Archive of Our Own ^beta

It’s a warm, Wednesday afternoon when Mike practically climbs on top of him. 

Will has an approximate time of four seconds to hurriedly set his comic book aside as Mike collapses onto him, and they both sink into the mattress of Mike’s bed with a soft oof, and all the air in Will’s lungs escape on impact. 

“Oh my – Mike,” he groans, and Mike lets out a muffled laugh, body over his and seemingly unperturbed by their lack of space. 

Will wriggles underneath him, because Mike may be relatively light, but having a nearing-six-foot teenager, with his length in limbs and tousle of hair, lay on Will isn’t the most comfortable. Mike, however, doesn’t seem to care when he doesn’t get up and away, and Will himself is a little self-indulgent when he doesn’t push Mike away like he probably should, a steady palm instead pressing him closer by the spine. 

Will stares up at the blue ceiling of Mike’s room, and feels Mike breathe against him. “Is – are you okay?” 

“Uh-huh,” Mike answers eloquently, face pressed into Will’s chest, and he seems entirely content in staying there. Will presses his lips together, and waits. Mike offers no further explanation. 

In the spontaneous and surprising moments when Mike seems to need some sort of physical comfort, Will has always been the victim, with Mike tugging him closer and sprawling onto him and hooking an arm around him and holding his hand and tucking his face into Will’s shoulder. He supposes that’s the honor and torture of being best friends. 

And Will, being the idiot that he is, takes it all with no complaint, because – because he’s an idiot, sure, but he’s also an idiot in love, and if Mike is going to press their bodies together and think nothing of it, then Will is probably allowed to enjoy it in a non-platonic sense for a few minutes. He’s allowed to seep into a fantasy-tinted ease for just a second. It doesn’t make him a terrible person. Probably. Hopefully. 

There are another few moments of silence, and Will blinks. “Okay.” 

It’s already warm, with the heat of summer creeping through the walls and the open windows, the occasional reprieve of a refreshing breeze visiting. With Mike’s body against his, the heat of him bleeding through their thin shirts of summer, the heat is just a little worse. The weather isn’t made for this. 

Will, however, isn’t about to ruin this for himself, even if he feels on fire, for – unrelated reasons. His face is definitely scarlet. He hopes Mike doesn’t get up any time soon, for the sake of his own dignity and – other, completely unrelated reasons. Right. 

“Um,” Will says, ready to maybe ask if Mike could move, just a little, just for his chest to not feel like it’s currently balancing the entirety of Asia on it with every breath he takes, because – this is great, it really is, but breathing is also pretty nice, on occasion. “Do –” 

Mike shifts mid-sentence, knees knocking and the brush of his hair against Will’s chin, and it tickles. He doesn’t stray far, though, just enough for him to shove his face into the side of Will’s neck and sling an arm over Will’s stomach, a little under his ribcage, weighing down the slightest of Will’s breath. He has a long leg thrown over Will’s and it’s – 

It’s a little incriminating, okay, Will – Will can admit that. It’s a little Not Platonic. It’s definitely the closest they’ve been in a while. It’s not unpleasant. It’s – really pleasant, actually, off the record, even if the admission would have to be forced out of Will. 

It’s nice. 

It’s really nice. 

Will can’t stop paying attention to Mike’s thigh against his. 

He carefully swallows, flushing furiously when he thinks about the close proximity of his throat to Mike’s face. He could probably hear Will’s nervousness, the gulp of summery air that he forces down his lungs. It’s an effort to breathe evenly. 

Will looks up to the ceiling with wide eyes and undoubtedly red cheeks. He tries to hold down his internal panic when Mike turns closer against Will’s neck, nose pressing against his skin, and his warm breath ghosts against the expanse of the space between Will’s neck and shoulder. He barely resists a shiver. 

“Are you sure,” Will begins, and cringes when his voice comes out a little wobbly, “there’s nothing bothering you?”

“‘Course I’m sure,” Mike replies, voice soft and mere inches away from Will’s ear. He sounds entirely at peace and oblivious to Will’s slow descent into madness. “Why? Are you okay?”

He says it with the slight tilt of his head, lips brushing against Will’s skin, and his fingers dig into Will’s shirt, just a little, like the idea of Will being anything but something positive is already making him concerned. The pressure of Mike’s fingertips against his side and his lips skimming against his neck is not good for his heart rate. 

“I’m good,” Will forces out, somewhat squeaky, and he doesn’t have any room in his body to be mortified when Mike is pulling him closer. “I just – um. I was – wondering what brought this on.” 

There’s a pause, and Will wonders if he’s crossed some kind of line, until Mike gives a shrug. “I don’t know. I was just thinking.” 

Thinking. Sure. Right. Will thinks all the time, except it never ends in him collapsing onto Mike, no matter how much he’d like to, which – is not relevant. 

It’s a little relevant. Mike is so warm. Will has no idea what to do with himself. 

He gets over his very prevalent inability to be a functioning human being to ask, “About what?” 

That leads to a longer pause, one that’s so long that Will would almost think to have set something unspoken off, but Mike hadn’t budged from clinging onto his side, and he’s still breathing pretty well, so he’s not – dead, or something. His consistent rise and release of breath helps to link Will down, reminds him to also suck in a blob of air and pace himself and not derail into a disaster of a man. Or, as much of a man he is, as a junior-going-into-senior-year. He’s got his driver’s license. That probably counts for some manlihood. Or adulthood. Anyway. 

Mike’s body against his is a good reminder that Will isn’t dead, either, because – the silence is really dragging on, now, and it’s kind of making him nervous, because it wasn’t a particularly concerning or probing question, but sometimes Mike gets a little – 

“Why haven’t we kissed yet?” 

And – strike that, maybe Will is dead. 

“You,” Will says dumbly. “I – what?” 

“Us,” Mike specifies, like we could have meant anyone else, although the clarification is still appreciated, because Will’s brain feels a little useless, right now. “Kiss. You and me.” 

“Yeah, I – I got that,” Will croaks, and, the real kicker, he supposes, is that neither of them have moved. Mike is still nosing against Will’s neck, kind of rubbing his face against the skin of Will’s shoulder-neck area, and Will is frozen where he lies, and – Mike is being way too calm about this. 

“Okay,” Mike says, a little prompting, as if to say, So? What’s the hold up?

Will clears his throat, which is suddenly very, very dry. “I, um,” he starts smartly, and the blue ceiling is still staring down at him. It, somehow, feels very judgemental, suddenly. “I guess what I meant was – um. Why?” 

Mike makes a questioning noise into Will’s skin, which is a little alarming, because, if anything, Will is the most sensible and reasonable person in this conversation, which isn’t very compelling competition, but still. 

“What do you mean ‘why',” Mike huffs, and he strokes a thumb into Will’s side, shirt rumpling under the circular motion. “You’ve never thought about it?” 

Will’s face is beet red. “Um.” 

That, out of everything, seems to be the final straw, because Mike barely lifts himself up, an arm on either side of Will to get up, and he’s – still too close, way closer than anyone ever should be, but he’s – there. Or, here. Mike is here. 

His cheeks are a little pink, though, and he looks cute, a little flustered, even, with his hair mussed and eyes dark when they look at Will. His staring has always been prominent, so scrutinizing when he looks at Will, as though he was pinning every detail into memory. Will has never minded the heaviness of it, but he feels kind of like he’s about to suffocate under it, with Mike’s face hovering over his like this. 

Mike raises an eyebrow. “Will,” he says, which is a bad idea, because his name sounds so sweet in Mike’s mouth, and his mouth is barely a distance away, and Will could – do a lot of things, actually, but he’s sensible and respectable and he’s not thinking about doing anything at all.

That would be weird. 

Mike, obliviously, continues on. “Come on.” 

Will swallows, curling his fingers into the hem of his shirt. “I – what?” 

Mike stares down at him. “You’re telling me you’ve never thought about it?” He asks, and it sounds like he already knows the answer. 

And – this is definitely a trap, because there can’t be a good answer to this. He can’t lie without being entirely obvious, because – friends don’t lie, and all that, and it’s clear that Mike, at least, has thought about it, no matter if he tries to backtrack now. 

On the other hand, Will would rather die than confess that yeah, I have thought about us kissing several times, and I was hoping to take that to the grave, actually, so if you could kindly move away, that would – 

“Will,” Mike complains, and he looks a little put out, poking his fingers into Will’s arms, and he barely balances on his legs, brought up and almost sitting on Will, prying his attention back onto him. “Come on. Pay attention.” 

Despite himself, Will rolls his eyes, even if his lips quirk up in a smile. “I am.” 

“Then answer me,” Mike insists, poking at him again, and Will lets out a long-drawn sigh, exaggerated and for show. “Come on. Answer my question.”

“What question?” Will asks, very obviously avoiding an answer. Mike sends him an unamused look. 

“You know,” he huffs. “If you – if you’ve ever. You know. Thought about us.” Pink blooms up his neck, into his cheeks, and it’s now that the bashfulness seems to hit him, when he’s met with Will’s bewildered stare. He clears his throat. “Kissing,” he finally adds.

Maybe asking for a clarification wasn’t a good idea, Will thinks, because Mike’s intense staring is doing him no favors, especially with his mouth so close and the word kissing is really bringing up some hypotheticals in his head, right now. 

He’s blaming it all on Mike when he finds himself blurting, “Maybe.” 

Mike doesn’t budge. “That’s not an answer.” 

“Maybe,” Will repeats, just to be stubborn. His lips, despite himself, lift up in a smile, and he swears it's not his imagination when Mike’s eyes dip down to it, before looking back up. 

Mike squints at him. “Ridiculous,” he claims, but it’s a little too soft and gentle to be anything bitter. Will’s smile widens, and something sweet and red blooms in Mike’s cheeks, just a little shade pinker all over, down his collarbones. 

Will wants to reach out and touch. 

He lets out a shaky breath, too loud for the thundering silence between them, and Mike presses his lips together, and stares at him a little harder, calculating as ever, smarter than he’s given credit for. 

He shifts, then, just a little, just enough to drop a little lower, an exhale of warm breath, and suddenly there’s almost no room between them at all. Will sucks in a breath, feeling suffocated but not in the worst way, and Mike doesn’t lean back. His dark hair curtains the side of his face, shadowy at curling against his cheek, and Will wants to cup his jaw, draw him a little closer, tuck a strand behind his ear. 

Mike’s eyes are low and intense when they look at him, like they often are, but it’s harder to deny it, because there’s nowhere to escape. Will feels too conscious of his body, too aware of himself when he curls a hand into a fist, the cotton of the sheets against his palm, his slightly restrained breathing, his careful swallowing, the way Mike’s eyes peer down at the action. He licks his lips, and Will suddenly wants to shove him away and run, simultaneously kiss him and tug at his body. 

He stays where he is, and vaguely registers the fact that Mike is, if anything, sitting on him. It’s not a bad place to be. He can’t stop staring at Mike’s mouth. 

It tilts into a smile, the kind Mike gets when he’s figured out something revolutionary, smug and knowing and attractive and enticing and all too touchable. 

“Will,” he says, like it means something else. Will wishes he had a pillow to suffocate himself in. 

“Mike,” he says back, except his voice sounds worn and scratched raw, and he clears his throat. 

Mike’s hand moves from where it had been holding him up, and he leans a little heavier on his left side, where he’s barely looming over Will’s thigh and torso. His fingers are just the barest bit shaky when they brush against Will’s arm, short-sleeved and bare skin. Despite the nearing eighty-six degrees outside, Will promptly decides that wearing a short sleeve was maybe the worst decision he has ever made. 

Mike’s hand curls around his bicep, palm warm and dry against his skin, and his fingertips are just the slightest amount of calloused from picking at guitar strings. His hold is gentle and his voice is tinged with something ineffable when he asks, “You’ve never thought about it?” 

This is maybe the worst and best day of his life. Will has no idea what to do with himself. 

It feels like a leap off a cliff when he slowly shakes his head, and Mike’s eyebrows raise. 

“I didn’t say that,” he mumbles, face on fire. 

Mike freezes, and blinks. 

The surprise is evident on Mike’s face when he keeps staring at him, and Will, for a moment, wonders if saving the world was ever worth it, and if it would be too late to go on and walk straight into the Upside Down. Mike is entirely still above him, eyes wide and unmoving on Will. 

As it is, he doesn’t think he could bring himself to move from where he lays, but the thought is terribly tempting when Mike – still hasn’t moved, and his face is still pink and his eyes are shiny and dark and his hair is a little curly, in that way where Will wants to pull on it to straighten out a loop, and he’s still not moving. Will is beginning to panic. 

“Um,” he says, and holds back a grimace when his voice is too bare for his liking. “Can you –” 

Mike’s mouth is soft.

His lips are a little chapped, warm when they press on Will’s lower lip, and he cranes his head a little strangely, trying not to crush Will as he folds in like oddly-shaped origami, and Will can feel his huff of breath fan across his chin, his knee digging into the side of Will’s thigh, and Will lets out a muffled oof when Mike lands onto his leg, collapsing onto Will and refusing to move away when he only angles his head closer. 

Will’s eyes stay wide open for a second, unsure what to do with his body, until Mike’s hand grips onto his arm just a little tighter, feeling the steady weight of Mike’s body on his, and he lets his eyes slide shut. 

Mike’s mouth is soft and a little chapped and warm and gentle, and that makes sense, Will supposes, that, even now, Mike is gentle when he kisses Will, because he’s rarely anything else with Will. Fondness blooms in him, in his chest and the back of his throat and his palms when he raises his hands to press against Mike’s sides, feels the dip of his ribcage, tastes the hitch of his breath.

It lasts for a few seconds, but time feels moldable in his hands, and he feels like he’s time traveled, and – someone somewhere had said time was relative, and he gets it, now, Will thinks, because years could have passed and he would have never noticed nor cared. 

When Mike leans away, his eyes are a little glazed and he resembles a strawberry, a little. It’s sweet. It’s cute. Will wants to kiss him again. 

He does not do that, and, instead, like an idiot, greets, “Hi.” 

Mike blinks once, twice, before grinning, and – he looks really kissable. Will is allowed to think that now, he’s pretty sure. “Hi,” he echoes, and that’s all the decorum either of them have to offer before Mike leans back in. 

Will’s never kissed anyone before, and – he’s let himself think about it fleetingly, guiltily, late nights when it feels like he’s allowed to be a little self-indulgent and blush embarrassingly when he fantasizes about first dates and sharing milkshakes and holding hands and goodnight kisses. 

Even still, he’s never kissed anyone, and he’s thought about a quick peck, a quick slip of lips, but – he’s never thought about the hypothetical brush of their noses, how his grasp on Mike would tighten without a thought, the pressure of Mike’s body on his, the flame of thrill that would run up his spine when Mike runs a slow tongue over his lower lip, over the raw skin Will had been nervously chewing on all day, and it’s foreign and strange and Will thinks he might die if he never gets to have this again. 

He involuntarily shivers when Mike licks into his mouth, nose digging into Will’s cheek, and Will thinks that everything he’s ever gone through is worth this moment. He tentatively skims Mike’s lower lip with his teeth, and it feels like Mike is trying to swallow his tongue afterwards. 

He lets out an undignified sound, and his brain feels liquidy in his skull, blurred and loopy, and he digs his fingers into Mike’s skin, just as Mike leans away. 

The air he sucks in feels both jarring and rewarding, and he, vaguely, feels like he’s just run a mile. Mike looks no better off, jarred breathing and mouth red. Will needs to kiss him again immediately. 

“I’ve thought about it,” Will blurts. “A lot. I’ve thought about kissing you a lot.” 

Mike more than figuratively lights up, as if it’s a surprise, even after he had Will’s tongue in his mouth. 

“Oh,” he breathes out, looking delighted, “that’s – that’s good. Great.” 

“Uh-huh,” Will replies, because his bones feel like jell-o and his brain is rushing to catch up. It’s more difficult than not when Mike is still sitting on him. 

Mike licks his lips, and Will is – is paying a lot more attention to it than he’d like to admit. “I’ve thought about it, too,” he offers, and Will can’t help the smile that takes over him. 

“I think you’ve mentioned,” he teases, and Mike’s face, which had slowly been fading back to pale, sheet-of-paper territory, flushed pink once again. Something akin to pride bursts in Will’s chest. 

They’re staring at each other again, and it’s nice, letting his eyes linger on Mike’s lips shamelessly, his cheeks, the dotting his freckles and the curve of his jaw, the sharp corner of his mouth, the prominent bob of his Adam’s apple. Mike is almost overwhelming. 

“You should kiss me again,” Will says, because, dignity be damned, he can’t bear not kissing Mike again any longer. “Now, preferably. Immediately.” 

Mike’s grin is bright and unabashed when he nods, quiet, light laughter and his voice soft when he’s mumbling, “Yeah, good idea, great idea, we should definitely –” 

Mike leans in. Will meets him halfway.