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Summary
"Sometimes, I think about you on top of me," Will says slowly, tracing Mike’s knuckles with his thumb. "And sometimes I think about me on top of you."
Mike says, "Oh." Then nothing else.
"Um," Will says. "Your turn."
"I—uh." Mike is looking down. Can’t look at Will. "I mostly think about. You. Um, on top of me."
Will’s mind goes completely, sparklingly blank.
OR: Will puts on a little muscle for the apocalypse, and Mike is normal about it.
