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Will makes it approximately three seconds into the school day before any of his friends comment on the state of his voice. He doesn't blame them, he'd be just as worried if any of them came in sounding like they'd gargled road salt.
He had managed to mumble and croak his way through some bullshit excuse to get Jon and his mom off his case, enough so that she let him go to school like normal- and his plan was to stay silent for as long as he possibly could. In theory, he could go the whole day without needing to speak. The Party was used to him going quiet, teachers don't call on him, and none of his classmates ever speak to him unless it's to throw slurs at his back like snowballs.
So when Dustin hustles up to them, standing around Will’s locker as he digs inside for a pen, frantically asking if any of them did the assignment for Ms. Click’s class, Will just keeps his head down and keeps searching. Mike and Lucas stand at either side of his back, volleying stupid campaign ideas back and forth and trying to act like they're not posturing themselves as his bodyguards, even though he's asked them repeatedly to stop doing that.
“Hello? Earth to Numbskulls? Seriously, if I get a zero for this Click will kill me!” Dustin whines when no one bothers to answer him, his voice cutting off Lucas and Mike's debate over whether or not the City of I’Cath would be a good place to open a coffee shop, of all things. The two of them glance at Dustin, then back to each other behind Will’s head. Then they pick right back up where they left off.
“I’m telling you man, if the people there just had access to delicious java, they wouldn’t be having such a bad time!”
“That is ridiculous, Lucas! Either way, eventually they would fall asleep or the jiangshi would-”
“Guys! For real, come on! Will! Will, help me out here, man!” Dustin fights to be heard over the two other boys and the sound of the rest of their classmates going about their own lives throughout the school. Will rolls his eyes so hard that his head falls back and he finds himself staring up at the dusty ceiling tiles of the Sophomore wing hallway. Spending hours in the arms of the real life version of one of their D&D monsters has a way of pulling back the curtain on how ridiculous mundane life is. But, Will does love Dustin like his own brother, so…
“Here,” Will croaks, reaching into his bag to pull out his assignment for Click’s class, holding it back over his shoulder without looking, pointedly ignoring the sudden lack of coffee shop arguments from behind him. One of them plucks the papers from his fingers so Will reaches back into his locker to zip his bag back up and stuff the pen he finally found into his pocket.
“I need those back by fifth period, though,” he demands, trying to put a serious edge into his voice, even though it gets lost in the cracking wheeze. All that screaming had seemed fun last night, when he had thought his throat would be fine upon waking. He’s gonna kill Henry when he sees him next.
“Dude,” Lucas starts, concern bleeding into his voice.
“What the hell happened to your voice, Will?” Mike demands to know. “You were fine at dinner last night.”
Will winces and slams his locker shut, glaring at the splotchy paint-job one of the janitors had done to cover up the latest iteration of ‘zombie boy’ that one of his more precocious classmates had decided to adorn it with. Slowly, he turns to face his three closest friends, finding himself unable to meet their worried gazes, darting his own along the walls, the passing bodies of of the other students, the broken clock that hangs above the door to the science room, perpetually stuck at a little past three o’clock.
“Uh,” he whispers, hoping that keeping his voice as low as possible will keep it from sounding so horribly raspy. “Not sure. It was like this when I woke up.” He shrugs as casually as he can, arcing his brows in a ‘what can you do’ way. He can tell from the way the other three share looks over his head that he’s not as successful as he’d hoped. Oh well, he’ll just add them to the list of people he needs to come up with excuses for, right alongside Jon and Joyce.
“...Right.”
To his great relief, they seem to drop it in favor of going their separate ways to get to their first period classes on time. Will tucks his chin down and scuttles off, already knowing getting through today is going to be a nightmare that even Henry can’t save him from.
Will can barely focus in any of his classes, lucky that most of the teachers have become a lot less enthusiastic about their careers now that they’re all trapped inside a quarantine fence indefinitely. Molding the minds of the future must seem a lot less important when you’re not sure if you’re going to be able to have one, apparently. Will can relate to that personally, so he tries not to judge them too harshly. And it allows him the solitude to spend the day daydreaming, recalling last night with flushed cheeks, his fingers resting over his shirt right over where Henry’s handprints paint his skin in vivid purple hues. He tries to figure out what’s changed now, tries to think of a reason for the marks to have started following him out of their dreams now, of all times.
Though he supposes he should be grateful this didn’t start happening last week, when Henry had wrapped a cool hand around Will’s throat and repeatedly choked him right to the brink of unconsciousness while he fingered him open for hours, leaving Will a sobbing, destroyed mess. Those bruises would have been impossible to explain away. They would have been beautiful, though, his mind supplies unhelpfully. The sudden rush of memories sends the red blush on his face racing all the way down his neck and chest, his dick twitching in his pants. Will squirms down on his seat, trying desperately to push the phantom feeling of rough fingers around his throat to the back of his mind, blinking without seeing up at the board at the front of the room, Ms. Click’s grating voice boredly explaining something about the revolutionary war.
Somehow, he makes it through lunch without facing an interrogation from the guys, though they do send him worried looks as he stays silent and contemplative throughout the forty minute period, picking at the peel of the orange he ate half of before giving up. His hands want to draw, to work on the sketch of Henry’s satisfied smile he had started planning last night, but he’d never get away with something like that here at school, let alone right in front of the Party, so he just stares off at the far wall, the guys’ voices a background hum around him until the bell rings harshly through the air. The noise startles him violently out of the memory of Henry bending him over the desk he used to have in his old room, the hard edge of it leaving bruises so deep on his hips he had felt them in his bones- at least until he had woken up back on the couch in the Wheeler’s basement, perfectly fine again.
Automatically, Will abandons the orange peel to squeeze his arm, right over the scrape from the pallet of Castle Byers, the bruises there from Henry’s ministrations smarting at the pressure. He stands from the table in a daze, completely forgetting to grab the other half of his orange as he turns to follow the ambling crowd of high schoolers back out into the halls.
“Oh, something’s definitely going on,” Dustin’s voice whispers back at the table, well out of Will’s earshot even if he hadn’t been lost in the thought of Henry leaving more bruises on his body, deeper ones.
“You said he was fine last night?” Lucas asks Mike, the three of them slowly standing to trail after their friend, making sure he isn’t about to walk straight into a wall- the dazed, faroff look in his eyes sparking worry within them. Will gets quiet sometimes- a lot of the time, in truth- but not quite like this. His usual quiet melancholy has shifted today, his expression not quite the same. He almost looks… daydreamy. Dustin had nudged them both earlier at the table and waved a hand at his own cheeks then over to Will, drawing attention to his deep pink blush, sitting high on his cheekbones. He had wiggled his brows, looking between Mike and Lucas like he expected them to come up with some theory on Will’s behavior.
Now, Mike sighs, answering, “I mean, as fine as he always is. Quiet, but not… Not like this-” He tosses a hand out in Will’s direction, the three of them watching as Will very nearly walks into some freshman’s back when she stops in the middle of the hallway, avoiding her at the last second, the glazed look on his face never shifting. “And there’s his voice, too.”
“Yeah, like, what’s with that? It can’t be strep, he’s got no fever and there’s no way Mrs. Byers would let him come in sick,” Dustin adds as they creep around the corner of the hall, easing to a stop about fifteen feet away from where Will is distractedly twisting his combination lock in and yanking his locker door open with a metallic clang.
“Well what else could it be? Do people just spontaneously lose their voices or-”
“-guys-”
“-was he up watching some football game we didn’t hear about, or something?”
“Will, screaming over a football game, are you fucking insane?”
“Guys!” Lucas hiss-whispers, slapping a hand to both Mike and Dustin’s chests at his sides before pointing across the hall at Will. “Look! When he reaches up to the shelf.”
Mike and Dustin lean in over Lucas’s shoulders and stare. Will is shuffling his books around, picking out the ones he’ll need for the next few classes. As they watch, he reconsiders one of them and leans up on the toes of his Adidas to slide the book onto the very top shelf of the locker. Just as his arm reaches the highest point of his movement, the bottom hem of his long-sleeve shirt rides up over his hip.
“What the fuck,” Mike huffs, echoed in sentiment by the other two boys that stare across the hallway through the flow of student traffic, eyes glued to the handprint that peeks out from the top of Will’s jeans. The shape of the bruise is cut off halfway through by his clothes but there’s no mistaking it, even with its softly clouded edges. The thumbprint of the hand lands on his belly, over his sharp hip bone, the rest of the fingers and palm curling over the meat of his hip and onto his back. The bruise is deeply set, a rich purple that fades out into the pale of his skin, starkly contrasted. As they stare, Will finally gets his book wiggled onto the shelf and immediately grabs at the hem of his shirt, tugging it back down to cover himself again. His fingers linger, though, taking just a moment to clearly press in on the bruise, his eyes slipping closed for half a second before he snaps himself out of it, shaking his head, even as a flicker of a stupidly soft smile eases onto his face.
Will checks his watch and cringes, slamming his locker shut with one hand and turning heel to weave his way through the crowds, heading straight off for sixth period English class. He doesn’t notice the three boys across the hall from him, half-hiding behind a trophy case full of dusty old photos and faded awards, their jaws slack and eyebrows pinched tight over their eyes as they try to process what they’ve just witnessed.
Will puts his head down and tries to focus on his feet as he turns right through the junction at the end of the hall. He’s still half-lost in his head, remembering the nights he and Henry have shared together, trying to brush off the… almost disappointed feeling he gets thinking about how gorgeous some of the bruises from them would have been if he had been able to bring them back out to the real world with him. He might be the painter, but Henry is an artist as well, and Will finds he does not mind being his preferred canvas.
He isn’t sure if he actually runs into the side of the Varsity-jacket clad senior or if the guy steps into his way intentionally, but the jarring impact of their collision nearly sends Will to the floor.
“Watch where you’re going, faggot!” The guy shouts, loud and boisterous, drawing every eye in the hall. Will stumbles, finding his balance and his own eyes flash up. It’s one of the basketball players, part of the crew that all vied for the spot at the top of the food chain that Jason Carver left behind when he was devoured by the Upside Down. It’s like they think doubling up on the regular amount of bullying will solidify their status as King of Hawkins High. Will hates them so much it burns under his skin, even as he understands them completely. They’re doing what they’ve been taught, what they’ve been told will keep them safe from the same hate they shovel onto him.
“Didn’t you hear me, you dumb bitch?” The jock faux-whispers, stepping closer. Will stares up into the guy’s face, recognizing him now as Lewis Archer, number twenty-four, but still unsure of how to proceed. He wants to snap, to drop his books to the floor and throw a punch the way Hopper tried to teach him a few months ago. But as his eyes dart around the hall, more Varsity jackets are ambling towards them, through the drawn crowd of impartial bystanders, the whispering already building to a hum, people on the edge grumbling that they can’t see well enough. Through a gap in the bodies, Will makes eye contact with a teacher that has leaned out of their doorway to see what all the commotion is about, and hope swells in his chest. Mr. Morgan will step in, he’ll break up the crowd and cut through the tension.
Instead, Will watches as he lowers his gaze to the floor and slowly returns to his room, without saying a word.
A hard shove against his chest sends Will slamming into the lockers, his books tumbling to the floor with a clatter. A round of “oooh!” rings out around them, the crowd well and truly relishing in the sight before them now. Will tries to control his breathing, tries to keep the tears from welling up in his eyes, knowing that’ll just egg the crowd on but… It hurts. They hate him because he’s different, they have since before he even knew what it was about himself that they all seemed to be able to spot from a mile away. Lonnie could see it, Mike’s dad could see it, all the boys at school, too. He wonders what it is about him that screams ‘faggot’ and it hurts his heart when he realizes it’s just everything about him. It’s his wide eyes, his lips, his voice. It’s the thinness in his limbs, the way he holds himself, the way he walks. It’s him.
But he’s different now. Everything he’s spent his entire life being torn down for is the exact list of things that Henry has spent the last few weeks worshipping about him. Henry gazes into his eyes like they hold all the answers. He kisses his lips like he’s trying to memorize the feeling, does his best to draw every possible noise from Will’s throat like the sound of his voice is the most beautiful music. Henry loves to grab ahold of him, to steel his own hands around Will’s thin wrists, loves the way he can so easily move him around however he wants him. Henry loves him, Will realizes with a gasp, ignoring the mocking laughter that rings out around him.
Suddenly, this fight in the hall means so little. What they think of him means nothing in the face of what he knows now. Henry loves him. And Henry would hate it if he let himself be pushed down by these weak-minded fools. Henry would fight back. So, Will decides to fight back. Decides to make Henry proud.
It works to his advantage that he’s never bothered to defend himself physically before, lends him an element of surprise. Lewis isn’t even bothering to keep his eyes on Will, his gaze flickering over the crowd, a wide smirk spread across his face, raising his brows at his peers like he’s basking in their attention. Will balls his fist up tight, recalling Hopper’s gruff explanation to him on how to throw a proper punch, and steels his nerves.
He waits a second, just until Lewis is shooting a wink over his shoulder at some girl- then he moves. He shoves himself off the bank of lockers and plants his feet firm upon the floor. His shoulders twist as he pushes his arm forward, following the motion all the way through the way Hop told him to. The impact is solid, helped along by the fact that Lewis didn't see it coming at all. Will’s knuckles immediately ache, a jolt running up his wrist, but he watches in fascination as Lewis reels back from the blow.
“Fuck!” Lewis cries, just as his sneakers squeak and slip out from under him. He loses his balance, the jock slamming into the ground with a hard thud.
Utter silence rings in Will’s ears as he pants down at the sight of Lewis staring up at him in shock, a big hand clenching at his face, blood beginning to drip from his nose underneath. Will doesn't know what comes over him, doesn't know if it's his own or Henry's voice that starts screaming in his head, telling him to keep going, to really make it count. Either way, he listens.
Before anyone else can react, Will lunges and snatches the collar of the Varsity jacket in his hand, yanking the weight of Lewis towards him. His arm moves practically on its own, his brain nothing more than a ball of tingling static as his fist connects twice more with Lewis’s face.
To his shock, Will's brain supplies a memory, just as he feels the crunch of bone beneath his knuckles. In it, Will sits small and silent in the passenger seat of Bob Newby's car, listening to him recount his own troubles with trauma, and his solution to the clown that had been visiting his nightmares…
“You know what I said to him?” The memory of Bob asks him, a gentle smile on his face.
“Leave me alone!” Will screams, his ruined voice cracking out into the hallway, bouncing off the walls, the intensity of it forcing the crowd back a step as they all reel in shock. Will Byers is quiet, meek, and docile. When he's pushed around, he stands down, or his friends swoop in to defend him. He doesn't fight back, he doesn't yell. Except for now.
Will heaves a breath through his ragged throat and drops his grip on Lewis's jacket, the older boy falling down onto his elbows upon the scuff-marked linoleum floors, his nose gushing hot red blood down his chin. Will straightens up, his eyes whirling around the crowd, waiting for the next threat to appear, for one of the other basketball players to lurch forward and attack, but it doesn't come. The whispering builds and builds into a loud hum, eyes watching him, jaws still dropped.
“Yo!” Someone shouts down the hall from the back of the crowd. “Lewis just got dropped by Zombie Boy!”
“No fucking way!”
“Nice job, Lewy!”
“How the hell did’ya let that happen!”
Will doesn't wait long enough for them to turn their cajoles onto him. He turns on his heel and shoves his way through the wall of people that have gathered to watch, breathless panic catching up to him quick now that his focus isn't lazered in on defending himself. Shouts and crowing laughter and whispers follow after him as he darts around students, beelining for the private bathroom just around the corner.
He throws his shoulder into the door to open it, stumbling through and slamming it shut hard behind him, his fingers automatically cranking the lock. Technically this bathroom is for teacher use only, but Will figures if one of them can handle abandoning a student to bullies, they can all handle him using this room for a quick mental breakdown.
“Oh, ow,” he gasps after bringing his hands up to scrub through his hair, the knuckles of his right hand sending a shock down his arm. Will stumbles over to the sink and stares down at his hand in wonder. His knuckles are swollen, a red flush that's already beginning to transform into a soft purple bruise. He wheezes a hysterical laugh, cataloguing the bruise into his already extensive collection. Will leans over to rest his elbows onto the hard porcelain surface, burying his face into his hands, forcing himself to ignore the pain it causes, his breath stuttering in his chest as the remaining adrenaline courses through him.
He just punched a senior. One of the popular basketball players. Three times. In a crowded hallway. Everyone saw. By the end of school, everyone will know. It could go either way, Will realizes with a mixed sense of terror and deep, burning pride in himself. Either this act of defiance sets a boundary, a line that says he will not take it anymore, that he is no longer willing to quietly accept the abuse they dole out on him laying down. Or… they could come back harder. The jocks could organize and strike together, could jump him when he least expects it, make it so he can't fight back. He's heard of it happening in other towns, to other gay kids who try to stand up for themselves, who make themselves just a little too loud or noticeable. Sometimes those kids don't even walk away, sometimes they kill them-
“Breathe, William,” Henry's voice murmurs right into his ear, startling Will so badly that he nearly slips to the floor. His breath pauses in fear for a moment, making him realize how fast he had been sucking in panicked gasps.
Strong hands wrap around his waist from behind and pull him back against the broad chest at his back. A palm rests gently upon his forehead and draws his head up, just as Will squeezes his eyes shut. Henry chuckles softly, the puff of his breath tousling Will's dark hair.
“Open your eyes, darling,” he whispers, tucking his head into Will's neck, planting a sweet kiss to the hinge of his jaw. Will can't hold back the soft, desperate noise that escapes him.
“You're not really here,” he whines, voice pathetically broken. “You can't be. This isn't real.”
Henry doesn't answer immediately, just takes another moment to trail kisses down Will's throat. Then his hands drop down to his hips and squeeze right over the bruises he had left last night. Will’s eyes flash open and he pants at the sight before him. In the mirror, he sees himself, pale and panting, mouth open in shock, his hazel eyes wide. Behind him stands Henry. Tall and blonde, every hair perfectly in place, his shirt pressed and tucked into trim brown slacks, a matching waistcoat covering his torso.
“Does it feel real, William?” Henry asks, loosening his grip to drag his hands up under the bottom of Will’s shirt, slowly lifting it to reveal the smooth expanse of Will’s belly and chest. Henry maneuvers the shirt up under Will’s arms to hold it in place and trails his fingertips down over his ribs and back up, soothing.
“Yes,” Will sighs, internally cringing at the sight of himself, the way his ribs poke out beneath his skin, the complete lack of body hair like the other boys all have, the way his cheeks are flushed pink. It’s everything they all hate him for, put on display.
Like he can read the negative thoughts, Henry growls in his ear, “Beautiful boy.” His hands spread wide along the narrow of Will’s waist, pressing in, sending hot sparks up Will’s spine, making him toss his head back to rest against Henry’s chest, his eyes bolting up to the ceiling to avoid looking at himself. Henry tuts softly, one of those big hands snaking up his body, tweaking one of Will’s nipples along the way, wrenching a wet gasp from his boy. He grabs at Will’s chin, forcing his head back down, forcing him to look.
“Henry, please, I-”
“Look,” Henry commands, that hard, brutal edge creeping into his voice. Will shudders in his arms, knowing what awaits him if he doesn’t listen, if he disobeys. Swallowing down his whining cries, Will follows the order and blinks at the mirror in front of them. He looks so small in front of Henry, so weak and delicate, too skinny. He’s filled out since last year, matured physically in that post-puberty way, but not like the other boys. There is leanly built muscle beneath his skin, from biking and running, from the days of somewhat-relaxed training that Hopper has insisted they all partake in. But he cringes at the ever-soft, supple flesh of his belly, the way his ass seems to steal all the muscle and fat that he wants to go elsewhere, to fill out his shoulders or arms the way everyone else seems to be able to do.
He opens his mouth to protest, to deny the words that spill from Henry’s lips, but the older man renews his grip on his chin harshly, shaking his head forcefully before Will can get a word out, a sharp cry escaping instead in surprise.
“You are beautiful, William,” Henry huffs into his ear, his dark blue eyes hard as he straightens to peer at him through the mirror over the top of Will’s head, visibly relishing in their difference in height. Will breathes through his embarrassment, forces himself to look again, to see himself the way Henry so clearly sees him. He looks at the way his entire body fits inside the frame of Henry’s behind him, the way the other man’s broader shoulders ensnare him so wholly. He may not like his own body, but he… he likes the way it looks against Henry’s. He likes his smallness when it’s next to Henry's lean broadness. When it’s contrasted by something so different. It’s just like art, he realizes with a moan as Henry reaches up to rake his nails down over Will’s chest without mercy, gorgeous red lines rising in his wake.
“Henry,” Will keens, one of his arms rising over his head to grip at the other man’s shoulder, boldly squeezing his fingers against the muscles there. Henry smiles at him in the mirror. Will helplessly returns it, an incredulous laugh following.
“Good boy,” Henry whispers, dipping his head back down to Will’s throat, gently nibbling at the beauty mark that rests just below his jawline. “You did so good, Will. I’m so proud of you.”
Hearing that steals the air from Will’s lungs, any thoughts from his brain. Henry’s proud of him, proud of him sticking up for himself- Henry is proud of him- He did good, he’s a good boy-
“Fuck,” he whines, his dick swelling inside his jeans so fast that he feels faint for a moment, his knees almost buckling, but Henry’s strong arms are there instantly, winding around him to hold him up, to pull him back against the hot wall of muscle that makes him up. Henry huffs happily into the crook of Will’s neck and walks them forward a step, pinning the front of Will’s hips against the edge of the sink, pressing his own hardening length against his ass.
The entirety of Will’s reality narrows in on them, on their bodies pressed together in this bathroom. The muffled sound of students passing by outside the door fades away, the slam of lockers, the hum of conversation, all of it disappears as Henry grinds his hips forward, pressing Will’s dick harshly against the front of the sink.
“You made him bleed, William,” Henry continues, panting against Will’s ear, one of his hands frantically ripping open the belt at Will’s waist, the other one dragging up Will’s back to grip the hair at the back of his head so, so tightly. Will whines sharply, his hands clapping against the sides of the sink to help hold himself up, bending at the waist slightly to writhe his ass against the hard body behind him. “You did so, so well. My good fucking boy.”
Henry drags him back half a step by the hand in his hair, finally getting the belt pulled off to the side, tugging the button of his jeans open and forcing his hand down inside the front of his pants to grip hard at the boy’s leaking cock.
“-’m your good boy,” Will slurs to Henry’s reflection, their shining eyes meeting in the mirror, his lids falling closed halfway as he sinks into the feeling of the older man’s rough grip stroking him, slicking the precum from his head down over the length of his shaft.
“That’s it, Will- That’s perfect. All mine. I own you-” Henry pauses to bite down against the pale flesh of Will’s neck, the hand that was in his hair whipping forward to cover his boy’s mouth to muffle the broken cry he gets in response. Will sucks in air through his nose as Henry’s hand pins his mouth shut hard, his eyes wheeling in overwhelming pleasure.
“Mmf, mmm-” Will moans into Henry’s grasp, the delicious friction against his cock getting faster and faster, no mercy, no pause. His orgasm is rippling up from deep within, too fast for him to hold anything back or try to make it last. He figures that’s not Henry’s plan with this anyway. It's just like the day he crept into his dreams the first time, the day he dissolved the nightmare around Will and distracted him with hot touches and rough kisses. It’s Henry’s way of helping, of drawing Will out of his head long enough for his thoughts to settle back into something closer to normal. Will is beyond grateful, beyond thinking of anything other than Henry’s fist around his cock, Henry’s teeth on his neck, his hand over his mouth.
Will’s hands come up to grasp weakly at Henry’s wrist, hips canting back and forth, torn between the sparks of pleasure running up his belly from his cock and the deeper, burning heat from the pressure of Henry’s own hardness against his ass. God, he wants Henry to rip his pants down and bend him over the sink, wants his cock shoved inside of him hard. He’s probably still a little loose from last night, he could take it dry, could take it with just spit to ease the way, he’d take anything Henry wanted to give him right now. But in the back of his mind, he knows they can’t- not here, locked in the teacher’s bathroom in the center of the high school.
Henry’s hand slips down over Will’s chin, dragging a trail of drool with him, his fingers pressing down on Will’s throat, choking the blood flow to his brain off with slight pressure.
“Look at that,” Henry muses, his hair starting to fall over his forehead in silky blonde tendrils, shaking Will by the throat gently, his grip never easing. Will does his best to listen, to push past the warm cloud of absolute pleasure that has taken over his body.
He drags his eyes away from the sight of Henry becoming increasingly disheveled and locks onto his own reflection. His face is turning red. His eyes have fallen half-shut, his mouth drooped open and a small droplet of spit dangling from his plush bottom lip. Will sucks in a harsh gasp around the pressure of Henry’s hand against his throat, feeling the pleasure sharpen into something like the sweetest agony, just as the flush of his face starts to tinge purple. He’s going to- He’s-
“Oooh, my fucking god-” Will growls, lower in his throat than he’s ever heard himself speak, Henry’s eyes widening in delight, a bright smile flashing upon his lips. Instantly, Henry completely releases his throat, the rush of blood into his brain short-circuiting him completely. Will collapses forward against the sink as Henry wrings every last drop of cum from his body, the rolling wave of his orgasm taking Will for a ride that has him panting into the bowl of the sink, legs kicking up feebly as he writhes, Henry’s hips pinning him in place against the edge so that he doesn’t fall.
“What a good boy,” Henry coos warmly, drawing his hand from the front of Will’s pants, reaching his clean hand up to dig into the hair at the crown of his head. He drags Will’s head up firmly, making sure his boy is watching their reflections as he licks his other hand clean of the sweet cum dripping down his fingers. Will groans entirely too loudly for where they are, the sound bouncing off the cinderblock walls.
“I’m gonna die,” he slurs, hips twitching with aftershocks. “You’re gonna kill me.”
Henry shrugs, tilting his head in faux-consideration, humming, “Hmm. Maybe someday.”
Will jolts at the words, biting his lip to smother the squeak that rips itself up and out of his throat. Henry tosses his head back and laughs, easing his hips back and helping Will to straighten up from the sink with strong hands under his arms. He gently tugs Will’s shirt back down over his ribs, helps him clean up the mess inside his underwear, and pulls his pants back up from halfway down his ass, all while Will shivers in his arms, leaning his head back against the firm chest behind him, eyes tracking every movement. The casual threat to his life should have terrified him, it should have sent him running, should have made him want to tell someone what Henry was doing to him. Instead it just makes him huff a scratchy giggle.
“You’re insane,” he sighs, no bite to his words. Henry briefly looks up into his eyes in the mirror, a soft grin on his face as he works to redo Will’s pants and belt.
“Well, yes,” he affirms, a short nod of his head in consideration. Will just shakes his head, his own smile briefly blinding him. He can’t remember the last time he’s smiled as much as he has recently, as much as he smiles when he’s with Henry. He remembers a conversation with Mike when they were kids, when Will thought everything that was happening to him was driving him crazy- he remembers Mike’s promise that they’d go crazy together. Instead, Will was left to crack apart on his own. But, Henry doesn’t need to follow him into insanity- he’s already there waiting for Will with open arms.
“What changed?” Will asks once he finally catches his breath and Henry has finished redressing him and has turned his attention to straightening out his own clothes in the mirror, having waved Will off when he offered to return the favor. “I kept my bruises from last night.”
Henry eyes him with a smirk, teasing, “Only the bruises?” Will rolls his eyes and ducks his chin to hide his blush, but Henry’s hand comes up to catch him by the jaw, gently forcing his head back so they can stare at each other.
“What else did you keep, Will?” He asks more pointedly, taking slow steps forward to crowd Will against the wall at the side of the sink. Will swallows thickly and tries not to stutter or balk from the answer, knowing Henry wants to hear it all.
“I had- I had your cum…”
“Where did you have it, baby?” Henry asks softly, so low in his throat that it sounds like a growl. He’s eternally patient, offering Will a gentle, encouraging smile. Will huffs, the heat in his cheeks making his eyes water.
“I-Inside me,” he mumbles, dropping his eyes to the stark white fabric of Henry’s button up, fingers coming up to play with one of the buttons on the front of his waistcoat. Henry hums happily, bringing his own hands up to pet along the back of Will’s fingers.
“Good boy, William.”
“God, you have to stop, now,” Will laughs. “I’m at school- What are you doing here, anyway? You may be some type of eldritch god, but I’m pretty sure any of the teachers would still call the police if they saw a sixteen year old come out of the bathroom with a-” Will pauses sharply as he realizes something, his head coming up to stare at Henry in confusion. “Wait a minute, how old are you anyway? I mean- I know you’re older, but-”
“Thirty-six.”
Will blanks. His eyes go wide for a moment as he wonders what it says about him that he finds their age difference so incredibly hot that his spent dick twitches hard inside his pants.
“Oh…” He mutters, nodding to himself, staring at their hands linked together between their chests. His own, pale and small and skinny, held within Henry’s, just as pale but bigger, thicker fingers, veins running along the tendons on the back. A man’s hands. God, he’s so fucked up.
“Does that make you uncomfortable, Will?” Henry asks him in that detached, clinical tone he gets sometimes, like he’s bracing himself for any answer Will might give.
Will knows he’ll be rewarded for his honesty, so he shakes his head, hurrying to assure, “No! No, not uncomfortable. It’s actually kinda… I mean, I-” He cuts himself off to hide his face in Henry’s chest. “It’s hot. It’s so hot, I’m so fucked up. I’ve got issues.”
“No more than I’ve got, my love,” Henry chuckles into his hair, hands raising to pet along Will’s shoulders and neck soothingly. He continues, “I’m here because I wanted to talk to you about the change last night. Then I felt your distress. And you don’t have to worry about your teachers- no one else will ever know I was here.”
“Because you’re not really here?”
“That depends on your definition of here. I’m here enough to do this-” He draws Will’s face up to plant a soft, sweet kiss upon his lips. “And this-” He reaches down with both hands to grasp firm handfuls of Will’s ass, squeezing hard, delighting in the soft groan he gets in response. “But not here enough to show you what I need to, unfortunately.”
“Show me…?” Will asks faintly, still distracted by the almost-massage Henry is giving his ass.
“There are things I need to explain to you- things I need to test.” Henry brushes his lips across Will’s jaw, his neck, his ear- the boy shivering in the cradle of his arms. “I want you to come to me tonight. In the Upside Down.”
Will stills wholly, even as a small part of him wants to laugh at how absolutely annoyed Henry sounds at having to use their made up name for the alternate dimension below their feet. Henry’s hands still upon his back, waiting to gauge the boy’s reaction.
“You want me to… go into the Upside Down?”
“Yes. It’s the safest place to do what I need to. I can’t yet-” He cuts himself off with a frustrated sigh, Will’s eyes snapping up to take in the worn out expression, something he’s never seen before on Henry. He’s willingly displaying his vulnerability to Will, and the boy feels all the more special for it. “I’m still recovering. From your friends’... efforts. They very nearly killed me.”
Will reels at the open admittance, at the fact that they had almost won. This whole time, they’ve never really known what had happened to Vecna, where he had disappeared to. Well, Will knows, but none of the others do. Guilt flickers to life in his heart like a match. Max flashes through his mind, her pale face, her closed eyes, Lucas’s hand clutched around hers on the edge of her hospital bed. A similar frustration grows within him.
“You were trying to kill us. You almost killed Max,” Will says firmly, placing a hand on Henry’s chest and pushing him back a step, half-shocked when Henry willingly backs off and nods.
“I know. I’m- changing. I’m trying to change.” Henry does push against Will’s hand then, stepping forward to grab at the sides of Will’s head and drag him close to press their foreheads together. “You are changing me, Will. I can bring Maxine back. But, like I said… I’m still recovering. I’ll explain it all tonight. Just say that you’ll come, Will.”
He sounds desperate, he sounds like he’s telling the truth. Will should say no, he should push Henry off of him and try to flee, to run out into the hall and scream for his friends, for Lucas, and Mike, and Dustin. But Henry’s head is still pressed against his own and Will can feel the tremor in his hands, can hear his uneven breathing.
“Okay,” Will agrees shakily, refusing to think about how scared he is to go back there, to return willingly to the place Vecna had stolen him to when he was little. It’s different this time, he tells himself. He’s more grown, more aware. And it isn’t Vecna dragging him back in kicking and screaming- It’s Henry asking, and Will saying yes. “I’ll go. How do I get in? I can’t go through the gate at the library; the military is still guarding it.” He doesn’t add that it takes a collected, concerted effort just to sneak Hop through every time they plan a crawl.
Visible relief floods Henry’s face as he reels back to look into Will’s eyes, swallowing down the fear that had been building within him that his boy would say no, that Will would deny him and refuse to come to him as he needed.
“Come to the lab. The eastern wall. I’ll lift one of the metal sheets to get you in.” Henry hesitantly leans down to press a firm kiss to Will’s lips, the boy falling into it, leaning up on his toes to chase after the feeling when Henry straightens back up. “I won’t hurt you, Will. Not in any way you don’t want me to. I won’t let anything happen to you. You’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” Will sighs back against his lips obediently. It sends a short thrill up Henry’s spine but he reigns it in, saving it for tonight. “I believe you, Henry,” Will adds, blinking his big hazel eyes up at his lover.
Will jolts harshly in Henry’s arms as the bell rings to signal the end of sixth period, the sound muffled through the locked door but loud enough. He’s completely skipped class voluntarily for the first time in his life and it feels strangely good. The hallway starts to echo with the sounds of countless teens flooding out of their classrooms, going about their daily lives.
“Gotta say, I never thought I’d be the type to have a hookup in the bathroom during English,” Will quips under his breath but Henry laughs anyway, brushing a hand up and through the hair draped over Will’s forehead.
“When I went here, I was much the same. Too studious, some would say.” Henry winks at him, much to Will’s delight, smothering his giggle into the fabric of Henry’s waistcoat before he pulls away. It blows his mind that Henry went to Hawkins high, just the same as him. That he walked these halls so many years ago. He wants to ask him more but he doesn’t know how to phrase the questions, doesn’t know if Henry would want to answer.
“You should skip the rest of the day. Go home and get some rest before tonight,” Henry continues, taking a step back to observe as Will turns back to the mirror to straighten his clothes out and inspect the red marks at his throat from Henry’s hands. Will’s eyes flash over to him through the reflection in the mirror.
“Isn’t it like… morally questionable to discourage me from my education?” He ponders, fingers playing with his hair to try to tame it back into something that doesn’t look distinctly sex-mussed. Henry makes a sound that he would swear upon the threat of death was not a snort.
“I have murdered people, William. Quite a few, actually. And you’re willingly letting an almost forty-year old man fuck you every night. Skipping a few hours of school is potentially the least morally questionable thing either of us has ever done.” Will can’t really argue with that, even as Henry’s words send a fresh flush to his cheeks.
He sighs when he feels Henry sidle up against his back, his big hands running softly up and down his arms.
“Be a good boy for me, Will. Go home and get some sleep,” Henry gently orders, leaning his head in close to breath in the scent of Will’s hair, something sweet like lavender greeting him.
Will nods tiredly, feeling the day catch up with him all at once. His body is still sore and bruised from last night, let alone the added throb of his fist from punching Lewis, and the new ache on the outside of his throat from Henry choking him. Exhaustion is lurking just beyond the bend, waiting to strike the second he lets his guard down.
“I’ll go,” he agrees, turning to face Henry once more, wrapping his arms around the bigger man’s trim waist. “What time should I meet you tonight? Curfew is at ten, so I’ll have to sneak to the lab. It’ll probably take me a while.” Henry tilts his head to consider.
“Midnight.”
“Got it,” Will confirms, a yawn immediately taking over, his jaw popping. “How will you get out of here?” He asks Henry curiously once he’s caught his breath, listening to the sounds of students start to dwindle as the next bell approaches to signal the start of seventh period, the metallic slam of lockers reverberating through the walls.
“Don’t you worry about that, love,” Henry murmurs, drawing Will’s face up to gaze down at him one last time until tonight. “I’ll see you at midnight.” He leans down to press his lips to Will’s, both of them losing themselves in the kiss for long moments. Will sinks into the feeling, his brain going fuzzy as their lips move together without him having to think about a thing, Henry leading the way firmly. Time slows as they hold each other tight in that tiny locked bathroom, the sounds of mundanity beyond the door fading away.
Slowly, Henry pulls away, his breath lingering on Will’s lips as he reluctantly drags his hands off of the boy’s body, swooping back in once, twice, thrice, for swift pecks. Will laughs a sigh and keeps his eyes shut instinctively as Henry pulls away completely and they no longer touch at all.
Something in the air shifts and without having to look, Will knows he’s alone once again. He blinks his eyes open slowly, gazing around the empty room with something like loss burning in his chest. He shoves it down deep, knowing that he’ll be seeing Henry again in just about ten hours. He’ll be seeing Henry in person. It strikes him that he’s never seen Henry, not really. When he was a child, lost in the Upside Down, he only saw the Demogorgons. He was unconscious from falling out of that tree by the time Vecna took him to the library. Last spring, he wasn’t in town yet when the others fought him, but Nancy and the others had described him in detail- the writhing skin made of fleshy tendrils, his ruined face, his inhuman limbs.
Will feels a small spark of fear run through him before he crushes it harshly. Henry loves everything about him, so he will do no less for Henry. No matter what he looks like, he’s Henry inside- he’s the man Will lov- Will flinches away from the word before puffing a sigh, knowing he can’t fool himself any longer.
Henry is the man he loves. Whether he looks like Vecna or not.
Determined to be good for Henry, to do as he says and get some rest, Will checks himself over in the mirror one last time, wincing at the veritable spread of marks splattered across his body.
He waits another minute for the bell to ring, signaling the start of the second to last period of the day, before he eases the door open and peeks his head out to glance around. When he’s sure the coast is clear, Will edges out of the door and hurries down the hall, not even bothering to return to his locker for his bag. He just heads straight for the doors at the other end of the building.
Outside, he sucks in a few deep breaths of the fresh air that is finally cooling off as they near the end of the first week of November. A thrill runs through his belly at the act of rebellion he’s taking, doing something for himself rather than catering to everyone else. Before he can be caught, Will hurries over to the bike rack and unlocks his own, jumping astride and pushing off down the road to the Wheeler’s.
He’ll be a good boy, the best for Henry. He’ll ride home and sneak into the basement through the garage door. He’ll cozy up on the uncomfortable couch against the wall in the basement and let himself fall asleep to the thought of his plans for the night. To the thought of seeing Henry.