Archive of Our Own

The ballroom is too warm.

The heat is trapped beneath hundreds of hanging gold lights, beneath bodies wrapped in expensive fabric and perfume and something so fake that Mike can't put a finger on it. Everything smells faintly like champagne and polished wood.

Mike loosens his tie for the fiftieth time.

He watches Will walk two steps behind Carlton – his head duck, his eyes darting from side to side – and downs another glass of champagne.

Mike hates Carlton. He's been searching the room for something, something that could kill him quickly, but Mike wouldn't be that lucky.

“Mike, control yourself,” Max says beside him.

When Mike looks at her, she's taking a sip of champagne.

“What do you mean? I'm perfectly controlled.”

“Your fangs are showing.”

“My fang— don't be ridiculous.” Mike looks back at Carlton. He shakes hands with some older women, greeting them.

Will follows behind him.

Like a damn dog.

“I'm just saying,” Max continues. “Will will notice. And he'll get even more nervous.”

She starts walking, and Mike follows. No fucking way he's going to stay there alone, in the middle of all those people.

“But Carlton doesn’t even look at him.”

“He’s busy, Mike,” Max says, but she doesn’t seem to believe much in what she’s saying. “We’re doing this for Will, don’t forget that. Even if – and I’m saying if because you always jump to the wrong conclusions – Carlton is ignoring him, then so be it. We’re here for that too.”

Mike sighs, and Max keeps a hard look on her face for another second before shifting back to the movement.

They're at an expensive hotel ballroom attending a fundraising event for the campaign of future state senator Carlton Heeves. A place full of rich, probably prejudiced, old men who don't care that their darling has a boyfriend.

A boyfriend much younger than him.

Will Byers, in this case.

There's journalists everywhere and security guards at the doors. Waiters walk around with champagne flutes and a jazz band plays some boring songs that makes Mike feel like it's Christmas. The lights are giving him a headache.

Mike can't stand it. He can't stand the event, of course, and these pretentious aristocrats, but he can't stand Carlton even less.

It wasn't always like this. In the beginning, despite being worried about Will, he tried to befriend Carlton.

No. Befriend is too strong a word.

He tried to accept Carlton. Even though he didn't care at all about fitting in, the whole party tried to include him, just like they did with Danielle, Dustin's girlfriend. They weren't the kind of jerks who wouldn't accept outsiders.

But with Carlton, it was impossible. First, because he's fucking thirty-six. He doesn't understand anything Will likes, can't keep up with the jokes, doesn't have much patience to stay until the end of movie nights, and definitely doesn't like any of them.

He pretends well. Perhaps for Will's sake, which is a point in his favor. And that leaves him with exactly one point, because Mike can't think of anything else that would make him deserve another.

But okay, fair enough. Mike understands that an old man like him can't keep up with the minds of twenty three year olds; it was to be expected.

The real problem starts when Will – sweet Will, who just wants to please, who just wants to be part of his boyfriend's pathetic universe – starts to make an effort. He changed his clothes. He speaks differently when around Carlton. He tried watching more conceptual, French films, acclaimed at international festivals, and ripped the horror movie posters from his room.

Well, that was before he moved in with Carlton a few months ago.

Mike needs more to drink. Something strong. Something that might make him bang his head hard on the asphalt and forget about this night.

He and Max are grabbing another glass when Will stops beside them. There's sweat on his forehead.

“Hey!” he says, his voice tinged with desperation and anxiety, a smile plastered on his face. “It’s great that you guys managed to come!”

“We always come, Will,” Max smiles at him, her hand on his arm. “Lucas had an emergency at the company, something with the system malfunctioning. He always has emergencies now.”

She rolls her eyes, but Will's smile widens.

“Well, now he's the head of IT, I guess that makes sense.” His eyes scan and then he looks back at Mike. “So… are you having fun? What do you think?”

Mike can't help it. He makes a sound through his nose, something like a choke, and completely ignores Max's gaze.

“A big pile of bulshit, if you want my opinion.”

“Oh, Mike, you’re so subtle.” Max would probably kick him if the dress weren’t so tight on her calves.

Will’s eyes widen. “Mike!” He kind of reprimands him, but there’s not much force in his tone. He gives Mike an once over. “Look at you, all fancy in that suit. You should take advantage of it.”

He’s dressed in black. Black suit, black shirt, black tie, black shoes. Like he’s in mourning.

“It’s been sitting in my closet since my Uncle George’s funeral. I guess I have Carlton Heeves to thank for the opportunity to wear it again.” Too bad it wasn’t at his funeral, he thinks.

Will laughs.

And Mike hates it.

Normally, Mike loves the sound of Will's laugh. It's always an almost embarrassing, yet genuine sound. Nothing like that laugh. The laugh of the elite, as if this environment is slowly seeping into his system.

“I should go back.” Will glances at his phone, not looking at his friends. “Carl says it’s important that I stick around, they like seeing that I support him.”

Mike wants to scream. He doesn’t, of course. But it’s such a huge effort that he feels like his brain is going to implode.

“Okay,” Max says. “Blink twice if you need us.”

Will blows her a kiss before running to Carlton’s side — or rather, behind him — again.

If Mike can ignore the ridiculous scene – where Carlton walks ahead, next to some random woman, with Will behind him like a puppy – he can see how pretty Will looks. His skin is glowing and his hair is perfectly tousled, in a way that looks effortless, but Mike knows he spent time fixing it in front of the mirror.

He's wearing a blueish grey suit and a white shirt. His shoes reflect the glare of the chandeliers around the hall.

What enrages Mike most is that Will could be shining. Thriving. Charming all these damn rich people, because he's brilliant. He's funny and intelligent, he understands art and politics, and he knows about all the current affairs. He could steal the spotlight from Boring Carlton Heeves in a matter of minutes.

And that's why Carlton asks him to stay back. Silent. Only speak when someone speaks to him.

From time to time, Will tries to get Carlton's attention, leans close to his ear to say something, or point something out, only for Carlton to give a polite smile and indicate, with his hand, that they'll talk later.

And while ignoring Will, Carlton laughs at people's certainly bad jokes. Touch elbows. Remembers names and family members. Poses for photos. Sometimes, Will is with him, always a step behind, a not so genuine smile on his lips. Other times, Will is isolated closer to a window, watching with distant eyes.

Mike hears people's comments. About how handsome Will is. How supportive he is of his partner. How polite and well-mannered he is. They have no idea who Will really is, and it's so annoying.

“Mike,” Max calls, almost singing, passing in front of him. “Fangs!”

It's a warning. He's angry, of course. He wants to drag Will out of the hall. Then they could take off their jackets, roll up their shirt sleeves, and go eat McDonald's, since neither of them can stand shrimp canapés and other weird things.

But Max doesn't need to remind him why they're there.

For Will. Always for Will.

In the beginning, when he went to any event with Carlton, Will practically had anxiety attacks before and after. Too many people, too much pressure.

So, his friends decided they would start attending. All of them or just one of them, it didn't matter. Someone would always be there for Will. Carlton finds a way for them to get in, whether he wanted them to or not.

Mike goes to all of them. No matter the day of the week, if he has work to do, if he's sick, if Carlton looks at him like he's the dirt on his shoe.

Nothing matters.

Nothing but Will.

About twenty minutes passed. Nothing happened. They kept walking, Carlton continued being warm with random people, laughing polite laughs, hugging fake women and ugly faced men, while Will took deep breaths and glanced at his phone every now and then, smiling when someone smiled in his direction and nodding in agreement with everything Carlton said.

It's torture. Probably hell is like this.

Next to Mike, Max slams her glass down on a table.

“Okay, I can’t take it anymore,” she says, closing her eyes. “He’s not even looking at him.”

“Oh, now you agree with me?”

“I always agreed with you, Mike. I just try to control myself because Will doesn’t deserve us judging his relationship.”

Mike groans. “What Will doesn’t deserve is this relationship.”

“I agree.”

They stand there, staring at the situation.

“Seriously, Mike. The last time Carlton talked to Will was about fifteen minutes ago. After that, he really started ignoring him, until Will stopped trying to start a conversation. I just—”

“Yeah, I want to kill him too.”

Mike has lost count of how many glasses he’s had. Not enough, certainly.

“Why is Will with him anyway?” Max asks with a grimace.

“I have no idea.”

“Another drink?”

“Definitely.”

They drink. Mike tries not to hang himself with his own tie as he walks across the room, Max clinging to his arm.

Then, Carlton and his small entourage are there, in front of them.

“Wheeler. I hope you’re enjoying the free drinks.” Carlton says this with a rehearsed smile on his lips, without even looking at him, waving to someone on the other side.

“I’ve drunk better champagne, I confess, but it's not that bad.” That’s Mike’s reply.

Carlton's smile changes slightly, and Mike feels this is a small victory.

“Happy to serve, Wheeler.”

“As you should be, Heeves.”

Mike is happy to know that Carlton probably hates him much more than the others. That he’s already tried to convince Will to stay away from Mike. Will never tried, but even if he did, Mike would never let him.

He doesn’t care so much about seeing Will with that jerk if Mike himself can be the thorn in that jerk’s side.

“Are you alright, Will?” Mike asks, his voice softer.

Will, who had been distracted, staring at a fixed point in the room, seems startled. He looks up at Mike.

“Oh— I’m fine—”

“Let’s keep going.” Carlton interrupts him. “We have more people to greet. Have a great night, you two.”

Max nods, but Mike doesn’t even bother. What he really wants is to grab Will by the wrist and pull him away from that scumbag.

Instead, he watches their backs walk away, taking another sip of champagne.

Mike has no idea what Will saw in Carlton. The guy isn’t exactly ugly, but he’s nothing special either. His hair is meticulously cut. He only wears boring suits. He watches boring news. He only drinks boring wine. He doesn’t like any kind of games or, well, fun. He doesn’t go to parties, except for the extremely boring ones.

He can only think that, perhaps, Carlton is good to Will. That, when it’s just the two of them, he’s kind and caring. He says he loves Will all the time and lets him paint clouds and trees and wild rivers and sunsets on his back when he has free time.

That he knows how lucky he is and appreciates it.

“I want to kill him. And then kill myself.”

To his surprise, Max laughs. It’s an almost strange sound in that blasé atmosphere.

“Ha. I doubt it. You’d never leave Will alone.” Max straightens his tie and then pats his chest twice. “Especially if Carlton is out of the picture.” And then winks at him.

It’s not a lie. But Mike prefers not to confirm or deny it.

He doesn’t think he deserves Will either. Will is a good person, while Mike thinks more often than is considered healthy about the different ways Carlton Heeves could (should) die.

“I’m leaving,” Max says when they reach the front door. “I can’t take this anymore.”

“What? You’re going to leave me alone?”

“I trust you won’t do anything stupid.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“Yeah, I know. But these shoes are killing me. And seeing Will down like this is already digging my grave, so… bye-bye.”

“Max—”

“Enjoy your night. Take care of Will. Don’t do anything stupid.” She’s leaving, but then pauses and looks at him. “Well, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, at least. Tell Will I said goodbye.”

And then she leaves, leaving Mike to mope alone.

Mike decides to stop drinking for now and stealthily begins to follow Carlton's entourage through the room. They are now standing near a small group of people laughing as if there were no problem in the world.

He watches Will watch Carlton.

There's something in his gaze, something hopeful. Almost nervous. Mike doesn't know exactly if Will is in love with Carlton, but sometimes it seems like he is.

It's Carlton who doesn't seem very in love. But perhaps Mike's opinion is biased. Especially when Will watches him expectantly, as if he wishes Carlton would watch him back.

Like something he doesn't yet have.

Carlton excuses himself from the sycophants and drags Will with him to the table with the food. His hand briefly touches Will's back. The sight hits Mike with immediate irrational violence.

Not exactly because of the touch. Mike sees Carlton touch Will every time he goes to his friends' hangouts or those idiotic events.

But something about it doesn't add up. It's a careless touch, as if it means nothing.

Like a thief sneaking in the shadows, Mike hides behind a heavy red velvet curtain near the stage and tries to peek through it.

“Hey, handsome,” Will says, but he has his back to Mike, so he can't see his expression. His voice is a mix of amusement and sensuality that, honestly, makes Mike a little dizzy. He's never heard Will talk like that.

Facing him is Carlton, who stares wide-eyed at Will, almost choking on the candy he just stuffed in his mouth.

He looks around before replying, scolding him. “Will. Don't start.”

What an asshole. Mike hates him so much.

“What? I'm not starting anything.” Will insists. Carlton isn’t looking at him. “It's just— you look sexy like that, all confident. Bossy.” He walks over to Carlton, placing his hand on his forearm, looking up, probably into his eyes. “Makes me think of… things.”

Like a total jerk, Carlton pulls his arm out of Will’s reach, scanning the room again.

“Stop acting like a slut. This place is full of journalists.”

Will visibly shrinks back. Mike can almost see him turn red, even without being able to see his face. Mike himself feels red, the heat rising up his neck.

His chest tightens.

Carlton looks at Will for the first time and sighs. He runs a hand through his hair, as if he’s lost his composure in this interaction.

His voice is condescending and distracted when he says, “Just behave tonight, okay?”

A beat. Mike is sweating.

“O-of course. Sorry, I— I wasn’t thinking, just— sorry. You’re right.” Will’s voice is barely a whisper.

“Stay here and eat something.” That’s all Carlton says before walking away, already with a huge smile on his face, as if nothing had happened.

And Mike…

Mike is furious. He feels all the champagne he drank churning in his stomach.

Will is there, staring at a copper tray, his head down, his back to the rest of the room. He looks smaller than he is, visibly hunched over. Ashamed. Mike sees his shoulders rise and fall with his heavy breath and he turns his head slightly toward Mike.

The light catches in his eyes, which look bright. Watery.

Mike can’t watch this. It physically hurts.

So, moving without exactly stepping out from behind the curtain, he reaches for the wrist of Will’s jacket, pulling it.

Will looks up at him, startled. But when he sees who it is, he takes a few steps until he's half-hidden behind the curtain too.

“Jesus, Mike! You scared me.”

“Hey,” Mike says, trying to control his breathing. “Sorry.”

“What are you doing here?”

Mike doesn't answer. There's no way to say that he was listening to the conversation so deliberately. But there's no way he can lie either. He feels like smoke is coming out of his nostrils.

“What did he do to you back there?” he asks instead.

Will blinks, trying to hold back tears. “What?”

“I— Will, you shouldn't let him talk to you like that.”

In a second, Will looks mortified. His lips are slightly parted and his eyes widen, before he swallows and schools his expression.

Then, he scoffs defensively. “It was nothing, Mike. He's just nervous.”

Mike runs his hands through his hair.

“Okay. So tell me he’s never spoken to you like that before. That this was the first time.”

Will stays quiet. That’s answer enough for Mike.

“It’s not because he’s nervous, then,” Mike concludes.

“He’s been nervous… lately.” Will crosses his arms over his chest. “It’s nothing.”

Mike pulls in a sharp breath through his nose, looking away. He can’t explode at Will when, in reality, it's Carlton he wants to punch in the face.

“It doesn’t seem like nothing.”

Will remains silent. He bites his lip and looks to the side, probably to where Carlton is posing for another photo.

Mike takes a step closer. “Will.”

“Drop it.”

“No.” The word came out sharper than Mike intended.

And there it is again, Will's cheeks flushed. The embarrassment. “Mike, seriously.”

“He doesn’t deserve you.”

Will gives a breathless laugh. “Where did that come from?”

“I’ve been watching this whole charade for over an hour. It's insufferable. Carlton's there, all smiles while you’re being miserable.”

“Oh my god, Mike, if it’s that bad, you can leave! I know you don’t like this stuff—”

“You really want me to leave?” Mike interrupts himself and sighs. “Will. He’s been treating you like shit all night.”

“That’s not true! I already told you, he’s stressed. It’s been… hard. He needs to focus on the campaign, there’s pressure from all sides—”

“Oh, fuck off!”

“Mike—”

“No, seriously, I’m so tired of hearing that excuse.” Mike laughs once under his breath, angry now in a way he can’t contain. “You said that last time, when you left Dustin’s house early. You remember? Carlton snapped at you because you put your fingers, his words, greasy with popcorn on his shirt.” Will doesn’t look at him. “And now— he ignores you all night, you go over there looking at him like he hung the moon, and he finds a way to make you feel bad for it.”

Will’s face flushed red. “You don’t know what happened.”

“I kind of know, Will,” he says as if it hurt him too.

Because it did, in a way.

The silence that follows is deafening. Will looks up at Mike like a deer caught in the headlights.

“You heard,” his voice is no more than a whisper.

Silence. Mike doesn’t know what to say now, because Will knows he heard. There's no point in denying it.

Will swallows hard.

The ballroom noise feels strangely far away now. There's the faint sound of someone on the microphone.

The air is suspended and Mike feels like they're inside a bubble. His heart is doing odd things in his chest.

Mike steps closer again, lowering his voice.

“You flirt with someone, they should fucking thank you for it.”

Will stares at him, blushing.

“Mike... he wasn't exactly wrong.”

Mike scoffs. He can feel himself losing control of the conversation and somehow can't stop. He doesn't even know if he wants to stop.

“He should've looked at you and forgotten whatever bullshit conversation he was having. Nothing here is more important.” Mike shakes his head once, furious now just remembering it. “Christ, Will, if you looked at me like that—”

He stops, but it's too late. Will’s breathing changes slightly and Mike sees it happen.

Sees realization begins creeping carefully across Will’s face.

Mike should stop talking. Instead, he hears himself continue quietly:

“If you came up to me looking like that, flirting with me like that— Will, if you said that to me… do you honestly think I’d stand there pretending not to— not to want you?”

Will’s lips parts. The lights from the ballroom get in his eyes, making them look almost glassy.

“Mike…”

“He scolds you as if you did something wrong.” Mike laughs bitterly. “Do you know what a normal person would do?”

Mike watches Will go very still.

“What?” He whispers.

Mike takes another step forward until there is barely any space left between them, hidden behind thick velvet curtains while voices and music swell beyond the stage.

“A normal person would look at you, Will, for real. In fact, they wouldn’t take their eyes off you all night. They’d tell you how beautiful you are and put you in the spotlight, in front of everyone. They’d make sure all those idiots knew you were their whole world.” Mike feels caught in a kind of frenzy. He runs a hand through his hair. “You should be worshipped, Will. Not just here, but everywhere, every day. He should feel fucking lucky just that you looked at him and then thank you every day for it.”

“Mike, stop,” Will tries softly.

But Mike is in a trance. The words flow through him because he’s held them back for so long, and Will needs to hear him. Needs to believe him.

“Will, if I—” he swallows. Closes his eyes. Loosen his tie. Inhale. “A normal person would drag you somewhere private and spend the rest of the night making sure you never doubted how wanted you are.”

Will inhales sharply. He's blushing again, but now it doesn't look like shame. There's something in his eyes.

Desire. Raw enough that it nearly knocks the air from Mike's lungs.

Will looks down once, and then around them, beyond the curtain, visibly gathering courage.

He licks his lips and quietly says:

“Then why don’t you do something?”

Mike freezes. He feels the air completely leave his lungs as he murmurs a silent “…what?”

“If you—” he swallows. “If you think all this… Mike. Why have you never done anything?”

“Will.”

“Do something,” Will whispers. It's so small and so weak that Mike thinks he imagined it.

But his eyes… they're pleading.

Mike needs two seconds to decide what to do.

He takes Will's hand and drags him out from behind the curtain. As he walks across the hall, he sees Carlton climb onto the stage, ready for the most boring part of this kind of event: the speech about community, the future, change.

Mike can feel a burst of laughter rising in his chest, in his throat, because while Carlton vomits his rehearsed words onto the stage, he has just unleashed his feelings for Will in an embarrassingly real and uncontrollable way.

And he's about to do more.

He grabs a bottle of olive oil from the canapé table, puts it in his jacket pocket, and continues dragging Will along, who practically runs after him.

“Mike,” he says, alarmed. “Where are you going?”

“You’ll see.”

“I can’t— Mike, I can’t leave here like this. Carlton—”

Mike stops and Will almost bumps into him, letting out a small sound from deep in his throat.

“Will, respectfully, I just want Carlton to fuck off.”

Will laughs. It lasts half a second before he covers his mouth, since Carlton is talking and everyone is silent, but it’s the laugh Mike likes.

This makes Mike smile as he opens the balcony door.

It’s cold outside.

The balcony is large, stretching from one side to the other, and it’s empty. The freezing air scared away anyone from wandering around there. Exactly what Mike needs.

Mike takes Will to one of the tall, more distant windows, but from where they can see a bit of the hall through the velvet curtains.

They can see part of Carlton on stage, microphone in hand, and Mike thinks it’s perfect.

He leans Will against the window, holding him by the waist.

“What— what are you doing, Mike?”

Mike looks deep into his eyes. He’s so beautiful like this, full of expectation and fear all at the same time. His eyes are watering and his cheeks are flushed from the cold. He bites his lip and Mike's gaze lingers there, his index finger resting on Will's chin.

“I'm doing something.”

He leans closer and rubs the tip of his nose against Will's cheek. Will’s breath catches in his throat.

Slowly, he moves higher and higher until his mouth is level with Will's ear.

“Do you want this, Will? Do you want me to do something?”

“Mike,” Will breathes. “Mike, I can't— we shouldn't—”

“Will!” Mike practically growls in his ear. “I'm asking— I need to know what you want.”

His lips brush against Will's earlobe. Mike feels his own body shiver.

“I want— oh god, Mike! We can't.”

“Let me show you. Please, Will, I want to— I need to show you,” he says. “What you do to me. What you deserve.”

“Jesus.”

“Let me, Will… please.” He kisses Will somewhere behind his ear. Will’s hands grip the concrete behind him.

“Y-yes,” Will whispers, and Mike has to restrain himself from tripping over things. “Yes, Mike. Show me.”

Fuck yes!

Mike tightens his grip on Will's waist and traces kisses from his ear, down his jawline, chin, stopping inches from his mouth.

Will seems to be melting beneath him, his head thrown back, eyes closed.

Mike smiles against his skin and, before succumbing to his desire to taste his lips, traces his tongue along Will's neck.

“Mike,” Will breathes. His voice sounds broken. “This is so wrong.”

“Mmm,” Mike murmurs.

It is wrong. He doesn't care one bit.

It's been years of suppressing his feelings. Years of watching Will go on dates with the wrong guys until he decided to keep the most wrong one of all.

“I want to kiss you, Will. Can I?”

One hand remains on Will's waist, while the other holds the nape of his neck, giving a light squeeze. He wants to keep Will looking at him, straight into his eyes.

“Please,” Will replies.

Mike practically grunts under his breath.

Then, he takes Will’s lips in his.

At first it's just a slow dragging of lips, the sounds coming from inside the room muffled as if they were underwater.

When Mike sucks Will's lower lip between his, Will whimpers and opens his mouth slightly, his fingers curled in the front of Mike's jacket.

Mike pushes his tongue into Will's mouth.

Will tastes like champagne. But there's something else there, something sweet and addictive, and then their tongues are entwined. Will's hands go to Mike's hair, pulling and caressing, a touch so light it could only belong to Will.

Mike loves it. Loves how Will can destroy him, fill him with lust, while still being so gentle.

He pulls away and kisses him on the neck again, his nimble fingers unbuttoning Will’s shirt so his lips can keep going lower and lower.

“I want to mark you, Will… I want him to see.”

“Oh god.”

“Do you want this?”

“Yes.”

Will's skin is covered in goosebumps from the cold. Mike sucks on it, hard enough to leave a hickey. He does it two more times, along Will's collarbone.

“I want him to know who ruined you, Will,” Mike says, his voice sounding drunk, slurred. He's never been so aroused in his life. Will groans. “Are you going to tell him? How I fucked you on the balcony while he was talking about traditional family values.”

“Jesus Christ, Mike, you’re insane.”

Despite the words, Will looks as wrecked as he is.

Mike raises his head to look at him again, and what he sees makes him throb in his pants.

Will is a mess, his hair disheveled, his eyes glazed and dark, almost no gold left in them. His mouth is swollen and red, the same color as his cheeks. His breath is ragged.

He looks fucked.

Mike wants to fuck him so badly. Preferably, with Carlton watching through the window, unable to do absolutely anything.

He can picture it. The desperation in his eyes, the need to pretend nothing is happening, not to alert the guests or the press.

Mike probably is kind of insane. And he doesn't care, really.

“You like it, don't you? When I'm insane. Does it turn you on?” He kisses Will's neck again, where he can feel his heart beating. It's racing. “I think you like it.”

Will nods, half desperate. “I-I like it. I want— Mike!”

“Yes, baby. I'm right here.” Mike whispers in his ear. He feels Will's skin prickle beneath his fingertips. “Let me take care of you.”

With his hands cupping Mike's cheeks, Will pulls his face until their eyes meet.

“You can do whatever you want with me.”

Mike sucks in his breath before kissing him again.

This time, it's quick. Suddenly, he's desperate, turning Will to face the window, pressing his chest against Will's back.

He moves his hips against Will's.

Will stiffens.

“Can you feel this? How much I want you. What you do to me.” He whispers in Will's ear, and leaves a wet kiss on the nape of his neck under his collar.

Will pushes his body against him, making them both groan.

“You're so fucking hard, Mike.

“For you, baby,” Mike says. “I've been dreaming of this for such a long time.”

Mike acts quickly. Hugging Will by the waist, he rushes to unbutton and unzip his pants, pulling them down in a single movement. His underwear goes down too, stopping between his legs.

He takes the bottle of olive oil and positions it on the windowsill. Will chuckles, breathlessly.

“You're really insane.”

“You want this, Will? Want me to fuck you?”

Will glances over his shoulder, a glint in his eyes. “Yes.”

Mike grins.

“And you’re going to be a good boy and stay quiet for me?”

It's a useless request, as Will moans, arching his back. He leans against the windowsill.

“Or you could make some noise and get that jerk's attention on stage. It's up to you.”

Mike rubs his fingers with the olive oil. With his other hand, he reaches for Will's already hard dick and grabs it.

“Fuck,” Will says.

That's enough for Mike to start jerking him off slowly, just to relax him. He hugs Will by the waist, nibbling at the soft skin on the back of his neck.

“You're so beautiful, Will. I couldn't take my eyes off you all night.”

“Yeah?”

“I wanted to kill him. And then take you for myself.”

Will chuckles, his breath fogging the window. Mike quickens the pace of his hand, and a moan interrupts the giggle.

“Like this, Mike…”

“That's what he should have done when you flirted with him back there.” Mike is murmuring against Will's skin. He feels like the whole world around him has disconnected. “He should have told you you're beautiful. Brought you here. Touched you like this.”

Will is whimpering, sometimes thrusting against Mike's hand, but trying to remain quiet, silent.

“Does he touch you like this, baby?” Mike asks.

Slowly, so as not to startle Will, one of his oiled fingers rubs Will’s rim. He feels the muscle tighten at the tip of his finger. “Does he make you feel this good?”

Mike pushes his finger in lightly, testing the intrusion. Will is warm and tight, exactly as he imagined.

“Miiiike,” Will moans, arching even closer to him. “I— I really don't want to talk about him right now.”

“Why? Is he a turn-off for you?”

“Oh god—” Will’s chuckle is low and hoarse. “You’re such an asshole!”

Mike chuckles back.

“Fair enough.” He licks Will’s ear, sucking the lobe into his mouth. “Just answer me this, Will. Is it that good with him?”

“Mike…”

“Is it?”

“No.” The answer comes out in a low sob, as Mike pushes his finger further inside Will. He twists it from side to side. “One more, Mike. Please.”

“Sure, baby. Anything for you.”

Mike inserts his second finger, while his hand gently strokes Will’s dick, gathering precum from the slit to help with the slide.

Will rests his head on Mike’s shoulder, and Mike kisses his temple.

“You look so pretty like this.”

Will closes his eyes. Mike looks through the window, seeing that Carlton is still talking on stage.

What an idiot.

Look over here, asshole. I'm leaving my fingerprint inside your boyfriend. And he's loving it.

A middle-aged woman appears at the window, her back to them. She's not very close, but it's close enough for them both to hold their breath. Mike senses that Will is going to break free from him at any moment, so he presses his body against Will's a little more, trapping him in the windowsill.

The woman starts walking again, but hasn't quite left when Mike hits Will's prostate. Will's whole body tenses, almost knocking Mike out of balance. The sound he makes should be enough to attract some attention.

God bless the glass and thick walls.

“Mike,” Will tries to scold him, but it comes out more like a moan.

Mike loves hearing his name come out of Will's mouth like that.

He keeps hitting him there, making him squirm. Will's legs are trembling, and Mike supports his weight with his arms, pushing him even harder against the window.

Mike himself feels lightheaded. Around them, it's as if everything is in slow motion.

He can hear laughter and footsteps near the door, but no one really seems interested in going out there. And in the situation they're in, completely gone, none of them can really care.

“You think you can take another one?” Mike asks.

“Ngh— yeah. Yes, Mike. I can. Please.”

The third finger goes in with difficulty, but Mike is nothing if not a stubborn man.

He is patient. That's why he's being rewarded.

Mike feels Will tense around his fingers, and it's like an electric shock that goes straight to his cock. Mike's whole body shivers.

He has to blink a few times to focus.

Will is a mess. Tears are streaming down his face. He's babbling nonsense.

Mike looks at him and realizes he loves him. Just like this. That there's nothing he wouldn't do for Will.

And he kind of hates him too. Hates that he let Carlton see him that way first. That he subjected himself to someone so unworthy.

“Will,” Mike calls, but he’s kind of out of this world. “Will. Do you love him?”

“Mmm— wh— what?” He tries to open his eyes. Mike quickens the hand that's wanking him, the other striking his prostate with relish. “Mike, yes! Right there. Just like that. Oh my god. Fuck.”

Mike smiles like a maniac. “Mmm… you feel so good. Taking my fingers so well.”

He licks Will's neck again, feeling his own cock throb inside his pants.

Honestly, it wouldn't be surprising if he came without even touching himself. He'd never felt anything like this before.

“Mike… I wanna— I'm gonna—.”

“Oh no, baby.” Mike pouts. “Not yet. You didn't answer me.”

“Wh— Mike! Seriously?”

“Do you love him?”

Mike slows his movements. His fingers continue to work inside Will, but without reaching where Will most wants him to.

Will tries to writhe against them, chasing the feeling, but Mike doesn't yield.

“Miiiike!”

“Answer me, Will.”

“That’s not relevant.” Now Will seems somewhat annoyed.

Mike takes a deep breath. He finds this endearing. He wants Will all to himself.

“I think it is.”

“Why are you doing this to me?” Will whines.

“I just want to know—”

“No. Okay? I don't. Happy?

Mike isn’t happy, not really. He doesn’t know what he expected Will to answer, but now he’s sad. And angry.

If Will doesn’t love him, then why?

“Mike?”

“Why did you stay with him so long? Will.” His voice falters. “Why did you move in with him? You could have… if you’d told me sooner—”

“Mike, for god’s sake, you’re holding my dick. You have three of your fingers inside my ass. Can’t we talk about this later?”

Mike is still upset, but he ends up laughing, because really. He can’t stray from his initial goal.

That was taking care of Will. And showing him how he should be treated.

“Yeah, baby. I’m sorry. Where was I?”

Mike returns to his previous rhythm. He barely gives Will time to prepare. His fingers are back to hitting Will’s prostate, while his hand relentlessly strokes him.

Will is no longer holding back, his moans echoing, carried away by the night around them. But Mike doesn’t care.

Part of him wants them to be loud. Wants them to be seen. Wants photos on all social media, wants Carlton to become a laughingstock.

“Yes, Mike. Yes, yes, yes! Mike! Mike, Mike, Mike—”

“That’s it, baby. Just like that. You’re doing so well.” Mike whispers in his ear, resisting the urge to rub against Will’s hip. Today isn’t about him. “Are you going to come for me?”

“Yeah!” He half shouts, half moans. “Yeah, Mike… this is so good, so— oh! I’ve never felt so good!”

Mike’s eyes roll. “Oh, fuck yeah, Will. This is what you deserve. To only feel good. To be treated like a fucking princess.”

Of everything, this seems to be what pushes Will off the edge. He comes in Mike’s hand, hot and sticky, while his ass squeezes Mike’s fingers so tightly they’ll probably ache.

When it’s over, Will stays there, half-slumped against Mike, panting.

Mike slowly pulls his fingers out of Will and wipes his hands inside his own jacket. Then, he begins to stroke Will's hair.

“You're crazy, Mike Wheeler,” Will whispers, probably looking through the window, at all these people that could've caught them.

Mike chuckles. It was a thrilling moment, if you ask him.

“You were so good, baby,” he whispers against Will's temple. “I want you so much. I don't know if you have any idea how much I want you, Will.”

Will shifts slightly against him, pressing his hip against Mike's erection.

“I think I have some idea.” He jokes, still breathless.

Mike laughs and then pulls Will's underwear and pants back into place. Now that the heat of the moment is fading, Will will probably get cold.

Will manages to straighten up a little and disentangle himself from Mike's embrace. He leans sideways against the window, looking inside.

They remain silent. Mike is somewhat scared now. What if Will already regrets it? Will they remain friends if that happens?

“Um—” Mike says, drawing Will's attention again. “I— are you okay?”

Will looks at Mike as if that were a stupid question.

“Yeah, Mike.” A small smile plays on his lips. “I’m great, actually.”

The corner of Mike’s lips twitches. His balls are starting to ache.

Silence again. Will looks thoughtful.

“And…” Mike tries again. His voice completely soft and vulnerable. “Are you going back inside? With... him?”

Oh, now Will looks at him as if he’d asked a really stupid question.

“What? You’re kidding, right?” Will looks at the window, then at Mike again. He reaches for Mike’s hand, the one not smeared with olive oil. “Why would I do that?”

Mike intertwines their fingers. He shrugs.

“Dunno. He’s your boyfriend.” The word tastes like charcoal in his mouth.

Will grimaces. Remorse and guilt, perhaps. But also a certain annoyance. As if it were an inconvenience.

“Well, not for long.”

Mike feels his heart skip a beat. Did he hear right?

“What?” Suddenly, he feels as if all the colors return to the world. The sounds are clear again. He laughs for no reason at all. Will is watching him with such a loving smile. “So you’re not going home with him?”

Will leans away from the window and moves closer to Mike, their hands still intertwined. He’s still flushed and disheveled.

Still the most beautiful man Mike has ever seen.

“No, Mike. Actually, I’m thinking of the quickest way to dump his ass so we can go somewhere else. You know? To take care of you.”

Mike feels every part of his body burning. He’s sure his dick is singing a victorious song right now.

He groans.

“Sweet Jesus— Will! I just fucked you. And I want to fuck you again.”

Will shakes his head and laughs that off-key, loud and embarrassing laugh that makes him bring his hand to his mouth, which Mike loves so much.

Then, he puts his hands on Mike's shoulders and stands on tiptoe to whisper in his ear:

“I want to blow you.”

The world tilts to the side. Mike feels dizzy.

What beautiful words coming from such a beautiful mouth.

His hand, which is around Will's waist, gives a squeeze.

“Will— you can't say something like that—” He stops. Sucks a deep breath. Takes Will's hand again and starts heading towards the ballroom. “Come on. Let's go now.”

“But, Mike—”

“Break up with him tomorrow. Or by phone, leave a message, whatever. We need to leave.”

“Wait, Mike— wait.” Will grabs Mike's hand with both hands, planting his feet firmly on the ground. “What you said… before. All the beautiful things you said—”

Mike looks into his eyes. Hazel. Tiny golden flecks everywhere.

“I meant all of them. All of them, Will.” He whispers, feeling his cheeks flush. “I— damn it, Will, I’m in love with you.”

Will’s eyes are wide, mouth agape, and Mike doesn’t know whether to find it endearing or be angry that Will hasn’t understood it yet.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been not in love with you…” He adds. “You’ve always been my person.”

Will is staring at him, speechless. Mike still doesn’t know if this is a good sign.

“But of course that doesn’t mean anything, obviously, it doesn’t mean you need to—”

“Mike, shut up!” Will looks around, bewildered. “My God. Mike. We’re both idiots.”

“What? Why?”

“Because— I love you. All this time. I’ve been— I can’t believe I’ve been trying to fall in love with other people all this time—”

Mike also can’t believe it. “What?”

“I tried, Mike! I tried so hard! I never could…” Tears well up in his eyes.

Mike holds his jaw and brushes his thumb in his cheeks. He’s so soft.

Like a Gummy Bear. Mike wants to swallow him.

“We’re both idiots.” Mike concludes, and Will is giggling, and then Mike kisses him.

It's a different kind of kiss. Full of promises.

“Does this mean you're going to be mine?” Mike whispers against his lips.

“Yeah, Mike. I'm yours,” Will says between pecks. “Now take me somewhere else, please!”

“Forthwith, my liege.”

And then Will is laughing again, without any trace of that awkward laugh that reminds him of Carlton, and they're running into the hall, attracting a few glances in their direction.

It doesn't take long for Carlton to appear – of course, the cockblocker that he is – grabbing Will by the arm.

Mike has to physically restrain himself from growling at him.

“Where were you?” He observes their expressions, their flushed cheeks, their swollen lips. Carlton's jaw clenches. “What's this?”

Will is too polite for this. He smiles at some nosy people who seem attentive to their every move, and then gets closer to Carlton's ear.

“This is me dumping your ass,” he whispers, just loud enough for Carlton and Mike to hear. Mike feels an urge to howl with satisfaction. “Especially since you shouldn't be dating such a slut. It's not good for your image.” Carlton's face is so red it's like it's going to explode in the middle of the hall. “Good night, Carlton.”

Will pushes his arm from Carlton's grip and marches toward the door. Mike lingers, a lazy smile on his lips.

He pats Carlton's chest, who seems frozen in place.

“Bad luck, huh? Looks like the opposition just gained some ground.” Mike smiles and sees Carlton’s mouth twitch. “Don’t worry, though. I’ll take so much better care of your former constituency.” Carlton opens his mouth to say something, but Mike doesn't let him. “I’d say have a good night, but I guess you already didn’t, so…” Mike starts walking backward, waving goodbye. Then he points to the ceiling. “Aim high, Heeves. Up in the polls!”

Mike really wants to see the aftermath of all this, but nah. There's pressing matters to attend, so he runs after Will down the hallways.

“It feels so good!” Will says between giggles. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt so alive.”

Mike feels it too. The excitement. Things are just beginning. They have their whole lives ahead of them.

They wait for the car on the sidewalk. Mike hugs Will around the waist, whispering dirty things to each other, laughing like teenage boys.

Tomorrow, after Mike has drained every last drop of pleasure from Will, he'll remember Max. And he'll be eager to tell her that he did the stupidest thing ever.

He regrets nothing.