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Will Byers’s Friday night is admittedly not going as planned.
And things had been going surprisingly well, lately, for someone who’s spent the majority of his life feeling more than a little cursed. A radioactive spider bite and extensive childhood trauma will typically do that to you. He would maybe appreciate being New York’s most elusive superhero a little bit more, if he didn’t have to deal with this shit interrupting his life.
This shit in question being bodied by a 500-something-pound mutant in the sewers, to then braining himself on the wall, and having his chest clawed to shreds by said lizard creature.
Oh, and he’s pretty sure he’s drenched in what is at least 80% pisswater right now. Awesome.
What Will should be doing right now is having a movie night with his best-friend-newly-turned-boyfriend, tucked against him on their shitty thrifted couch, in their cheap apartment in Queens.
God, Mike’s going to kill him, if Will doesn’t manage to bite it before getting home to him first. The thought of Mike bitching (and the guttural roar still echoing from the tunnels) is enough to get him moving again, slingshotting himself the hell out of there with a flick of his wrist.
He groans as the movement pulls at what he’s sure is a gaping wound in his chest, gritting his teeth. He heals quicker than most would as Spider-man, yes, but this is a little worse than the bruises and scrapes he typically comes home with. His suit’s torn open (which, really, thinking about repairing it is almost more irritating than the pain he’s in. Did the Lizard consider how bad Will is at sewing?), warm blood oozing from his chest and staining the fabric a sickly dark color. His entire body seems to be one consistent ache, head throbbing as he struggles to focus past the dizziness he feels.
Bad. Bad bad bad. It’s all bad. He closes his eyes for a moment as he makes peace with the fact that he is completely, utterly fucked, landing on the fire escape with a rather unattractive grunt. Will crawls to the shuttered window, slumping against the siding as he knocks lightly on the glass.
His eyes shut for a moment as he hears the music from inside lower, footsteps rapidly moving closer. Warm light shines on his face as the curtains are pulled back, a sharp inhale jerking Will to attention.
“Will?”
“You should see the other guy-” Will grits out, making a truly pathetic attempt to crawl through the window before Mike stops him.
“-the hell happened-” Mike chokes out, frantic. “Why- Why are you soaking wet? Will, is this blood? Is it your- Jesus Christ-” He babbles, slinging an arm around his waist and tugging him inside to prop up on the couch.
“The Lizard. It’s not as bad as it looks? He just sort of, uh, jumped me. In the sewers. Aw, I’m gonna stain the cushions with my blood.”
They’d bought said couch for ten bucks and a half smoked cigarette off of Eddie, so it had definitely seen worse, but it was a sentimental couch to them.
“In the sewers?” Mike does not seem very concerned about the couch. He really is getting a lot of blood on it, though.
“That would be where, yeah.” Will attempts to joke, desperate to get the expression of utter terror off his boyfriend’s face.
Mike won’t meet his eyes as he kneels before him, the line of his jaw tight with anxiety as he tosses the first aid down. It lands with a heavy thud on the carpet. The resounding silence makes Will’s skin crawl, shifting his weight.
“Mike.”
The taller boy pointedly ignores him, trembling as he tries to help Will out of the ruined suit, his fingers slipping on the zipper in his frustration. Will can hear his breaths become more labored the longer it takes him to help Will, his own throat going tight with guilt.
“Mike.” He repeats, twisting to face him, all humor gone out of his voice. “Hey. Look at me. I’m okay, yeah? I’m sorry for scaring you.” He murmurs, cupping Mike’s cheek with one hand, thumbing over his cheek.
“I’m okay.” He promises.
Dark eyes glimmer with unshed tears as Mike meets Will’s gaze, face pale with worry. A shaky breath leaves him at the warmth of Will’s touch. He nods once, swallowing thickly.
“Okay. But I’m still mad at you.” He whispers, then: “We need to get this off.”
Mike continues after a moment, always so bossy. He painstakingly peels the spandex off the shorter boy, wincing sympathetically when the fabric catches on his wounds. Will’s breath hitches, squeezing his eyes shut with a groan at the sharp burn that follows the movement.
“Sorry, sorry, shit-”
“-It’s fine, just do it-”
“There.” Mike breathes, hands gripping his biceps gently. The shorter boy’s just in the lower half of his suit now, shuddering at the warmth of his hands. “Easy. Lay back.” He whispers, trying to situate Will as comfortably as he can with the state he’s in as he guides him back.
Will chooses to disregard the way his tone sends a thrill through him.
Only Will could be bleeding out and still find time to be so pathetically horny.
He chooses to blame the concussion he likely has for this, and not his own stupid monkey brain.
Mike is still talking at a million miles per hour, evidently trying to calm them both as he unpacks a mountain of supplies to clean Will up with. He threads their hands together, leaning over him.
“This is gonna hurt, probably. Just squeeze my hand if you need to, okay? You can break my fingers for all I care. As hard as you need to.” He insists, eyebrows furrowed as his free hand brings the antiseptic towards the mess of gore on Will’s chest with a frown.
Will arches involuntarily at the first swipe, hissing sharply through his teeth. The searing burn is almost as bad as the original sensation of claws tearing through skin - less so as Mike talks him through it. His pretty face is haloed by the soft glow of the lamp, expression tight with concentration. Will does his best not to crush the fine bones of the other boy’s hand as he pours antiseptic over him.
“I know, I know - I’m sorry, baby. I’m almost done, I promise. You’re doing so good.” The taller boy promises, shushing him softly at the pitiful noise that escapes him. Mike gently presses his shoulder back down when Will attempts to jerk away, pressing their foreheads together.
Mike’s lips slowly brush over his temple, the bruised skin of his eye, his grazed cheek, the raw split in his lower lip. It has the desired effect. Will chases them, breathless as he tilts his head up to hungrily press their mouths together. One of them (definitely Mike) whines softly into the kiss, lips parting easily. Hands carefully slide into the curls at the nape of his neck, drawing him closer as Mike leans to meet him. It’s desperate, movements growing more frantic as Will fists his hands in the fabric of Mike’s shirt to get him closer. The position they’re in is not helping whatsoever - not with how Mike Wheeler is straddling his hips, the solid warmth of him rendering Will useless. Mike’s lips glide under the edge of his jaw, pulling away when the scrape of his teeth makes Will gasp, his smile so, so soft.
“Easy, bug boy.” He murmurs, so smug. Will rolls his eyes, feigning annoyance even as his face burns.
“You started it.” Will mumbles petulantly, pushing Mike’s face away.
“Yeah, well. You escalated it.” He shoots back. Will pointedly does not entertain this response. Cool fingers apologetically smooth the hair off of Will’s forehead, lingering for a moment. “‘M almost done, yeah? Lift your arms for me?”
And Will complies, because Mike could ask him to do a backflip off the Empire State Building webless and he would, despite how much he would really like to keep kissing him. Mike winds gauze around his chest carefully, fingertips brushing his ribs every so often. Will doesn’t remind him that he likely won’t even need the bandages in a few hours; he heals so quickly with his powers that his blood is already clotting, where a normal person would’ve absolutely needed stitches. He’s content to be fussed over, if it makes Mike feel better.
“Okay?” He asks once he’s finished smoothing down the medical tape, sitting back. In lieu of responding, Will wraps his arms around his waist and tugs, content only when Mike settles against him.
“Will. William. William Byers. I need verbal confirmation.”
Will groans at the interruption, pushing his face into Mike’s mop of dark hair. “Fine. I’m fine. I need to shower.” He grumbles, not remotely excited about the effort that doing so is going to take.
His boyfriend goes oddly quiet, fidgeting in that way he does when he wants something but doesn’t know how to ask for it.
“Mike?”
“I-I could help you.” Mike blurts out, voice muffled with the way he is hidden against Will’s throat. Will thinks his heart briefly stops. “Shower. I mean. Since you’re-”
“You- Oh. Um, when you say that, do you mean-?”
“Not together! Not- like, both of us, I- just, I meant, I could wash your hair for you, ‘cause you can’t really move your arms.” He babbles, only more mortified when Will bursts out laughing. He is so red. Will feels more than a little accomplished at how little it takes to get him so flustered. “We don’t have to-”
“Oh my god, Mike, it’s alright. Breathe. That would- that would be good. Thank you.” He smiles, pressing a kiss to the bridge of his nose. “Help me up?”
Mike manages to compose himself enough to help the shorter boy hobble to the shower, sitting him down to rest on the toilet lid while he gets it warm. Will bites back a moan as he bends to peel his ruined suit the rest of the way off, grimacing.
“What’re you- dude, I said I’d help you.” Mike bitches, swatting his hands off.
And then he’s kneeling at his feet, Will bracing his hands on Mike’s shoulders as he lifts his hips to help the taller boy get the cursed suit off. His breath hitches as cold fingers wrap around his calf, fighting the spandex in letting Will go.
He’s just in his boxers, suddenly, and it shouldn’t feel as intimate as it does. They’ve been best friends for over a decade; Mike’s seen more of Will than he should have. But he burns under the look Mike gives him now, unsubtle brown eyes flickering over the expanse of tanned skin before him. Oh.
Mike swallows, clearing his throat as he all but forces his gaze away. His hand shifts back and Will mourns the loss in silence.
“Let’s, um. I think the water should be warm enough now.” He says, voice hoarse. And Will wants. Wants more than he’s wanted maybe anything in his entire life. He lets Mike nudge him to sit on the chair he’s put in the shower instead. His boxers stick to his upper thighs as the warm water rushes over him, turning his face to his boyfriend’s at his direction.
When he’s satisfied with the job he’s done, Mike tilts Will’s head back, cupping a hand over his forehead to keep the soap out of his eyes. Will’s gone fuzzy around the edges at the pleasure of it all, barely registering the other’s direction to rinse off while Mike’s back is to him. He does so quickly, wrapping a towel around his hips before they’re brushing their teeth together at the sink, bumping elbows playfully. His pulse thrums loudly as he’s brought into his bedroom.
The taller boy turns to the door once Will is settled. Panic shoots through him, for no particular reason he wants to address, as he watches him go to leave. Will practically brains himself for the second time tonight in his dive to grab for his wrist, unable to have the other out of his sight suddenly.
“You’re- you’re not staying?” He asks, making zero effort to hide the desperation in his voice. They rarely don’t sleep in the same bed; they alternate between rooms every so often, but Will hasn’t slept alone in god knows how long. And he would rather he didn’t tonight. The cold’s starting to sink into his bones in a way that drudges up memories he’d rather forget.
Mike’s eyebrows furrow, frowning at the expression on Will’s face. “Huh? Oh! No, no, I wasn’t- I wanted to get the pajamas I left in my room.” He says sheepishly, shifting his grip to squeeze Will’s hand gently. Will visibly deflates, softening at once.
“Oh. I- sorry, yeah.”
“S’okay. I’ll be right back.” He reassures, returning seconds later with a bundle of clothes for them both. The mattress creaks as Mike plops down beside him. Will’s broken out in goosebumps, unable to take his eyes off the other.
There is a high probability Will is going to pass out if the air between them thickens any further.
Mike clears his throat.
“Let’s- let’s get you dressed.”
“Clothes.” Will squeaks out in agreement, letting Mike wrestle one of his (!) sweaters over his head. It smells like Mike; the laundry detergent Karen Wheeler’s used since he was a kid, his shampoo, traces of some cologne El bought him for his birthday. They struggle as a unit to get Will’s arms through the sleeves without hurting him, and he finally emerges from the fabric prison red-faced and laughing. The taller boy respectfully turns his gaze while Will yanks his boxers on, dropping back down against his side with a huff as he presses his forehead into Mike’s shoulder. Warm hands slide up to cup the nape of his neck, combing through his damp hair. They tense instantly, making Will pick his head up in alarm.
“Dude. You are fucking freezing.” Mike whines. Ah. Mystery solved. His hands are rubbing up and down Will’s spine like he intends to warm him up, but all it’s serving to do is make Will squirm with want. He has the sudden urge to crawl into the space between Mike’s ribs and make a home there. He needs to be closer.
“So warm me up, dude.” Will teases, and is rewarded by Mike all but dragging him under the covers. They claim their respective sides (Mike closest to the door, Will as far from the door as possible) as Will rolls onto his side to face him. His boyfriend is already there waiting, twin smiles growing on their faces.
Will is so, so in love with this boy. And he is absolutely losing whatever waiting game Mike’s trying to taunt him with.
“Come here.” He all but pleads, reaching out to cup his jaw, fingers brushing over his throat. He’s relieved to know Mike’s pulse is racing just as fast. The other boy lets out a shaky breath, nodding.
Mike loops an arm around his waist, pulling him flush against him as their lips meet. It’s not enough. The taller boy nearly chokes as Will pushes him flat on his back and swings a leg over his hips, claiming his place atop of him. He only gets this way with him; Will’s never been known for his confidence, but Mike Wheeler has turned some kind of switch on in his brain. Nobody’s complaining. And Mike certainly doesn’t seem bothered by this arrangement, hands finding Will’s upper thighs and hips immediately.
They pick up where they’d left off easily, just as insatiable as they’d been on the couch yet somehow more so. Will’s dizzy with it, meeting Mike’s lips with a whine that would embarrass him terribly if he didn’t need this so bad. He meets his pace quickly, fingers curling into the hair at the nape of the shorter boy’s neck to draw him closer. Mike mewls as Will’s tongue glides against his lower lip, parting easily to let him in.
They break apart for air for a moment, Will’s lips bruising the pale skin of Mike’s throat while the other’s head falls back.
“-Scared me so bad, tonight. Hate when you come home hurt.” Mike gasps out, writhing under Will’s attention. Will makes a soft sound in return, nosing against the line of his jaw.
“I’m alright now.” He promises, stealing another kiss before Mike can form a response. “And ‘m sorry. For scaring you. You don’t need to worry about me.” he murmurs.
“I always worry about you.” Mike whispers, keeping Will pressed tight against him. His voice is so soft, puppy dog eyes stabbing right through the shorter boy. “Someone has to keep you safe.” He grins, teeth bumping together at the movement. His dark eyes are growing heavier, barely suppressing a yawn.
Will giggles, shaking his head. “Mm. My hero.” He smiles, blinking slowly down at him. They rearrange themselves into their usual positions, Will shifting off just to claim the space under Mike’s chin. The taller boy pulls the blankets up further around them before his arms are wrapped around his waist.
“I’m glad you’re okay.” He whispers, lips pressing to the top of his head. Will presses closer as warmth envelops him.
“Thanks for taking care of me. Goodnight, Mike.”
“Always. Goodnight, Will.” He echoes, switching off the light. And he’s out within seconds, snoring softly from where he’s buried his face in Mike’s chest.
Mike just holds him tighter, burying his face in his hair.
God, he loves him.