Archive of Our Own

The bar Max had cajoled them all into spending their Friday night out at had been promised as something lowkey, more of a tavern than a bar, really, not too many people either— Mike should have known she was a dirty fucking liar. He should have known the second she had used the word ‘tavern’ to describe it that she had been all but laying a carefully disguised lure, specifically designed to get Mike (and therefore Will) out of the apartment they liked to hole up in on the weekends. 

The club was terribly lit, a deep red light overhead but flashing blue and purple strobes allowed you to make sure the person you were grinding up against wasn’t in total need of a bag over their face at the very least. The heavy bass of the music thumped loud underfoot, blasting a second staccato heartbeat through him as he nursed something Lucas had shoved into his hand, lime green with a cherry sunk to the bottom of the glass, stem twirling around like the needle of a compass, landing directly on the figure dancing at the edge of the makeshift dance floor. 

Mike watches, only about two and half sheets to the wind, so barely a breeze, as Will danced with Max. He’s a real looker and Mike would know this even without having to witness the way he manages to break people’s necks in the shit lighting of the club, the way his hips sway hypnotic and luring zombies who stumble closer with stupid looks on their faces, Max dissuading them from joining with a glare and a choice finger. Lucas orbiting them without being a joy-kill probably helps too. 

That’s the reason Mike’s sitting at their empty booth, steadily collecting an array of glasses instead of looming over Will’s shoulder because, unfortunately, he was entirely incapable of not being a total buzzkill. He’d have already gotten them kicked out of the club with the amount of fights Dustin had to stop him from starting— always Will at the epicenter. 

Said dude walks up to him now, a long fluted glass in his hand, nearly as long as his arm. “What the fuck is that?” Mike laughs. 

Dustin’s hair is a frizzy halo around his head and the way he runs his hand through it only makes it stand on end further, making Mike think of antennae, of Dustin trying to phone home and it has him laughing louder. “Shut up, man. It’s a Long Island Iced Tea.” 

“Why’s it so literal? We’re in fucking Chicago.” Mike slurs and Dustin must not connect the dots, not understand the joke, because instead of congratulating Mike on his clever wordplay, he squints at him, seemingly just noticing the glasses littering the table. Dustin must be drunk as hell. Mike's disappointed. 

“Methinks I shall halt thine swillery, you malty cove.” 

How dare he? Mike yanks a straw out of one of the many glasses and thrusts it towards Dustin, sprinkling him with whatever alcohol tries to exist next to melted ice, “Hold thy devious hand, knave.”

“Ew, you’re gonna make me sticky.” Dustin whines as he slumps over, brushing off his silk button-down then straightens, attempting to look suave as a girl steps close, eyeing him. 

“Hey, you look like fun—” 

Mike ignores this, craning his head around where they’re blocking his view of the crowd. Will’s in front of Max now, his back to her front and anyone else would look silly but Mike’s not laughing as small hands circle what seems like a smaller waist, running up his sides and encouraging arms to lift over their heads as they bounce and sway in place. Max slips her fingers into his belt loops and pulls him back with a rough movement that makes them throw their heads back and laugh but makes Mike feel like his blood is boiling underneath his skin. 

The alcohol doesn’t help, the way it bleeds warm down his throat. Mike wants to shove Max over, take her place, put his hands where hers had been and overwrite the feeling, edit the sensation Will feels with something entirely Mike and Mike only. 

He turns to ask Dustin to go get him just one more drink but the guy’s already gone with the wind, probably talking his way into a makeout session in the back alley like he’s so good at. When he takes one last look over his shoulder as he makes his way up to the bar, Lucas has joined them, an arm around Will’s shoulder and his other around Max’s waist. Okay, cool. He’s got it handled. 

It feels like, despite his height, the bartenders take forever to see him. Or maybe they’re just politely giving him the cold shoulder on account of all the drinks he’s had, the one still half-finished in his hand. Or maybe it’s ‘cuz Mike’s just standing there, dazed, thinking about another body he wants in his hands instead. Either way, he loses interest, ambling back over to their table when he hears his name under the repetitive synth booming through shitty club subwoofers, something by L.S.G no doubt, he thinks snidely before he’s nearly bowled over. 

Will runs up to him, catching onto his shoulders and whirling himself around as Mike brings up a slightly unsteady hand to grab at his waist and keep the other man from tumbling over his elbows and onto the tacky, filthy bar floor. “Mike!” 

His mood transforms as quick as country weather, at first a storm and then a gentle wind blows through and the sun’s peeking out, easy as anything. He grins down at the cause, eyes catching on pinked cheeks and hearing the slight slur of his words, alcohol and his tongue piercing giving him a little lisp you had to listen real close to hear. Mike always does. Will’s more affectionate when he’s drunk and Mike doesn’t really feel bad for taking advantage of it because he’s kind of the same with Mike even without the buzz of it in his blood. Will is literally throwing himself at Mike right now. What was he supposed to do? Say no? Leave him to rot on the floor of the club? What kind of person would that make him? Probably a very bad one.

“Will! Having fun?” He takes a drink but it’s gross and watered down now but Mike can't even remember what it had tasted like originally. 

Will starts to nod, grin dimpling his cheek before he pauses and changes his mind, frowning up at Mike with a pout. “No! Don’t distract me! I came here on a mission. You gotta save me from this guy!” 

Mike’s smile slips away under the glower that he can feel pull taut in between his eyebrows, setting his glass down on the first surface he can feel behind him without looking away from Will. His hands on Will’s waist grasp tighter, pulling Will closer to himself, spine straightening and shoulders pulling back. He stands even taller over Will now, on guard and ready to bite. In his arms, Will giggles and Mike frowns down at him. 

“What? Why’re you laughin’?” 

One of Will’s hands slides down from behind Mike’s neck and clutches onto his shirt at the front of his chest. The feel of his nails are dulled but the slight sting of them as they scratch, sorta possessive and careless, flick the pilot light on that’s never too far from being lit, lust low in his belly stirring to life at Will’s dilated pupils. “Nothin’. When’d you get so tall?” 

“Who’s bothering you?” Mike’s hand slips under the short hem of Will’s shirt as Will teeters on his tip-toes. “Who is it? Do I have to go find my sword?” Mike wouldn’t need to go far. Ever since he’d cut Vecna’s head off with the thing, he’d kept it close. It’s in the trunk of his car right now and he could be out and back in with a blade of glory in less time than it took to get a shot of bottom of the barrel whiskey at the busy bar. 

Will’s using Mike like he’s one of those scratching posts for cats, as if he were a particularly indolent one, clawing into him and twirling around, his weight threatening to pull Mike down as he sways to and fro. He laughs at Mike, loud and tossing his head back where he leaves it to stare up at him, honeyed green eyes glittering in the club lights overhead. “You mean your priceless He-Man replica? Yeah, right. Don’t waste that on me.” 

So, maybe no one knows Mike still brings around the sword with him. He hopes he never gets pulled over— He doesn’t think being a nerd would excuse the felony weapons charge he might get. 

Mike shakes his head, but it makes everything go a little wavy everywhere, “It wouldn’t be a waste.” 

Will rolls his eyes, eyelashes entirely too long and just as distracting, blinking up at Mike slowly. He feels each one like it was a leash around his heart— blink, blink, beat, beat. If he stands here long enough, he’s sure the music’ll start to sound better too, now that Will’s with him. 

“Anyway, that’s the guy back there.” Will maneuvers Mike around easily, if not clumsily, stepping on Mike’s barely broken-in Doc Martens with his hands clasped together at the back of his neck, so that he can look over Will’s shoulder in the direction that he came from, “Do you see him?” 

There’s quite a few people looking in their direction but it’s probably because Will’s jeans are lightwashed and tight enough to leave absolutely fucking nothing to the imagination and Mike wants to cover the curve of it with his big hands and tell ‘em to keep dreaming, to use their imagination because they’re never gonna see the real thing but then he hates that because absolutely the fuck not actually— No one should be even thinking about Will. Mike’s gonna have to hunt every one of these people down and lobotomize them for looking at his ass. 

But there’s an especially egregious bystander, who’s looking at Will like he was the one that got away, arms corded with muscle but a kicked dog look on his face,  two drinks in hand like a loser stood up in the middle of a high school dance, eyes wide and yearning and— Yeah, no, he’s not having that at all. 

Will presses closer, cheek on his shoulder, and Mike glowers over the top of his head at the guy, “I do. What do you want me to do? I can fight him but I’ll probably lose.” 

“You wouldn’t lose.” Will says confidently, entirely too sure of Mike and it makes something sit hot and heavy in his gut, something that fits right next to the lust and the tang of hard alcohol. “But if you can just, like, I don’t know? Pretend to be my boyfriend? He was being weird about me being single.” 

Be my boyfriend plays in Mike’s head over and over again like the line of a catchy pop song, Will’s voice a siren call, Mike a stupid sailor throwing himself over into the pull of the sea. Be my boyfriend, he says and Mike nods way too quickly to be cool about it. “No, yeah, sure, no, yeah.” 

Will pulls back to look up at Mike, scrunching his nose up at him. It’s cute as fuck and Mike feels cuteness aggression hit him, the way he wants to smother Will in  a bear hug in the middle of this bar, sit down and pull him onto his lap and press butterfly kisses all over every blank space of skin he can see, bite him right on the nose, on the apples of his cheeks. “Huh? Was that a yes or a no? I can go find Dustin or—” 

“No!”

“No, you won’t?” Will doesn’t even pretend to pull away, pouting as he bats his eyelashes at Mike, but he wouldn’t let him go anyway, locking his fingers together in the dip of Will’s spine, pinkies teasing at the waist of his jeans. 

“No, it’s— Yes, I’ll do it. It is an emphatic yes.” 

Will grins, hopping in place, like a bunny. It’s really cute even if it’s jostling Mike around and making him feel like north is east and up is blue or whatever. Maybe Dustin was right about the drinks. But Dustin would like hearing that so Mike’s not gonna agree, even privately in his head. “Well, can you emphatically hurry up and do it?” 

“That’s not even— What— What should I—?” 

Will shrugs, unrepentant. “You’re the expert. You’ve been a boyfriend. Just do what you’d normally do in this situation.” 

Mike doesn’t need Will to know that he’s never been in this kind of situation. Usually if some dude started making moves on the girl he was dating, he’d just kind of shrug it off, let them. He’d been called a cuck before just because he didn’t get all territorial, by his last girlfriend who’d dumped him and left with the dude who was doing the cucking. Are those proper conjugations? Mike feels like he’s making up words in his head. Was he the cuckee? Did that make the guy a cuckoo?

Didn’t really make a difference to him, when it came to them, though. He couldn’t control them. Has no sort of claim over them. They're just strangers. Will, however, is not a stranger. He's important to Mike, so Mike likes caring for him. He’s not, like, controlling Will or whatever but he sort of lets Mike do things. Things no one else does and it feels like every time he pulls something like this, he’s just adding another link to the chain he’s got around Mike’s neck. Feels good though, to take control of the situation. That Will’s trusting him to keep him safe. 

“Anything?” 

Will looks up and their eyes catch. 

“Anything.” 

“Okay…” Mike’s reticence slowly dies away, turns to confidence, his eyebrows set in a firm line above his eyes as he thinks. His thoughts are sluggish, but the ideas churn despite the weight of alcohol in his system. He could bite someone. Or, like, wait. Will said be a boyfriend. That means Mike could potentially call Will pet names and get away with it in front of people. Could probably put his hand on his ass or something, curl it around the nape of his neck as they stand there and talk. Could maybe even get on the dance floor with the excuse and have Will all over his body like Max's greedy ass was doing earlier. And he's still like ninety-nine percent serious about the sword. “I’ll do whatever it takes to get this dude off your back.”

The way Will laughs, the shy way he tries to hide it behind his hand, tells Mike that he’s just rolled for charisma and hit the fucking jackpot— a plus twenty two without even trying. “You don’t have to sound so serious. It’s not like one of your campaigns.” 

Mike puffs out his chest, “It’s as good as.” He allows his hands to relax, to release the grasp he has on the other, to settle flat and solid, fingers following the curve that people keep tripping over. “I’m looking at an honest to god Orc approaching from the vanguard right now and we’re separated from the party in the Land of Lightning. It’s just like the one we’re in the middle of right now.” 

“You should stop writing me into situations that I need to be rescued from.” Will grins. “I think everyone’s tired of having to play the gallant knight.” 

Too fucking bad for everyone that Mike’s the Dungeon Master then because he doesn’t care. “Is that what they’ve been saying behind my back? Fine, you know what, I’m going off script.” 

“Off the script only you know?” Will raises an eyebrow, peeking his tongue out at Mike cheekily. The flash of the piercing on the pink of it makes Mike want to follow it back behind liquor wet lips and white teeth. 

“This’ll be a Mike and Will secret team-up campaign just like we used to do. I’m going to make an NPC knight that steals the entire story.” 

“Any reason he can’t be a Paladin?” 

“I mean, no, not really? I was just thinking, because of what they were saying—”  

“Since we’re teaming up and all,” Will sways closer and Mike can feel the way his chest touches his, barbells pressing distracting between the fabric of their shirts, the way the dip in his spine goes deeper, how Mike’s hands suddenly are full of Will’s ass as Will smirks up at him devilishly sweet, “Can his name be Michael?” 

“You want his name to be—” Mike breathes, lost in the look in Will’s eyes, in the feel of him on his body, in his hands. He’s got these fuck-me eyes that are pointed directly at Mike and he thinks he’d never need a shot again, the way he drinks Will in now, the way he burns down his throat. “I can be him, yeah.” 

“Is that what I asked?” 

“Huh?” 

“Nevermind.” Will laughs again, letting go of his neck to let a hand grasp onto Mike’s bicep, gently squeezing. “Is he still coming?” 

Mike looks and sees no sign of the other guy. 

“Yeah, he’s still looking.” 

“Oh no. What are we gonna do?” Will’s eyebrows arch up, face all screwed up in sympathy that he wears like a veil. Mike wants to lift it. But he doesn’t want to move his hands off of Will’s ass so he noses at the scrunch between his eyebrows instead. If he presses a kiss to his forehead then— Uh, well, then— Then. 

Okay, Mike doesn’t have a good excuse but Will doesn’t seem to care for one anyway, face tilting up under the kiss like a flower to rain. He grins under it, humming in satisfaction. 

“Well, I’m going to firmly discourage him,” or anyone else, he thinks waspishly, “from continuing in this direction.” 

“And how’re you gonna do that?” Will asks brightly, body comfortable in Mike’s arms and muscles relaxed, not even an ounce of tension in them, not curious at all to vet Mike’s claim of oncoming ballistic muscle, fully trusting Mike to handle it. It does everything to his ego, giving it a slow stroke, kissing the head even. Fuck, Mike’s hard. It’s heady, the way Will just lets himself be taken care of. He does this with their other friends too, sure, but not as frequently and not like this. There’s just something different about the way Will settles in Mike’s arms, the way he grips at his bicep, the way he allows Mike to hold him. 

“By showing them just how unavailable you are.” 

“I dunno.” Will simpers, “This looks real friendly to me. Friends are available.” 

Mike frowns at him, “Friends are absolutely not available, what are you on? What kind of friend holds your ass like this?” Mike emphasizes his point by sweeping his hands over the curve of it and underneath, where his fingers dig into that part right below the fat, where his thigh meets ass and tugging. The movement pushes Will forward, has him clawing his hands into Mike’s biceps. 

“Oh, wow.” Will says breathy. "Really good friends, I guess." He laughs. 

“Not friends.” Mike backtracks, “W-Wait, yes friends. Available, no.” 

Will pulls away from him enough to meet his eyes. They’re dark and Mike misses seeing the bright gold of them. Maybe it’s ‘cuz his pupils are huge, taking up all the pretty color, sucking in the light like a black hole. “I think you were right the first time.” 

Mike’s stomach drops. “You don’t wanna be my friend? What the fuck, Will?” 

Will rolls his eyes, stepping away from him with a hand clutched into his shirt collar and dragging him as he trips over his feet, following. “Where’re we goin’?”

“Somewhere to not be friends at!” He grins over his shoulder. 

Mike wishes Lucas was here so he can do the whole pitying thing. Put a hand on his shoulder and say, ‘Bro’, and then give him advice on what to do to get Will back. 

The bathroom looks like it could be clean but in that dingy bar, bad lighting sort of way. It doesn’t seem to bother Will who lets go of Mike to peer underneath the three stalls before he shoulders the handicap stall door open. When he turns to look at Mike, he looks a little less sure of himself, playing with the hoop in his ear. The reservation calls to Mike like a reflex, stepping closer to Will to soothe, to comfort, like he grew up doing. It makes Will bite down on a grin, hand coming up to hide it but Mike's already seen the pretty curve of it. 

“Mike?” Will whispers, asking him everything with one word, a finger snagging through Mike’s belt loop. He’s so lightheaded right now that the barely there tug of it makes him feel like he’s about to crashland right onto Planet Will. The other man steps back and Mike follows, hand on the door as he looms over him. 

“Weird place to not be my friend.” Maybe Mike’s drunk but he’s starting to think Will’s not being mean. He’s being something else and Mike wishes he could see exactly what without the slight blur of a cheap drink to censor the worst of it. But whatever it is, Mike wants it. Wants to be a boyfriend, wants whatever the hell it is Will wants, that he couldn't wait to get, had to chase after in a shitty club bathroom. 

The stall door swings shut behind him and Will doesn’t need to push much for Mike to fall back against it, the sound loud in the relative quiet of the bathroom. They can still hear the music but it’s muted, a heartbeat instead of a headache, the drums in his ears vibrating at the bright sound of Mike’s belt clinking under Will’s fingers instead. “We can still be friends.” 

“Oh, yeah?” 

Will looks up at him from where he’s settled on his knees and nods, a cute smile on his face as his fingers fumble with Mike’s belt. “Best friends.” 

Mike laughs, head spinning. Will’s so pretty like this. 

“I know.” His smile turns into a grin, slightly crooked and bunny teeth poking out, cheeks flushed pink.

“Huh?” 

“I said, I know.” 

“I said that out loud?” 

The slip of leather on denim is his answer, the feeling of his constricting jeans a relief as Will unzips them. It’s like Will’s given him permission, the way Mike feels the words start to pile up beneath his sternum, the way they fill his lungs. Are they still playing boyfriends? Is this the anything they talked about just before? The feel of Will's hands at his pelvis, opening the fly of his jeans says yes. But he needs to make sure that everyone knows Will isn’t available anymore and that includes Will himself.

“Shit, Will. You like kneeling on the dirty floor when it’s for me?” Mike rasps, a little embarrassed as he stutters, “O-Only for me, right? J-Just me?”

Will looks up at him from underneath long, pretty eyelashes and Mike’s stomach turns. He doesn’t look like he’s going to agree, something about the way he’s being eyed up makes him nervous, makes his hand shake as he lifts it to brush against Will’s cheek. It’s must be the right thing to do because Will smiles at him, a little sweet, a little something else. “I kinda like it.” 

It bolsters him, reinforces his place on Will’s podium, but he wants more. He wants it all— the gold, the silver, the bronze. He wants the shitty participation ribbons, wants a consolation prize, a paper certificate, wants it all to show just how much Will is his. “Only kinda?” Mike curls his hand around the side of Will’s neck, guiding him forwards, eyes lasered in on the way Will’s so close to his dick now, can feel his breaths through his tented boxers. “You look like you belong there. O-On the filthy floor. You look beautiful though. The way you're on your knees for me. No kinda about it. Beautiful.” 

When Will moans something breathy and whining, it’s open mouthed right on his dick, the feeling of his wide-open lips dulled by fabric but so fucking hot Mike could come right there and then. Will seems to like the shit he’s saying, even though Mike feels like he’s playing pretend or something, like he’s DMing but Will’s not across the table, he’s on his knees at his feet and Mike doesn’t think D&D will ever match up to the sense of control he’s getting drunk on right now. The sight more than makes up for the lack of spit on his dick. Bitten-red lips, pink tongue lolling out, the flash of his piercing and the tease of it as he flattens it warm and wet over where he’s aching for it. “I’m not.”

Yeah, that’s not gonna fly here. Mike scoffs, resolute about this at least.

“You are.” He groans as Will presses a kiss against the way he’s bulging out of his boxers. “So pretty. Beautiful. Most prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.” Mike pulls his waistband down, the heft of his hard dick recoiling as it springs free. “You see what you do to me?” Will’s hands move up as if to touch and Mike makes a sound that Will freezes at. “No touching, baby. All over the dirty floor like that. The only clean thing is your mouth. You wanna use it?” 

Will nods, biting at his lip, hands in his lap. He looks fucking perfect even as the drab lighting dulls everything else. He’s a bright spot in the filth, an angel. Mike feels dizzy with want, with how good Will is being, the way he’s trusting Mike to keep them going, the way he’s listening. He lets out a breath, chest hiccuping. The sight of his fat cock as it sits in front of Will’s face is fucking profane— the ugly flesh of it next to the soft beauty of pink cheeks and doe-like eyes only makes it all the more better.

“Okay, tell me. Tell me how much you want it.” 

There’s a considering sort of look in Will’s eyes, that cuts through the heated cheeks and the lust that keeps his lids low, as he looks past Mike’s big dick and up at his face. Mike can hear the bright click of metal as he taps it against enamel, tip of a tongue peeking out as he teases the barbell against his bunny teeth. “A lot.” 

Cute. Mike scoffs out a laugh, endeared. “Uh-uh. Not good enough, I want more than that, Will.” Mike takes himself in hand and Will’s breath catches as he touches the head of it to Will’s lips but Will’s a good boy and he doesn’t move to grab, doesn’t lick, just sits still and waits for Mike to tell him what to do next, lips slightly parted. A long languid stroke has him groaning, foreskin sliding back and forth, precum already making it feel wet, easy, “Fuck, c’mon, you want this, don’t you? Wanna drool all over my cock? Say it. Say it and maybe I’ll let you.” 

Will keens, eyes glittering as he watches Mike’s hand move, the way his fingers circle himself, glossy at his head every time he pulls back. He watches it, nearly whining when it gets hidden by his skin, the curl of his long fingers. “And look at me when you do.” 

At that, Will’s gaze swings up to him, chin raised and eyebrows arched, looking as sweet as ever. He looks like art, like some contemporary piece that’s trying to build a narrative on the human condition, beauty in filth, a white dove as it lays in the gutter, the innocent fur of a bunny as it sits next to the open maw of a bear trap. Mike wants to frame him with his hands, sling velvet ropes against his skin, shine a spotlight on him just to tell everyone to fuck off and not look. All for Mike’s eyes, all for him. “I want it really, really bad, Mike. I want it more than anything.” 

“More than anything huh?” When Will just nods, Mike presses the head of his dick to his lips and the sensation is too far from close enough, he wants to press in, push past, make him take it all, “More than breathing?” 

When Will answers, those plush lips brush, wet and shining with his cum, against the sensitive head of his cock and it’s the greatest tease, the worst sort of denial. Mike wants to push inside already, feel the hot wet heat of his mouth. “I wanna feel you,” Will brushes lithe artist’s hands up his thighs, dodging the way his jeans have tightened at his crotch, skipping over the barbells where they’re trying to push through his shirt, chest rising as his breaths come short, palming his own throat, painting Mike the prettiest picture he’s ever seen, “I wanna feel you right here, Mike. Wanna breathe you.” 

And fuck, if that isn’t exactly what Mike asked him to do. Now he’s gotta give him a reward, let him do what he looks like he’s begging for, batting his eyelashes and acting coy. The stall shudders under him as he settles against it, angling his hips forward. “Remember—” 

“No touching,” Will affirms, goes so far as to put his hands behind his back and Jesus fucking Christ, the man himself could walk in and Mike would be convinced this was heaven, with Will Byers sitting on his heels in a dirty club bathroom, about to take communion the way its beading on his tip. 

Then Mike’s brain takes a dive down into where he’s got his fist around himself because Will licks a wide stripe up the underside of his dick, the ball bearing of his tongue piercing bright with sensation, like the graze of a finger along his thick vein. Mike’s head slams back into the door, the pulsing at his crown matching the way he's throbbing in Will’s mouth. Will teases the tip of his tongue right under his head, dipping below his skin and the small round metal of his piercing presses against the sensitive tip, dragging the pull of Mike’s gut down with him to the dirty tile floor. Mike can see the way he fills up at the action, skin pulling back, lengthening to something that Mike's Will's mouth look tiny in comparison.

Will’s drooling all over his dick, wet and obscene as he lavs his tongue, flat and wanton over his head, piercing catching on the part of him that gets his hips twitching forward, Will taking the motion with a wider gape of his jaw, spit shining over his chin. Mike has to grip himself at the root as he watches, looking down his nose at Will’s teary eyes, eyelashes thick and liner smudging as he shakes, shoulders shifting as he holds himself back from touching. It’s lewd as fuck, it’s hot, it’s the best night of his life. It’s too quiet. 

Mike should be saying something. Telling Will that this makes him unavailable, a boyfriend, his unavailable boyfriend. He wants to ask if this makes them exclusive or if this is just being friends again. Instead, he sees the tears, hears the little sounds he's making and wants to soothe. Remembers the dancing, the men looking, Will telling people he's single and wants to provoke, bat him around a little, tease.

“Y-You’re doing so good, baby. Your mouth is my favorite thing about you, you know? P-Perfect. Pretty. So good, uh, e-even when you’re bad.” 

At that, Will makes an irritable sound, nose scrunching as he looks up at Mike, denial raw in his squinted eyes. Mike wasn’t lying. He looks good like this, wrapped around his cock. The attitude is surprising though. And it makes him frown, brows furrowing, lip curling a little as his hand tangles into the long hair at the back of Will’s head. 

“Letting everybody on that dance floor touch you? Telling everyone you're single? You don’t call that being bad, baby? Should I even call you that? You think you deserve to be mine?”

“Mn,” Will moans, eyes rolling a little as he takes Mike in further, teeth cushioned by his lips, spit all over ensuring an easy slide in, tongue thick and hot under the heft of him as he slides his dick deeper into Will’s mouth. Mike brushes his hair out of his eyes, caressing a thumb over the pleading angle of an eyebrow, palm slipping down to cup the underside of his chin, encouraging Will to open wider, pressing against his jaw. He slips in further. 

“You let them touch you even when you knew I was watching, huh? What am I gonna do with you? I shouldn’t even let you suck my dick. Should let you sit there all wet and leave you alone, huh? Maybe let someone else touch you instead.” He says even if it bucks ugly and possessive in his chest, kicking at the feeling. Yeah, fuck no. No one’s ever gonna touch Will again. Not their friends, maybe not even his brother. Mike wants him all to his fucking self. 

Will’s cry is muffled around his girth, an eyeliner-tinged tear slipping down his cheek as he gazes up at Mike, seemingly woeful and sorry. 

“No? You’re not very nice, Will. Everyone says you are, but you’re not, huh? Deep down, you’re mean and petty and jealous. You like to parade me around like you own me, like I’m just a plaything but that’s not true is it?” 

Will’s arms move out from behind his back and Mike snaps his fingers in his ear even as he uses his grip on Will’s jaw to pull him onto his dick, still not even halfway in. Will whines, high and needy, frustrated tears gathering at the corners of his eyes as he settles flat on the tile floor, slamming his palms down over his ankles, clutching them, white-knuckled and riled up, but still listening, yielding to Mike’s unspoken censure, to the weight of him on his tongue. 

“The truth is you’re mine. You always have been. Just mine, just my baby, huh? Even though you’re not being fair to me, even though you’re being a dirty little liar to everyone, I love you anyway, you know that right?” 

He doesn’t need to do anything else, push the back of Will’s head closer to his waist, goad him into pleasing Mike because Will does it himself, the head of Mike’s cock squeezing into the sultry heat of his throat, wet and intoxicating, as his nose bumps into the back of Mike’s knuckles where he’s still got a hold of himself, keeping careful control so he doesn’t blow his load, ruin the fun. Will peers up at him through the swath of dark lashes whining something that sounded like it could be Mike’s name. 

“Should I let you? You think you deserve it?” 

Will shakes his head. 

“See? You can tell the truth. I don’t know why you gotta wait until you’re gagging on my dick to do it. You’re such a brat, but you’re a good boy, too. Aren’t you?” Will doesn’t agree, eyes wrenched tight, eyeliner running, throat hugging him, swallowing around him like a dream. But that’s okay, Mike will make sure he knows he is later. He must have a superpower or something, though, because he can feel wave after wave crash against his gut, electricity sizzling in his marrow but he isn’t close to cumming at all, not yet, not when there’s still so much to do. “I’m gonna let you have it anyway. ‘Cuz you’re so pretty, ‘cuz you look like an angel sitting at my feet. So fucking beautiful. So mine.” 

Both hands free now, Mike moves them to the sides of Will’s head, tucking his hair behind his ears and fiddling with his earrings. “You’re so cute, Will.” 

“Mm-mm.” 

“Careful. You keep disagreeing with me.” 

He encourages Will deeper until Mike can feel the tight drag of Will’s throat surrounding him as he pushes inside, Will exhaling harsh out of nose at the intrusion. Mike hadn’t ever really wondered if Will had a gag reflex or not. Honestly, the thought of Will not being able to take the entire length of his dick was kind of adorable. The way he might try his best but inevitably couldn’t stop gagging over it. But this was good too because it meant Will was made for him, the hollow of his throat fit around Mike’s girth as if molded for its exact width. 

Will was warm and hot and it felt so comfortable to be held like this, Will careful as he made little swallowing motions, sparks of bright heat dripping down Mike’s spine as he drooled down Will’s throat, pre-cum throbbing out of his head where it sat snug inside. “You feel so good, Will. We should keep you like this all the time. Keep you full of me.” 

He’s not even keeping himself upright anymore, leaning fully into Mike, not even trying to get him off, really, just cockwarming him, eyes glazed over, nose to the hair at the root of his dick and chin jutting into the soft skin of his sac. Will’s so fucking gone just by having his cock in his mouth and it’s so hot Mike has to close his eyes and knock his head against the stall door again before he loses the thread. He hasn’t done enough, he needs to do more, he needs to tangle it more, wrap it around Will’s heart until he couldn’t see where Mike began and Will ended, veins knotted together, longing to be even closer than this.  

“You wanted this so bad, didn’t you? That’s why you’re so quiet now. Desperate for it. I gave you what you wanted, didn’t I? You’re perfect. My beautiful little cocksleeve.” Mike’s wide palm presses close against his bobbing throat and fuck, the feeling is insane, really. The way he can feel himself through Will’s skin like this, pushing gently against the ridges under his hand, squeezing tighter as his eyes roll, groaning loud. God, Will feels like heaven. Mike wants to die in his hold. Wants to cum down his throat, fill him up, Will so full of him, walking around, talking to people like wasn't carrying some of Mike with him everywhere. 

All of a sudden, the muted thump of the music gets less muffled, blasting through the bathroom door that swings open behind a quick pace, slamming shut as someone elbows their way into a stall, slamming it open with a curse. Mike swallows one of his own as Will takes him even deeper, throat constricting around him as if he were balls deep in his ass, drooling around his dick, fucking hungry for it. He looks down and is nearly undone at the sight, Will's teary eyes, his flushed face, the makeup smeared around long beautiful eyelashes. God, he's so fucking pretty and so Mike's. Letting him do this to him. In the stall beside them, the guy finishes pissing with a sigh, buckling himself up again and Mike winks down at Will who widens his eyes as he shifts his foot, nudges his Doc between Will's legs. 

"MN!" Will's arm twitches forwards, hand clenching over nothing, hovering an inch away from Mike's shin, eyes clenched shut. No touching. Good boy. 

In the bathroom, the bright sound of the guy's belt pauses, "Bro, hell yeah. Get some!" 

Mike grins down at Will, raising his eyebrows but Will's barely paying attention, hand around his own throat, not squeezing, not gripping, just holding. As if he was relishing in the reminder, the presence of Mike's thick cock in his throat. Cherishing it? Loving it? Mike feels breathless, feels it crank up the alcohol in his bloodstream to a thousand, crossfaded on hard liquor and Will's tight, wet mouth. Fuck it. "Thanks, man. Can you leave already though? My baby's shy." 

"No worries, man. Fuck, I wish I—" He mutters as he leaves, music stifled and bathroom silent, just the two of them under shitty lighting, cracked tile floors and plastic stalls Mike's own cathedral, his cum anointing his best friend's lips, exalting Will from his person to his angel, one whose feathers he was tangling his fingers in, angling his head up, allowing him to slip down even further, nose pressed against Mike's skin so roughly it was a wonder he could even breathe. 

Will makes a weak sound, hips making a tiny movement against the big leather boot in between his legs and while this is fun, Mike wants to hear Will. He loves listening to Will talk— loves the way he's so animated when he’s comfortable, sure in his skin, the way he doesn't show to anyone else but Mike. This is lovely and all but Mike wants to hear his cries echo off the bathroom tiles more. Wants to fuck him deep inside and listen to him beg Mike to let him cum, let him have a chance— make the choice to be good. 

“Hey, pull off.” 

That clears up the haze in Will’s honeyed green eyes, brows beginning to furrow. “Mm?” 

Mike presses his fingers against Will’s jaw, right under his ears and Will makes a sound of complaint and it feels good, his throat clenching tighter around him. Will’s moan buzzes pleasant and he could come like this, he really could, but Will wasn’t gonna ruin the fun. Not tonight. Not before Mike could have more of his own. “Get off my dick.” 

The sound of him sliding out of Will’s throat is lewd, wet, pornographic. It has his dick jumping as it bobs out of Will's mouth, pretty lips red and pouting as he wipes at them with the back of his wrist. “Ugh,” Will rasps, voice husky, slight lisp as his tongue lays heavy and numb against his bottom lip, “What's wrong wi— Why?” 

“Stop complaining.” Mike holds a hand out for Will and he takes it, wobbling on deadened legs as Mike pulls him up and out of the stall. 

“Mike?” 

He pushes Will against the counter, catching sight of himself in the reflection above the sink. His eyes are dark and the dingy light of the bathroom washes him out, makes his skin look paler than ever, hair black as if it were absorbing all the light in the small room. But Will’s voice. Mike missed hearing it. It makes the buzz under his skin spread from his chest to his extremities, makes him feel warm and kinda giddy, a careless excitement that has him brushing his lips against Will's cheek, lowering his voice to slur in his ear. “So you got what you want and now you don’t wanna listen?” Mike boxes him in, hands at either side of Will’s hips. He liked Will on his knees but the way he towers over him like this is way better. He likes how big Will makes him feel, how capable. Mike likes feeling him against his body, likes him being close, well within reach. Will’s lips are swollen, red and glossy with spit and Mike wonders if it counts as anything to kiss him now. 

Will looks down at where Mike’s still hard, cock curving up between them, brushing against Will’s little half-shirt, teasing skin under the hem. His eyes fly to the bathroom door and then back down. “Mike— You’re still— What if someone—”  

“Pay attention to me, Will.” 

“I am—” Will’s eyes stray to the door again. The music is thumping something slow now, a dreamy lazy beat where it shakes the walls and Mike likes the way it tames the rush of his blood, makes him feel focused. Focused on where Will is still distracted. That’s no good. He’s not being good anymore. “It’s just—” 

“Just nothing. Look at me.” 

For what it’s worth, Will does listen, pretty eyes on him even as he’s worrying the swell of his bottom lip with his cute white teeth, finger back to messing with the hoop in his ear. “Mike.” 

“You were so good.” 

“Huh?” 

Mike presses closer, nuzzling at the underside of his jaw, pressing something light and fleeting, barely there to his throat, where he’d just been held, where he’d been in Will. He ruts, a little, dick slipping under the hem of Will’s shirt and sliding wet against the sweat of Will’s belly. “So good for me, but only when you want it. That’s not nice, Will.” Hands fly up to clutch at Mike's biceps. 

“No, that’s— I’m good, I promise—” 

Mike nips at his ear. “No, you’re not. You’re just using me. Am I just a toy to you? One you can fill yourself up with and throw to the side when you’re done?” 

“Mike, can we— Let’s go home instead, okay? We can do this there—” 

Too late, he thinks, disappointed. 

He pulls away from where he’d been playing with his earring with his mouth, brushing their noses together, Will’s pleading green eyes almost too much to bear. Mike was too soft on him, the way he can feel something in him give. Fine. He’ll give Will what he wants. Show him that he’s perfect like this. That he shouldn’t feel the need to hide. 

“Turn around.” 

“But—” 

“Try again.” 

“Mike—” 

“Did you forget how to say yes?” Mike grips his hips and while Will chokes down what sounds like a little hiccuping sob, he still turns without Mike having to use much strength. The sight of them in the mirror, terrible lighting and all, is so nice Mike almost wants to yell for someone to bring a camera, immortalize it, so he can carry around an amber-tinged filmstrip in his shirt pocket, keep it close to his heart. His perfect, perfect Will. 

“Look at you.” He murmurs in his ear. Will can barely look at their reflection, head bowed and eyes cast off to the side. “So pretty.” Mike’s big hands glance against a small waist, pushing his shirt up and out of the way as they slide up, fits fingers into the spaces of his ribs, pressing firm. “My little sweet thing. Why don’t you wanna look?” 

“I don’t—” Will shakes his head, ears red, cheeks pink, flushing down his throat and down under the collar of his shirt. Mike wants to see just how far down he bleeds. 

“Look at what’s mine.” That gets Will’s attention, eyes flicking to Mike’s in the mirror before they fall back to where he’s clutching the countertop in front of his waist. “Oh, so that’s it, huh?” 

“What?” Will mumbles. 

Mike doesn’t answer, laughing lightly into the hair at Will’s nape. Despite the rank smell of the club, bodies and sweat and heat, the tang of a public bathroom, Will doesn’t absorb any of it. Mike noses into his skin, his hair— breathes in something clean, sweet and musky, making him think of the soft fuzz of a peach, and underneath it all, piquant and solely something Will, all provocative and charming. His baby. He just needs some more attention, but Mike’s gotta show him the right way to ask for it. 

“So you’re gonna act like a slut and then expect me to treat you like a princess?” 

Will whips his head up, eyes wide and mouth parted but Mike doesn’t let him speak, palming the slight round of his pecs, little barbells warmed by body heat and hard between the vee of his fingers, watching as Will’s eyes flutter, mouth dropping wider, offense turning to pleasure as he massages them, pinching his fingers shut, a gentle tug that Will cries out at and yeah, Mike was right. He sounds downright angelic, the way it reverberates in his ears, a feedback loop that he pushes into, heavy cock rubbing against the careworn denim of Will’s jeans, pulled tight over the fat curve of his ass. 

“Fuck, Mike, wait—” 

“Baby, you’re just gonna make this harder on yourself, you realize that?” 

“But—” Mike tugs a little harder at a nipple and Will’s knees buckle, Mike pushing roughly into him from behind to catch his weight, supporting it against the counter. “God, please.” 

“God?” Mike huffs, pressing a kiss behind Will’s ear, eyes focused on the way it looks like Will’s already falling to pieces because of a bit of groping, eyes wrenched shut, trembling as he claws a hand around Mike’s forearm. He must be sensitive. “Nothing like him here, baby. Just me.” 

“Mike—” 

“You gonna be good?” He whispers. 

“Yes!” 

“Then open.” 

Will whines as he lets his tongue loll out. Not what he needed, but Mike appreciates the sight, the effort, he won’t complain. Just needed a little spit but he can give him a little more, just for being so cute. He slides two fingers inside and Will closes his lips around them, sucking as Mike’s other hand teases his nipple, pinching a barbell clumsily, tiny in his bigger fingers and wiggling. It makes Will swallow around the two fingers in his mouth, a low satisfied purr Mike can feel in his hand as he moans. Will’s pressing back against him and Mike wishes he could fuck him here right now, but Will’s got one thing right. That’s gotta happen at home. Doesn't mean nothing else can happen though.

He fucks his fingers inside, pressing hard against Will’s tongue, barbell in his mouth rubbing in between them and the feel of it echoes the way it had felt against his dick, making him groan, forehead pressing against Will’s back. Mike pushes rough, too much, too fast and Will chokes, the sound erotic as fuck. He hooks his chin over Will’s shoulder and watches in the mirror as he teases wet fingertips on the little nub of his nipple that sits between gleaming steel, shirt rucked up to his collarbones, jeans sitting low on his waist, V-lines faint, gem twinkling at him from his bellybutton. 

Will looks like an angel, writhing in Mike’s arms, under Mike’s fingertips, mouth swollen and red, eyes glassy with tears, shimmering tracks of glittery eyeliner softened down his cheeks. His long hair is messy around his ears, falling into his face as he bends at the waist, both hands coming up to clutch at the back of Mike’s where he continues to pluck at his nipples, grasping at his pecs, loving the feel of them in his palms. “Stop— Mike— It’s too much—” 

“I thought you said you were going to be good?” 

“I am!” 

“And now you’re lying again.” 

“F-uck,” Mike has to bite down on a grin as he watches Will’s eyes roll up, eyelashes twitching as he shakes. “‘m not.” 

“Then be good for me.” 

“M-Make me.” Will chokes out, squeezing Mike’s hands tighter to his tits. Oops. Not Mike’s fault he’s got a handful here. Probably enough to look pretty in something lacy and delicate. Mike has to bite his own tongue before something mean slips out. “Make me good for you.” 

Mike laughs, trying to catch Will’s eye in the mirror but the other man is dodging it and despite the way Mike’s stopped moving his hands, Will keeps pressing his hands into his chest, moving against him, slutty and wanting. So bad. “You wanna rethink that?” 

“No,” Will whines when Mike presses a thigh in between his legs, teasing where Mike can feel him hard beneath the constricting tightness of his jeans. 

“Then too bad,” Mike pulls his leg away, snatches his hands off Will’s chest. “What am I gonna do with you, babygirl?” 

Will bows over his fists where they sit clenched on the countertop. “Mike, don’t—” 

“You’re adorable when you’re being difficult.” Mike’s bad at this because Will doesn’t do anything but whine and press back into the thick heft of his dick, doesn’t even say sorry, and Mike’s hands are back on Will, unbuttoning his jeans and digging his thumbs into the waistband of his denim and his underwear, dragging them down with difficulty, fat ass and thick thighs looking supple in the bad lighting. “Are you gonna be good for me? I’ll give you what you want if you are.” 

“Yeah, yeah, Mike, I promise this time.” Will’s trying to look over his shoulder where Mike’s teasing a finger back and forth, dipping between the dimples above his ass and ignoring the fevered skin on full display, jeans squeezing Will’s legs together, keeping him still and in front of Mike, unable to move away. 

“You’ve been lying to me all night. I need something better than that.” 

Will’s eyes are glassy with tears again. “Um, I’ll be good. So good for you. Can you—” he glances at the bathroom door “—please touch me before someone comes in?” 

Mike sighs, grasping his waist, thumbs digging into where Will’s ass starts to fill out, where the gratuitous curve of it begins. Mike wants to eat him out, wants him to sit on his face, wants to tie him up, arms to his legs, leave him ass up and crying. But he’s not being good enough for all that. Not yet. 

“Try again, baby.” 

“Fuck, Mike, what do you want me to say?” He cries. 

“Tell the truth. Admit you’ve been lying to me.” 

“I haven’t!” Mike wishes Will would just let go, let himself be taken care of, tell Mike the truth. That they're boyfriends, that all this was just a ploy to get Mike to pay attention to him. 

He coos, "Aw, you need a little more attention? Little bit more love?” He caresses Will's arms until he reaches the delicate knob of his wrists, circling them with a firm grip and pulling them away from where he’s curling into himself. “Let’s give you some, then, since you’re so desperate for it. Look.” 

Will shakes his head. 

“Look, baby.” 

Will does and this time, his eyes catch on himself. On the way his shirt stays up over the swell of his pecs, the pebbled appearance of his nipples, perky and skin pink around the pale brown petals Mike’s been plucking at. He’s blushed all the way down to his belly and he’s gazing at himself as he breathes heavy, spread open by Mike’s arms, like a pinned butterfly, beautiful, dazzling. 

“See? Nothing to hide.” Mike kisses the side of his throat as Will watches in the mirror. “You’re stunning. I’m so lucky to have you, so lucky you’re mine.” His dick is still slightly damp from sitting in Will’s throat, still kept weeping as he corralled Will into listening to him, so it makes it easy to slip between the snug embrace of his thighs, pressed tightly against one another, feels the heavy drag of it against Will’s sac, the length of him just a little shorter but no real match for Mike’s girth. The slide is just this side of dry but Mike presses a wide palm to Will’s lower back to encourage him to lean forward, almost has him flattened against the mirror, can see the way his breath fogs it up and when his dick slides out, Mike spits. 

“Please.” Will begs.

“No, I’ll give you everything but that. You don’t get to be fucked tonight. Not with my dick.” 

It’s a little wetter, barely any different but Mike’s always been the type to cum too much, a few more thrusts and his precum is enough to make it start feeling really good. Mike wishes Will had been nice ‘cuz then they coulda been half-way home and about to fuck. Now all they had was this. “You shoulda just told me, baby. Told me you wanted me to fuck you. If you’d been nice about it, I woulda.” 

Mike kneads at the firm give of Will’s ass, can imagine the way he’d look with Mike thrusting inside of him. There’s a couple of freckles he wants to put his mouth to. His hands are big enough to cover both cheeks but there’s still a little extra that spills out of the spaces between his fingers, looks fucking delectable as he pushes them together, fucking into Will’s thighs, feels Will’s dick start crying, dripping on Mike’s head. He feels like he’s melting from the inside out. “You’re so wet when I touch you here. Y-You like this? Feels better? Better than your tits?”

He pulls a cheek to the side and Will gasps at the feel, the way his hole clenches around nothing, “Don’t—” 

“You’re not wet here, though. Am I not doin’ it for you, babygirl?”

“Shit.” Will presses back, starts meeting his motions halfway, intertwining the fingers of one hand where Mike’s got a grip on his waist. Mike kinda likes holding his hand like this. Feels like a boyfriend. He’s sure the title’s already his though. No doubt. “You’re being—”

“What? Mean? I’m just telling the truth.” 

“Calling me t-that— You know I’m not—” 

Mike laughs, lets go of his asscheek to watch it bounce back into place, reaching around to put a hand in front of Will’s mouth. Doesn’t need to ask, Will gathering spit and letting it drool down into his palm. Mike grasps them both and he stops moving his hips, flicking his wrist, deep languid strokes against one another, wet and velvety skin overheated, “Yeah, I know. But you’re still my girl. My babyboy. Everything about you’s mine. Every part. Tell me.” 

“I— I—” Mike cups the head of Will’s dick in his palm, rubbing gently, barely there motions that have Will shuddering. Mike can feel the way his balls pull tight where he keeps fucking into them, Will’s dick weeping, dripping wet like a girl over Mike’s dick. The way Will’s hips are twitching, fucking into Mike’s hand, the little hitches of his breath, getting higher in pitch tell him that Will’s close. “Yeah, a-and?” 

“You want more?” 

Will nods, overeager, earrings swishing, “Yes, please.” He already looks so fucked out in the grimy mirror and he’s being polite, being good. He’s so fucking cute, Mike wants to bite at his cheeks, at his chest, mark him everywhere the sun doesn’t shine and everywhere it does. Wants Will to walk around with the bruise of Mike’s teeth on him, a garter around his thighs only Mike can wrap over the heft of them, high up on his throat to show where he’d been, lovebites to tattoo, to stake a claim, show who owned him. 

But he’s being a brat again, not listening. Not letting Mike’s words fall from between his mouth, the way a prayer might sound, the way he’d looked on his knees earlier, reverent under the weight of Mike’s cock. When Will falls against the mirror, cheek against his reflection, kissing the grime of it with pretty lips, hips stuttering, Mike circles his fingers right under the head of his dick and chokes the orgasm before Will can feel it crash through him. 

Mike nearly jumps when Will screams, grinning wildly at the way he loses his usually so carefully kept composure. He’s not that sorry when he laughs. “Y-You—” 

“Careful.”

Will sobs, fingers curling into the mirror, fist shaking as he trembles, “S-So mean.” 

“You were mean to me first. Using me for my dick. You think I’m your personal dildo? No, baby. I’m better than that. More important than that. You’re mine. Don’t forget that.” 

“O-Okay,” Will sniffles, “sorry, babe. I’ll be good.” 

“You just needed a little push, huh?” Mike kisses his nape. “Say it properly, now.” 

Will keens, “It’s embarrassing.” 

“It’s not, baby. Just you and me.” 

“Can you—” 

“No. Say it first.” Mike pulls his hand away when he feels Will’s dick stop throbbing, cum pearling out pretty. He slaps the side of Will’s thigh, the sound wet from the mix of cum and spit on his palm and Will gasps. “Squeeze your legs tighter, baby, you’re too loose. Can barely feel anything.” 

Will groans, voice going an octave deeper, husky as he slaps a hand to the mirror, “Do I have to say it?” He whines, tries to meet Mike’s eyes over his shoulder but Mike’s got his eyes set on something else, teasing the wet of his fingers in between Will’s fat ass. He’s hot down here, skin like silk, soft and giving when Mike presses two fingers inside. 

“Fuck, Mike, wait, are you really—” 

“Oh, you’re a sweetheart,” Mike kisses the back of his head, “thanks for reminding me, Will.” He pauses, Will’s rim clenching taut around the first bony knuckle of his fingers. “Tell me how good you’ll be for me.” 

“I will be!” He tries to push back and Mike pulls away completely. “No, please, wait—” 

“Will you be good and let me finger you? I can do that if you just tell me. Or I can pull out, leave you here to do it yourself.” 

“No, no,” Will’s next breath is shuddery and thin. Mike watches him lick his lips, looking up at him from underneath his eyelashes, pink bleeding across his face, his cute nose, “I’ll be y-your— good g-girl.” 

Mike feels something like satisfaction seep down from his head and spread molten throughout his body. It fans the simmering lust that he’d left on the backburner, turning it into something like a wildfire as it burns through him, snatching Will’s hands from in front of him to grip both wrists in one big hold, wrenching them back and crushing them against the small of his back. “E-Easy, Mike!” 

The position forces Will’s chest to the countertop completely and he has to hold his head up so that it’s not hanging into the sink, steel of his nipple piercings clicking against porcelain. It’s better for Mike though because Will’s balance is precarious, making the muscles of his thighs constrict tight around his dick, better because Mike uses the hold on Will to pull him back, as leverage to fuck his thighs properly, hips clapping against the fat of Will’s ass, the sound loud and obvious. It echoes in the bathroom, Will’s bleating moans, high and drowning out the bass that Mike can’t even hear anymore, his own pounding heart beating in time with every thrust. 

In between one slam of his hips and the next, Mike tugs Will’s cheek to the side and spits, can barely wait as it drips into his hole, two fingers crooking inside Will’s rim, as he pulls him back to meet his next thrust. He uses his other fingers on the same hand to spread him as best as he can and spits again, fucking into him easier now. “So fucking tight, baby. How am I supposed to fit?” He’s drenched in between his legs, hole squeezing Mike’s fingers deeper and deeper. Will’s crying in earnest now, babbling something Mike can barely hear over how wet he sounds, indecent, vulgar, so pretty and all Mike’s. 

“You’re so gorgeous, Will. Can you hear me? You’re so pretty. You’re taking me so well, you’re such a good boy, you deserve to feel so, so good.” Mike loses a little bit of his rhythm, his own encroaching orgasm arriving like the ozone of a storm, lightning rod catching the buzz of it, tingling dangerous in his spine, bleeding down into his waist, where his cock is being wrung dry in between fat thighs, balls pulling taut. 

The door swings open, the pulse of the music sudden and shocking, but Mike doesn’t lose the fire, doesn’t pause fucking him. Instead it makes something unfurl in his chest, something gratifying, like arguing with a professor in class and being proved right. Now Will really can’t hide, can’t shy away from how pretty he is, how desirable. 

But there’s a little thorn on the stem of the rose and no matter how beautiful it blooms, Mike still pricked himself on it when he explicitly tried to smooth careful fingers over it, trying to keep it pretty and lovely and alive. He’s gotta show it off to someone else, show them how it made him bleed, how it’s all Mike’s. 

“Uh oh, baby!” 

The dude freezes, eyes wide, mouth hanging open. “Holy shit.” 

Below him, Will’s moans stutter off into something more frail, “N-No.” 

“This is so embarrassing,” Mike sighs, still yanking Will back to fuck him, three fingers deep. He spits again, saliva drying out and making the skin of his fingers catch on Will’s rim, “Now I’m not the only person who’s seen how wet your pussy gets for me.” Despite how Will’s wriggling, whimpering at the sight of the stranger just watching, he’s clenching like fucking crazy around Mike’s fingers, hips pressing back with every drive of Mike’s waist, skin red around his wrists where Mike’s got an iron grip around him, claiming. 

He’s trembling like an autumn leaf a second away from falling off the branch but he isn’t turning away from the guy, tears spilling out, making his eyes look all bright and alluring, drooling onto the counter. “Say something, baby. You had so much to say before. Is it ‘cuz you’re shy?” 

“Jesus Christ.” 

Mike rolls his eyes, sighing under his breath. He had a point to prove to Will but it doesn’t mean he likes it. He turns to look over his shoulder. The dude looks like a complete fucking nerd, thin framed glasses and curly blond hair. He’s shorter than Mike, a string bean, wearing a fucking polo shirt to the club. Push comes to shove, Mike can do both, can win this fight, get this fucker out of here soon as Will learns his lesson. “Yeah, look at him. He’s a fuckin’ angel, isn’t he?”

The guy’s face turns red and splotchy, “Fuck, yeah, holy shit.” 

Will keens, “M-Mi—” 

“So pretty, baby. Everyone wants you so much. You should listen to me more. When I tell you to be good, it’s ‘cuz I know you are. You know you’re a good boy, don’t you?” 

The wrong guy agrees. “Yeah.”  

Alright, show and tell is fucking over. 

Mike leans close, to cover Will with his body, hide him from the guy’s eyes and whisper in his ear,“You see? Everybody thinks so. Everyone agrees with me. You’re so good. So beautiful, so pretty.” And then he turns to glower over his shoulder, “And he’s fucking mine so get the fuck out of here before I beat your ass for even looking at him.” 

It’s enough to scare him off, red face turning pale as he turns and runs, bathroom door slamming shut. Mike goes straight back to fucking his thighs, crooking his fingers into Will’s hole, ass plush against the palm of his hand, using the hold in him to press deep, long fingers pressing insistent against that little bundle of nerves. Mike lets go of the hold on his wrists to fist the wet slide of their dicks against one another and Will falls apart, coming with a silent scream, eyes rolling to the back of his head as he twitches against the counter.

Mike follows after in the next second, the tight hot heat of him around his fingers, the feel of Will shaking in his arms, the feel of him pulsing soft and wet against his own dick, so fucking good he can barely speak. Mike’s gone, struck by the torrid crest of his own orgasm, far better than anything he’s ever felt before, bowing over Will, pressing his weight against him, holding him close as he cums, “So good, baby, you’re so good. So proud of you, angel, my pretty little thing.” 

He breathes heavy against the back of Will’s neck as his vision hazes back into place, fingers still buried deep, dick still ensconced in the fat of his thighs. Underneath him, Will’s breath is still catching, small little adorable sounds Mike just wants to swallow up. He presses a kiss to the nape of his neck again, nuzzling into his hair. “You’re unavailable, okay?” 

“Mn, ‘kay.”