Work Text:
Will doesn’t really know how he got himself into this position.
Well, he does, except thinking back on it kind of makes him want to bang his head on the shut door across the room. Preferably until he can’t remember what happened.
He’s currently trapped sitting cross-legged in the center of Mike’s bed, stuck between his paints, open and ready to mix on one side, and Mike, sprawled out on his stomach and shirtless, on his other.
His knee brushes lightly against Mike’s exposed hip and he kind of wants to die.
Typically, Will prides himself on being an expert at controlling his undying love for Mike, and has grown to live with the fact that he’s entirely, completely delusional if he even thinks for a second that Mike could ever reciprocate his feelings.
They’re best friends. That’s all they’ve ever been and that’s all they’ll ever be. Mike and Will grew up together, found Dustin and Lucas and El and Max together, braved the traumas of Vecna and the democreatures and the Upside Down together (so far), and now they live together. In the Wheeler house. Platonically.
If they’re maybe something a little more than just friends in Will’s mind sometimes when he lies awake at night, well, nobody needs to know about that.
It seems, however, that recently Mike’s been giving him more and more to think about under the shield of his blankets.
Another lingering stare, a couple extra brushes of a hand or bumps of a shoulder, taking a seat on the couch next to Will during a movie night, closer than he has to be and too warm to push away.
It’s all a little… confusing.
Some part of him wants to lean into these soft moments, to allow himself to feel happy and loved and just forget about everything they’ve been through. But then he remembers this is Mike he’s thinking about. The same Mike who very clearly was once in love with El. His sister. A girl. Therefore, Will is entirely, hopelessly delusional.
This had of course been the topic on his mind when Mike sauntered into the basement earlier that afternoon and spotted him digging around near his self-claimed art corner.
When Will gave up on his search and admitted to Mike that he was out of canvases and really, desperately in the mood to paint, the last thing he expected was for Mike to offer up his skin.
That was weird, right?
Or is he just the one making it weird?
Is it weird to want to kiss your best friend?
…Hypothetically?
Is that weird?
After stumbling his way through an uncomfortable attempt at disagreeing, Mike was determined in his offer and Will unfortunately had no choice but to agree.
He should’ve known that once Mike is set on an idea, he’ll do anything to make sure he gets his way.
That’s how they ended up here, Will thinks (somehow without slamming his head into the door), watching as Mike shifts around to get comfortable. He has a comic open in front of him and a pillow propped underneath his head to keep his chin up to read.
Will glances from his paints to Mike’s bare back, a hint of muscles flexing and peaking out underneath his smooth skin when he readjusts.
It’s almost unbearable.
Actually, it is unbearable.
“Just warn me before you start so I don’t, like, flinch and mess you up,” Mike says quietly, pleasantly content and already engrossed in his reading.
Will nods and then remembers that Mike can’t see him. “Yeah, okay,” he mumbles.
He picks up his paintbrush.
He doesn’t know what he wants to paint anymore.
The bright colors to his left stand out against Mike’s teal sheets, looking a lot more intimidating now than they did an hour ago.
After blobbing blue onto his pallet and mixing it with some white to lighten it up, Will figures that once he starts with a basic background he’ll get some idea of what he wants to do.
He focuses his attention on Mike’s skin (as if he hadn’t been staring at it completely mesmerized like a creep just a few moments ago), and tries to map out how he wants to use the space. Then, with a shaky hand, he scoops the paint up onto his brush and hovers it over Mike’s back.
“Brace yourself,” Will says, quiet and nervous.
He can see Mike nod and tighten his grip on the comic in front of him. There’s no backing out now.
The brush lands softly on his spine and Mike stiffens, barely suppressing a shiver. “Holy shit, that’s cold.”
“Sorry,” Will whispers, wincing in sympathy and slowing his movements.
“No, you’re good, it’s okay — I’ll get used to it.”
Will starts to spread the paint around, coating Mike’s back in a thin square-shaped layer of light blue. The brush glides over soft, barely-there hair, reaching as far up as his shoulder blades and as low as the slight curve in his spine. Any lower and Will might just pass out.
He can’t believe he’s actually doing this.
As the brush dips down closer to Mike’s side, he huffs and squirms away with a breathy giggle.
“Sorry. I’m sorry,” Will says again, instantly stopping.
“No, no, no, it just tickles,” Mike replies, his voice muffled from where he now has his face stuffed into the pillow. “Continue on.”
Will keeps painting, but his square is still looking lopsided when Mike makes an involuntarily noise and flinches away again.
“…Mike?” The corner of his lips twitch into a smile. Is he really that ticklish?
“I’m so sorry. I’ll stay still, I promise.”
Will knows he won’t.
In a moment of blind confidence and pure dedication to his work, Will reaches his other hand out to hold Mike’s hip down. His fingers meet warm, soft skin, and he’s pretty sure his brain almost shuts down completely.
Will hears a quiet inhale as Mike drops the comic and lets it flop closed on the bed.
“Yeah, okay. That… works too.”
As he continues to work the blue paint over Mike’s back, Mike keeps his face pressed into the pillow and Will swears he doesn’t feel him breathing. Like, at all.
Should he be concerned?
He stops when the square is neat enough for his liking, sharp enough for not being on a flat surface, and sets his paintbrush down on the pallet to let the background dry.
Mike is still scarily stiff, and Will’s brows twist down in concern.
“Mike? Are you… okay?”
After a long moment of silence, Will begins to move his thumb in aimless little circles where his palm still rests against Mike’s hip, looser now that he isn’t squirming around anymore.
Mike makes a small, pained noise and Will immediately stops.
What the hell?
Is he suffocating or something? Should he call Nancy? Or Jonathon? Then again, they’d probably freak out if they saw what Will was doing right now.
He removes his hand and Mike finally lifts his face from the pillow, inhaling like it’s his first time breathing air. He glances back at Will and is seemingly unbothered by his confused, furrowed brows.
“Yep. All good,” Mike says.
Will blinks at him.
Okay.
…Whatever.
He uses the pads of his fingers to press gently against Mike’s spine, checking if the paint is dry enough. He’s never used acrylic paint on skin before, so he’s a little disappointed at the small cracks that started to flake near the borders of the square.
Maybe if Mike had just stopped moving around so much.
At that thought, Mike drops his head sideways back onto the pillow at Will’s touch, opting for a better position to actually breathe this time. “This is basically a free massage,” he sighs.
His eyes are closed and he looks blissfully close to sleep now that his lungs are filled with oxygen.
And — while Will had just said he wanted Mike to stop moving, he doesn’t want to paint on him while he’s sleeping. That’s way too dangerous. Will would have zero control over his thoughts if Mike wasn’t actively speaking to him while he brushes his hand across bare skin.
“Don’t you dare fall asleep on me, Michael,” Will warns, moving his fingers to scratch lightly at Mike’s side where he knows he’s the most ticklish.
Mike yelps and blindly swats at the air behind him, completely missing Will, who just laughs at his attempt. He grumbles something incoherent before giving up and slouching back onto the pillow.
This time, he keeps his face turned just enough to watch Will over his shoulder, a fond twinkle settling somewhere deep in his eyes.
It’s a sort of gleam that Will hadn’t seen in a while, a childish sparkle that he had grown up alongside and watched as Mike eventually learned how to hide it as they got older.
It’s only in quiet moments like these where Will can catch a glimpse of it, unguarded and strong where it shines on Mike’s face.
Maybe Will should have let him fall asleep.
Suddenly, an idea takes shape in his mind. He turns to his assortment of paints and starts to mix up a few different colors, tilting his head against the stream of hot sunlight that filtered in through the summer sun outside of Mike’s window.
“Sometimes I wish I could paint.”
Will brings his gaze back towards Mike’s soft voice, surprise dotting his cheeks. “Huh?”
Mike shrugs, or tries to from where he’s laying down. “I dunno. You just look… like, paintable. Right now.”
“Paintable?” Will echos.
“Yeah. With the — with the sun around you and everything. It makes your hair look soft and your eyes look brighter.”
“Oh.”
What’s he supposed to say to that?
Thanks?
I’m in love with you?
…Probably not that.
Will turns away with a smile, opting for a fond shake of his head.
“What? You don’t believe me?”
“Stop moving so much, you’re messing up the paint.” Will says in lieu of an answer, pushing Mike’s shoulder back into the bed from where he propped himself up in defense, always ready to prove his point.
Mike huffs grumpily, but stays perfectly still against the pillow. “Just saying. Pretty people deserve to be painted.”
Will’s breath catches, feeling a pink slowly start to decorate his cheeks that must match the rose color he’s mixing on his pallet. His eyes flick to Mike’s face, surprised to see a similar shade covering his dark freckles and a nervously hopeful twitch in his lips.
Okay.
This is totally fine.
That’s definitely not Will’s exact reasoning for hiding a sketchbook filled to the brim with drawings of Mike. Mike’s face, Mike’s hair, Mike’s eyes, Mike’s hands, it’s all covered in Mike Mike Mike. Because, as Mike had stated, pretty people deserve to be painted.
But, Will knows he thinks Mike is pretty. He’s accepted that a long time ago. The pink staining his cheeks comes from Mike calling Will pretty. Openly. Casually.
That cannot be normal best friend behavior.
Unless, maybe Mike was just stating it… objectively? Which, could be possible. Will could definitely just be feeding into his fantasies right now.
As he steals another glance at Mike’s eyes, however, the gleam is still there. It may even be brighter than before, blinding away all of Will’s hesitancy and questioning in one simple sparkle.
Pretty people deserve to be painted.
Okay. Sure.
When Will is satisfied with his colors, he sets the pallet down and reaches over to grab a smaller brush. Then, picking up some of his newly made silver-gray paint, he starts to block out simple shapes that could maybe look like a person if you squint your eyes just right.
The trust the process phase of painting never fails to scare him.
And — okay, truthfully he understands how undeniably corny it is to be painting Mike’s DnD character on his own back. It’s extremely painful how obvious Will’s obsession with Mike is.
Except, his reasoning behind this, however, is that Mike can’t see what Will is painting. So really, who’s gonna know? Not Mike. That’s all that matters.
This is why when he had caught the first spark of light off of Mike’s eyes and was reminded of the shiny armor of his Paladin, Will didn’t back down from the inspiration.
Painting from his memory, he can now start to see an outline take shape in gray against the blue, complete with a sword and a shield, because god forbid Will even lets imaginary Mike risk getting hurt and leaving him.
Wow. He’s desperate.
Also, to be clear — there’s nothing surrounding Paladin Mike in the painting. Absolutely nothing. He’s defending himself against air, Will supposes.
“What’re you painting?” Mike asks softly, making Will jump a little when he remembers he’s painting on a living, breathing human body and not just a quiet canvas.
Mike had stayed pretty still so far, but now his voice is sounding drowsy again and he’s peering up at Will through half-lidded eyes.
It’s a horribly beautiful sight. Will averts his gaze back to Mike’s spine almost immediately.
“It’s a secret,” he responds, already knowing Mike is going to pester him with questions once the words leave his mouth.
Strangely, Mike just hums in thought instead and lets Will’s answer settle quietly around them.
“Is it a good secret or a bad secret?” Mike asks after a few moments.
It takes Will a while to realize that Mike had understood him wrong. He thought that Will meant he was painting a literal secret on his back. Which… in some ways that wasn’t exactly untrue.
In Will’s mind, Mike is his secret.
A bad secret.
Which is exactly why he can’t let it slip. He could never tell Mike, because if he loses him he wouldn’t know what to do with his life.
Before letting those thoughts take over, Will corrects the misunderstanding. “No, Mike, I meant that I’m not telling you what I’m painting. You can see for yourself.”
Mike makes an offended noise, rustling around a little bit and causing some of his hair to fall into his eyes. “I can’t see my own back. That’s, like, literally impossible.”
Will sighs. He was never good at sarcasm. “I was joking.”
He’s now layered a darker gray over the messy silhouette, the shape of armor starting to become more and more obvious.
Mike groans in what Will assumes is frustration, and then turns his face away, resting his forehead on top of his crossed arms.
“Maybe, if you’re lucky, I’ll show you when I’m done,” Will says softly, knowing he definitely won’t but not being able to handle a whiny Mike right now.
He needs to start painting the finer details, so grabbing a small brush and resting his hand back on the warm curve of Mike’s hip, he works on the bright lines of light reflecting off of the armor. The same shine that he had found in Mike’s gaze and had prompted this painting in the first place.
Mike sinks at his touch, going pliant, and Will smiles. It’d be so easy to just assume this was normal. That this is just Mike and Will, that they can just be touchy best friends and that’s perfectly fine.
Really, Will is the whole problem here. They could have this normalcy if he wasn’t stupidly in love with Mike.
He moves on from painting striking white highlights on armor to the smooth, tan blend of Mike’s face. He’s in a bit of a weird position, though, using the hand on Mike’s back as leverage while he leans over his body to perfect the smallest details.
By doing this, he ends up painting the face at a wrong angle because he isn’t directly above his “canvas,” prompting a frustrated huff while he paints over that spot completely to restart.
“Everything okay?” Mike asks, reading Will’s mood easily even with his head still turned down.
Will hums, deeply focused. “You’re at a weird angle,” he mumbles.
“Sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
After straightening up to see what he did, he clearly notices how wonky Paladin Mike’s eyes and nose and mouth are.
“Actually, can — um, can I, like..?” Will trails off, looking between the spot on the bed where he’s sat and the painting too far to his right.
In a fleeting second, without letting himself think or even finish asking for permission from Mike, Will moves to place one knee over Mike’s body and straddles the back of his thighs, giving him a perfect, direct angle of his work.
Mike makes a small, muffled noise of surprise, and Will can see goosebumps crawl up the sides of his arms.
“Wait. Sorry,” he blurts, freezing when he realizes what he’s doing. His face blooms with heat. “Is this… uh, is this… okay? I just needed, like, to do these details from a better… um — angle?”
Will is such an idiot.
His mouth dries at the thought of making Mike uncomfortable, which is definitely what’s happening right now.
He’s sitting on Mike’s thighs.
This isn’t something you can play off as platonic.
And — Will definitely can’t after the way his voice is wavering and his hand is getting clammy where he’s still gripping Mike’s hip like his life depends on it.
Mike mutters out a simple, “Oh,” and Will knows he messed up.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry — this is weird, sorry,” he says quickly, scrambling to get up.
Before he can fully get away, Mike reaches a hand behind him to grab Will’s wrist. “Will, it’s — um, it’s okay. If it’s important for… the painting, I’m, uh — I’m fine.”
Oh.
…
What?
“Are you sure?”
Mike nods, pulling his hand back and turning his head to the side to rest against the pillow, getting comfortable again. Will can clearly tell that he’s nervous, though, from the way that his chest is heaving under his palm.
Is he just nervous? Or is he uncomfortable? Or is he both?
Will doesn’t have a clue in the world.
He hesitantly lands his weight back down onto Mike’s legs. “…Okay.”
Picking his paintbrush back up, he decides it’s probably best to rush the details of the face and be done soon to end Mike’s misery. He’d never tell Will if he doesn’t want to do something, but luckily Will would call himself an expert at reading Mike and knows that this is definitely pushing past his boundaries.
He starts to repaint the off-centered eyes, and, almost unconsciously, smooths his other hand up Mike’s side to rest closer to his ribcage for better stability.
He only notices that he’s done this when Mike’s breath… hitches?
Um.
Okay.
He decides to ignore that for the sake of his own sanity, and adds light blue sparkles into Paladin Mike’s irises. He paints long, black eyelashes, small barely-there freckles, and soft shadows around the face to distract himself.
Unfortunately, however, Will is terrible at ignoring things.
He moves down to repaint the nose and then back up to do the eyebrows, but the entire time he can’t stop his mind from replaying Mike’s small, surprised intake of breath.
He really has a problem.
The worst part of it all, is that he feels like that one breath awakened something unnatural and deep inside of him. Something dangerously heated that won’t escape the racing of his heart.
Basically…
Will really wants to hear it again.
It’s a horrible thought and he knows it, but, as he’s currently straddling Mike’s thighs and openly allowed to touch his bare back, it’s pretty difficult to have a good thought.
So, he moves his hand again. Up and up and up to Mike’s shoulder in a slow, daunting drag of fingers while he pretends to be intently focused on blending the highlights of his cheekbones.
Admittedly, he knows he’s crazy for doing this when Mike will never be nervous in the way that Will wants him to be, but the shiver that runs through Mike’s body at his touch does nothing to end his adrenaline high.
He trails his hand across to Mike’s bicep, and now Mike’s breathing is noticeably uneven.
Will can’t believe the power at his fingertips.
His palm curls around his arm, but then all too quickly his touch-hungry daze is shattered when Mike breathes out a quiet, “Will.”
He remembers who he is, he remembers where he is, he remembers what he’s doing, and he remembers who he’s doing it to.
Right. Mike.
Straight Mike.
Straight Mike who is definitely uncomfortable now.
He clears his throat and retracts his hand in an instant, blinking himself back to reality.
That was almost really bad.
Actually, now that he’s thinking about it with a clear head, that was really bad. He’s kind of mortified.
Working now on finishing Paladin Mike’s lips, which he won’t allow himself to think too hardly about after whatever that was that just happened, Mike stays silent beneath him.
Once he’s done and happy enough with it, he pushes himself up and off of Mike’s thighs, absolutely not mourning the loss of contact.
“I just need to, um, finish the background and then I’ll be… done.” Will says, dumping his tiny brush into a cup of water and grabbing a thick, fuller one to paint quick trees and leaves.
Mike doesn’t respond.
“You can sit up if you want.”
Mike still doesn’t respond. But, very slowly, he does lift himself up from the comfort of the pillows to sit with his back facing Will.
Okay.
Who muted Mike.
Will has to place a hand on Mike’s shoulder to steady himself while he leans down to blob green onto his back, but he forces himself to keep the touch feather-light to avoid any further harm to their friendship and his dignity.
All too soon, he’s done with the painting.
He’s honestly pretty proud of it, the gleaming shine on the armor contrasting with the dark foliage and bright blue sky, the way he painted Paladin Mike’s expression to be strongly heroic, even when he doesn’t appear to be in danger. The tiny details that only Will would care to add through his love-struck mind, like the fullness of Mike’s lips and the slight blush high in his cheeks.
Yeah. He’s pretty proud of it.
Proud enough to want to keep it, actually, so he can remember this moment in time and the hitch of Mike’s breath that he still has stuck on repeat in his brain, followed by the echo of the Will that Mike had said, breathily and quiet.
However, he can’t keep the painting when it’s stuck on Mike’s back, so he resorts to second-best, even with the fear of someone else seeing what he’d done.
“Stay here, I’ll be right back,” Will mumbles, hoping off the bed and going to find Jonathon’s camera.
He spots it in Nancy’s vacant room, and hurries back to Mike before someone could get suspicious about his motives or, even worse, peak into Mike’s open doorframe and see what Will had done.
When he gets back, Mike has his head hung so Will can’t really see his expression, and he’s still eerily silent.
It’s actually terrifying considering it’s Mike and he literally never shuts up.
But, he’ll get to that in a second.
Will goes back to sitting behind Mike and positions the camera straight-on, snapping a shaky picture of his work. It’ll do.
The picture comes out blank through the bottom, and he places it on Mike’s desk under the setting sunlight to help it develop faster, putting the camera down gently next to it.
“Okay. I’m done,” he says.
Mike, yet again, doesn’t say anything.
“Mike? Are you okay?”
Absolute silence.
Will realizes that he’s probably never been more scared in his life than he is right now. No Vecna or demodog or Mind Flayer can beat silence from Mike Wheeler.
His mind starts to spiral. Is it just because he’s uncomfortable? Is it because Will got out of control? Is it because he fell asleep? …Sitting up? Is it because he’s embarrassed?
Worst of all, is it because he had realized what Will meant underneath all of those touches? Is it because he knows Will is in love with him? Is it because he doesn’t know how to put an end to their friendship after this? Is it because —
Mike turns around.
Will’s heart stops.
His eyes are dark, lips bitten red to match a color high on his cheeks, and when his gaze falls on Will it’s heavy.
… What?
Will shudders under his stare, completely lost on what is going on.
Then, in one sudden move, Mike pounces on him.
His hands land on Will’s shoulders instantly to steady himself as his body leans forwards, and he pushes his mouth against Will’s lips.
It’s a quick, hard, closed-mouth kiss and then Mike’s warmth is gone as quickly as it had appeared.
Will stares at him, heart bouncing rapidly and his face contorting into a mixture of astonishment and disbelief.
What.
The.
Hell.
Is he dreaming?
Is he possessed again?
Did Mike really just kiss him?
Will doesn’t have time to think it through before he crashes his own lips against Mike’s, hands sliding to his neck and into his hair.
Mike lets out a delicious noise of surprise and then opens his mouth against Will, deepening the kiss and pulling him closer by hands that snaked across Will’s waist and under the hem of his t-shirt.
This reminds Will that Mike is currently shirtless.
His hands slide down, across his chest, over his ribs, tracing his collarbone and the faint but strong muscles lining his stomach, and then lightly brushing his fingers over the hair that trails down beneath his pants.
Mike groans ever so slightly and pushes Will down onto the mattress, clambering over him without breaking the kiss. Will gasps and Mike takes it as permission to slide his tongue into his mouth.
Oh.
He cannot believe this is actually happening.
His hands keep moving, keep exploring the smoothness of Mike’s skin, until his fingers drag across Mike’s back and get stuck in a glob of wet paint.
He reels back from Mike’s face, pulling away even as Mike’s lips chase after him, and stares ahead with wide eyes, realization dawning on him.
Mike wants to kiss him.
He knows it’s a little late to have that thought, breathless from making out and Mike’s weight on top of him, but, nevertheless, he’s still in shock.
The paint on his fingers reminds him of the tightness in his chest earlier, wishing so badly for something that he knew he could never have. Now, Will feels like he could float all the way up to the clouds with a newfound lightness.
He smiles up at Mike, involuntarily now that he’s so open and free, and gets the most stunning view in return.
Mike’s eyes are bright and gleaming, clearer than Will’s seen in years, and his red, kiss-swollen lips quirk up in a grin. His eyes are darting all over his face in a joyful, sudden love-struck realization.
Will brings his hand between them and huffs out a laugh at the fresh green paint covering the tips of his fingers. Mike looks down to see and his eyes go wide, as if he had completely forgotten about the last hour, and then he starts to laugh as well, sinking down onto Will’s chest.
The tension around them dissipates easily, and then they’re just Mike and Will, laughing together and sharing a space like they always have.
It’s almost magical, how easy it is.
Mike breathes in the scent of Will’s shirt and Will is about to tease him for such a weird gesture but then Mike rolls over, his back flat against his sheets.
“Mike!” Will shoots up with alarm, his voice a little raspy when he speaks. “The paint is still wet, you idiot!”
He frantically pulls Mike up by his forearm, staring in horror at the smudges of green and silver and blue that stuck to the fabric.
Mike looks behind him. Then, he looks back at Will. Then, he laughs. Again.
And Will can’t be bother to be worried about the mess anymore, because Mike’s giggles are very contagious and make his heart squeeze with love.
Love.
He loves Mike. And he’s allowed to.
Mike knows Will loves him. And they’re still here, smiling together.
“It was worth it,” Mike says, finally speaking once the laughter dies down and calming Will’s earlier fear.
“What was?” He tilts his head.
Mike thinks for a quiet moment, studying Will’s face, and then says, “All of it.”
Will is still confused, but something warm blooms in his chest that gives him a sudden burst of courage. “I painted you. On your back, I painted you. I thought it was a ‘bad secret’ in the moment, but… I guess not.”
He smiles shyly and reaches for the developed picture, holding it out for Mike to see.
Mike’s face lights up in amazement, wide eyes glancing between the picture and Will. Quietly, in disbelieving awe, he whispers, “I love you so much,” like it’s the easiest statement in the world.
Will’s heart squeezes in his chest, and a grin splits his face in two. His jaw hurts from how wide he’s smiling.
“I love you too, Mike. So much. And have for so long.” He rolls his eyes playfully, but a few stray happy tears that were prickling at the corners drop down his cheeks.
Mike’s warm hand cups his cheek to wipe them off, and then he’s kissing Will again.
The intense heat and want from earlier is subdued, love shining now in the soft, slow movement of their lips.
When Will thinks about it, their love had always been sparkling, even in those quiet moments that he played off as usual friendly touches.
There had been glistening love in childhood friendship, glittering love in the way that Mike would always speak softer to Will than the others. There was the soft twinkling of protectiveness through all of their hardships, and a gentle shimmer in the way that Mike never left his side.
It had always been there.
Now, as they kiss and pull each other in as tight as possible, arms wrapping and legs tangling, their love gleams stronger than ever.
Will could probably paint this over and over and still never be able to capture it right.
When the light in the room is gone and they’re still intertwined together in the darkness, Will wonders how he ever thought his love was a bad secret.