Work Text:
Black paint always gets stuck under Will’s fingernails. He won’t bother scrubbing his hands until he’s done. His eyes are locked on the canvas, thin brush pressed between his index and middle finger. His knees and fingers ache and his paint is starting to dry.
He starts with the soft curve of Mike’s eyebrows. He likes how expressive they are, the way they raise when he smiles, how they furrow when he asks Dustin to explain a math problem. He likes the way Mike’s entire face softens when he kisses him.
Mike pupils are heart-shaped and they hold the world. It’s easy to get lost in them. Mike can always see the shape of his soul in the dark. His pretty eyelashes always rest on his cheeks when he closes his eyes, leaning into Will’s touch.
Then there are Mike’s lips—soft reds and pinks like the coming of summer. Mike’s gotten a lot taller. His lips now reach Will’s eyelids, and he can always feel Mike’s smile against the bridge of his nose. Mike’s breath settles under the first layer of his skin and Will lights up from the inside.
Will would love to lean close and count every freckle on Mike’s pretty face. He’d try to stay serious, but Mike would get distracted in the same sweet way he always does. Will settles for estimating, flicking dark paint across Mike’s nose and cheeks.
He’s wearing a silly sweater, one with patterns that remind Will of a vintage tablecloth. A few feet away, Will can hear him breathing, and he relaxes his shoulders. He uses a deep brown for Mike’s hair. He cut it a few months ago, and Will likes the way it stops right above his eyebrows.
“Will?” Mike closes his book and sets it on the side table. His voice is achingly soft and it makes Will’s insides mushy. Every word out of Mike’s mouth is sweet and cherry-flavored. “‘S getting late.” His sentence blends into the tinny music coming from the other side of the room.
Will’s back is sore, and he fears the sound his spine will make when he finally stands up. But he’s too focused to stop now. Mike is probably pouting, waiting for Will to join him under the covers, and it’s hard not to give in. Will tightens his grip on his brush and focuses on painting Mike’s armor.
Will hears rustling, and suddenly Mike’s sitting on the edge of the bed. “Still working?” He asks, in a voice only Will can hear.
Will just nods. “I’ll be done soon.” It’s a lie. Mike might fall asleep before he finishes his painting. Either that, or he’ll force himself to stay awake just so he can kiss Will goodnight.
There’s a reason Will paints Mike’s face last. It’s hard not to get distracted by the perfect curve of his nose and his high cheekbones. He’s easily the prettiest boy Will has ever seen.
Will feels Mike’s eyes on the back of his head. They’re soft, but Will feels Mike’s gaze deep in his chest. “Can I see?” He asks. He rests his head on his hand, waiting for Will to turn around.
Will smiles softly. He shakes his head. “You can see it next week.” Mike doesn’t push, doesn’t lean closer and peer over Will’s shoulder. Instead, he pouts.
“Please?” Mike asks, staring at Will with his perfect, sparkly eyes. He’s almost whining because he knows Will is weak for him. “Just a peek?” He tilts his head, and it takes too much effort not to give in. He’s so cute and Will is stuck in the warmth of his gaze.
“It’s your birthday present, Mike,” Will says. Next week, the painting will join the hundreds of others Mike has taped to the wall. He leans forward and dips his brush into a small cup of water. He adds the softest blush to Mike’s nose and cheeks. He aches and aches to hold Mike’s face in his hands and push his hair out of his eyes. His fingertips are stained red from painting Mike’s bejeweled heart.
Will predicts Mike’s next line before he says it. “You’re the only present I need,” he says. Will blushes furiously. Years together and Mike still makes him fold so easily. Will turns his head and falls a little more in love.
Will studies the shape of Mike’s lips, the way they naturally curve into a smile when Will stares at him. “Aren’t you tired?” Will asks. His own lips curl into a smile, and he turns back to his painting.
Mike shrugs. He’s probably consumed enough coffee to kill a small child. “I bet you are,” he says. The tone of his voice makes Will’s eyes flutter closed. Exhaustion seeps into Will’s bones and stays there. Mike rests a gentle hand on Will’s back, thumb pressed against his shoulder blade.
Will leans into his touch, and Mike moves closer. He kisses the tip of Will’s nose, then his cheeks, then his eyelids. He presses his lips against Will’s forehead, and Will can feel Mike’s eyelashes on his skin. His touch is achingly gentle and so Mike.
“Pretty,” Mike whispers. He smiles, wide and silly as he pulls away. Will’s soul is on fire, heart rattling against his ribcage. He gently sets his brush on the floor.
Will slowly turns around. He studies each freckle on Mike’s face like flecks of sunlight on the ocean. “You really wanna see it?” He asks. Mike’s gaze shifts upwards from his lips, and he nods.
Will sighs. “It’s just a scene from our campaign,” he says. He holds the canvas with one hand. “It’s not finished yet.”
Mike goes quiet. The silence is thick, sweet and full-bodied like red wine. Mike’s smiling so hard it probably hurts. His eyes are blown wide, pretty lips parted as he stares at the painting.
Will smiles. “What do you think?”
Mike closes his mouth, opens it, then closes it again. “It’s—God—it’s perfect.” He goes quiet, eyebrows furrowed like he’s a second away from crying. He leans close enough for Will to rest a hand in his hair and an idle thumb on his cheekbone. Mike looks up at him. “You’re gonna draw yourself, right?”
Will pauses. “Why?” He asks, solely out of habit. There’s easily space for another figure. Will always has enough room in his heart.
Mike smiles softly. “You can’t draw a paladin without his cleric,” he says. He says it like it’s obvious, like loving Will is the easiest thing in the world.
Will sets his painting on the nearest easel. “I’ll think about it,” he says. There’s a soft blush on his cheeks that always appears when Mike speaks to him like this. Mike’s eyes are still trained on his lips and Will’s heart is on fire.
“You’re staring,” Will says. He’s only close enough to hold Mike’s hand, not close enough to kiss him.
Mike squeezes his hand and sparks shoot up his spine. He tilts his head. “I think I’ve earned that privilege,” he says softly. He’s smiling, sweet and boyish, eyes trained on Will’s lips. “C’mere.”
Will shifts a little closer. “Earned is a strong word,” he replies. The words balance themselves loosely on his tongue. It only takes one glance from Mike before Will’s heart is in his throat.
Mike reaches out and wraps his thick fingers around Will’s wrist. There’s pink static in his fingertips. His touch instantly soothes the residual want and ache in Will’s chest. “It’s fitting,” he says. Will can’t help but smile. He moves closer, until their knees touch and Will can see the hearts in Mike’s eyes.
Mike looks him up and down. “Is that my sweater?” He asks. For a moment, Will worries that Mike will pop a blood vessel. Will nods, and Mike beams.
“You’re really pretty,” Mike says. He’s practically pulling Will into his lap. Mike hugs him tightly, and Will feels his heart in his throat. He wants and wants and he finally takes, because it’s okay to be a little selfish. He rests his thumbs on Mike’s cheekbones and presses their lips together.
Will ends up on top of Mike, kissing him breathless. Will grins. He licks his lips, and he tastes candy on Mike’s teeth. Will threads his fingers through Mike’s soft hair. “You always say that,” he replies.
Mike rolls over, taking Will with him. He kisses the corner of his mouth, then his bottom lip. He’s cupping Will’s face like he’s afraid to lose him, so Will meets him halfway. “I always mean it.” He rests his hands on Will’s waist. Mike’s nose brushes against his cheek. He can probably feel the blood rushing to his face. “You’re pretty.”
Mike leans down and brushes Will’s hair out of his eyes. His hands are wandering, eyes flitting over Will’s face like he can’t decide what to do next. So Will decides for him. He tangles his fingers in Mike’s hair and kisses him again. Mike always tastes sugary sweet like the middle of summer.
Mike’s eyes widen. Even when they pull away, laughing with every breath, their lips are less than a centimeter apart. Mike tightens his grip on Will’s waist, finally slipping his tongue into his mouth. Mike’s so warm against him and Will’s heart is beating out of his chest.
Will is no longer impatient—he’s wasted enough time already. He lets out a quiet whimper when Mike catches his bottom lip between his teeth. Will is waiting for the day Mike swallows him whole.
Mike’s eyelashes always flutter when Will gently tugs his hair. “Will—” he whispers, sweet and a little needy. Will smiles, bright and pretty like the sun. Mike’s hair falls into his face and Will reaches up to move it away. He traces every feature on Mike’s face like he’s painting him from memory. Mike is so pretty like this, cheeks flushed and lips kiss-swollen.
Mike dips his head and presses his lips against Will’s neck. Will fails to stifle the desperate sound that leaves his lips. His skin is sensitive and Mike’s lips are warm.
Mike huffs out a laugh. He presses their foreheads together, and Will can finally hear his heartbeat. He swallows thickly. He’s so far gone for him.
Will wraps his arms around Mike’s shoulders and pulls him closer, positively melts into his touch. Their legs and hearts are intertwined, pressed against each other because they just can’t get enough. Will would sink deep below Mike’s skin if he could.
Their noses brush against each other. Mike kisses his cheek, forehead, and the tip of his nose. “I thought you were tired,” Mike says. His hands are still wandering. One’s wrapped lazily around Will’s waist, while the other toys with the hair on his nape.
“I am tired,” Will says. He’s never too tired for Mike. “You’re the one who wanted to kiss me.” The Jimmy Osmond record gets scratchy. It’s probably warped from how many times Will’s replayed it.
Mike leans forward and kisses him again. Love spills out of his mouth and onto Will’s tongue. “I always do,” he says. Will’s heart glows bright red with warmth. The fuzzy music continues, and Will settles into Mike’s arms.
Mike idly strokes Will’s hair, staring at him so fondly Will might cry. Their legs are still intertwined, feet touching under Mike’s blanket. He feels the warmth of Mike’s fingers at the hem of his shirt.
Will wraps one arm around Mike’s waist, resting one hand on his heart. They’re close enough for now. Neither of them bothers to turn off the lamp on the bedside table.
“Night, Will,” Mike says softly. Will glances up. He can still see the shape of Mike’s soul with his eyes half-lidded. Will kisses him slowly. His every word melts on his tongue.
Will tucks himself under Mike’s chin. Even with his face pressed against Mike’s neck, he can still hear his heartbeat over the grainy music. He savors the warmth of Mike’s body against his own. “Night, Mike.”
Will smiles. He close this eyes and feels Mike’s lips pressed against the crown of his head. Birthday surprises be damned, he’s glad he showed Mike the painting, after all.