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Mike Wheeler is an Indiana licensed car owner.
If you didn't already know, Mike will most definitely tell you soon. He's taking the chance to drive everyone he knows around Hawkins with his newly minted vehicle. Usually, if Mike is being annoying and loud like this, even Will starts to get a little tired of it, but this time he's pretty content. Excited even. When Mike jingles his keys and Will whips his head around like that stupid Pavlovian dog, it's only because Mike always ensures the passenger seat is for Will and Will only. Will gets to pick the radio station or the cassette tape and he gets to turn the AC on and suggest where they stop for food. It's a privilege and after the life he's lived, he deserves it. Besides, he won't protest Mike using his headrest as a stabilizer while he's backing out with one hand spinning the steering wheel. Especially during the summer when he's wearing short-sleeved shirts, or even one horrifically incredible evening where he wore just a tank top, freckled skin on display across his barred shoulders and arms.
Will is a hot-blooded guy in love, okay? He's taking every chance he gets to ogle Mike Wheeler.
And sure, sometimes Will feels guilty about it. He feels guilty sitting in the front and glancing over at Mike as he talks on and on about something Will isn't really paying attention to because his concentration is focused on the shape of Mike's mouth rather than the sounds coming out of it. He feels guilty eyeing the way Mike's long fingers curl around the steering wheel as he's making a turn or how he keeps his right hand curved around the gear shift and Will wonders maybe, just maybe, that hand could reach just a little bit further past the center console and—well. He slams the door behind those thoughts shut and locks it before swallowing the key.
It's hard to ignore the thoughts now that he knows what the feeling in his chest means when Mike smiles at him just right. There's so many locked doors and metaphorically swallowed keys in his mind, he's gonna need a new analogy but he's never been the writer between the two of them. Instead, he takes out his feelings in art, paints the colors of his heart in swathes of blue and yellow and green. But of course, even when he presents that, his words fail miserably and suddenly he's in a pizza shop at ass o'clock in the morning watching the stupid boy he loves tell his sister he loves her.
Years have passed since then. Will isn't holding much of a grudge over it, not really. Mike hasn't mentioned the damn thing once so Will has no clue if he actually figured out the truth. But Will also knows he's never seen the painting in Mike's room either and he really doesn't know how to feel about that so he just…stops thinking about it. He definitely doesn't dart his eyes across the blue walls of Mike's bedroom each time he finds himself in the room. He definitely doesn't stare at the cork boards in the Wheeler basement wondering if maybe it's hidden behind some other random D&D drawings he made what feels like a million years ago.
Definitely not.
It doesn't matter, he tells himself, day by day and night by night. Why does it matter anyway when he has Mike's hand on his shoulder asking if he wants to join Mike on a short drive to the grocery store for some snacks before a campaign night. Or if he wants to go to the movies and they'll pick up their friends on the way but they'll stop by to get some food at Will's favorite diner. Basically, the painting doesn't matter to Mike so it shouldn't matter to Will.
Easier said than done perhaps but Will is doing it. Trying. Trying to make it not matter. Trying to not let his feelings get in the way of everything he does with Mike Wheeler.
It's summer and Mike wants to go everywhere. He wants to go to Indianapolis or maybe Chicago, which makes Steve raise his eyebrows, or even New York City just because he can. Will, who has a summer job, is of course invited. Mike says this every time he picks up Will from work.
"Like, I know the job is important and I'm not saying you should just ditch it but I'm also not saying you shouldn't. You should and you shouldn't. Money: good, but time without you: bad."
Will, endeared and exasperated, simply smiles. It's a wonder what six months apart and halfway across the country from each other does to Mike Wheeler. He hasn't left Will's side since. "Don't let me stop you from traveling and seeing the country, Mike."
"Yeah, but it just wouldn't be the same without you. I mean, who else is gonna put on The Clash or The Pretenders or the, uh, Sex Dolls?"
"Two different groups; New York Dolls and the Sex Pistols."
"Yeah, them. See?" Mike, pulling into neutral at the stoplight, looks over with a boyish grin and floppy bangs and Will's heart squeezes tight. The moon is bright above him and shades his dark hair a pretty blue-night tint. "It wouldn't be the same without you and your weird music tastes. And besides, who else is gonna sit up front with me? I don't think my car would like that very much." He pulls the car into first gear and continues down the street, switching to second once he gets enough speed and traction under him. "So, talk to your boss, see if you can make something happen! It can be just a weekend. Tell him your best friend is asking."
"I don't think he'll change his mind based on that."
"Hey, you're pretty convincing; I think you can do it."
Will blushes furiously and turns to look out the window as Mike starts humming under his breath. The radio is settled on a classic rock station but the volume has been low since Will climbed into the car. It's the little things, these small considerations Mike has toward Will, that make it that much harder for him not to care. Because if something as simple as just turning the radio station on for Will's tastes (because Will has climbed into the car when Mike is fumbling to swap from the top 40s station) is easy for Mike, then why does that stupid painting not matter? Why should Will stuff his feelings down his gullet? Why is he forbidden from this love? It's there, it's real, it's honest, it's true. It's him—loving Mike Wheeler is Will Byers. Sure, he can't act on it, he'll never be able to, and that has it's own sorrows, but for now, with Mike kicking up into horrific singing as he presses on the gas pedal and caravans Will around, he relishes in the simple joys of love.
Caught in his own thoughts, it takes Will a moment to realize they aren't going where he thought. He sits up with a furrowed brow and shoots Mike a narrowed look. "Hey, didn't we decide we're staying over at Lucas' tonight?"
"Oh, uh, yeah. Yeah. Yup." Mike's grip on the wheel tightens and for a brief moment, Will wonders if this is really Mike. There's a hint of pink brushed atop freckled cheeks though which surprisingly comforts Will, even if he doesn't understand why Mike would be flushed about this. "That—I mean, yes, we are. Definitely. But, you know, it's been a bit since we—you and I, me and you—kinda had some time just with us? A duo. A team."
"Uh huh," replies Will as he crosses his arms. "And so why are we headed out of Hawkins then? Is this another kidnapping plot?"
"What? No! No, I'm not—c'mon, I'm not kidnapping you!" Mike glances over at Will and sighs deeply. "I wanted it to be a surprise. Can we keep it a surprise? Please?"
Will can't say no to a please. Especially when Mike looks so embarrassed for reasons he really can't wrap his head around. He wants to poke and prod more, watch Mike squirm under pressure and fold like an egg. It's not as hard as people say. Mike's stubborn, don't get it wrong. He's a hard-headed buffoon and he is resistant and resilient to his core. It's what Will loves about him. He's brave and courageous, quirky and passionate, and Will doesn't think he'll ever understand why Mike suddenly started acting weird when he visited California. Sure, it was their first time being apart since they met, but Will at least has the excuse of being gay and in love with his straight male friend.
But the past is the past. Mike has changed, for better or for worse, and so has Will. Distance developed new patterns for the both of them and they have struggled to fit these new parts of their lives together again. For now, things have settled in a way Will feels comfortable with. Of course he yearns for more, of course he wants to know Mike feels the same way. Of course there's still rough edges around their friendship that both are trying to sand down and reshape. But at the end of the day, Will gets to look Mike in the eyes and say goodnight and hear it back.
"Goodnight, Will," and it's a good night indeed.
So, yeah, Will lets Mike have this surprise. He knows Mike isn't really going somewhere too far because as much as he's serious about a road trip, he doesn't disrespect the fact Will has a job he needs to show up for. The radio keeps blaring song after song and Mike lets the car roof down so the warm summer wind kisses their hair. Will closes his eyes under the breeze's soft touch and hangs a hand out the side of the vehicle to feel it twine with his fingers. He can't deny enjoying this and he falls a little bit more in love with the boy at his side knowing he waited for Will's shift and is purposefully delaying seeing their friends again to make sure they can have this moment.
The surprise reveals itself soon enough. They pass by a sign, something about a drive-in diner, and Mike takes the next exit with a happy little hum. Will's missed that, the boy's small little vocalizations whenever he's excited. In the occurrence and aftermath of inter-dimensional horrors, small details and habits like that tend to fall to the wayside. Mike's a squirmy guy, fingers always tapping random rhythms against his thigh, or fidgeting in his seat when he really wants to talk but is exercising patience for once. Even now, he'll tap out random things on the steering wheel like he's practicing Morse Code or something. In the passenger seat it's easy to hear, and Will remembers one time after Mike picked Lucas up after a game, when Lucas asked Will how he could stand Mike's consistent tapping.
"I don't know," Will had shrugged as he finished dumping out the microwaved popcorn into a giant bowl for the Party to eat from while watching a movie in the basement, "it's a little endearing. It's very Mike so it helps to know it's really him, I guess."
And yeah, while living in a world where a psychic entity could manipulate memories and trap people in a mind prison, small idiosyncrasies matter.
"So," starts Mike, which pulls Will from those trailing memories, "surprise!"
They're parked at the diner, which doubles as a movie drive-in as well. Will raises his eyebrows as he takes a gander at the cars parked around the lot and the waiters and waitresses bussing their way between vehicles. They're in the back row, which makes sense given the start time seems to be soon enough. The projector screen across the way is playing a random old movie trailer in the wait for the movie to begin. Will doesn't recognize much; Mike's always been the movie nerd between them, which is probably why he came here.
"We're gonna be so late heading back to Lucas'," laughs Will but he's smiling and giddy and, wow, this feels a lot like a date. His cheeks flush and he tries to hide it with a hand covering his mouth as he laughs.
"Oh, he knows." Mike waves a passing hand and unbuckles his seatbelt as he stretches with a loud, obnoxious yawn. His shirt rides up just enough for a sliver of pale stomach and coarse black hair to peek above his waistband. Will cannot look away until the shirt comes back down. "It was part of the surprise, making you think we're all hanging out tonight."
"And what if I was looking forward to that?"
Mike gasps, affronted. "What, you don't wanna spend a night out with me? I'm wounded, Byers, absolutely heartbroken. Mourning the night before it's even started."
Will rolls his eyes but can't stop the smile on his face from growing even bigger. "You're a mess, Mike."
"Yeah, and it's all your fault," he shoots back, muffled as he reaches into the backseat and grabs two blankets.
It's not particularly cold out given the summer season, but when the night chill begins to sink in, having a little cover won't hurt. Will watches the arc of Mike's back as he leans down, spots his shirt riding up again, and really sort of hates himself for wondering what that freckled skin would feel like against his lips. Another locked door and another swallowed key. Yeah, okay, he really needs a better analogy for this.
"Hi," starts a sudden feminine voice and both Will and Mike jump, for opposing reasons. Mike nearly brains himself on his own seat as he scrambles to sit back up and Will turns away from his stare so fast he's pretty sure he has whiplash.
"Oh, hi! Hi. H-hello." Mike sputters, eyes wide as he stares at the waitress standing before him. Will feels a lump grow in his throat seeing Mike's attention completely pull away from him. It's stupid, so stupid, but he can't help it. "We're ordering. I'm ordering actually."
"That's fine, sir. Is it just you two tonight?"
"Yup." Mike nods and shoots Will a grin. "Getting a little time away from the parents with a short little night drive."
The waitress smiles kindly and Will wonders if she's thinking the exact same thing as Will was earlier. She doesn't say a word though as she pulls out her notepad and asks for Mike to relay his order. Will doesn't really pay attention; he trusts Mike will order food he likes. Instead, he takes a better look at all the vehicles also parked in the lot and tries to see how many are families or couples, as that usually entails what movie is playing. Usually though, these places play romance films, oldies from the 50s with Crosby, Sinatra, and the like. Sometimes, there's a good action movie, or a cowboy western from Eastwood. Summertime invites more families, but as Will conducts his inspection, he sees a lot of men in the driver's seat and women in the passenger seat. A lot of couples.
He turns back to Mike, ready to question why Mike's brought him out to see a romance flick, and pauses with his mouth still open in preparation to speak. Mike is…well, the waitress is gone, and she must have been covering up the moon or something because the boy is absolutely bathed in the light streaming from the night sky. The stars above are painted on his cheeks in freckles against his skin and the light from the stars and moon above caress every sharp line that makes up his lanky body. Sure, Mike isn't as muscular as Lucas or some of the jocks at school, or even Will at that, but he has enough to be present. Enough muscle on his arms and thighs to make a difference. It drives Will insane on a good day and on a day like this where even nature itself decides beauty must be highlighted tonight, it takes every modicum of control in his body to keep from blurting out something stupid or doing something stupid or just being plain stupid.
Like now, letting his eyesight drop to plump lips and inhaling sharply when he sees a pink tongue dart out and wet dry lips.
"Will?" asks those gentle lips, damp with spit and parted around the vowel of his name. Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me, begs Will, wishing he was the one with psychic abilities so he can ask without needing to voice it.
"Huh?" is all that comes out his mouth before he's blinking himself back to reality and notices Mike's face is pink. "Are you okay?"
"Y-yeah. No, yeah. I'm okay." Mike stiffens in his seat and turns so he's directly facing the steering wheel and no longer leaned in toward Will, which he didn't even realize was happening until Mike abruptly pulled away.
Okay. Cool.
"Okay."
"Cool."
Jesus. Will resists rubbing his hands down his face and simply looks back out the window again. He sees a man grab his woman's hand and bring it up to kiss her fingers. She giggles before tilting her head to kiss him. Will's fingers definitely do not tingle with the phantom wish of lips against his skin. He kinda really doesn't want to be here now. The sorrow and misery of being a gay boy in love with his best friend really starts to sting now. It always stings but now it feels more like a sword in his stomach and he's laying there staring at the blood pooling beneath his fingers knowing this is how he'll die. Ah, finally a better analogy.
The movie does start though, a black and white feature from the 50s. The woman's face is painted pretty and filmed in soft focus. Her love interest looks dapper in a suit and tie, lips curved handsomely as he flirts with her in that typical avoidant style of the 50s. Leaves her chasing after him, begging for another glimpse, another touch, another word. She yearns and Will yearns, and the man in the movie yearns and Mike…does he yearn, too? Has Will ever seen Mike yearn? He's not too sure he has.
The food comes, nothing fancy just hot dogs and sodas and some popcorn, and Mike passes it along in moderate silence. The popcorn rests in the middle between them against the gear shift. Will focuses on his hot dog, kinda glad Mike picked that instead of pizza or some other thing. The hot dog is fast and easy, and not too messy at that. Plus, Mike made sure all his favorite condiments are on it. He eats the meal between sips of lemon-lime soda, refreshing after a long day at work. He definitely does not need the caffeine cola would bring.
If anyone were to ask why Will is in love, he can point to moments like this. Sure, it hurts, it really does, but sometimes it's a balm as well. When the world is awful and cruel and wants him dead, at least he has Mike Wheeler. Sort of.
Will sighs around his next sip and can't help but glance to his left. Just a peek, a small one. Mike is still eating his hot dog but he's got ketchup smeared in the corner of his lips. He looks a little goofy, wide eyed while chewing, completely engrossed in the movie—and oh, that will absolutely be something tease-worthy when they're finished, but that's something to concentrate on later. Right now, Will can't stop look at the red splotch on Mike's face. Should he say something? Does it really matter when they're way in the back, in the dark, and it's just ketchup?
"Uh," coughs Will, and he freezes when Mike turns to him with raised eyebrows. He's still chewing, cocking his head to the side as he watches Will. "You have, erm, ketchup."
Mike stares down at his ketchup-laden hot dog and then narrows his eyes at Will. "…Yeah? Why is that noteworthy?"
"I mean, on your face. Your face has ketchup."
"Oh," replies Mike. He wipes at his cheeks and completely misses. Will wants to brain himself on the car door. "Did that get it?"
"No. Corner of your mouth." Mike tries again and misses. "Lower." Misses. "A little bit more to the right." Misses again. "That was too much to the right, come left again."
"Oh my God," whines Mike, placing his hot dog in his lap as he reaches across the middle into the glove compartment. Will tenses at their sudden closeness and Mike's dark hair in his face as he fishes out paper napkins. He rubs one across his lips, grumbling under his breath, and then turns to Will with bemusement. "Did that do it, dear prince of cleanliness?"
Surprisingly, yes. Will shrugs petulantly. "I don't know. Maybe."
"Well, if my standards aren't good enough, then do it yourself."
Will doesn't have a moment to retort before Mike is shoving a fresh napkin in his face and leaning his cheek toward Will. The sword in Will's stomach digs in deeper. He's going to die, he's going to die, he survived the Upside Down and literal mental and physical torture and he is going to die because of fucking Mike Wheeler.
Will can say no. He can say, I was joking, you got it off, and Mike will roll his eyes and laugh and get back to watching the movie. He can say, no, wipe it off yourself, like a regular person should do, and Mike will roll his eyes but do so and get back to watching the movie. He can do a lot of things and get back to watching the movie but of course, he chooses the one thing he should not do: take the napkin and wipe non-existence ketchup off Mike's mouth.
Everything moves in slow-motion. Will's hand seems to move on its own with no direction from his own brain, which is yelling at him to stop! He feels out of his body, like he's watching himself grab the napkin and dot it against the corner of Mike's lips. He's hovering over himself and seeing his body lean in closer, across the center as he inspects where he just swiped the napkin. Mike is too close, too goddamn close. It's even worse when Mike suddenly grabs Will's wrist and stops him from pulling away. Will can see golden speckles in Mike's dark brown eyes, see the way his pupils dilate and feels a little sick when he swallows his next breath so loud in the silence between them.
Mike's gaze darts everywhere across Will's face. Is there something on his face now? He doesn't understand Mike's inspection and wants to yank his wrist away but Mike's fingers are warm and gentle with their hold and so he stays still. And in his stillness, he can see that Mike is genuinely leaning in. He's closing the gap between their faces, slowly but surely. Will has to pull away. He has to stop this, he needs to back away before something too good happens. Before he feels those lips against his own and understands what addiction really means.
Like a gasp of fresh air after drowning under water, Will regains control of his motor actions and leans back. The tension snaps. Mike drops Will's wrist as if it burned him, and forces rough coughs out his throat as he sits back in his seat. Will, foolish and in love, remains in the moment for just a second too long before blinking and settling back in his seat as well. How can he concentrate on the movie now? They probably still have an hour left to go and he's gonna be stuck here next to Mike after that. Maybe he should jump out the car right now and find a hitchhiker to take him home. Or walk back even, he's good on his feet. Anything to get away from here.
Mike, of course, remains unaffected and perfectly fine like they weren't mere inches away from kissing. He's happily munching on popcorn now after finishing his hot dog, stuffing handfuls into his mouth and chewing as he keeps all his attention on the movie in front of him. Will stares ahead, thinks about Starcourt Mall and sneaking in candies and how giddy he was back then while this now feels like a prison sentence. While he never fully calms down, he does manage to feel comfortable enough to get some popcorn himself. Every now and then their hands brush and Will feels like he touched metal after rubbing his socked feet over the carpet.
On screen, the main couple finally kisses. It's been a long time coming and they are hungry for each other. He holds her close to his chest, cupping her face as she squirms in his grip and struggles to get closer to him. They look as if they want to fuse together, mouths pressed together hotly as they embrace. Will feels the weight of eyes on him. He does not move. He stares straight ahead begging his face to be neutral and praying if he's blushing that it's dark enough Mike can't see it.
Kissing scenes in movies grosses Will out. Later, he learned it's mostly because he doesn't imagine himself kissing a girl at all, only kissing the guy sitting next to him. Now he's not really grossed out by it but more irritated by how much he wants to be the girl in the scene before him. He wants to be wanted the way she is. He wants to be held and kissed and devoured as deeply as her. As deeply as all the other girls being kissed by their boyfriends and husbands as the romance of the scene colors the tension between all the couples. He wants all of that from Mike and he's not going to get it.
Something in Will breaks. He needs to go; he doesn't care about how rude it is to leave before the movie finishes even when it's nearing the end, he cannot be here a minute longer. "Mike," he starts hesitantly.
"Yeah?" Mike's voice is soft, gentle, careful like the caresses the couple in the movie shared before their ravenous lust for one another took over. "Is everything okay?"
"Can we go now?"
"Sure, sure, yeah, we don't have to stay here." Mike immediately sits up and starts cleaning up some of their trash. "Did it get too cold for you? You could have used my blanket if so. I wasn't really using it."
True; Mike's blanket is mostly a bundle in his lap not really doing much to keep him warm. But what Will is feeling is not a coldness a blanket can cover. He shakes his head. "No, no. I just…I want to go home." Home as in Hopper's cabin or home as in the Wheeler household, he's not really sure anymore. Mike can figure it out surely.
"Okay. Okay. We can go home."
Mike climbs out the vehicle to toss out all their trash and Will closes his eyes. He does not open them again until they are already pulled out the parking lot and back on the highway. He stares out the window and tries not to notice that Mike's tapping is much faster than it was on the way over. He's anxious, nervous probably, and confused. Whatever plans he had Will has ruined by asking to leave early. He should have left as soon as he realized what type of movie they were watching. He should have asked Mike why the fuck they were watching a romance film in the first place. Actually, he should ask that right now before it's too late and everything gets swept under the rug and Will's still impaled pretending like he's not dying.
"Why did you pick that movie, Mike."
He doesn't mean to sound so stiff but the roaring emotions boiling in his chest don't help. There's silence for just long enough that Will wonders if Mike didn't hear him, but then the other speaks up. "I didn't know it would be like that."
"Like what? A romance?" Will scoffs and turns so he's facing Mike straight on. "Why did you bring me then?"
"No, I mean, I knew it was a romance flick. I mean, I didn't know everyone else would get so handsy and stuff. Sorry for making you uncomfortable."
Will swallows. "It's fine."
"It's clearly not."
"It's fine, Mike. Really."
"You don't sound fine to me."
"Well, yeah, maybe because I didn't expect a night with my friends to end up a night with you while we're surrounded by strangers making out!" Will gesticulates wildly and then crosses his arms as he rolls his eyes. "Whatever."
There's silence again. Loaded but Will isn't sure what with. He doesn't want to look over at Mike and see the pity in his eyes. "What if…." starts Mike before trailing off. His fingers tap faster and he makes a little disgruntled noise. "What if the point isn't other people making out."
"What?"
"Like…you know, okay, other people are making out and that sort of creates it's own energy, right?" Will blinks a few times but stops himself from looking at Mike. He refuses. "It gives everyone else permission to do the same. And I know it's all in public and everything but it's kind of, like, a weird permission still."
Will stares at his own reflection in the car window. What the hell is this guy saying? "Mike, just say it plain."
The car comes to a stop on the side of the road with a sudden lurch. Mike smacks his head on the steering wheel and groans loudly. Will unfortunately turns his way and spots the brightest of pinks dancing across Mike's cheeks. "Dustin told me I should take you to one of the summer parties from people at school but I know you don't like being surrounded by people like that so I decided if it's just us in my car, we could get the same energy watching a romance movie."
What? Same energy? "You mean…the making out energy?"
"Yes," Mike grits out between clenched teeth. The blush on his cheeks grows deeper. "The 'making out' energy."
"You want 'making out' energy with me?"
"Oh my God, don't make me say it."
Will wants him to say it—no, he needs Mike to say it. He feel giddy with it, drunk almost, and he doesn't have any confirmation other than the blush darkening Mike's cheeks and the way he is avidly avoiding explicitly stating what he wants. "Say it, Mike, say it," he pants, not caring how desperate he sounds. Surely, Mike doesn't mean what he just said. How he wants…permission to make out with Will.
When Mike looks up, pink-faced and flustered and anxious and everything Will has ever wanted, there really isn't a need for words. Will hasn't seen Mike yearn before. He knows he hasn't because this now—the way Mike looks with parted lips and beautifully flushed cheeks with his hair in disarray and raw desire bleeding from his eyes—this is yearning. And Will is so very sure the exact same look is reflected on his face.
"I want to kiss you, Will," he whispers into the night air, and the blazing warmth that encompasses Will at those words could start a bonfire from soaking wet logs.
Will doesn't know what to say. He sits there listening to the wind's whistling melody and watches the way Mike's chest heaves with his every breath. There's nothing that could pull him away from this moment. He nods, small, then bigger and eager, and Mike smiles, too. They probably look goofy like this but Will really doesn't care. Off the side of the road on a warm summer day in Mike Wheeler's car, Will is wanted.
There are hands on his face, cupping his cheeks to tilt his head up, and hot breath on his lips. His eyes go a little crossed as he stares at the parted lips less than a centimeter away from his own. And then Will is kissed. Soft, gentle, careful but Will understands the hunger now. The addiction. He can't think about anything but more, more, more, when he surges forward to push into the kiss, hands reaching up to grab Mike's wrists. Mike makes a hungry sound, greedy and breathy against Will's mouth, and Will squeezes his eyes shut at the noise. All his sense are honed in on the pressure against his lips, the way Mike moves against him, the thumbs brushing his cheeks in a way no one has ever before. Will doesn't know what to do next; he's never kissed someone before so he doesn't know how to get the more that aches in his soul, but the feeling of Mike's lips pulling Will's between his own certainly fulfills that need.
Mike pulls away briefly and in the small gap between their lips, Will tastes the ruminants of desire. He craves more and tilts his head up, eyes gently opening to see what's made Mike pause. And oh, this close together Will can see every freckle dotting Mike's cheeks. He can feel the heat radiating off Mike's cheeks. He can see the reflected want in his eyes, hooded over and drunk, and it's all because of Will. Slowly, Will reaches a hand up so he can cup Mike's face in the gentle manner his own is currently held. He has permission now so he takes it. He lets his fingers dance across Mike's face, tracing between each freckle until he's lining Mike's nose, down to the tip. Mike scrunches his face at the attention but turns his face so he can kiss Will's palm.
They come together again, easy and impatient. Will is mindless. He wants to crawl into Mike's mouth and stay there forever, bury himself in his every breath and become one. Fused. Their lips melt and meld together and Will easily finds himself lost in the tantalizingly addictive push and pull. And then, Mike parts his lips just a bit more, his tongue pressing against Will's lips and he gasps with shock. It's the perfect opening, that little gasp, and Mike slides his tongue in, pressed hot and warm against Will's own.
The moan that leaves his throat is disgustingly loud. Will feels electricity jolting down his spine. He shivers and drops his jaw wider so Mike can lick into his mouth properly, pulling Will's face closer as he deepens the kiss. They still taste like hot dogs and popcorn, and maybe in a different context Will would be more disgusted but he really can't find it in him to care.
The kisses are wet and sloppy, courtesy of Will leaving his mouth open for Mike to have his way with. A song builds in the music made from their lips and twining tongues, in the deep pants and gasps between each kiss. Mike curls a hand behind Will's neck and—well, usually the back of the neck is a sore spot for Will. He hates feeling the wind against his neck, his hair against it, random touches against it. Really, any sensation there puts him on edge. But here, with Mike lapping inside his mouth, pressing his tongue against the roof as his fingers curl their way into Will's short locks as he pulls him close, Will thinks he can get used to this. This touch, Mike's large hands and long fingers and warm pulse, pressed against his neck is good. He wonders briefly how it would feel to have Mike's mouth there instead, mouthing at the goosebumps and pressing hot kisses to his flesh.
With a wet smack, Mike separates their mouths and the noise that escapes Will's mouth, wanton and swollen, should never come out his mouth again. It doesn't really matter though when Mike tries to pull Will closer, muttering something nonsensical under his breath as he presses their lips together again and again until he's licking his way back in. Will wants to touch Mike, too. He wants to feel Mike's pulse beneath his hand, memorize the way those black curls tangle in his fingers. He leans over the middle console, hands grabbing at Mike's shoulders awkwardly until the younger dazedly pulls away. Will protests briefly, nothing more than a dissatisfied grunt, but quickly opens his eyes when he feels Mike's hands move from his neck and hair down his sides to his waist.
"What?" He asks weakly. His mouth is sorely empty without Mike's tongue in it and he kind of wants it back right now.
"C'mere," replies Mike, syrupy and languid. He tugs at the belt loops in Will's jeans in an attempt to yank him closer. "On my lap."
Will can't help it. He immediately looks down into Mike's lap. He notes the manspread of his legs in the cabin and the bulge between his thighs. All those previously locked away thoughts pick their locks and trample across his brain in a roaring stampede. Mike wants him to sit on his lap. To sit on that bulge.
Will isn't going to say he scrambled and accidentally smacked the steering wheel horn with his ass while finding his seat. Doesn't mean that didn't happen but he's not going to say it did.
Mike laughs though at Will's frantic embarrassment. His hands frame Will's waist before slowly petting down his thighs. It's a tight fit made a little easier by the fact the car roof is down but Will briefly wonders if he should suggest moving to the backseat. His brain proceeds to infiltrate his mind with the image of Mike pressing him down against the seats but he can't decide if he wants to be back down, so they can keep kissing like this, or face down, so he can feel the bulge he's currently sitting on pressed hot against his ass as Mike kisses the back of his neck.
"Kiss me," says Mike and Will obeys. So much about Mike folding like an egg, Will apparently does too now.
The new position does make it easier for Will to kiss Mike. He can cradle Mike's face between his hands as they kiss, swallow each moan and gasp as Mike's own fingers trace the hem of Will's jeans. Will tangles his fingers in black locks and pulls lightly for a better angle, and Mike's grip tightens as he hisses and bucks his hips up against Will. Shocked, Will pulls back a little but Mike chases him until he's pressed against the steering wheel.
Mike trails wet kisses across Will's face until he nips at his neck, laving his tongue across summer hot skin. Will groans into the night air and can't help rocking his hips as Mike bites his neck. He yanks a little at Mike's hair again and shudders at the low moan that vibrates through his body where Mike's mouth is pressed against him. Warm thumbs press into the dips at Will's hips. He flushes at the touch of skin on skin, at how close Mike's hands are to situating themselves beneath his shirt.
Will hasn't looked down but he can feel the pressure building between his legs and pressing against his jeans. He wonders if Mike noticed, if Mike cares. He wants to make out, and he took Will on a date, sort of, so…is this a thing now? Are they a thing? Or is Will just a safe target for a quick summer fling? He opens his mouth to ask but instead a moan slips out as Mike runs his hands up under Will's shirt as he bites his neck again, sucking at a bruise.
"Mike," warns Will as those hands climb up and up until his thumbs flick against his nipples. He tenses in Mike's lap and gasps when another flick coincides with Mike's tongue dipping into his collarbone. He pulls Will back as he leans back himself, eyes now locked on where Will's shirt has ridden up thanks to his ministrations.
Mike flicks at Will's nipples again but this time pupil-blown brown eyes watch every minute reaction that ripples through Will's body. It's not like Will can help the way his hips rock at the attention; he didn't expect more arousal from such a simple thing. Maybe it's just Mike though. Mike's hands on him, Mike's eyes on him, Mike simply wanting him. Either way, those dark brown eyes stare up into Will's own hazel as Mike leans his head down, tongue sticking out before he licks his way across Will's right nipple.
"Fuck," gasps Will, his hands immediately clenching Mike's hair after his shirt is pulled off his body. He can't look away when Mike smirks but repeats the action, swirling his tongue around the bud. Will's eyes dart to the side when a car passes by on a cross street, headlights illuminating the road for just a moment, and he yanks Mike's hair again. "Mike, what if people see us?"
"Let them look," he mouths against Will's skin, eyes closing as he presses open-mouthed kisses to his ribs. He sounds drunk and stupid, which would be more endearing if Will wasn't concerned about potential voyeurs. The tension in his body seems to distract Mike enough, who pauses with his kisses to speak again. "Just relax. It's okay. This isn't a busy road. One car doesn't mean a whole parade is coming."
True enough, Will supposes. Mike returns his mouth to his nipple, which is enough to distract him from his previous concerns. He rocks his hips to the rhythm of Mike's suction, the hint of teeth nipping at him sending shivers down his spine. Mike moans into his skin, licks his way from one nipple to the next and repeats his actions.
Will grows bolder from the attention. He removes his hands from Mike's hair, which earns him a look, but he starts pawing at Mike's shirt, too. He wants to touch the skin he's only ever let himself look at before. He wants his forbidden desires come to life.
Mike trails more kisses across Will's chest but eventually pulls away so Will can slide his shirt off and toss it in the back. All Will does is stare. He stares at freckled shoulders and arms and collarbones, he stares at pale skin glowing in the moonlight, he stares at pink nipples and a curly black trail of hair that disappears beyond the waistband of his jeans. Will reaches out one hand and presses it palm down against warm skin. He brings his other hand back to Mike's hair and pulls lightly, still loving the little noises Mike makes whenever he does that. The hand on Mike's chest trails down until Will's fingers play with the happy trail lining Mike's lower stomach. A hitched breath later and Will has Mike's tongue back in his mouth where he frankly believes it belongs now.
This time though is different. This time they're bare chested and Mike's heart thumps hard and strong in his ribs and Will feels it against his own. They match in intensity, kisses getting sloppier and messier as they get distracted by wandering hands tracing up and down sweat-tacky skin. Will pulls away, spit stringing between his lips and Mike's, and drags his mouth down to unblemished skin he desperately wants to mark as his own.
Possessiveness doesn't really consume Will. Given his family's monetary woes and always wearing his brother's hand-me-downs and borrowing being a staple of his livelihood, he learned not to obsess over something being his. The only time he really does concerns Mike. Mike was always his, until Will returned from the Upside Down and was forced to share Mike in a way he never had before. In the aftermath, Will thinks as he sucks on Mike's skin and listens to the sweet, reedy moan that escapes from his throat, he thinks he's earned the reward he's craved after so long hiding his claim. Right now, feral avarice controls his actions. He needs to erase every memory Mike has of anyone else ever touching his skin, he needs to ensure the only person that'll ever see Mike like this is Will. He needs to leave a mark deep enough that he will never be replaced again.
Will pulls away from Mike's neck and brushes his mouth along his jawline on his way back to those parted lips. They kiss again, lazy and wet as their tongues lap against each other. Mike starts rocking his hips as they kiss, gasping every so often when the bulge in his pants presses up against Will's. Desire makes things hazy and dizzy. Will doesn't know what Mike means exactly by 'make out energy' but he can understand now why in those movies with teen parties where everyone's making out why some random couple ends up taking a room for themselves. He needs to be closer; chest to chest on the side of the damn street isn't enough.
"What time is it," murmurs Will into another series of kisses. He doesn't know why he's asking, he has a watch on his wrist, but he likes feeling Mike's voice against his mouth.
It takes a moment for the words to register in Mike's head but he does eventually pull away from Will to take a glance and then immediately goes wide-eyed. "Oh—oh shit, we gotta go. You have an early shift tomorrow, remember?"
Honestly, the fact Will remembers his own name right now is already a feat. Work is irrelevant when he's found his new throne on Mike Wheeler's lap. He pouts a little, huffs when Mike goes a little cross-eyed watching his mouth, but reluctantly clambers off his perch and plops back into his cold, empty seat. Mike coughs and adjusts himself in his jeans and that feral possessiveness comes back tenfold. Is Mike going to take care of himself when they get home? Does he plan to lock himself in the bathroom and fuck into his own fist until he comes? Or late at night in his room, biting his bottom lip because he's noisy—and isn't that a pleasure to learn from all these kisses—and coming into his hand thinking about having Will in his lap?
He doesn't really want Mike to do that. Get off without Will. And that thought makes him blink repeatedly. He hears Mike start the car ignition and watches the road come back center as he drives back onto the street but that thought really makes a mark on Will. His eyes glance at Mike's lap again and saliva pools in his mouth. Is he…does he…can he…
"I can help," blurts Will. Mike raises an eyebrow but keeps his eyes straight ahead. "With your, uh, well…" How does one even proposition jacking off their friend without making a huge confession deal out of it? Hey Mike, I really don't like the idea of you touching yourself without me because I'm crazily in love with you so can I do it for you right now as you're driving me home? Yeah, brilliant way to get himself booted out the car when they still have probably another twenty minutes to their drive. "I mean. You're hard."
Even in the darkness, Will can see Mike furiously blush. "I, well, you—so are you! That kinda happens when you make out with someone."
"So, are you just gonna wait for it to go down?"
"Uh, yeah? Not like I can do anything about it right now."
"Yeah, you can't but…I could."
Mike glances over at Will's lap before quickly look back at the road. His grip is tight but he's not protesting Will's commentary. That means something to Will; if Mike doesn't want something, he's very loud about saying no. He only ever hesitates when he thinks his no might hurt someone else. Even then, depending on the person being hurt he might not care. Point is, Mike isn't saying no. He probably won't say yes the way he did about kissing but Will sees the spread of Mike's legs, the strain against the zipper, and knows what implicit permission looks like.
Emboldened, Will reaches a hand across and gently rests it on Mike's thigh. The muscle twitches under his touch so he rubs his thumb gently across the fabric. He trails his fingers between spread thighs and the sound the zipper makes is uncomfortably loud in the muted silence between them. Will uses both his hands now to speed up the process, unbuttoning the jeans and swallowing down the spit building in his mouth from seeing the strained fabric of Mike's boxers freed from the constraining jeans. There's a wet patch near the waistband and Will ghosts his thumb over it. Mike hisses, resolutely staring ahead and not down into his lap.
Will plans to change that.
He doesn't waste time sliding his hand beneath the boxer waistband until he can wrap his fist around the throbbing flesh hidden under the fabric. He works Mike out from his boxers and stares for probably too long at the cock in hand. Mike's always been pretty in a gangly way. Sure, he was bullied a lot for his looks and his ticks, his loud mouth and his belligerent attitude, but Will always loved him for all of that. Mike has a pretty cock, too. Flushed pink at the head with precum dribbling down the heated flesh, cut, thick, and pulsing, lined with subtle veins and arcing up from a thick patch of dark curly hair. He watches wetness bubble and drip from the head down to where his fingers curl and there's not a single thought in his head when he leans in to lick.
"Will!" hisses Mike, who swerves a little on the empty road at the wet attention from Will's tongue. It makes Will chuckle a little but he pulls his mouth and hand away. He spits in his fist, wraps it back around Mike, and slowly starts pumping his wrist.
It's completely different, the feeling of someone's cock in hand than his own. He can't stop watching the head of Mike's dick peeking out his fists with the downstroke, nor can he stop catching the pooling liquid at his tip with his thumb and smearing it across the shaft.
"You're so wet," he says, a simple observation but it makes Mike keen.
The sounds Mike makes, whiny whimpers, husky hisses, melodious moans…Will is going to write a symphony full of them. He doesn't understand how anyone can believe this is evil or bad when Mike sounds so delicious with every pump of Will's wrist. It's also funny seeing the veins in Mike's arms pulsing from how tight he's holding onto the steering wheel. In all, Will feels powerful in ways he rarely does.
The thought of returning his mouth to Mike's cock keeps pilfering his mind. He wants it, to taste Mike on his tongue the same way he licked inside the other's mouth. But the thought of sliding something so thick and large down his throat brings back uncomfortable memories. It's not the same, he knows, but the desire and fear battle each other reverently. There's not a clear winner here when Will ducks his head again and laps once more at the flushed tip. All he knows is the sound Mike makes at that touch has his own cock leaking in his boxers and he needs to keep hearing that for the rest of the night.
His lust is insatiable as he mouths at the flesh, letting his tongue trace a damp pattern across the shaft. He kisses Mike's cock like he kissed his mouth, open and wet and sloppy. He uses his own spit to lubricate his fist and hums whenever Mike squeaks or tenses under his service. Controlling Mike like this also brings Will a high he didn't know was possible. It pushes him further, knowing he is doing this of his own volition and his own want and desires. He wants Mike and that cannot be stolen from him. He wants Mike in him and wants to be in Mike and he's wanted back.
So Will wraps his lips around the head, careful with his teeth so he doesn't accidentally scrap them against the sensitive flesh, and sucks. Immediately, Mike makes the most pitiful moan in existence. Will glances up and sees Mike biting so hard into his lip, it's turning white from the pressure of his teeth. He keeps staring up at Mike as he tries to bob his head, keeping it shallow and not too deep, but accidentally sloppy because he really doesn't know what he's doing. Instinct drives him forward, keeps his tongue flat against Mike's cock as he sucks and saliva spills out his mouth to sicken the glide of his fist.
"Will, ohmygod," shudders Mike, the car lurching jaggedly from the distraction in his lap. They make eye contact, brown against hazel, and Will falls in love with the heated lust coloring Mike's face. "I don't—ha," a long suck, "I'm not gonna be—," a choked back gasp from Will tonguing at his slit, "Will."
"Mike," replies Will but his mouth is full of dick so it's just a warbled noise. His eyes flutter closed as he concentrates on the noises made between his mouth and cock, and the labored breathing from Mike combined with the rumbling car engine he can hear from his proximity to the motors.
"I'm gonna," Mike starts, his hips bucking up and shoving more of himself into Will's mouth. Will backs away with a cough, wiping at his mouth, but sinks back down because he knows what Mike means and he ever so badly wants to taste him. "Will, no; you shouldn't—"
Annoyed and horny beyond belief because he does not want to stop sucking Mike off at all, Will pulls off again. "I don't care, Mike; just do it."
A weak whimper sounds. Will parks his face back in Mike's lap and takes his cock head back between his lips with a hearty suck. "Ha, okay. Okay, yeah. Mhm, fuck."
Will doesn't really care how long or short it takes because in the end he gets what he wants, and that's usually something Mike does for Will. Gives him what he wants. They hard break at a stop sign and Mike clenches at his thighs and hangs his head low as he cries out for Will. Will's mouth is consequently flooded with wet heat. Bodily fluids are bodily fluids, so it's not like it's the best taste in the world, but it's Mike and Will is damn near humping the air as he swallows because he's so greedy for it. He can't keep up with the pumps and pulls away to swallow with a loud cough, only for one spray to strike his lips. A final one pathetically dribbles out the slit and coats his quaking fingers.
Belatedly, Will can feel how wet he is in his own boxers and he genuinely wonders if he get away with sticking a hand down his pants and fucking into his fist with the one he slobbered over Mike with.
Mike, panting and shaking, blinks his eyes back open and then blushes furiously as he looks down at Will. "Oh shit, wait, napkins. You have, erm…"
Will sits up fully and wipes at his lips and chin. He licks his lips with a small hum and laughs at the wide-eyed look on Mike's face. "What, did I miss something?"
"Y-you, well, in the corner." Mike stutters over his words as he lets off the break and continues the drive. Will finds his sudden embarrassment oddly endearing. He finds a lot about Mike endearing, from his stupid stuttering to his stupid dick to, well, just everything really. Will wipes at his mouth but when Mike glances over, he shakes his head. "You missed it." He tries again. "No, a little further down." One more time. "Too low, a little higher."
Will groans. "Ugh."
He grabs a napkin from the glove compartment and wipes at his face, then pulls down the sun visor to glance in the mirror. He notices he's still got a little dribble of come on his upper lip. Before he can wipe again, his chin is grabbed and a wet tongue laps at the splatter on his skin. Blinking, Will sits flabbergasted at Mike's sudden touch, but the other is facing the road again though the smirk on his face belies his innocence. Will notes how Mike's tucked himself back in his pants but he's still shirtless, just like him. He lets his eyes wander and grins to himself as he thinks back on all that just happened.
Mike turns the car radio on, hums along to the random tune spewing from the speakers, and then they're both singing, wind rushing across their bodies, enjoying the summer night as they reenter Hawkins.
The closer they get to the Wheeler house, and consequently near the Sinclair's, the more nervous Will starts to feel. He really wants to wash his mouth, though a sick part of him relishes the taste left behind after their activities. He's still swollen and thick in his boxers and he should probably do something about that before getting in. Pulling himself out to jack off with Mike in the car is a much harder concept to warp his hand around.
It irritates him until they pull up into the Wheeler driveway. Mike turns the ignition off and plunges the cabin into silence. The automatic driveway lights flicker on, hesitant then bold. Will can see Mike in all his embarrassed and aroused glory. He sees his mused hair and kiss plump lips. He sees a hickey he left behind while mouthing at Mike's neck earlier. He sees the evidence of himself on Mike, staking a claim almost, and he smiles softly to himself. Blown brown eyes crinkle in the corner with a smile before a soft kiss presses to his lips.
"That was fun," whispers Mike. All Will can do is nod. "Are you gonna…uh, help yourself, too?"
"What; do you plan on watching or something?" Will snarks back. He gets a shrug and a warm hand splayed over his thigh. "Do you want to watch?"
"I won't look away."
Will huffs but unzips himself anyway. He will make this quick; if he thinks about it any longer, his feelings might get in the way and make a mess out of the situation just like they did back at the drive-in. Will purposefully does not look at Mike as he grabs himself with the hand he used on Mike. He notes the differences in their cocks: Mike is longer but Will is just the tiniest bit thicker; Mike leaks way more than Will does; Will is uncut while Mike is cut; Will's is tanner and darker from arousal while Mike's stayed pink and pale. His hand is dry with the first two strokes, so he pulls away ready to spit into his palm and make the glide a little easier.
Mike decides otherwise. He grabs Will's wrist, pulls his hand closer, and then purses his lips only to drool spit all over Will's palm. It should be gross and nasty and, well, it is but not in a bad way. Will remembers the Party used to spit on their hands and shake on it after an argument. It means understanding and forgiveness and repairing a fractured friendship. Mike and his argumentative ass was usually the one drawing first blood back then but he rarely did this with Will. In a way, this odd act does more than lube Will's palm to fuck his fist for Mike's voyeuristic pleasure. He just can't tell if it means repairing their friendship from this sexual activity or repairing their friendship beyond it.
Now's not the time to ask. Will's dick is throbbing so bad it's near hurting, his hand is coated with Mike's spit and still sticky from his own spit and Mike's cum, and the house they are parked in front of is not empty. Will wraps his glossy hand around his cock and, in a way that would be more embarrassing if Mike didn't swallow his moans with a kiss, comes after a handful of pumps. Making a bigger mess of his hand and bare chest does not help but hey, there are napkins in the glove compartment. Mike is pleased about it all even if he barely got a show. Will? He's a little dazed and confused but Mike takes the soiled napkins as he leaves the car while Will shuffles back into his shirt. All is good.
On returning and putting on his own shirt (backwards, Will notes but he won't say anything), Mike opens the passenger side door for Will—another privilege in driving with Mike. He straightens out Will's collar and then rocks on his heels a little bit like he really doesn't know what to do. Will doesn't understand why Mike expects him to say anything more; it's not like he's the one who drove his best friend to a movie drive-in expecting to make out in the back with him.
Eventually, the heavy silence pushes Mike to speak. "We can do this again, if you want. I mean, like, you can pick the movie next time."
"Next time?" Will leans in on his toes just a bit. "Why're so sure there's gonna be a next time?"
"There won't be?"
Mike's despondent tone makes Will want to kiss him—why does he pout so cutely?—but he holds back. He merely shrugs and pushes lightly at Mike's shoulder. He tries to act nonchalant but he might be a bit too chalant. "You didn't ask."
"I have to ask to hang out with you?"
"You call that," Will motions to the freshly defiled car, "hanging out?"
"Uh, yeah?" Mike crosses his arms but even in the low light provided by the driveway light, Will can see him blush. "Yeah. We hung out. And, like, stuff."
"And, like, stuff?"
"And, like, stuff."
Jesus. Will sighs. He's wanted, that's for sure, but repairing the friendship after the sexual activity it is then. Mike can't even call it a date, which shouldn't be too surprising given his consistent reluctance to change. Will shakes his head as he walks out the driveway toward the garage door. "Let's get cleaned up and see our friends. We can hang out with them, too."
"Shut up," calls Mike after Will, but he lightly jogs to catch up with him. When they're side by side and Mike is working his key into the locked door, he pauses and looks over and down at Will with a shy little smile. "Are we good?"
With the taste of Mike on his tongue and sticky between his fingers, and the hickey Will absolutely refuses to point out glaringly purple on Mike's pale neck, he grins. "Yeah. We're good."