earth, gracing everyone who crosses his path. How did Mike ever get so lucky?
It takes no more than a simple glance from Will to Mike, for Mike to dart his gaze astray. He straightens where he stands, awkward in front of the fridge.
“Are you okay?” Will asks, batting his eyelashes coyly. “You look like you’re gonna piss yourself."
Mike’s eyes thin, snorting. He lifts the can up to his lips to hide his inevitable grin.
“Fuck you.”
“Oh,” Will shrugs, wiping off the excess paint on the side of one of the jars. “I mean, if that’s what you want–”
Mike is thrown into a violent coughing fit.
The water burns his throat as if it were acidic, interrupting his airway. As he hacks away for air, Will bites at the corner of his lip, failing to hide the sly grin that Mike’s despair brings upon.
“Sorry,” Mike hears through his sputters. He braces himself with a hand against the fridge. A soft giggle from Will tells Mike that the fucker isn’t actually sorry.
Mike lets out a few weak coughs, but manages to somewhat compose himself.
“You,” Mike sucks in a breath, straightening his back with it. “-are an asshole.”
“Yeah?” Will’s voice is honey to Mike’s ears, even as his throat tingles and his eyes water. He squints over to Will. He notes that Will’s set the supplies back down.
“Yeah,” Mike nods. “Grade A.”
Will’s smile resembles more of a smirking delight, to which Mike tries to ignore with another sip of his water.
“Well did you know…” Will steps aside the canvas, and begins to make his way over to Mike. His shoulders stand tall, a gentle sway in his hips.
“That this asshole loves picking on his boyfriend?” Mike almost chokes on his water again. Instead he swallows, shrugging his shoulders.
“I know.” What he means to say is yes, and fuck you for it because I get embarrassed easily and you know that.
Will hums, and the anticipatory beating of Mike’s heart increases with every step closer Will gets.
“I mean, it’s hard not to tease you, Wheeler.” Mike doesn’t respond, setting his water atop the fridge. Will’s eyes are tracking his body again, up to his hair and down to his toes, and Mike swears he can feel every inch of it, like a laser carving through him.
“You get all shy and cute about it.”
“Stop,” Mike can’t help his laugh. It’s more of a nervous giggle, having to look down to his toes. He’s been the pronounced leader of their party since Elementary school, this he’s always taken on the natural head role of anything he’s done.
So it’s an anomaly to him how such simple words are able to make him fold so quickly. But at the same time he thinks he has an idea. He’s always had a soft spot for Will. Will only recently must’ve discovered this soft spot, because he uses it to his advantage whenever he wants.
Not that Mike minds in the slightest.
It’s not getting any cooler, and Mike thinks he just might pass out, if Will doesn’t stop giving him heart palpitations.
But of course, he doesn’t stop.
“What?” Will’s hand reaches for the hem of Mike’s shirt, to which Mike nearly yelps at, because who the hell finds joy in tugging him forward by his shirt?
(Will. Will does, apparently.)
“It’s true,” Will hums again, eyes foxy in their mischief. “You’re such a cutie.”
“Oh, ew, ” Mike bellows again, though it tapers off into another cough. Will watches him, open-eyed, like the dusty climate didn’t bother him in the least. Mike wishes he could say the same. Not only does the dust make it occasionally hard to see, but he nearly cried from choking on his drink, and now Will is in his personal space, calling him disgustingly sweet things that he can’t tell if he loves or despises.
“You know, Mike.” Will knows how to sweeten his voice just enough, gentle rasp in every word. His delicate fingers release Mike’s shirt, falling to his jeans. Mike’s still not watching him. In response to this, Will slides his hands across the jeans, until he’s able to slip his fingers into the back pockets of Mike’s pants. To this, Mike does squeak, as Will pulls their hips flush together.
“I’d like to purchase one of those big billboards, yeah? And on it I’d put ‘I, William Byers, am dating Michael Wheeler, the cutest, prettiest, handsomest, most amazing person to ever grace the earth.’”
“Stop, stop, oh my god."
Mike slaps both hands over his boiling face. He’s giggling like a madman, hiding his uncontrollable grin from his boyfriend. Will’s done it again, rendered him weak and unable to compute a proper response.
Will giggles with him. The stutter of their chests against each others is overwhelming, and comforting all the same.
Mike thinks Will finally understands his panic, and removes his hands from Mike’s pockets. Mike feels the two hands looping around Mike’s wrists to pull them down. Without resistance, he lets Will guide his hands back down.
When Mike’s eyes are no longer protected by the shield of his hands, he opens them. Mike can see Will’s smug grin, knowing the effect he has on Mike and soaking up every moment of it.
Mike bites at his lip.
“I hate you,” Mike chides through his teeth. Will giggles again, releasing Mike’s wrists.
“Yeah?” Will settles his hands to Mike’s hips, not breaking eye contact. He gently pushes Mike back against the mini fridge, until Mike’s rear is up against the rusted metal. Mike wraps his arms around Will’s neck. Mike nods.
To this Will twitches his brow, before leaning in.
“I hate you too.”
Will’s eyes flutter shut, closing the distance and slotting their lips together. Mike doesn’t get to catch his breath.
In the moment, Mike remembers how easily thoughtless everything can be with Will. The squeeze of his broad hands against Mike’s narrow waist, the soft lips that squish against his own, nose brushing against Mike’s, breaths colliding with each smack of their lips— it all renders Mike defenseless.
Mike’s eyes close, letting Will lead the kiss. Every time Will goes in for a deeper kiss, Mike’s responding with the same energy. Will’s lips are languid with their movements, even as they open more each time they collide with Mike’s own to deepen the kiss.
Will pulls away so their lips linger, noses together. He’s listening to Mike’s breathing, something he does whenever he’s trying to gage Mike’s reaction. There’s nothing to gage, other than the shudders Mike can’t help, anticipatory and eager. Will smiles against his lips, squeezing Mike just a little firmer.
“You’re so fucking beautiful.”
To hide the rest of the embarrassed laugh that narrowly escapes him, Mike swipes his tongue against the subtle opening of Will’s upturned lips.
Will chuckles against him, and his wooly tongue mimics the action. Mike opens his mouth wider for Will, welcoming.
Will responds in full force, shoving his tongue past Mike’s lips, pushing against Mike’s pliant one.
Everything’s so slow. Mike gets to savor the taste of Will (vaguely tasting of soft drinks), as their mouths emit wet sounds. The obscenity felt illegal. Mike doesn’t think he’ll ever get over the nagging feeling that this could be wrong.
But damn it all, because Will feels so fucking good against him. He feels right.
With will taking full hold of the reigns, he pulls Mike’s hips flush to his. Mike’s knees grow weak, and he almost collapses at the contact. The only thing separating him from will now is his own shirt.
Will continues, letting his tongue playfully sweep up against the roof of Mike’s mouth— it’s not only warm, but otherworldly. Not in the same way that the Upside Down was, or the creatures that they encountered a number of times, no; this felt better. While it might have been weird to Mike years ago, it’s all so sure now. Will helps him stay certain.
It all feels so right.
Crows caw in the distance, a cacophony that poses as an alarm for the two of them.
Still conjoined at the hip, Will’s tongue retracts from Mike’s mouth. Their lips disconnect with a wet click. Mike doesn’t want to open his eyes. He feels too dizzy to. Will must realize, because he wraps his arms further around Mike’s waist, pinning them together.
It should be too hot for their proximity. Frankly, it already is— Will’s bare chest against Mike’s clad one produced a layer of sweat that Mike doesn’t even notice until the kiss broke. When Will wraps his arms fully around Mike’s waist, he almost faints; Will’s arms are just so perfect, the right amount of muscle in his biceps and amazing coordination in his hands, down to the tips of his fingers. Mike doesn’t know a more comfortable place to be in.
“Are you okay?” Cuts Will’s voice through the thick air, through distant cawing. Even his breath against Mike’s face is almost too much, but Mike doesn’t do so much as flinch.
“Are you kidding?” Mike jokes back. his hands squeeze at Will’s shoulders. One of them travel up to the back of Will’s head, to comb through the overgrown bowl cut.
“I’m amazing.” He receives another kiss from Will at that, who sways them a bit.
Mike detaches their lips this time, allowing most of his weight to press against Will. He pecks the corner of Will’s lips.
“Happy birthday.”
“‘S a little late.”
“Shut up.”
Mike withdraws his head slightly. Bringing his hand to Will’s cheek, he finally opens his eyes.
Just like back in the car, Mike can see each pigment of Will’s skin this close. He can see the warm flush of his skin, the gloss that coats his swollen lips, and the glistening of his lashes from previous tears that have dried.
Mike presses his thumb to Will’s bottom lip. He draws it down gently accentuating his natural pout.
“I’m gonna miss you.” Will’s eyelids flinch at the contact of Mike’s breath against his face. His arms squeeze Mike’s waist tighter. What little breath Mike has escapes him, as Will wraps his lips around the tip of his thumb, kissing it.
“Gonna miss you too,” He whispers, into the calm silence of the shed. He kisses Mike’s thumb again, This time pressing his lips to the knuckle.
“But,” Will’s arms unwrap slowly, until his hands fall back onto Mike’s hips. He squeezes the soft flesh where Mike’s waist meets his hips, fingers digging into the skin with such delicious purpose. It makes Mike’s head spin.
“How about we don’t think about it?” Will lets his tongue kitten lick once at Mike’s thumb. Mike’s probably gaping like an idiot at this man.
“I don’t…” Will’s lowering his voice even further, leaning in to the point where now, even their chests touch, and it presses Mike against the fridge even more. It’s like Will doesn’t want the birds to hear. Or even the tattered walls that surround them, or the dust particles that fly around.
Will leans even closer, until lips press against Mike’s ear. Will’s breath is hot hot hot. Mike has a hard time keeping his eyes open.
“I don’t wanna think about anything when I’m with you, Michael.”
Mike’s inhale stutters, a gasp that sounds more like a silent plea for air. Will nibbles at his earlobe. Mike can only nod.
“Then don’t think, William,” He coos, as if to mock Will, but to have the same effect on him that he has on Mike.
Will’s hands squeeze harder, and it teeters on the edge of painful. Mike thinks he likes it though. He can handle a little pain.
In a single motion, Will leans away, and curves back forward to slot his lips against Mike’s own.
Mike, with his body completely surrendered to Will long before he said those words, kisses back. Will’s almost frantic this time, but in a way that’s endearing to Mike. It reassures him that Will needs him just as much as Mike needs Will.
And Mike really, really needs Will.
There’s no longer anyone keeping track of time— not that there ever was anyone. Mike could sit there for hours, days and not get bored of Will’s lips, of his suffocating touch. Mike doesn’t find chaos when he’s this close with Will. There’s only the raw, certain passion that if they made it through the past eighteen years of their lives, then perhaps they can let go of their current troubles, and allow this free, mindless path take them wherever they’re destined to be.
And, as long as he gets the pleasure of savoring the warm comfort Will’s lips bring, the firm hold of his hands, and the sweet, gentle sounds he makes when they’re this close, Mike doesn’t mind forgetting his reasons for being. For the fire burning his soul bright is reason enough, a silent promise to Will.
All my silence and my strained respect
Missed chances and the same regrets
Kiss the thief and you save the rest
~~~