Archive of Our Own ^beta

He knows he shouldn’t look through it. He shouldn’t even open it up. With the way it had been stuffed underneath Will’s mattress, it’s obvious he doesn’t want someone to see it. Well, partially stuffed. One teeny tiny corner of a sketchbook was left sticking out. A small green triangle beguiling him. 

He ignores it at first, listening to the comforting sounds of Will in the cabin, humming to the Echo & Bunnymen album he’s got playing in the living room, puttering around, and goes back to his assigned task, which was to pack up Will’s bookcase. It shouldn’t be taking as long as it is; there’s not much on it. Will had cleared out most things from childhood before moving to California, and very little made it back to Hawkins from Lenora – whatever Murray could salvage and put into a storage unit after the Government ransacked their house. He’s been steadily growing a new collection, thrifting for nickel books with Max on the weekends, but the contents of the shelves still will probably fit in a single box to be taken to Montauk.  

It should take him less than five minutes, but he keeps drifting back over to the tiny corner sticking out from Will’s mattress like Mike is stuck in its gravitational pull, unable to move away. His fingers tap incessantly against his thighs, itching to reach out and grab it. 

It’s killing him not knowing what’s inside. Will has never been shy about his art before, never hidden it from him. Mike has always been his biggest supporter, even when his drawings were barely more than stick figures. He’s seen Will draw the mind flayer, and the tunnels, and demogorgons ripping into human flesh without fear – what could possibly be in here that he doesn't want Mike to see? 

The anxiety of Will hurting about something that he’s not telling Mike about is what finally gets him to crack. He needs to know so he can help.

He can still hear Will in the living room, but he peeks out just to confirm. Will’s turned away from him, reaching to grab something off a top shelf, muscles in his back straining under his too-tight flannel as he stretches.

Mike grabs the sketchbook as carefully as he can, trying to mentally memorize its exact placement for when he returns it. He pushes past the guilt he feels, invading Will’s privacy like this by reminding himself that this is for Will’s well-being, and opens the book. 

The first page is – well, it’s nothing scary. He thinks? It’s all half-drawn portraits of people. Some are just torsos, some are just left or right sides, like Will’s cut them down the center. There are mouths and hands and eyes all over. He can recognize one of the half-finished ones as Rick Moranis in Little Shop, another as Harrison Ford in Raiders, but the rest are just fragments. Unless Will is a serial killer, this isn’t anything worth hiding. 

He flips to the next page and finds an almost complete watercolor of Max and Lucus looking grossly in love with each other. He moves on to the next and sees a giant drawing of his own eyes staring back at him. He’s looking up at something, a softness in the gaze that makes Mike think that Will probably drew this from a memory of Mike looking at him. He only really looks at Will like that. Again, none of this is weird. He’s sure Max would frame the watercolor if Will finished it. And Mike is used to Will drawing him – he’s been doing it since they were kids. 

He’s about to shut the book, confusion eating him alive, but turns the page one last time, and – Oh. Okay. 

In general, there’s nothing inherently sexual about mouths – well, maybe there is – but the way Will drew the ones that fill the page is fucking obscene. And they’re all of Mike’s. 

Most are just his mouth in various states; slack-jawed, pouting, chewing on his bottom lip – one has Mike’s tongue slipped out, running along the seam of his mouth. In all of them, though,  Mike’s lips are deep pink and plump – bruised. The way they look after he’s just made out with someone. There’s one in the upper left corner that has his lips shiny, his chin drawn wet with saliva. The worst, or best?, is the one at the very bottom. It has two of his own fingers in his mouth, pressing down on his tongue, spit covering them and dripping down his hand and wrist. 

He feels his pulse pick up, heat licking up his spine. This shouldn’t turn him on, right? It’s his own mouth. And it’s just a fucking mouth. His head shouldn’t be filling with static. 

He tears his eyes away from the page, only long enough to flip to the next one, fingers tingling. It’s less filthy than the last, scattered with drawings of Mike’s hands and a few of his arms. There’s one of his arm stretched above his head, exposing his armpit, the hair matted down with what Mike assumes is sweat. But most are of his hands. He would say that maybe they’re not his, despite the perfect resemblance, but Will’s drawn his stupid fucking watch wrapped around his wrist in some of them. You could pass them off as innocuous. Mike’s fingers holding a pen, rolling dice, wrapped around a can. There are a few of Mike’s hands just held out with his fingers splayed open. The one he keeps getting caught on is his fingers wrapped around a wrist, holding on tight enough Will has drawn dents in the skin – he had thought it was his own, but looking closer, the hand extended from it is slightly shorter, fingers a little bigger. 

Nothing about them is sexual, but there’s an aura of indecency to them that they feel almost as erotic to him as the previous page. 

He should stop. There’s nothing in here that is cause for worrying over Will. These are obviously private to him; just because he’s drawing Mike doesn’t mean anything. He sees Mike every day, it was probably an unconscious thing. And even if it wasn’t, it doesn’t mean he owes it to Mike to show him. Will has floated into his head countless times when he’s jerking off, and he’s never told Will that. It’s not a big deal. It’s honestly flattering. He likes thinking that Will can’t help but think Mike is so hot, he just can’t stop drawing him. He likes the way that sometimes Will can’t help the heavy looks he gives Mike, likes having Will’s eyes on him. Really likes that apparently Will keeps looking even when he’s gone. The tangible proof of Will’s attraction is in his hands. 

He’s been thinking about Will the past few months – well, he’s been thinking about Will since the day they first met – but recently it feels like an absurd amount. It feels like almost every other thought he has is about Will. Even when Will is sitting right next to him, he’s still thinking about him. 

He’ll see something on TV and think, Will would think that’s funny. Or, he’ll be stopped at the gas station, and he’ll think, Oh, Will is coming over late, I should grab a cherry coke and some Reese’s Pieces for him. Or, his Mom will drag him out shopping for new summer clothes because he can’t fucking stop growing, and he’ll see something and think, Will would look really good in that. Or, Dustin will be talking about some girl he’s currently obsessed with; going on, and on, about how much he wants to kiss her, and he’ll say, “don’t you ever just want to kiss someone like that?” and Mike will nod and he’s sure Dustin thinks he’s thinking about El, but the first name that comes to his head is Will.

He hasn’t completely figured out what it means. Or what to do about it. It’s driving him a little crazy. He wishes Will could just tell him what to do about it. 

What he does know is that he is a weak, pathetic man who can’t control himself as he turns to the next page. 

It’s – a landscape? Ugh, boring, Mike thinks, instantly feeling bad because it’s still Will’s art and it’s still beautiful. It’s of the fields behind the Squawk at sunset. The radio tower is in the distance, and Mike can see the shadows of two people in the grass, but they're not in the picture. It really is lovely. Will draws him silly little doodles on his notebooks to make him laugh, and illustrations for their D&D campaigns, but seeing things like this really reminds him how truly talented Will has gotten. It blows him away. 

The page he turns to him next also blows him away. This one isn’t scattered drawings, but a full one of Mike spread out across his bed. He’s got his head in his hands, thrown back so his neck is on display, hair a mess and askew on his pillow. He’s still wearing his black jeans, but his torso is bare and completely covered in bruises varying in size and color. Pink, purple, angry red hickies all over him, left by a phantom presence. He’s wearing the same exact jeans right now, and he feels his dick twitch in his underwear, hard under the denim.

He gives up all conceptions of putting this fucking book down, frantic as he moves to the next page, suppressing a moan when he looks at it. There are different drawings of Mike’s neck marked up. One has a pair of hands wrapped around the sides of his throat, thumbs pressing into his jaw to push it up. But what takes up most of the page is Mike’s lips slotted against someone else’s, mouths open, Mike’s tongue moving over theirs. There’s blood spilling between their mouths, covering their lips and chins, dripping down from one of their noses. The other person has their hands holding onto the side of Mike’s face, fingers pressing into his jaw. The drawing cuts off right above their upper lips, but Mike knows intrinsically it’s Will. 

It’s not something Mike has ever thought about, and it should be disgusting, but he remembers how Will looked that night he first used his powers – on his knees, sweaty and panting, eyes rolling back into place to look right at Mike as he wiped the blood from under his nose – and if they had been alone, he might know the taste of Will’s blood. He’s thought about Will on that night a lot. A lot. 

He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. He needs to turn the page before his heart beats straight out of his chest. He goes through the next few pages, not seeing anything especially lewd, which helps him calm down enough that he’s not about to come untouched in his fucking pants. There’s one that’s drawings of Mike’s bare back in different positions, one a whole page on the study of his nose and the freckles across the bridge of it, and another that seems to be Will trying to parse out how to get Mike’s hair just right, ten different versions of almost the same messy mop of curls with a line of color splotch tests going down the side of the page. 

When he thumbs to the next sheet, he doesn’t know what he was expecting. Maybe another page dedicated to his eyes or his mouth. He was not prepared to be met with a sheet full of dicks. He probably should have expected it at some point, but while the other drawings had definitely been suggestive, a little dirty, some bordering on bawdy – these were straight up pornographic. 

There are a few at the bottom that are purely anatomical, like Will was getting used to drawing something new, but the rest –    

Well, the rest are definitely sexual in nature, but they are also definitely not Mike’s. The one at the top right is close, Mike reasons. Its hue and length are similar, but the girth is off, and Mike’s curves a little to the right. Then there’s the largest drawing right in the middle of the page. It's a nice dick, sure, average length but thick and pink with a vein up the side, but it's not Mike's.  The thing is, though – that’s Mike’s hand. Will has definitely drawn Mike’s hand, stupid fucking watch and all, but it’s definitely not his dick it’s wrapped around. 

Irritation bubbles up in the pit of his stomach at these dicks not being right. It's not Will's fault they're not right, but – listen, Mike is proud of his dick. He'll admit it. He doesn't care that it makes him sound like kind of a douchebag. He wants Will to know he has a good dick, and if there's one thing in here he wants Will to have correct when he's drawing dirty pictures of him, it's his fucking dick.

He’s caught up in his dick mental breakdown that he doesn’t see Will step through the door until he drops the box of cassettes he had been holding. Mike’s head snaps up, and for a split second, they’re both just caught staring at each other. 

Will breaks the silence first, a little frenzied, panting when he says, “What are you doing? Where did you get that?” 

“This isn’t what it looks like,” Mike replies, pointing a finger down at the page instead of answering. 

“So you’re not completely invading my privacy and snooping through my stuff?” Will snarks. 

“I don’t really think you can get too worked up about me invading your privacy when it’s a book full of me naked,” Mike scoffs, rolling his eyes at him.  

Mike can see the flush on Will’s skin move up his neck and onto his cheeks. His fingers twitch at his sides like they're trying to reach out and grab the sketchbook, but the rest of his body stays frozen. “I – That’s not – You don’t know that that’s you.” 

Mike gives him an incredulous look. “I think I would know what my own naked body looks like, Will, and what you’ve drawn in here is definitely it. Except for this. I mean, I guess the one at the top right kind of looks like it, but the rest…No resemblance.”

“Wha –” Will starts to stutter out, but his mouth slams shut when Mike turns the sketchbook around to show Will the page of dicks. “That’s not what it looks like.” 

“Yeah, I know, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” Mike says, exasperated. 

Will’s face twists, mouth opening and shutting again before he says. “No. That..It’s not you.”

“That’s my hand jerking one of them off, so I think it's supposed to be my dick.”

“No, it’s not,” Will tries to argue. 

“Will, you drew my watch.”

“It’s a very popular watch!” Will’s voice cracks. He squeezes his eyes shut, sighing. He peeks out to look at Mike from one eye as he admits, “Okay, fine. It’s – it’s you in the sketchbook.” 

“Duh. I know. The dicks aren’t, though.” 

Will groans, running his hands over his face. “None of it was supposed to be. It was for that stupid summer art class I took at the community college. We were supposed to just draw someone from a magazine or something just to practice drawing human features and anatomy, and I – I tried, but I just kept ending up drawing you. It wasn’t even supposed to be…nudes, just hands and arms and legs, but after I turned my work in, I just couldn’t stop. I’m so sorry. I know this is so weird. I’ll burn them, or you can to make sure. If you never want to see me again –”

“Whoa, calm down,” Mike cuts in, interrupting Will’s panic. Even from across the room, when Will lifts his head to look at him, Mike can see tears forming in the corners of his eyes. “Will, I’m not mad.” 

“You’re not?” he asks, slipping his quivering bottom lip in between his teeth. Mike tracks the movement before lifting his eyes back to meet Will’s.

“Nah. I mean, yeah, it’s a little unusual finding out your best friend is basically drawing porn of you –”

“It’s not! I’ve never–” Will says frantically, eyes going wide. Mike narrows his eyes, confused at the confession, and unexpectedly agitated. If Will’s never jerked off to this, then what was the point of doing it? Of keeping it? It might be the part he’s finding most offensive. More than the dicks not being his. He turns the sketchbook back to himself, scowling down at it, then up at Will. 

“Why not?” Mike asks, unable to keep the displeasure out of his voice. 

“Because it’s…” Will starts but trails off, his eyes darting between Mike’s face, the sketchbook, and briefly down to Mike’s crotch. “It’s bad enough that I’m drawing it in the first place. I can’t do that, too, it’s…”

“You can, you know. Like, if you wanted to,” Mike says lowly, making sure Will is looking him in the eye. The flush on his face goes from its bright pink to what looks to be permanently flaming red.

“Oh,” Will breathes out, swallowing hard. Mike can’t stop himself from watching the way his throat moves. He’s got the urge to run his teeth over Will’s adams apple. 

Mike looks down again, running a finger lightly over the drawings and remembering his original point. “You still need to fix this, though. This isn’t what it looks like. If you’re going to do it, it needs to be right. If anyone else sees this, my dick needs to be right. I only have two good things going for me, my hair and my dick.”

“You have more than two good things going for you,” Will whispers, so low Mike almost misses it. 

“Uh. That’s – You…” Mike stutters out, taken aback by the compliment. It probably shouldn’t come as such a surprise to him, given that Will has an entire sketchbook dedicated to him, but hearing Will say it out loud makes him feel suddenly off-kilter and shy. “Do you…Uh, do you want to see it?” 

“Huh?” Will croaks, sounding more like a noise punched out of him than an actual word. 

“My dick,” Mike explains, sort of enjoying the way Will’s breath hitches when he says it. “Do you want to see it? Or I could, like, describe it to you, I guess? I’m cut first of all –” 

“Stop! Please stop!” Will begs, putting his head in his hands. “You can’t say stuff like that.”

“Why?”

“ It’s not…right. Fair.” 

Mike moves to stand in front of Will, slowly so Will doesn’t bolt out the door. He takes both of Will’s wrists in one of his hands, gently pulling them from his face. He hunches so he’s just lower than Will’s eye level, slightly looking up at him. Will’s long lashes flicker open, looking between his wrists in Mike’s hand, the sketchbook, the space behind Mike’s head – anywhere but in his eyes. “Will. Look at me.”

Will’s eyes snap to Mike’s, and Mike feels heat run through him at how easily Will will do as he says. “Why are you allowed to draw it, but I’m not allowed to say it? That’s not fair.”

“Mike,” Will whines, and Mike tries to ignore how much he likes Will saying his name like that. “Just let me get rid of it, please.” 

Mike releases Will’s wrists, coming back to his full height, but Will keeps his eyes on him. It’s probably not normal behavior that he wants Will to keep this. That he wants Will to continue to fill the pages with more and more images of how Will invisions him. He shouldn’t want Will to draw things even more obscene. He should find it perverse instead of how stupid hot he finds the whole thing. It’s not normal, but they’ve never really ever been normal. 

“I don’t want you to get rid of it. I want you to have it,” he says finally, and Will gapes at him. It feels like something snaps between them. A noticeable shift in Earth’s tilt tipping them over. He wonders if Will feels it, too, or if he has always felt this unsteady around Mike? Mike feels like the room is suddenly sweltering hot, a bead of sweat running down the back of his neck. He can see Will’s jaw move, and he watches as his tongue darts to wet his bottom lip. Mike muses on what it would feel like on his. 

“Wha – I don’t…Why do you want me to keep it?” Will asks after what feels like a thousand-year stretch of silence. He’s playing with his fingers, picking at his cuticles, and Mike wants to reach out and stop him before they start to bleed. 

“I want you to draw more…”

“Mike.”

“And I want you to use it to...You know…” Mike lifts his eyebrows in what he hopes comes off as suggestive. “If you want to.”

“If I want to…” Will says under his breath. “You want me to keep drawing you to use to jerk off?”

Mike feels his own face heat up to match Will’s. “If, you know, only if you want to!” he stutters out, flustered at Will saying it so plainly. 

Will tilts his head, narrowing his eyes. He can see Will’s front teeth when his mouth falls open slightly, and he wonders how he’s never noticed how cute they are. He wants to run his tongue across them. He’s so fixated on Will’s mouth that he knows Will is about to talk before he even says the words. “A little presumptuous of you.” 

He’s so taken aback by the comment that he pulls away from Will, scoffing loudly. “What?”

The corner of Will’s mouth ticks up. “I mean, it’s kind of arrogant of you to assume that I would want to do that.” 

“What!?” 

Will smiles fully, and Mike can see he’s trying not to laugh. A small giggle breaks through, though,  and Mike huffs. Will is teasing him. If he actually wanted to be presumptuous, he would say that Will was flirting with him. 

 Mike sighs before breaking into his own grin at the sound of Will’s laughter. He doesn’t really care that it’s at his expense, as long as he can hear it. “Ha. Ha. Yeah, yeah.” 

Mike throws the sketchbook back onto Will’s tidy bed, looking back at it landing, and when he turns back to Will, he suddenly looks sheepish again. 

“I – Uh,” he starts, running a hand down the back of his head. Mike feels his heart pick up in his chest when Will looks up at him from under his lashes, pupils blown. “I would, you know. Want to do that.”

Mike sucks in a breath. “You would?”

Will nods slowly, eyes flickering over to the sketchbook and then back to Mike. “You…Um. We can – Do you still want to describe it to me? To get the drawing right?” 

No, I want your eyes on it, Mike thinks. Which. Okay. Maybe he is just a straight-up pervert. But Will seems to be just as into this as he is, so he’s not going to dwell on it. 

“I think it would be better if I just showed you. You know, it’s just, your artist eye will probably see something I wouldn’t have described.” The excuse sounds like bullshit even to his own ears, and he fights to keep himself from grimacing. 

But Will is nodding eagerly, agreeing with him without question. “Right, yeah. Um. So. Take your pants off, I guess.” 

Mike chokes on nothing but air, coughing at hearing those words come out of Will’s mouth. “Jeez, Byers, treat me like a lady,” Mike says when he’s recovered. 

Will rolls his eyes. “Sorry. Take your pants off, please.” 

“Better.” 

The consequences of his own actions come at him in full force when he unbuckles his belt and realizes that he’s about to actually get, at least partially, naked in front of Will. His hands shake a little when he pulls his zipper down, suddenly incredibly shy. He feels silly about it. This was his idea. Will obviously sees some appeal in him; he has a whole sketchbook to prove it, but this feels different. Very, very real. 

“Mike?” Will says softly behind him. “Hey, this is – We don’t have to do this. Like, at all. I won’t be upset or whatever. And we can still get rid of the sk –” 

Mike spins around, open belt clattering. “No! No. I – Don’t get rid of it. I want you to…” Look at me. “It’s fine. Just gimme a sec.” 

Will nods, busying himself by closing the door even though no one's home and prepping his workspace at his desk across from the bed. He turns off the overhead light and opens the curtains on his window fully so the room fills with the natural golden light of the late afternoon. Mike takes a grounding look at him before pushing his jeans down his legs. He debates about his underwear, but just takes the step off the edge and takes them off, too, and suddenly he’s half naked in his best friend’s room.

“Uh, shirt on or off?” he asks to Will’s back. 

“On for now. The blue looks nice on you,” Will replies easily, and Mike’s brain starts playing the compliment on a feedback loop. He’ll wear this color blue every day for the rest of his life if Will wants him to. 

He stumbles his way onto Will’s bed, making himself comfortable against the headboard before reaching a hand down to start getting himself hard. It doesn’t take long. He’s been on edge since he opened the fucking sketchbook. 

Will turns around in his desk chair just as he really starts to work himself up. He takes a long look at Mike, mouth falling open, before slamming a hand over his eyes, turning back around. 

“What are you doing?!” Will exclaims. 

“Uh. Getting myself hard?” Mike replies, confused at the outburst. Mike knows Will knows how getting hard works so seeing him touching his own dick shouldn’t be this much of a shock to him. 

“No, you – I can see that. I meant why are you getting yourself hard? In my bed!” 

Mike pulls his hand off his dick, exasperated at the whole conversation. “Will. I’m not going to have you draw it soft. Why wouldn’t I get hard? It grows like an extra inch when it’s hard, and its color like changes a little. You need the full picture.” 

Will makes a choking noise, letting his head fall against his desk.  “Oh my god,” he groans. 

“You can see what it looks like when I jerk it, too. For future drawings,” Mike continues, ignoring Will’s breakdown. He goes back to gently touching himself. “C’mon, Will, come over here. Let me see your pretty face. Come draw me.” 

Will whines, but complies, and Mike suppresses a shiver. He scoots the desk chair to the side of the bed, putting his feet on the edge of the frame so his knees raise up and can balance the sketchbook across them, and, pointedly, if you ask Mike, his lap. He starts to move the pencil across the page without taking a second glance at Mike, making him huff in annoyance at Will’s lack of attention. 

“Will,” Mike says.

“What?” Will replies, still looking down at the page. 

“You’re not looking at me. How are you drawing something you haven’t looked at?” 

“I saw plenty.” 

“No, you didn’t. Look at me.” 

He stops moving the pencil, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath. Slowly, he lifts his head, heavy-lidded eyes raising to meet Mike’s. Mike’s dick twitches at the look of untamed desire that Will gives him. His heart stutters in his chest when Will drags his eyes down his body

“You stopped. If you wanted me to look, why did you stop?” Will asks in a hushed tone. Mike hadn’t even realized he had stopped his movements when Will had looked at him, frozen under his gaze as if he hadn’t been begging for it. 

“Right. Uh–” He takes himself in hand again, loosely stroking himself in slow strokes that are driving him half crazy. 

Will starts drawing again, eyes flicking between Mike and the page. After a while, though, his lust-soaked looks start to be taken over by confused ones. “Is that how you jerk off?”

He looks down at his dick, hot and hard in his hand, and, well no. This is not how he jerks off. He likes a much tighter grip and definitely a faster speed, but he’s trying to be a muse right now, and muses aren’t trying to shoot their loads. He thought this would look best for the drawing, the slow strokes giving Will time to really look at every movement. 

“I’m not jerking off right now to come, Will; I’m doing it to enlighten you.”

Will gives him an arid stare before looking back down at the sketchbook. “Consider me enlightened,” he snarks. 

“You know I’m being very vulnerable right now,” Mike only half-jokes. 

Will snorts, then says, “‘Every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not of the sitter. The sitter is merely the accident.’” He must see Mike’s absolute befuddlement written all over his face. “It’s Oscar Wilde. We read it literally last semester.” 

“Why are you quoting Oscar Wilde when my dick is out?” His dick that is still somehow incredibly hard, possibly even harder.

Will rolls his eyes at him again, and Mike is going to ignore the way it makes a drop of pre-come drip down his fist. “You can put your dick away.”

“Wh – Huh? So we can talk about Oscar Wilde?” Mike exclaims, sitting up from the headboard. 

“No, idiot,” Will scoffs. “I have enough to work with.” 

That can’t be true. They’ve been sitting here for less than thirty minutes. Will throws him his underwear while Mike’s mouth still tries to stutter out a reply that his brain won’t provide. He’s not ready for this to end, needs to keep up the game. 

He leans back against the headboard. There’s another page in the sketchbook that he can help Will refine. 

He slips his shirt off slowly and can feel Will’s eyes following the movement before landing on his newly exposed chest. They’ve seen each other shirtless plenty of times – they were just at the community pool last week, and Max had commented on how tan Will had gotten and what was Mike going to do, not look? 

But this is entirely different. He’s laid out completely bare for Will. Miles of skin that stays pale no matter the season, limbs having gone from lanky to lithe sometime unbeknownst to him. His cock has softened a little, but still lays pale pink and half-hard against his stomach, a bright contrast to the thicket of dark hair that it lies upon.   

Mike squirms under the weight of Will’s gaze, regretting his impulsive choice. He can see his whole body start to flush.

Will finally swallows hard and opens his mouth. “Why?”

He probably should’ve explained before acting. He should’ve done a lot of things he didn’t today. Like, tell Will he wants to kiss him breathless before whipping his dick out. “Right. There’s another page that I thought you might want to get a better, or – you know, like a more hands-on view of? Maybe?”

Will is still dragging his eyes all over him. “Uh.”

“Only if you want to, obviously. This was dumb, I think. I can put my clothes back on if yo–”

“Which page?” Will interrupts, chewing on his bottom lip. 

Mike shudders at how low Will’s voice has dropped. “The page with all the marks on

me.” 

Will lets out a pained breath, staring at him in the face for the first time since he took his shirt off. He doesn’t say anything for so long that Mike starts to think that he pushed too far. That there was an invisible line in the sand that Will had drawn, and he had inadvertently stepped right over it. He has a troubled look on his face, his chest rising and falling in quick motions. He tries to sit up, but the movement is what breaks the spell, Will’s eyes fluttering across his chest and back to his face. 

“I would have to put those marks on you,” Will murmurs, eyebrows pinching. 

“Yeah? That cool?” 

“Cool? Cool? Cool,” Will mumbles to himself. 

“Will?” Mike asks, reaching across the bed and holding onto Will’s wrist. Will lets out a little gasp at the contact like he hadn’t been expecting it, despite watching Mike’s every movement. He lifts an eyebrow, asking a second silent question of, do you want to?

Will nods, and Mike grins at him. Will sets the sketchbook and pencil on the floor with his free arm, and Mike moves his fingers from Will’s wrist to his hand, pulling him gently up off the chair and onto the bed. Without the sketchbook to cover it, Mike can see that Will is hard, tenting his pants. He wonders if Will would let him watch him jerk off. 

He moves to the center of the bed so Will has more room, lying flat on his back and raising his arms above him. “Alright, do your worst.” 

Will stays frozen until Mike nudges him with his knee, nodding to give him permission again. He’s skittish and ungraceful as he tries to position himself to start. Mike wants to just grab Will’s waist and pull him onto his lap, but resists the urge, confident that will completely overwhelm him in this moment. 

He ends up leaning over Mike’s torso, arms bracketing him on either side. He stares down at the unblemished skin for so long, Mike thinks he’s changed his mind before he dips down and attaches his mouth right on the center of Mike’s chest. Mike’s first thought is that – well, his first thought is holy shit, Will's mouth is on me – but his second thought is that, while it feels good, really, really good, it feels – soft. Faint. Not anything that would leave a mark. 

“Will,” Mike breathes out, putting a gentle hand on the back of his head. Will pulls off instantly, frantic look in his eye. “No, no – nothing bad. Just – I think you need to do it harder.” 

They both look down at where Will had been working to see the skin just has a subtle pink splotch that’s already fading. 

“Can use your teeth a little, too.”

“Oh. Won’t that –” 

“It’s not going to hurt me,” Mike cuts him off, already knowing what's going through Will’s head. “Or, it might, but, like, in a good way.” 

Will nods, looking back down at the disappearing spot. He squares his shoulders, narrowing his eyes before leaning down again. The difference is almost dizzying. Will sucks hard at the same spot before nipping it with the tips of his teeth, making Mike let out a strangled gasp. He apologizes with a brush of the tongue over the spot, before giving it another pass with the tight suction of his lips. 

When he pulls back the spit slick skin is already purpling where Will must have put his teeth on him, the surrounding area a deepening pink so vivid on the pale hue of Mike’s skin. 

Will’s got his bottom lip rolled between his teeth, but Mike can still see the shit-eating grin he’s trying to hide. He lifts his finger and presses into the bruise like he can’t believe it’s actually on Mike’s skin. God, Mike wants to kiss him so bad.

“Only doing one or –” Will cuts him off by diving back in, pressing his mouth right underneath Mike’s right nipple, undaunted and unrefined in how he works his way along Mike’s skin. Mike’s fingers twine into Will’s hair at the sudden sensation, groaning, “Fuck, Will. Christ.” 

He can feel Will’s grin against his chest, and he thinks that he should feel grated at how smug Will is being, but he can’t feel much of anything beyond how fucking good the hot pressure of Will’s mouth feels on him. His eyes fall shut of their own accord as Will makes his way across his torso, unable to keep the moans falling from his own mouth muted for long. 

He’s panting when Will pulls back again. He whines at the loss of contact, a needy noise he didn’t even know he was capable of, and will probably be a little embarrassed about later. When he flutters his eyes back open, he sees why Will has pulled away. The entire right side of his torso has been covered in blossoming marks, from the center of his chest down and over – but Will can’t get a good angle on his left side from his current position. 

He pats Will’s thigh to get his attention. 

“On top,” he breathes out. Will’s eyebrows pull together, confused. Mike huffs and starts to pull Will’s waist over him. “Get on top of me.”   

Will’s mouth drops, but lets himself get dragged over Mike’s legs until his whole body is straddling Mike’s, hovering over him. 

“Cool?” Mike asks. 

“Please stop saying that,” Will groans, leaning down. 

Mike hisses at the cold touch of the metal of Will’s belt buckle when it grazes his overheated dick when Will leans down. He realizes then how absolutely insane it is that he doesn’t have a stitch of clothing on and Will still has his fucking flannel on over his t-shirt. It’s probably weird that he thinks it’s kind of hot, right? 

Will jerks back at Mike’s noise, looking down at him. “Belt buckle. Cold.” 

Will glances down at his pants and then back at Mike. He squirms a little in Mike’s lap, and the fabric of his pants is just on the line of too much against his bare skin. “What if…”

Mike waits for him to finish his sentence, but after a too-long pause, it’s clear that he’s not going to without a little pressing, avoiding eye contact with Mike. 

“What if what, Will?” he asks. 

 “I could – it wouldn’t be cold if I didn’t have it on,” Will answers, playing with a loose thread on his pants. 

“Yes,” Mike replies before Will can even finish talking. “Take your pants off.” 

Will nods, eagerly moving off Mike and the bed. He slips off his flannel before he undoes his belt and goes to unzip his pants. He stops suddenly, and Mike makes an especially unmanly, unsexy noise of complaint. 

“Say please,” Will says, hand hovering over his waistband. 

“What?” 

“You made me say please, say it back.” 

“Will, I will get on my hands and knees and beg for you to take your pants off right now,” Mike pleads. 

“Okay, well, I just asked you to say please. You’re adding all these dramatics for no reason,” Will says, downright mocking him now. 

“Will, please.” 

“Not difficult at all,” Will says sarcastically, mostly to himself because Mike is definitely not listening anymore once Will starts to shove his pants down, exposing tanned, slim but solid legs leading up to a pair of dark blue briefs that curve Will’s ass incredibly but do little to hide how hard Will still is.

Mike holds out his hand when Will doesn’t make any moves to return to his previous spot. There’s uncertainty across his face as he accepts Mike’s outstretched hand, coming back to the bed. Mike nods at him when he kneels beside him, and Will takes a stabilizing breath before re-settling on top of Mike in just his t-shirt and underwear.

Mike runs his hands up Will’s bare thighs, letting them rest right below the bottom of his briefs. His fingertips twitch, burning with the desire to dig into the flesh of Will’s upper thighs. 

“C’mon. Even me out. I look ridiculous,” Mike says lowly. Will glowers at him, but ducks his head down and starts sucking a mark right above Mike’s hipbone. Mike gives in to the need, pressing into Will’s skin so hard he’s sure he’s leaving marks of his own. “God, Will. Your mouth…so good.”   

Will hums against him where he’s working on his next piece of art. 

Will finishes down by his hip and starts moving up, his body dragging over Mike’s, inadvertently grazing Mike’s aching dick with his own. Will shutters, head falling against Mike’s chest. Mike groans at the feeling, wanting to lift his hips to get it again. He can feel Will’s warm breath coming out in quick puffs against his skin. 

He starts to move again, careful to keep his body lifted off Mike’s as much as possible, up and up until he’s mouthing at Mike’s collarbone. He looks up from where Mike has been staring down at him, bringing one hand to the side of Mike’s jaw and moving it to the side to get better access to the area, sucking bruises all the way up to the bottom of his neck. He hits a particular spot right in between the junction of Mike’s neck and shoulder that makes Mike almost break out into desperate tears, moaning Will’s name into the quiet of the room. 

That’s where he finishes, pulling off as Mike pants and shivers under him. His lips are ruddy and wet with spit that Mike can feel cooling on his overheated skin. He can’t stop himself from dragging his thumb along the plush pout of his bottom lip. Will sucks in a breath at the motion, still holding himself carefully above Mike. 

He’s lost all semblance of coherent thought. He’s certain the impulse control part of his brain was never installed as he says without a second thought, “do you need to know how kissing feels to help you draw it?” 

Will seems to give it more thought than he does, eyes going impossibly wider, scouring Mike’s face before he nods slowly. 

It is not his most elegant moment as he wraps a hand around the back of Will’s head, pulling him down to meet his lips. They knock teeth, and Will slams down on his face a little too hard, not prepared to catch himself.  

Mike tilts his face, righting the angle before pressing up to Will’s lips again. Will’s ready this time, cautiously meeting him in the middle, slotting their lips together.  Mike slides his hand around to the side of Will’s jaw to direct Will how he wants, and Will goes easily, letting Mike kiss him deeper and dirtier. 

Mike pulls Will’s bottom lip between his, his hips twitching at Will’s moan as he bites down gently. His tongue follows the path of his teeth, running along Will’s lip before slipping into Will’s hot, open mouth. 

Something switches in Will, and Mike realizes distantly that Will had been holding back his hunger. He presses his mouth against Mike’s hard enough to bruise, tangling his tongue with Mike’s. He runs the tip along the top of Mike’s mouth, eliciting a full-body shiver from him. 

It’s sloppy with inexperience – wet and messy. God, even Will’s spit tastes good. He wonders if Will would spit in his mouth. He whimpers at the thought, so hard he thinks that he might pass out if Will doesn’t touch him. 

Mike sucks hard on Will’s tongue, making Will let out a loud, ragged moan of “Mike” against his open mouth. 

He’s never felt greedier in his life listening to Will moan his name. He wants to make Will sound like that every second of every day for the rest of his life. Wants to be the only one who ever gets to know what Will sounds like when he’s being broken down until he’s crying from pleasure. No one else should ever get to see what Will looks like like this, mouth spit slick and bruised with hooded eyes and flushed skin. No one should know what he sounds like, what he smells like. This should only ever belong to Mike. Will should only ever belong to Mike. 

Will pulls away from him, and Mike whines, trying to follow his mouth. Will pushes him back with a hand on his shoulder, and Mike huffs, opening his eyes fully to look up at Will. 

He’s obscene, and Mike thinks he might come untouched just from looking at him. He’s got a small amount of spit lingering underneath his red, puffy lips, and Mike reaches up to wipe it off with the pad of his thumb. He fights the urge to suck it off his finger and then does it anyway. He feels like an ant under a magnifying glass, seconds away from combusting under the heat of Will’s fervent want. 

“Mike,” Will breathes out, sounding already wrecked, and Mike nods eagerly, ready to do anything Will asks of him. “I want – Can you…”

“Whatever you want you can have,” Mike says, sitting up and moving his hands to get a gentle grip on Will’s waist under his shirt. Will’s expression turns rueful, his face closing off. Mike starts to worry that he’s read this all wrong, leaning back, but Will comes back to him, slipping his fingers into the tangled, unruly mess his hair has become and tugging Mike’s mouth onto his. 

"Off, get this off," Will says, yanking at the collar of his own shirt. Mike helps him, lifting it from the bottom. He makes a desperate noise at the back of his throat at the expanse of Will's bare chest suddenly in front of him, but Will ignores him, pressing his mouth back against Mike's, hand finding it's home in Mike's hair again like it belongs there. 

He groans when Will pulls harder, trying to get closer. With Mike sitting up, Will is almost all the way in his lap, chest to chest. All it would take would be one small movement, and Will would be grinding against him. He can feel the heat coming off every inch of Will’s body, and he wants so badly to pull him down against him. He’s pretty sure one single touch from Will is going to make him shoot off, but he wants so badly to make Will feel good first. 

Mike separates their lips to mouth at Will’s neck, moving further down until he’s at the bottom of his throat, sucking a deep, possessive bruise right in the center between Will’s collarbones. 

“Mike,” Will keens, pulling harder on Mike’s hair, and Mike can’t help but whimper into Will’s chest at the feeling. “Mike, Mike, please –” 

“Anything,” he mouths into Will’s skin, eyes looking up at him. 

“Touch me, please,” Will pleads, voice cracking, and Mike is dragging Will’s hips down to meet his before Will can even take a breath. The noise Will makes in his ear is filthy, and Mike is never going to be able to jerk off without hearing it in his head ever again. 

Will starts rutting against him in earnest, eager and uncoordinated, any last hesitances gone at last. He’s touching Mike all over, dragging his hands over his chest, holding onto his biceps, wrapping his fingers gently around his throat. He never stops moving like he’s been waiting for the permission to touch and is now overwhelmed with the choices. Mike lets him do whatever he wants, reveling in Will’s attention. 

It’s hard in their position for him to lift his hips like he wants to to meet Will’s, so he settles for holding onto Will’s waist harder with one hand, the other grabbing onto Will’s shoulder, helping Will to find a dizzying rhythm between them. 

“Oh, Mike, so good…Feels so good,” Will breathes out, and Mike feels warmth flush over him at the words. He watches Will’s eyes flutter closed when they find the right speed and alignment of the press of Will’s hips. Mike can’t take his eyes off him. He can’t believe Will’s been wasting his time drawing him when Will is the most beautiful thing to ever walk the earth.

Will half opens his eyes to find Mike staring at him and moans lewdly, grabbing Mike’s neck and slotting their mouths together. They manage one messy kiss, tongues colliding before they just start panting open-mouthed against each other’s lips. 

Will's hips start stuttering, his body tightening, and Mike pulls back, wanting desperately to see what Will looks like when he comes. He shoves Mike back, though, lifting his hips off Mike’s. 

“Wait – I, fuck – Off. Get these off me,” Will urges, trying to shove his dirtied underwear off his legs, and Mike lets out a pathetic noise in the back of his throat. Will refuses to get off Mike’s lap, so the briefs don’t get far, only making it halfway down Will’s thighs, but it’s enough to get his cock free, Will crying out at the feeling of it dragging across Mike’s skin, unabashed and so deliriously gorgeous.   

Mike’s mouth falls open, breath ragged at getting Will completely bare. “Will, God. You – prettiest thing. Oh my god. Fuck. Unbelievable. Oh my god,” Mike babbles, no coherent thought beyond Will’s name left in his head. He’s touching Will everywhere he can, obsessed with feeling every part of him. He shoves his face into Will's neck, mouthing at the skin, inhaling the pure scent of Will that's so strong right at the hollow of his throat. 

Will preens under his words and his hands, and Mike can feel how he’s shaking with need, trying to grind his cock down onto Mike’s. He tries to haul Mike into a kiss, but Mike controls it before letting Will's head fall in to into his neck.  Mike isn’t faring much better, starting to feel a little lightheaded with how badly he needs to come, but even with how aching he is right now, he knows he has to make Will come first. It’s some uncontrollable need he can’t quell, some innate sensation he feels down to his bones that just knows everything will feel so much better if he watches Will come first. 

 He needs to make Will come.

Will is grinding against Mike in intoxicating, desperate moves, whimpering against Mike’s throat. Mike gets one hand back on Will’s waist, the other cupping the back of Will’s neck to pull him up. He moves his hand in front of Will’s pouted mouth. 

“Spit,” he commands. Will looks lost, but obeys, spitting into Mike’s hand. 

Mike takes his wet hand, reaching down between them and wrapping it around both of them. A loud cry gets punched out of Will’s lungs at the touch, hips bucking into Mike’s hold. 

“Fuck, your hands,” Will says incoherently. 

It’s slick with the spit and so hot between them. Mike strokes them in quick, tight pumps, trying to twist his wrist around the head of Will’s cock. Will is still grinding down on him, and Mike tries to stay in rhythm with him, but Will’s hips start to stutter in desperation. He looks down, watching the way Mike is working them. He can’t stop watching Mike’s hand, and Mike can’t stop watching Will. 

He’s got his head curved into Mike’s neck as he looks down, hot breath puffing against Mike’s skin every time Will moans out his name. It’s getting harder and harder to hold back, but he needs Will to come. 

He slides a hand into Will’s hair, using the leverage to pull Will’s head up to look at him. He drags him into a dirty kiss, sliding his tongue into Will’s slack mouth. It’s wet and fervent, and Will keeps whining into his mouth, one hand pulling at Mike’s hair, the other digging into his bicep. 

Will gets to a brink and can’t do anything but let Mike push him past it. Mike pulls away from where he’d been mouthing at Will’s jaw and chin when he feels Will tense, his breathing going rapid. 

He tugs Will’s head up. Will can barely keep his eyes open, but he’s looking right into Mike’s like he already knows exactly what Mike wants when Mike says, “please come for me?” 

Will keeps his eyes open for as long as he can, but Mike feels his cock jerk in his hand, and Will’s eyes are rolling back as his body shudders against Mike’s, his mouth falling open, crying out a broken, “Mike.”

It’s the hottest thing Mike’s ever seen. Mike keeps working his hand between them, covering both of them in the what of Will’s come ended up in his hand. Will is whimpering with overstimulation, but is still rocking against Mike’s hand. His cheeks have a few tears that leaked out when he came, but he looks completely blissed out, and his whole body still has a perfect pink flush to it. 

When he comes back into his body, his full attention zeros in on Mike with such an intensity it would scare him if he didn’t think it was so hot. He moves Mike's hand out of the way, taking over, the one still in Mike’s hair yanking Mike’s head back. Mike keens, his hips jerking up in Will’s grasp. He’s so close, panting so hard he’s starting to worry he might never be able to catch his breath. 

Will leans over him, pressing kisses all over his face, his jaw, his neck and throat before he gets close to his ear. “Made me feel so good, Mike. Want you to feel that good. Will you do that for me?” Will whispers hotly against his ear, kissing the skin right underneath it, and Mike comes so hard he’s sure he blacks out. 

When his body stops shaking, and he’s able to open his eyes, Will is petting his hair, looking down at him, and Mike thinks for a second that he’s died and Will is surely an angel welcoming him to the great beyond. 

“I’m not an angel, you idiot,” Will laughs, shoving him down against the bed. And, oh. Mind to mouth filter is not fully online yet. 

Mike just grins, stretching out, letting his clean hand land on Will’s thigh. He definitely has his come all over his stomach, but he could not give a shit right now with Will in his lap, looking like a dream come true.  “Could be. Easy.” 

Will hums for a second before shaking his head. “Don’t think some of the thoughts I’m having right now are very holy.” 

“Will Byers, you pervert, are you defiling me in your mind?” 

“Shut up,” Will says, rolling his eyes, making Mike grin even harder. Mike takes a good look at him now that he’s not half out of his mind from an aching dick. He’s just as pretty, maybe even prettier, which is extremely annoying. He rakes his eyes down from Will’s messy hair all the way down to his hand on Will’s spread thighs, where Will’s soft cock lies. He hadn’t been that focused on the exact look of it when Will initially took his briefs off – and it’s a great dick, truly, he kind of wants it in his mouth – but it’s also very familiar. 

“Will.”

“Yes?” Will replies, face dropping at the sudden smug look overtaking Mike’s 

“That’s your dick,” Mike says, matter-of-factly. 

Will’s face pinches, looking down at his dick and then back at Mike. “Um. Yeah?” 

“No. Will. That’s your dick.”   

Will’s face drops when he realizes what Mike is saying. “Uh.”

“That’s why the dick I’m jerking off in the sketch doesn’t look like mine – it’s yours!”

Will drops his head into his hands, whining, “Mike, please stop.” 

“No, no. It’s actually a really good representation now that I know that it’s yours. If I had known you were trying to visualize me giving you a handie, I would’ve offered that right off the bat,” Mike continues, ignoring Will’s continued pleas. “You’re a very talented artist, Will.” 

“Please, shut up,” Will beg through his hands.  

“Fine, fine. I will for a kiss,” Mike says, smirking. Will drops his hands, looking down at Mike with an annoyed look, but still leans down and slots his lips against Mike’s for a slow, deep kiss that leaves Mike a little dazed when Will pulls away. “Speaking of art thou–”

“You just said you would stop!” Will interrupts. 

“I said I would stop talking about the dick, which I am. I was going to say, what…What do you think you’d want to draw next?” Mike asks, voice losing its confidence towards the end when he sees Will staring at him. “I mean, if you even wanted to!”

Will doesn’t answer him, but his cheeks return to the pretty pink they had been for most of the afternoon.

 “Can you – Uh…Do you mind just staying like that for a little bit?” 

Mike’s eyebrows furrow, his head cocking. “Like this? Like lying here?” 

“Yeah – like don’t move. And don’t…mess with anything.” Will's eyes flicker down to the cooling bits of come on his stomach. Mike’s eyes follow Will’s, his mouth falling open. Oh. 

He feels his face flush, stuttering out, “ye – yeah. Okay. Sure.” 

Will climbs off of him, and Mike whines in protest of the loss. Will just rolls his eyes, moving to his dresser to slip on a new pair of underwear before picking up his sketchpad and pencil from where they’ve fallen to the floor. He gives in to Mike’s pout and resituates himself on Mike’s lap. 

He looks down at Mike’s stomach, and Mike squirms under the attention. He hisses when Will’s cold hand gently re-arranges his dick until he’s happy with the design of Mike’s fucking pubes, come, and cock. It should feel so ridiculous, but Mike can feel his cock make a valiant attempt to get going again. 

Mike lies still as Will draws him, apart from the hand Will is letting Mike drag up and down his bare thigh. He watches Will work. This used to be his favorite version of Will. It’s still his second favorite, but it’s very recently been dethroned. He loves watching how calm Will gets as he moves his hand across the paper. He’s focused and earnest, with a contentment that tells you that this is someone who knows what they were meant to do. His kind, curious eyes perfect at capturing a person at their very best, even if they don’t deserve it. He can admit now that watching Will draw is also sometimes incredibly hot. He’s intense and inquisitive, and passionate in a way that makes him come to life. And Will is sitting in his lap, letting him get a front row view. 

God, he really likes the view. 

He stays patient as he lets Will work. He feels at peace under the warm weight of him, pleased knowing he’s doing something Will wants from him, despite the come starting to flake on his stomach. Will keeps pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, cheeks pinking every time he looks down at Mike as if he’s not the one who left him like this. He looks down at his own torso. The come has completely dried down on his stomach and hair where his cock still lies exactly where Will put it. His chest is covered in the marks Will left on him, varying shades of red, pink, and purple, vibrant against the paleness of his skin. There’s a small cluster down by his hipbone that, when Mike locks in on them, seem to be in a pattern, and he grins widely, heat rushing through him, when he realizes what it is. 

“Hey, Will?” 

Will sighs at the second interruption, his eyes falling closed. “Yes?” 

“Is that a W?” he asks, smile only going when Will’s eyes snap open to look at him. 

He feigns innocence, though, saying, “Is what a W?” 

Mike knows him too well and sees right through him. He takes his hand off Will’s thigh briefly to run his finger along the five marks that, when connected, make a W. Will watches his finger trace it. “This W. You branded me, baby.” 

Will’s face flushes a deep red, and Mike’s not sure if it’s from being called out or from the petname. “I didn’t brand you –”

Mike moves his hand back to Will’s thigh, pinching him gently to get Will to look at him. “I like it.” 

“Oh,” Will breathes out, eyes falling to the mark with new heat. “Artist always has to sign his work.” 

Mike barks out an unexpected laugh, and he can see Will trying to bite back a smile as he goes back to his drawing. He’s so incredibly fond of Will he feels a little crazy. 

“Hey, Will?” Mike asks quietly. Will hums in reply, but doesn’t look at him, eyes focused down at the paper. “Do you – Maybe…Would you –” 

Will’s eyes flicker up at Mike’s fractured sentences. “What, Mike?” 

“Your next drawing – I just thought, maybe, it could be of a date. Us on a date, to be clear.” 

Will’s face splits into a grin, throwing his sketchbook to the side to lean down and kiss Mike.