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The twenty-sided die rolled across the table, bounced off the edge of the map, and came to a stop, landing perfectly on a twenty.
“Yes!” Dustin pumped his fist in triumph. “Critical hit! Take that, Malachar!”
Mike smiled from behind his Dungeon Master’s binder, only briefly glancing down at his notes. The basement table was buried under maps, miniatures, and character sheets, the same as it had been ten years ago, when they had all sat here together for the first time. The difference was that now they were eighteen, and the campaign was slowly nearing its end, just before each of them would head off in different directions—to college, to new cities, to new lives.
“Malachar is staggering,” Mike announced, his voice slipping effortlessly into that familiar, theatrical Dungeon Master tone. “Your combined attacks have weakened him more than ever before. His dark armor is cracking, black energy spilling from the wounds… but this isn’t over yet…”
“Will, you’re up,” Max cut in, tapping her fingers against the table.
Will looked up from his character sheet. For a split second, his gaze caught Mike’s, and something passed between them—electric, quiet, intimate. Mike felt that familiar warmth spread through his chest, soft and yet unsettlingly intense.
“Will the Wise casts his final spell,” Will murmured, reaching for the die.
As he extended his hand, his fingers brushed against Mike’s. Brief, seemingly accidental, and yet far too deliberate to be a mistake.
No one else noticed. Lucas was busy tallying his character’s hit points, Max was adjusting a miniature on the map, and Dustin was loudly explaining what he thought Will should do next.
“I’m casting Fireball at ninth level,” Will continued. His voice was calm, almost gentle, but Mike caught the slightest movement at the corner of his mouth. Barely there. Like Will already knew how this was going to end. “All of my remaining power.”
“Epic,” Dustin whispered, shaking his head in disbelief. “Absolutely epic.”
The die rolled across the table and landed on an eighteen.
“Hit!” Lucas shouted. “Let’s finish him off!”
Mike leaned back in his chair, fingers interlaced, letting the tension linger a moment longer in the air. He looked at the result, at the map, at Malachar’s miniature… then lifted his eyes to Will. The silence was deliberate. Drawn out. Like a breath held right before something irreversible.
“Will the Wise extends his hands,” he began, his voice automatically dropping. “His eyes blaze with pure, wild magic. The fireball takes shape in the air. Bigger. Brighter than ever before. And it strikes…”
He paused, dragging out the moment intentionally.
“MIKE!” Dustin groaned, flopping back theatrically in his chair. “Don’t keep us in suspense!”
Mike grinned widely.
“It strikes straight at Malachar’s heart,” he finished. “The dark sorcerer screams. Terrifyingly. Inhumanly. His body twists and shatters in agony. Black energy explodes in every direction… and then…”
He stopped.
“Silence.”
Everyone at the table held their breath.
“Malachar falls to his knees,” Mike continued softly. “His mask cracks and clatters onto the stone floor, revealing what lay beneath… nothing. Just emptiness and shadows. His final words echo: ‘This isn’t over…’ and then they drift away into the air like smoke.”
“We won!” Max slammed her palm against the table, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
“YES!” Lucas shot up from his chair, throwing his hands into the air. “We’re legends! LEGENDS!”
“That was EPIC!” Dustin yelled, grabbing Lucas by the shoulders and shaking him. “Did you see how Will finished him off? That Fireball was absolutely—”
“Incredible!” Max cut in, flashing a wide grin. “Mike, that campaign was the best one ever.”
“Seriously, the best,” Lucas agreed, dropping back into his chair, still wearing a stupidly pleased smile. “Malachar was fucking terrifying. I thought he was going to kill us at least fifteen times.”
“Sixteen,” Dustin corrected proudly. “I was counting.”
Laughter filled the room. Loud, uncontrollable, the kind that left a warm echo behind and the feeling that, for just a moment, nothing bad existed.
The basement light cast a soft glow across their faces, just like it had all those years ago. Mike remembered their very first sessions—little boys gathered around the same table, Will smiling shyly as Mike helped him create his first character.
So much had changed since then.
“Mike,” Will said quietly, drawing his attention. “That was… that was incredible.”
He leaned over to jot something on his character sheet, and their shoulders brushed—accidentally, but it lingered a beat longer than it should have, because Will didn’t pull away immediately. Mike felt that familiar shiver ripple through him.
“As Max said, the best campaign ever,” he added, lifting his gaze.
“I agree,” Mike replied, his voice slightly husky. He cleared his throat softly. “I couldn’t imagine a better ending.”
It was a lie, he thought. He could imagine a better ending. One where he leaned over now and kissed Will, right here, in front of everyone, without hiding.
But no one knew. No one could know. Not yet.
Laughter from the rest of the table thumped somewhere in the background, but for the two of them, the world had stopped existing in that moment.
“GUYS!” Karen Wheeler’s voice cut through from the top of the stairs. “DINNER!”
“Oh shoot, I forgot your mom made lasagna,” Dustin said, springing to his feet. “I’m starving.”
“You’re always starving,” Max laughed, standing up as well and tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
“Because there’s always time to eat,” Dustin replied with full dignity, straightening his back like a knight.
Everyone started gathering their things, chatting about the campaign they had just finished.
“Leave it for later?” Lucas asked, gesturing toward the map, dice, miniatures, and all the rest.
“Yeah, let’s leave it,” Mike replied. “Holly’s friends are coming tomorrow. They want to start playing.”
There was something warm and calm in his voice, even though the adrenaline from the last scene still lingered.
“Your sister plays D&D now, too?” Max asked with a smile. “That’s cute.”
“I try to be a good older brother,” Mike shrugged, smiling gently. His gaze instinctively found Will, who was just putting away his miniature, and for a moment, their eyes met.
They moved toward the stairs. Will was last, and Mike deliberately slowed down to walk beside him.
As they crossed the threshold, Will’s finger brushed along the inside of Mike’s wrist. Quick enough to look like an accident.
But Mike knew better. He knew that touch. He could already feel his body responding—tiny shivers running along his shoulders, his heart picking up just slightly.
He glanced at Will out of the corner of his eye, but Will was staring straight ahead. His face was calm, though Mike caught the faintest smile—one that said everything.
The Wheeler dining room smelled of tomatoes, basil, and cheese. Karen stood by the oven, pulling a large pan of lasagna out, while Ted was already seated, flipping through the newspaper.
“Sit down, sit down,” Karen said with a smile. “Are you hungry?”
“Starving, Mrs. Wheeler,” Dustin replied, already scanning for the best seat at the table.
Mike took his usual spot on the right side of the table. Lucas sat beside him, and Max sat across from Lucas. Dustin claimed the seat next to Karen, which meant…
Will sat directly across from Mike.
Their eyes met across the table. Will smiled—innocent, friendly, exactly as he should. But in the corner of his mouth lingered a barely noticeable glint of something else. Something… provocative.
Mike swallowed, his heart racing.
“So, how was the game?” Karen asked, dishing out the first portions. “Did you defeat the monster?”
“Malachar is dead,” Dustin announced dramatically. “Will finished him off with his Fireball.”
“Congratulations, I guess?” Karen said, looking at Will with a small, warm smile.
“Thank you,” he replied with a laugh, trying to stay composed, though his eyes shone with something more than just excitement about the game.
“That was an epic saga, Mrs. Wheeler,” Lucas explained. “Malachar was insanely powerful. We had to gather artifacts, build alliances, prepare… So much work! And Mike made it absolutely no easier for us.”
Karen looked at her son, her eyes sparkling with both amusement and tenderness. There was something in that look that said, I see that you’ve grown up, but you’re still my kids.
“Sounds complicated,” she said, handing a plate to Will. “Will, how are your drawings coming along? I heard you’re applying to art schools?”
“Yes, Mrs. Wheeler,” he replied politely, taking the plate. His fingers were long and deft. Mike watched them curl around the edge of the plate and couldn’t help but remember how they had felt against his skin last night, how…
No. Not now. Not here.
Mike took a sip of water, forcing himself to steady his thoughts.
“I’ve applied to a few schools,” Will continued. “But I’m really set on SAIC. In Chicago.”
Karen looked delighted.
“That’s wonderful! Have you decided on a major yet?”
Mike tried to focus on the conversation—Will talking about his dreams, his future, his illustrations—but suddenly he felt something by his leg.
A gentle, barely noticeable touch at his ankle. So subtle that for a second, he thought it was his imagination.
But then he felt it again. Clearer. More deliberate.
Something smooth slid over his ankle.
A foot.
Fuck.
Will had taken off his shoe.
“I’m thinking of fine arts,” Will said calmly. “Maybe specializing in illustration. In case I want to do book or comic illustrations.”
Mike’s head shot up, his breath catching in his lungs. Will was still talking to Karen, his face perfectly composed—polite, attentive, engaged.
But his eyes… when they briefly met Mike’s, there was a spark. A challenge. A promise.
Something stirred in Mike’s chest, and his heart started racing again.
“That sounds fantastic,” Karen said, beaming. “I always knew you had talent, Will. I’m sure you’ll create something truly remarkable.”
Will’s foot slid higher up Mike’s calf. Slowly, gently, but deliberately.
“Thank you, Mrs. Wheeler,” he said, a flicker of joy shimmering in his eyes.
And his foot kept climbing.
Mike took a bite of lasagna, trying to look normal, as Will’s foot slid down and then back up. He clenched his hand around the fork until his knuckles went white.
Will’s foot reached his knee and lingered there, pressing lightly. Mike felt a subtle, electric shiver run up his leg. And suddenly, everything else in the room—the smell of lasagna, the chatter, the laughter—faded away, leaving only Will, his foot, and his pounding heart.
Mike felt his body betraying him. Warmth spread low in his stomach, and his pants felt uncomfortably tight.
He nearly choked on his food.
“Are you okay, Mike?” Karen asked, looking at him with concern.
“Y-yeah,” he managed, reaching for his water. His voice sounded strange. Slightly husky, tense. “Just… hot.”
It wasn’t a lie. He was hot. Fucking hot. His body was on fire, and every small contact with Will sent shocks through him from the inside out.
“Blow on it, sweetie,” his mother suggested. “And how’s Jonathan?” she added, turning back toward Will.
Will’s foot slid higher. Up his thigh. Slowly. Very, very slowly.
Mike felt every inch of its journey, the warmth seeping through the denim. He couldn’t look away, couldn’t stop his body from reacting, even though he knew he should.
“Jonathan’s doing fine,” Will said, sliding his foot toward the inside of Mike’s thigh. “He’s working on his first film.”
Mike clenched his jaw so tight it hurt his teeth.
Jonathan.
Will was talking about his brother, while his foot…
Mike gave a subtle kick under the table. A warning. A plea. He wasn’t sure which.
Will didn’t flinch. Only the faintest lift of his brow and his lips—those beautiful, full lips Mike loved to kiss—twitching into a barely-there smile.
Karen smiled broadly, her eyes sparkling.
“I always knew he had talent. I’m sure he’ll create something truly remarkable.”
“No doubt about it,” Will said, nodding. He looked so innocent, as if the leg under the table wasn’t toying with Mike’s patience at all.
And then his foot moved even higher.
Mike wasn’t listening to their conversation anymore. He couldn’t. All his focus was on Will’s foot, now dangerously close…
He gripped the edge of the table with his fingers.
Finally, it reached its destination.
Oh God.
A gentle pressure. Right there. Right on his growing—no, already fully hard—erection.
Mike clenched his jaw. His teeth bit into the inside of his cheek so hard he tasted the metallic tang of blood.
“Mike’s applying to schools in Chicago, too,” Karen said, serving another round of lasagna. “Right, sweetie?”
Will moved his foot. Slowly. Up. And down. Sliding along the full length of Mike’s erection through the denim.
“Uh… yeah,” Mike managed, trying to sound normal. “University of Chicago. Writing.”
He felt sweat prickling at the back of his neck. His breath quickened, and his body reacted on its own, despite his efforts to control it. Every muscle trembled, pulsing, desperately craving more. He could feel the tightness building in his boxers from what was throbbing beneath, each movement of Will only intensifying it, and fuck… Will hadn’t even…
His foot made a particularly teasing movement, and Mike had to fake a cough to mask the sound that slipped from his throat involuntarily.
“Are you okay?” Lucas asked, patting him on the back.
Mike couldn’t respond. He just nodded, not trusting his own voice.
And Will had the audacity to look concerned.
“Maybe you’re eating too fast, Mike?”
Mike shot him a deadly look, full of promised revenge, but all he saw in Will’s eyes was outward innocence and something very, very dark beneath the surface.
Another movement. This time stronger, more deliberate. Will slid his foot from base to tip, slowly, methodically, making Mike feel his mind dissolve into complete helplessness.
His hands started to tremble.
The next movements were lighter, the pressure barely perceptible, but it was enough. Enough for Mike to feel completely hot, his body responding without control.
It was torture. Sweetest, most frustrating torture.
The foot moved again. Circles. Small, precise circles around his cook, pressing exactly where Mike was most sensitive.
He let out a shaky breath and grabbed his glass of water, downing half of it in one gulp.
“Mike, you look flushed,” Max remarked, eyeing him suspiciously. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Perfectly fine,” Mike muttered, though his voice was rough and low, completely unconvincing. “Mom might’ve over-salted the lasagna a bit, huh?” he added, trying to give his words a casual air.
“Hmm… I wouldn’t say that. Maybe just a little… spicy,” Will replied with a faint smile, his voice entirely innocent. As if his foot wasn’t exactly where it shouldn’t be, doing things he absolutely shouldn’t be doing during a family dinner.
Mike felt Will shift his foot again, subtly, reminding him that the word “spicy” had a whole other meaning.
Then Lucas started telling some story—about the last basketball practice, how the coach had complained that they’d never amount to anything, but in the end hugged each of them and wished them luck in life.
Dustin laughed, adding his own commentary. Karen served another round of food.
Mike wasn’t listening. He couldn’t. Every word blurred into white noise, distant and meaningless.
The only thing that existed was Will’s foot. The way it moved. Pressing. Teasing.
Will continued his innocent conversation. Mike could hear his voice, sweet and polite, answering Karen’s questions, while at the same time, his foot was doing sinful things under the table.
Dustin was talking, gesturing wildly with his fork. Something about MIT and applications, but to Mike, the words made no sense. Nothing made sense except the desperate need building low in his stomach, except how hard he was, except how much he wanted…
Will pulled his foot back, and Mike thought he might finally get a moment of relief… but a second later, it was back in place, pressing harder, making his entire body react instantly.
Mike shot him a long look. Long, murderously charged. Will couldn’t help a snicker, quickly hiding it as he shoved a piece of lasagna into his mouth.
Another press. Another unbearable torment. Mike felt Will curl his toes against him, the tension in his body mounting, everything pulsing and craving more. His boxers were starting to get damp, and every movement of Will’s only intensified his helpless pleasure.
“Mike?” Karen looked at him with concern. “Are you sure you’re okay? You really don’t look well…”
Mike bit his lip so hard he felt the skin tear and the metallic taste of blood on his tongue, but the pain helped him pull back from the edge.
“I’m fine, Mom,” he assured her, trying to sound normal. “Just… tired from the game. Lots of excitement.”
“Running a campaign is hard work,” Will agreed, his voice laced with mock concern.
He looked at Mike across the table, and their eyes met again. In Will’s gaze was fire, a challenge, and a question: how far can I push you?
His foot didn’t stop moving.
“Mike’s putting so much effort into this. He deserves a break,” Will added, each word carrying a double meaning.
Mike knew exactly what Will was doing. “So much effort.” “Deserves a break.”
What a bastard.
They stared at each other for a few more seconds before Will turned toward Karen and said, completely sweet and innocent,
“This lasagna is delicious, Mrs. Wheeler. Maybe you could give me the recipe?”
And then he made a long, firm stroke from the base to the tip of Mike’s erection.
“Of course, sweetie.” Karen looked delighted, completely unaware of the torment Will was inflicting on her son just a few feet away. “The recipe’s from my grandmother, but I’d be happy to share. It’s really simple. The key is good meat and fresh tomatoes…”
Mike nearly dropped his fork. His whole body trembled, his hips shifting involuntarily toward the pressure, and if it weren’t for Karen’s loud, energetic chatter, his muffled, desperate moan would have been completely audible.
Will listened attentively, nodding, agreeing, while his foot made slow, deliberate movements that pushed Mike right back to the edge.
Mike completely shut down. He wasn’t listening; he didn’t respond. His entire existence focused on Will’s foot, on the desperate need to come, and the absolute impossibility of allowing himself to.
It was the longest dinner of Mike’s life. Every minute stretched into infinity. Will kept up his innocent conversation, answering Karen’s questions about school, Joyce, and his plans, all the while his foot worked, teasing, provoking.
“That was delicious, Mrs. Wheeler,” Lucas said, standing up from the table.
“Yeah, that lasagna was amazing,” Dustin added, licking his lips. “The best in Hawkins.”
“I’m glad, boys,” Karen smiled. “Max, Lucas, Dustin, be careful on your way home, okay? It’s getting dark.”
“We’ll be fine, Mrs. Wheeler,” Max assured her.
The three of them headed for the door, saying their goodbyes, thanking Karen, and once again assuring her they’d be careful on their way home.
When the door clicked shut behind them, Karen returned to the living room and started gathering the plates.
“Ted, will you help me with the dishes?”
Ted muttered something noncommittal from over his newspaper.
“Boys,” she added, looking at Mike and Will. “Don’t stay up too late, okay? And make sure the basement is tidy before bed.”
“Sure, Mom,” Mike replied, forcing a small smile.
Karen and Ted went into the kitchen, the door clicking softly shut behind them.
Mike and Will were left alone in the dining room.
For a moment, there was silence. Mike heard the ticking of the clock on the wall, distant sounds of dishes being washed in the kitchen, and his own heart pounding in his chest.
Slowly, he lifted his head and looked at Will.
Will was still sitting on the other side of the table, calmly slipping his shoe back on. His face looked innocent, but his eyes… his eyes glimmered with something dark, provocative, and daring.
“Did you enjoy dinner?” Mike asked.
“The lasagna was really good,” Will replied calmly. “Think your mom would write down the recipe for me? I already forgot what she was saying.”
Mike slowly stood, the chair creaking against the floor. He circled the table without taking his eyes off Will. He stopped right beside him and leaned down, his lips nearly brushing Will’s ear.
“Basement,” he whispered, his voice equal parts promise and threat. “Now.”
He felt Will shiver under his silent touch.
He grabbed his wrist, not too hard, but with a firm insistence, and pulled him toward the door leading to the basement. Will followed without a word of protest, though Mike could feel the tension in his body, the slow, building pulse of excitement.
The moment the door closed behind them, Mike turned and pressed Will against it. Their bodies were so close that Mike could feel the warmth radiating off him, his quickened breath mingling with his own.
“Thought that was funny?” he asked, his voice rough with restrained desire.
Will lifted his chin, a teasing smirk playing at his lips.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“No?” Mike stepped even closer. His hip brushed against Will’s, letting him feel exactly how hard he was. “So you didn’t do it at dinner?”
Will let out a quiet, broken sound, his cheeks flushing. Those beautiful, pale cheeks Mike loved to kiss. His breathing became shallow, betraying him faster than any words could.
“Playing innocent?” Mike said slowly, savoring each word. “After what you just did? At the table? In front of my family? In front of our friends?”
“You didn’t seem opposed,” Will replied, but his voice was already less steady. Shallower, as if every breath cost him more than he was willing to admit.
“I wasn’t,” Mike admitted. He slid his hand along Will’s cheek, his thumb brushing over his lower lip, lingering there a fraction of a second longer. “But did you really think I’d just let you get away with it? That you’d tease me, and that would be it? That there wouldn’t be any consequences?”
Will shivered, almost imperceptibly, his gaze flickering away for a moment before returning to Mike—darker now, more aware.
“And what are you going to do about it?” he asked quietly.
Mike smiled. Slow. Promising. Dangerous.
“I’m going to show you exactly what happens when you provoke me, Will Byers.”
He leaned in and kissed him.
This wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was hungry, almost brutal, full of all the frustration Mike had been carrying for the past half hour. His tongue slid confidently between Will’s lips, taking what he wanted.
Will responded immediately, with a desperation that matched his own. He opened his mouth wider, his hands weaving into Mike’s hair, pulling him even closer. Every movement, every breath, was a mix of tension, longing, and excitement that could no longer be contained.
Mike slid his hands along the sides of Will’s body, feeling the shape of him through the thin shirt, the warmth of his skin beneath the fabric. His fingers found the gap between cloth and skin and slipped under the edge, grazing bare stomach.
Will shivered at the touch, a quiet moan escaping him. That sound… fuck, that sound made something in Mike snap, the last threads of control starting to fray.
He yanked Will away from the door and forced him to step backward down the stairs into the basement. He led him with a wild confidence, yet was careful with every step. Their mouths stayed locked, tongues wrestling for dominance, hands roaming everywhere. Desperate. Needy. Hungry.
On the last step, Will lost his balance, tripping over his own feet. Mike reacted instinctively, catching him mid-step and keeping him from falling.
Their bodies collided chaotically. Mike could feel Will’s hardness through his clothes, and it only fueled the fire in his veins.
Will stumbled again—over a box, maybe a figurine—and Mike wrapped his arms around his waist, steadying him.
“Careful, silly,” he said when they finally pulled apart to catch their breath.
“Mike…” Will started, his voice hoarse. Mike shook his head.
“On your knees,” he said softly but firmly.
Will’s eyes widened—surprise, excitement, something darker—and for a moment they just looked at each other. The tension was almost tangible, electric, the air thick with unspoken promises, with what was about to happen.
Then, slowly, very slowly, without breaking eye contact with Mike, he sank to his knees.
Mike watched Will descend—that beautiful boy, his best friend, his everything—and felt his heart slam against his ribs so hard it almost hurt.
He reached out and gently cupped his chin, lifting his face, forcing him to look up.
Their eyes met.
Will looked… unbelievable.
His hair was tousled, his cheeks flushed, and his lips slightly parted. Eyes full of something that made Mike suddenly unable to breathe.
He was on his knees, yet he didn’t look submissive.
He looked powerful.
Beautiful.
Perfect.
Mike felt a smile spread across his face.
Will returned the same smile—at first slightly hesitant, cautious, and then gradually more confident, warmer. His lips twitched, as if he were barely holding back a laugh.
And then they both laughed. Quietly, briefly, nervously.
It was absurd. Them, here, like this.
And at the same time, it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Hi,” Will whispered, his voice carrying both amusement and tenderness.
“Hi,” Mike replied, surprised at how soft, how intimate his own voice sounded.
Slowly, he dragged his thumb across Will’s lower lip, feeling its softness, its warmth beneath his fingertip. Will gasped sharply; his eyes closed for a brief moment, as if that single gesture was almost too much for him.
“You’re beautiful,” Mike murmured before he could stop himself. “So damn beautiful, Will.”
Will opened his eyes and looked at him, and in that look was so much emotion that Mike felt a lump in his throat.
Love.
Desire.
Trust.
Everything.
Will tilted his head slightly; his lips brushed Mike’s thumb, barely, as if by accident. Then, slowly, more deliberately, he licked it. His tongue traced over the pad, warm and wet, never breaking eye contact for a moment.
Mike felt every nerve in his body ignite at once.
“Fuck,” he whispered.
Will smiled, that provocative, confident smile, and parted his lips, taking Mike’s thumb between them, sucking it lightly.
Mike felt his knees weaken beneath him. His breath quickened, his body responding without question, something desperate and burning rising inside him.
“Will…” His voice sounded both warning and pleading at the same time.
Will released the thumb with a soft, wet sound.
“Yes?” he asked innocently.
Mike slid his hand from Will’s chin to the back of his head; his fingers tangled in the soft hair. Tender, but with a promise of control, a promise of possession.
“You wanted to torment me at dinner?” he asked, his voice lower than usual. “Did you enjoy it? When I practically lost control over myself?”
“Seemed like you liked a challenge,” Will replied, shrugging.
Mike smiled darkly, predatorily.
“Oh, I like it. I like it a lot,” he said, his voice low, heavy with promise. “But now it’s your turn to show me how much you want it. How much you wanted me like this.”
Will returned the smile—provocative, bold, with that spark in his eyes that always spelled trouble. His hands were already reaching for Mike’s belt.
“With pleasure,” he whispered.
Mike watched, captivated, as Will slowly worked at his belt. The metal clicked in the silence of the basement, each sound sharply cutting through the tension between them. Will’s fingers were sure but trembled slightly with excitement, with impatient need.
The button. The zipper. The noise filled the space. Loud in the quiet, almost obscene.
Every movement was slow, almost torturous. Will didn’t take his eyes off him for a second. He wanted to see every reaction on Mike’s face, every muscle twitch, every quickened breath.
It was the sexiest thing Mike had ever seen. Will, on his knees, undressing him, looking at him in a way that made Mike feel naked—not just in body, but in soul.
When he finally freed him from his boxers, slowly sliding the fabric down, Mike had to bite his lip to keep from moaning out loud. The cold basement air hit his hot, sensitive skin like a shock—almost painful in contrast, and yet electric.
Will’s gaze—hungry, determined, and pure, unabashed desire—was almost enough to break him.
“God, Will…” he breathed, his hand tangling back into his hair, searching for something to hold onto, something to control. He felt the ground shift beneath him, as if the world had suddenly become unsteady.
Will looked at him from under long, dark lashes that cast shadows across his cheeks, then slowly leaned toward him. His breath was warm against Mike’s skin. Teasing. Promising. Almost a touch, but not quite.
For long moments, Will stayed that close, deliberately building the tension, and Mike felt himself unraveling, every nerve in his body screaming for more. For touch. For breath. For anything.
“Will…” he began, warningly. “Don’t tease me…”
And then Will slid his tongue. Slowly. Fucking slowly. From the base all the way to the tip. A wet, heated motion that made Mike see stars.
“Fuck…” he hissed through clenched teeth, his hand gripping Will’s hair harder, almost painfully.
Will purred low and did it again, this time even slower, more deliberate, as if he wanted to memorize every inch, every reaction of Mike’s body. His tongue was hot, wet, absolutely perfect. His eyes never left Mike’s face, tracking every grimace of pleasure, every twitch of his jaw muscles.
And then—finally, fuck, finally—he took him into his mouth.
Mike let out a muffled moan, his head tilting back, eyes closing in pure, overwhelming pleasure. The warmth of Will’s mouth, the wetness, the suction, the way his tongue moved and curled around him… It was too good, too intense.
He had to open his eyes. He had to see.
Will started carefully, at first taking only the tip. His tongue drew tiny, precise circles over the most sensitive spot, and Mike felt himself losing his mind, every muscle in his body tensing to the edge of endurance.
“Will… more… please, more…” he whispered, barely able to form the words.
Will let out a low sound, the pleasant vibrations running through Mike’s body, and took him deeper. And deeper still. Inch by inch, disappeared into his mouth, until Mike could feel the back of his throat, feel Will fighting the gag reflex but not stopping, not slowing down.
“Jesus, fuck, Will…” Mike murmured, looking down, unable to look away. He watched as his cook disappeared into Will’s mouth, the lips stretching around him, swollen and red. How his cheeks flushed from the effort, and his eyes—slightly glassy at the edges—were full of determination and something else: pride, satisfaction in what he was doing to him.
Will started slowly, setting his own rhythm, searching for the perfect pace. His hands slid onto Mike’s hips, holding him steady, fingers pressing lightly into his skin.
Up and down, his tongue worked relentlessly, Will’s cheeks hollowing with each suck, and fuck… Mike had never experienced anything so intense, so utterly consuming, as what Will was doing.
He tried to stay in control, to hold back the instinct, not move his hips, but it was almost impossible with Will doing those things.
“That’s so good…” Mike murmured, hoarsely. His hand in Will’s hair guided him now decisively, controlling the pace, pushing him slightly deeper, a little faster. “You’re so… fuck… good to me, Will… so beautiful… on your knees… with my cook in your mouth…” he hissed, each syllable trembling with desire and desperation.
Will moaned around him at the words, the vibrations rolling through Mike’s body like electricity, from the base of his spine to the top of his head.
“You like that?” Mike asked, brutally honest. “You like being on your knees for me? You like it when I use your mouth? When I praise you and tell you how beautiful you look with my cook in your throat?”
Will answered, taking him even deeper. So deep that his nose nearly touched Mike’s stomach, and Mike could feel his throat clenching around him, pulsing, and fuck… it was…
“Fuck, Will…” he murmured, barely able to think, barely able to catch his breath. “So perfect… your mouth is so fucking perfect…”
Will moved faster now, more desperately, his head rhythmically up and down, matching Mike.
Mike noticed one of Will’s hands sliding down between his own legs, seeking friction, seeking relief.
The sight of Will touching himself at the same time as he had Mike in his mouth—kneeling before him, taking his cook deep into his throat—was almost enough to make Mike come right then.
“You touching yourself?” he asked, tugging lightly on Will’s hair, forcing him to look up, to meet his gaze. “So turned on from sucking my cook? From kneeling in front of me?”
Will moaned around him. He didn’t need words. The answer was clear in his eyes, in the way his hips moved, seeking friction against his own hand.
And then Mike noticed it.
The light above them flickered. Just once, quickly, but enough to cut through the haze of pleasure in his mind.
“Will…” he started, but Will took him so deep—fuck, so deep—that the tip hit the back of his throat and went further. Mike completely lost his train of thought, completely surrendered, his hips jerking involuntarily.
Another flicker. This time longer, more pronounced.
Will didn’t stop. Didn’t slow down. His movements grew more intense, more desperate, as if he were teetering on the edge himself just from this—giving Mike pleasure, feeling Mike fall apart over him, surrendering completely.
Mike felt himself nearing the edge, the tension building low in his spine, his whole body taut like a string. He could come right there, right now, in Will’s mouth. In those beautiful, perfect lips, watching this amazing boy on his knees take everything Mike could give…
But no. Not like that. Not this time. He wanted something else. He wanted more.
“Will, stop,” he murmured, and gently—though it took superhuman control—pulled him back. His cock slipped from Will’s mouth with an obscene, wet sound. Every cell in his body screamed to continue, to let him finish…but he didn’t.
Will looked at him, flushed and confused. His lips were red, swollen, and glossy with the saliva dripping at the corners of his mouth. His breath was heavy, broken. He looked utterly wrecked, used… and beautiful.
The most beautiful sight Mike had ever seen.
“What…?” he barely managed to get out. His voice was hoarse, wrecked from what had just happened.
“Not like that,” Mike said, helping him to stand. His own legs were slightly unsteady, trembling under the weight of the tension. “Not this time. I want you differently. I want to be inside you.”
He kissed him again. Hard, deep, tasting himself on Will’s lips, on his tongue. It was strange, yet incredibly hot; his own flavor mingled with Will’s.
Fuck… he loved this boy so much it hurt.
He shoved him toward the D&D table. Their table. It was still covered in game pieces: a map depicting Malachar’s dark fortress, dice of every color scattered chaotically, their character miniatures set around Malachar, character sheets full of notes, and the Game Master’s binder with his detailed notes. Everything that made up their world lay before them.
In one fluid, violent motion—without hesitation, without thought—Mike swung his arm and sent everything crashing to the floor.
CRASH. CLATTER.
Miniatures tumbled across the floor, some hitting the wall. Dice scattered everywhere, rainbow specks across the concrete floor. Cards flew like leaves, spinning in the air before landing. The map slid off the table and landed crumpled in the corner.
Will let out a muffled laugh—half surprise, half arousal—and his eyes went wide.
“Mike, our game…”
“Later.” Mike grabbed him by the hips, hard, possessively, and lifted him effortlessly, setting him on the edge of the now-empty table. “I have more important things on my mind. More important than any fucking game.”
He positioned himself between Will’s legs. Their bodies fit together perfectly, as if every curve had been made to align. Will instinctively wrapped his legs around Mike’s hips, pulling him closer, leaving not an inch of space between them.
Another kiss. This one deeper, more intense than the last. Rawer. Mike kissed him like he wanted to consume him, like he wanted to memorize every taste, every feeling, every quiet moan of Will’s vibrating between their lips. His hands roamed everywhere—across Will’s back, sides, and thighs—wanting to touch every inch, to feel him, to memorize the shape of his body beneath his fingers.
He grabbed the hem of Will’s shirt and slowly began to pull it up. His fingers brushed over the skin of Will’s stomach, feeling the muscles tremble and tense under his touch. Then he traced gently along his ribs, across his chest. Every movement sent shivers down Will’s spine, goosebumps blooming under his hands.
Will lifted his arms, letting him pull the shirt off. The fabric slid over his head, further tousling his already messy hair, and Mike tossed him somewhere behind him.
Completely irrelevant where. Will could be on fire, and Mike wouldn’t even notice.
Will was beautiful.
He always had been—from the very first day Mike saw him, that small, shy boy with the big eyes. But now… yes, now—hair completely tousled from Mike’s fingers, lips swollen and heavy from kisses and everything that had just happened, cheeks flushed with a deep blush, chest rising and falling with heavy, broken breaths—he was absolutely breathtaking.
Mike just had to stop. He had to look. To memorize this image.
“What?” Will asked, slightly uncertain under Mike’s intense gaze. A gaze that took in every detail.
“Nothing, just… you’re beautiful,” Mike whispered. “So damn beautiful that sometimes looking at you hurts.”
Will’s blush deepened. The flush spread down his neck, across his chest. His eyes grew wet, shimmering.
“Mike…”
“Seriously.” He ran his hands over Will’s chest, feeling his heart beating under his fingers. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” he continued, completely serious, because it was the truth—the simplest truth he had ever been certain of. “And you’re mine.”
Will gasped sharply, his hands grasping desperately at Mike’s shirt.
“Yours,” he whispered right against his lips. “But it’s unfair that you’re still dressed,” he added, his voice trembling, full of desire.
Mike smiled and stepped back just long enough to pull his shirt over his head. The motion was quick and smooth, and his gaze immediately returned to Will.
The moment he did, before he even had a chance to toss it aside, Will pulled him back with a force that completely surprised him. With a desperate need for closeness, as if every second apart was a physical pain.
“Fuck,” Will whispered. His hands moved over Mike’s back, fingers exploring, nails grazing lightly, leaving red marks. “Mike… fuck…”
Mike kissed his neck. Not gently, not with the tenderness he had shown moments ago, but hungrily, insistently. He sucked the skin where the shoulder met the neck, right where he knew Will was most sensitive. Marking him, leaving a sign that would be visible tomorrow, saying, “mine.” His teeth grazed the skin just enough to leave a mark, but not to hurt.
Will moaned, tilting his head back and exposing the full length of his neck, giving Mike complete access, surrendering, trusting.
“Yes… fuck, yes…” he gasped.
“So sensitive,” Mike murmured into his skin, moving his hands down along his sides, across the waist, so narrow under his touch, until he stopped at the waistband of his pants, fingers teasing the metal. “So perfectly sensitive for me.”
“Mike, please…” Will was already begging. His hips shifted restlessly, searching for friction, craving more. “Please… please…”
“Please… what?” Mike bit him on the collarbone, lightly (or maybe not so lightly?), leaving a sharp mark. His fingers traced the skin just above Will’s waistband, teasing, promising, stopping exactly where it hurt most from lack of touch. “You have to tell me what you want, Will. With words. I want to hear it.”
Will let out a frustrated sound, almost a sob. His body arched toward Mike, hips jerking restlessly again, as if trying to demand what he wasn’t getting.
“I… fuck,” he whispered, trembling. “I want you. I want you to touch me. I want you to fuck me. Please…”
“I am touching you,” Mike said, deliberately teasing him, savoring every second and watching Will crumble under his fingers, the desperation growing in his eyes.
“Mike…” he whimpered quietly. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, almost no brown left, only black. “You know exactly what I mean. Stop teasing and—”
Mike smiled, but this time it was a smile full of promises—sinful, untamed.
“Okay,” he cut him off, unfastening his belt. “Okay, I’ve got you. I’m giving you what you want.”
He unfastened the button, then the zipper. He did it deliberately slower than Will had before, savoring every second, every shiver of his body, every ragged breath. His fingers brushed over the skin of his stomach, just above the waistband of his boxers, feeling the warmth radiating from there.
He pulled down both pants and underwear at the same time, watching the fabric slide down Will’s legs, revealing more and more pale skin until Will was completely naked on the table, fully exposed, completely vulnerable.
Mike stepped back a pace, just to look. To drink in the view, to memorize every inch, every trembling muscle, every glint of desire in his eyes.
Will lay there, splayed out on their D&D table, the same one they’d played hundreds of games on, told thousands of stories over, hair scattered around his head, dark strands contrasting with the light wood. His cheeks were deeply flushed, his lips slightly parted with heavy breaths, swollen, red, and wet. His naked body was ready, absolutely beautiful.
“Lie down,” Mike said quietly, his voice low with restrained need.
Will obeyed—he always obeyed; he always trusted. First, he propped himself on his elbows, looking at Mike with something between a challenge and a plea, then slowly, so slowly, he lay fully on his back.
Mike leaned over him, their faces inches apart. So close he could count every lash, see every tiny fleck in Will’s eyes, drink in every detail, every breath, and every reaction of his body.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” he whispered, kissing him slowly, deeply, pouring all his feelings and desire into the kiss. “Splayed out for me on this table. Do you know how many times over the past few weeks I’ve fantasized about this? During games… I’d look at you across this table and imagine what it would be like… you on it… under me… naked… ready…”
Will let out a muffled sound, his hips jerking upward, searching for contact, searching for Mike.
“Fuck, Mike…” Will seemed close already, just from the words, just from the confession. “Please… stop talking and just…”
Mike continued kissing downward, slowly, savoring every second: along Will’s jaw, feeling the slight stubble under his lips; down his neck, where the pulse throbbed wildly beneath his tongue; across the collarbone, the bone delicate under his touch.
Over his chest, pausing to suck and lightly nip each nipple. He watched as Will arched, hands gripping the edge of the table above his head for support. As he let out those beautiful, broken sounds, every whimper and moan emphasized his total surrender.
Mike continued kissing downward—across his stomach, feeling Will’s muscles trembling and tensing under his lips, how he could barely lie still; over his hips, sucking gently at the skin there. He deliberately avoided the place where Will needed him most, teasing, torturing.
“Mike… Mike, please…” Will was already completely desperate, tears of frustration gathering at the corners of his eyes. “I can’t… please… I need…”
Mike smiled against his skin and slid his hand down Will’s body until, finally, finally, he touched the place where he was needed most. He felt Will shiver under his touch, hips rising uncontrollably toward him.
He wrapped his fingers around his hard, hot cock, and Will let out a loud, desperate moan.
“Shh,” Mike murmured gently. “The parents are upstairs, remember? You don’t want them hearing me fuck you on this table, do you?”
Will pressed his own hand to his mouth. His eyes were wide, wet, and glimmering, but the sounds still escaped—muffled moans, pleas trembling in the air like a promise.
Mike touched him slowly, methodically—up and down, thumb rubbing over the tip, spreading the wetness, watching every reaction, every way Will’s body responded to his touch.
He felt Will shiver under his fingers, tension building with every twitch, every sigh. Mike’s heart raced; desire burned inside him.
He watched Will—splayed out, ready, desperate—and felt an escalating need mixing with every reaction of his body under his touch.
But then the thought hit him: he had nothing… no lube, nothing to make this easier for them.
“Will,” he whispered hoarsely, swallowing. “Open your mouth.”
Will looked at him for a moment, confused, but then he understood. His eyes widened, and his breath hitched even faster.
Mike reached out, his fingers pausing just before Will’s lips.
“Suck,” he commanded simply.
Will didn’t hesitate for a second. He opened his mouth and took Mike’s two fingers inside, his tongue immediately wrapping around them—wet, hot, determined.
“Fuck,” Mike hissed, watching Will suck his fingers, the way his cheeks hollowed with each movement, how he worked exactly like he had on his cock before. “Yes… just like that… wet them… good…”
Will sucked even harder, taking the fingers deeper, his eyes never leaving Mike’s face.
Mike added a third finger, and Will took them all without hesitation. His tongue twisted between them, coating them in wet saliva as he sucked.
“That’s enough,” Mike finally whispered, though he could watch this for hours. He slowly pulled his fingers from Will’s mouth, and Will let them go with a wet, obscene pop.
“Ready?” he asked quietly, holding them at his entrance, teasing, but not going in.
“Yes,” Will nodded, moving his hips, trying to take Mike’s fingers deeper. “Yes, please, Mike… now, please…”
Mike started slowly, sliding in one finger and watching Will’s face carefully, searching for any sign of discomfort or pain.
But there was only pleasure: Will’s eyes closed, his mouth opened in a quiet cry, and his body completely relaxed, taking him in.
“Good… so good,” Mike praised, moving his finger slowly, going deeper, exploring, seeking. “So fucking good for me. So tight. So hot.”
Will made only unarticulated sounds. One hand stayed pressed over his mouth, trying to muffle his moans, the other gripping the edge of the table tightly.
Mike added a second finger, continuing slow, rhythmic movements—in and out, scissoring, stretching, preparing. He felt Will’s body open for him, responding to every motion, taking him deeper, easier, completely surrendering to his touch.
His fingers found every sensitive spot, every point that made Will lose control, his breath quickening, his hips jerking upward in desperate search of pleasure.
And then Mike noticed it again.
The TV in the corner of the basement turned on by itself. For a second, the screen was filled with bright, gray static, and then it went out with a soft, piercing pop.
“Will…” he started, but Will was too consumed by sensation to respond, too lost to even register what was happening.
Mike added a third finger. Slowly, carefully, giving him time to adjust to the stretch. Will let out a deep, violent moan, his back arching completely off the table, forming a perfect curve.
The lights in the basement began to pulse. Gentle at first, barely noticeable, synced with Will’s breathing, with every thrust of Mike’s fingers.
“Mike… do you see that?” Will tried to focus, but his eyes were hazy with pleasure, and a little worry, a shadow of fear. “The lights… they…”
“I see,” Mike answered, still moving his fingers slowly, rhythmically, not stopping for a second, searching for the perfect spot inside Will. “Does it hurt?”
“No.” He shook his head violently. “No, it’s… fuck, Mike… it feels so good… I can’t…”
His back arched again, even more, as Mike’s fingers hit that spot—his prostate, that magical nerve button. The desk lamp across the room flickered three quick times, like a strobe.
“I think…” Mike swallowed hard. His breath was getting heavier, his body screaming to finally connect, to finally be inside. “I think it’s your powers. You’re reacting to… to what you feel.”
“I can’t… I can’t control them…” Will looked at him. Eyes wide, full of something between panic and pure, unfiltered desire. “Mike, this has never happened before… never like this…”
“It’s okay,” he said gently, leaning down to kiss him soothingly. Slow, tender, contrasting with what his fingers were doing inside him. They still moved rhythmically, stretching, preparing, exploring every reaction of his body. “It’s okay, Will. You’re safe with me. Just let it happen. Don’t fight it.”
“But what if—”
“Do you trust me?” Mike cut in, looking straight into his eyes, pure love written across his face.
Will met his gaze—those dark, familiar eyes he’d known since childhood, for nearly his entire life, and loved more than anything.
“Always,” he whispered. His voice was soft but steady. Certain. “I trust you with everything.”
“Then let yourself feel.”
Mike slowly withdrew his fingers. Will let out a low whine at the loss. His body instinctively tried to hold them, tensing, but Mike was firm.
“I’m here. I’ve got you. And I want to see what happens when you completely lose control,” he said.
He reached into his pants pocket, pulled out a pack of condoms, and tore them open with his teeth. Only then did he quickly and efficiently remove them along with his underwear, kicking them aside.
Will raised an eyebrow and grinned mischievously.
“Always carry condoms with you,” he began, his voice hoarse but full of amusement. “Or was this just your plan for tonight?”
Mike blinked, surprised, and then felt a blush spreading across his cheeks.
“I… it’s not…”
“Because if it was your plan,” Will continued, his smile widening even more, “I have to admit, your confidence is…”
“Shut up,” Mike cut him off, but he couldn’t stop his own awkward smile.
Will let out a giggle—that beautiful, rare sound Mike loved more than anything—and Mike had no choice but to silence it in the way he knew best.
He kissed him. Hard. Deep. One hand cradling the back of Will’s head, the other still holding the condom.
Will laughed into the kiss, his body shaking with giggles, and Mike felt his own lips smiling against Will’s, matching him, his joy, this moment.
“You’re impossible,” Mike murmured straight into his mouth.
“And you’re very confident,” Will replied, his eyes sparkling with amusement, but also something warmer.
“I wasn’t confident,” Mike admitted softly, completely honest. “I was hopeful. I’m always hopeful… when it comes to you.”
Something in Will’s face softened; his smile became gentler, less teasing.
“Mike…”
“But I did,” Mike added, unable to stop himself. “I carried them with me. Just in case. Because when you’re around… I…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”
Will cupped his face in his hands and pulled him down.
“So, yes.” Mike pressed a short, tender kiss to his lips. “I planned it. I hoped. I prayed.”
Will laughed softly.
“You prayed?”
“To every god who would listen,” he said with absolute seriousness, though his eyes sparkled mischievously.
“Looks like your prayers have been answered,” Will whispered straight into his mouth.
“Apparently,” Mike agreed.
His hands trembled slightly—with excitement, need, and love—as he rolled on the condom. He spat into his hand, then wrapped it around himself, slowly spreading the saliva, covering himself as best he could. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do. It had to.
He positioned himself perfectly between Will’s legs, pressing his hips against the backs of his thighs. Will instinctively wrapped his legs around him, crossing his ankles over his back.
“Ready?” Mike asked, the tip teasingly brushing against Will’s entrance, but not entering yet.
“Always,” Will replied. “Always for you.”
Mike began to enter him. Slowly, very slowly, inch by damn inch, feeling every millimeter, feeling Will’s body open up for him, how it welcomed him, pulsing and stretching around him. He watched Will’s face, searching for any sign of pain or discomfort, ready to stop at any second.
He noticed a slight, barely visible grimace. He leaned down and kissed him, soft, soothing.
“Does it hurt a lot?” he asked quietly, concern in his voice.
Will shook his head, still trembling slightly.
“No… it’s okay,” he whispered. “Don’t stop, please.”
“If it starts to hurt, you tell me right away, okay?”
Will smiled. He lifted a hand and touched his cheek gently.
“Okay.”
When he was finally all the way in, they both let out long, trembling moans that filled the quiet of the basement.
Every light in the room flickered at once—synchronously, as if on command.
“Fuck…” Mike hissed through clenched teeth, stopping completely, giving Will time to adjust to the feeling of fullness, to the stretch. “Will… you’re… God, you’re fucking perfect… so tight… so hot…”
Will dug his nails into Mike’s shoulders. Hard, almost painfully, leaving little crescents on his skin that would be visible tomorrow, marking him as his own.
“Okay?” Mike whispered, kissing his neck, jaw, and lips—everywhere he could reach. “Tell me… tell me it’s okay…”
“Yes… yes, fuck, more than okay… move, please… You have to move…” Will was already utterly pleading, desperate. “Please, Mike… please…”
Mike obeyed, beginning to move slowly. He pulled almost all the way out, feeling every inch of fullness, every way Will’s body tried to hold him, then sank back in, deep and slow, each movement controlled, deliberate, and precise.
He was learning Will’s body, exploring what made him arch, what drew out those beautiful, broken sounds that filled the basement.
The table creaked beneath them with every thrust, the wood protesting—old but sturdy.
Will gripped the edge of the table above his head again, his body moving in rhythm with Mike’s. His hips lifted to take him deeper, even deeper, searching for fullness, craving more with every thrust.
“Mike… Mike, more… please, I need more… harder…” Will begged, breathless. “Weren’t you going to show me what happens when I tease you, huh? Stop… stop being gentle and just… just fuck me.”
Mike raised an eyebrow but said nothing, simply picking up the pace. His thrusts grew deeper, harder, and less controlled. He gripped Will’s hips firmly—hard enough to leave bruises—and lifted them slightly off the table, changing the angle, searching for the perfect trajectory, looking for the spot that would make Will explode.
“FUCK!” Will shouted, his whole body taut like a string, every muscle trembling in pleasure, helpless under what Mike was doing to him.
Mike hit his prostate. Perfectly. Relentlessly.
The radio in the corner turned on by itself, jumping through stations—static, music, voices. Everything was in a chaotic whirl of sound, like someone was frantically twisting the dial too fast for the brain to keep up.
“So-sorry…” Will barely got the words out. His voice was broken, completely breathless. “The lights… the radio… I can’t control it…”
“I know,” Mike replied calmly, not slowing for a second. Not now, when he was this close, when Will’s body was reacting to him in ways that made his own breath shallow and hot. “It’s okay, Will. Let it happen. Give yourself to me. Show me. Show me what it feels like when you completely fall apart.”
His thrusts grew even more brutal, each one hitting the perfect spot inside Will. His body arched beautifully, every reaction sending up new cries and moans, while the lights in the room went wild along with them.
The game console powered on for a moment, buzzing loudly.
“Touch yourself for me,” Mike ordered. His voice was low, rough with desire, full of need and control. “I want to see you. I want to see you come on my cock.”
Will obeyed.
One hand gripped the edge of the table so hard his knuckles went white, while the other traveled down, wrapping around his own cock.
He began to touch himself—quick, desperate strokes synchronized with every thrust from Mike. His head tilted back, exposing the full length of his neck, marked by Mike’s touches, and his mouth parted in a silent cry.
Every light in the basement started to strobe, flickering chaotically, like someone had turned on a club pulse or a storm, all syncing perfectly with the rhythm of their bodies, their breaths, their desire.
“Fuck, Will… you’re so fucking beautiful,” Mike whispered, unable to look away. The sight of Will beneath him, sprawled across their table, touching himself, completely lost in pleasure, was almost unbelievable. The most beautiful, obscene, perfect image he had ever seen.
At that moment, the game console in the corner powered on again, buzzing and lighting up. The controllers vibrated loudly, jumping with the tremors, syncing with the chaotic rhythm of their bodies.
“Mike… Mike, I’m close…” Will could barely get the words out. His whole body was trembling, every muscle stretched to its limit. “So close…”
“Me too,” Mike murmured, leaning over him and kissing him deeply. Their tongues fought, teeth lightly colliding in a brutal, passionate rhythm. His hips moved faster, harder, and more insistently. “Come for me, Will. I want to feel you. I want to feel you clench around me. Give it to me.”
His thrusts became irregular, chaotic, each one deeper than the last, each harder, driving into Will with increasing intensity. He was so close, so fucking close to the edge of his own control, but he wanted to wait. He wanted Will to come first. He wanted to feel Will’s body tighten around him, trembling, exploding with pleasure.
He wanted to see Will’s powers erupt through him, as he gave him everything he had been craving.
“Mike… Mike, I… I can’t… I can’t hold back…” Will looked at him or tried to. His eyelids kept fluttering shut with pleasure.
“Don’t hold back,” Mike whispered. “Give it to me, Will. I’ve got you. I always have. You’re safe.”
Will screamed. Loudly, uncontrollably, so wildly that anyone could hear, but it didn’t matter anymore.
Nothing mattered.
His hand moved faster, desperate, unsated, while the other went to Mike’s back, digging in with his nails, scratching. Hard, painfully, leaving red marks that would remember their own brutal passion tomorrow.
And suddenly…
His eyes began to fade.
Mike saw it immediately. The brown of his irises slowly dissolved, blurring outward, giving way to pure, impenetrable white. It spread from the pupils outward, as milk poured into coffee, filling every inch of his gaze.
“Will…” Mike whispered, frozen for a moment, utterly captivated.
His eyes were completely white now—like porcelain, like marble, entirely devoid of brown. No pupils, no irises, just white. Pure, unsettling, absolutely beautiful white that drew the eye and stole the breath.
Mike couldn’t look away.
He had seen something like this before—in the Upside Down, during the fight with Vecna, when Will had used his powers—but never like this. Never this way. Never while he was beneath him, sprawled out and trembling with pleasure, crying out Mike’s name as he came.
It was… fuck, it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
Will tried to cover his face, his hands instinctively rising as if to shield his eyes and hide from him. But Mike immediately grabbed his wrists, firm and decisive, not giving him a chance to hide.
“No,” he said firmly, holding his hands. “No, Will. Don’t cover yourself.”
“Mike, I…” Will tried to turn his head, his voice broken, frightened. “Don’t look. I… I look…”
“Look at me,” Mike commanded, gently turning his face back with one hand. “Will, look at me.”
The white, empty eyes met his. There were no pupils, nothing that could “see,” and yet Mike felt Will’s gaze, that thread of connection between them.
He felt his breath catch.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, his voice full of awe, reverence, and absolute certainty. “Will, you’re so beautiful…”
“Mike…” Will sounded on the verge of tears, his body still trembling. “My eyes… they’re…”
Mike leaned down and kissed him—deeply, desperately, trying to convey everything he felt in that one gesture. When he pulled back, he ran a hand over Will’s cheek, his thumb brushing just beneath the white of his eye.
“You look so fucking beautiful,” he said, his voice breaking with emotion. “So incredible… You have no idea, no idea how beautiful you are right now.”
He kissed him again and again, short, tender kisses—on his lips, on his cheeks, on his eyelids… on those white, empty eyelids.
“It’s you,” Mike said softly, sincerely. “All of you. Every part of you. Your powers, your eyes… everything. And I love every bit of it. I love it. I love you.”
Will let out a choked sound—half sob, half laugh—and finally his hands freed themselves from Mike’s grip, only to wrap around his neck, pulling him closer.
“I love you,” he whispered. “I love you so much…”
And then everything exploded.
The lights started flickering—slowly at first, then faster, faster, pulsing in rhythm with their bodies, until finally—
CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.
Every bulb in the basement shattered. All seven of them, one by one, like dominoes. The glass scattered across the floor with a soft tinkle.
The TV turned on by itself. The screen flashed chaotically, switching channels on its own, static images flickering so fast there was no way to tell what they even were. On, off, on, off… faster and faster.
BZZZZZZ!
The radio screamed a piercing shriek, jumping across every station at once, static mixing with fragments of music and voices—so loud it hurt Mike’s ears.
The Christmas lights in the corner all flickered on at once, blinding Mike with a glow so intense he had to squint. Then they shattered, one by one, like fireworks, raining down onto the floor in a storm of glass.
Will screamed aloud, Mike’s name spilling from his throat like a prayer, like a curse. His body arched so violently that Mike feared he might break. Every muscle was stretched to its limit, trembling, pulsing, resonating with each wave of pleasure.
Mike felt it—the exact moment Will teetered over the edge.
He felt Will’s body clench around him, wave after wave, contractions so intense Mike couldn’t move, trapped in the perfect, throbbing heat. He could feel the wetness between them as Will came, his body shuddering with each wave of pleasure, every spasm resonating inside Mike.
But what he saw was even more incredible.
Will beneath him was utterly beautiful—his face twisted in ecstasy, lips parted in a silent scream, his body glistening with sweat in the pale moonlight.
His fingers dug into Mike’s back, and his legs wrapped tightly around Mike’s hips, holding him fast, refusing to let him go. His hips moved chaotically, desperately searching for more even when it was already too much, too intense.
It was too much for Mike.
He felt his own orgasm building, irresistible, starting deep in his spine and radiating through every nerve in his body. He looked at Will—at his white eyes, his face twisted in ecstasy, his trembling body—and that was all he needed.
He came.
Hard. Brutal. Every cell in his body exploding at once. He saw stars behind his closed eyelids—white, blinding, beautiful like Will’s eyes.
He moaned—loudly, shamelessly—Will’s name tearing from his throat like a final breath.
His hips moved chaotically, thrusts uneven, desperate, filling Will, losing himself inside him. He felt every wave of his orgasm roll through him, every spasm, every shiver. It was too much and not enough all at once—he wanted more, wanted to stay here forever, wanted to live in this moment until the end of time.
Will clenched around him even tighter, and Mike felt the last of his control slip away. He collapsed onto Will, their bodies sticky, trembling, and fused together.
And then, as suddenly as it had started, everything went quiet.
Complete darkness. Complete silence. Only their breathing—heavy, ragged, slowly syncing—and the distant moonlight spilling through the small window.
Mike could feel Will’s heart beating beneath him, gradually calming, returning to its normal rhythm. He felt the wetness between them, the warmth of their bodies, and the tremor of Will’s muscles still pulsing through him every few seconds.
For a long moment, neither of them moved or spoke. They just lay there, still connected, trying to catch their breath, processing what had just happened.
Will was the first to find his voice.
“W-what… what just happened?” His voice was weak and confused.
Mike propped himself up on his elbows, looking down at Will. His eyes were back to their usual familiar brown, though slightly dazed in the darkness, trying to adjust.
He couldn’t help but laugh—a quiet, incredulous laugh, full of pure joy and love.
“I think…” Mike started slowly, still breathing hard, his lungs still crying out for air, but a smile spread across his face despite the exhaustion. “I think you just blew out half the electronics in the basement.”
Will slowly turned his head, eyes tracing the darkness. They landed on the scattered shards of lightbulbs, glittering in the moonlight like tiny diamonds, on the broken Christmas lights.
The TV still flickered, and a soft static hiss came from the radio, sounding oddly loud in the sudden silence.
Will’s face shifted in an instant—from confusion to surprise to pure, unadulterated fear.
“Oh my God…” he whispered, his voice thin, shaking, threaded with panic. “Oh, fuck, Mike… your mom… she’s going to kill us. Literally. Kill us…”
Mike snorted with laughter. Louder than he meant to, unable to stop himself, even as it tore at his diaphragm and sent pain flaring through his entire body. He collapsed back onto Will, pulling him close—so close their bodies pressed together again, warm and sticky.
“That was worth it,” he said firmly, kissing him in succession—forehead, nose, cheeks, and finally lips.
“You’re not joking?” Will looked at him, utterly incredulous. “Mike… we destroyed half the basement! Look at it… all the bulbs, the Christmas lights… glass everywhere…”
Mike smiled softly, sliding his hands along Will’s sides, stroking him, soothing him.
“It was. Worth it.” He repeated slowly, emphasizing each word with a kiss, tender, lingering in their closeness. “It was the most incredible experience of my life. Really. I’m not joking.”
Will tried to look frustrated, stressed even, but the corners of his mouth twitched, holding back a smile. His body gradually relaxed under Mike’s touch, responding to every movement.
“You’re impossible,” he whispered. His voice was soft, tender, and full of love, not irritation. “Completely impossible.”
“And you’re incredible,” Mike replied quietly, seriously, staring into his eyes.
He pressed his forehead to Will’s, their breaths mingling, noses almost touching.
“That was… fuck, Will… I’ve never experienced anything like that. It was like… I don’t even know how to describe it.”
Will flushed. Even in the dark, Mike could see it, feel the warmth on his cheeks and ears.
“Me neither,” he admitted quietly, his fingers tracing patterns unconsciously across Mike’s back—lines, circles… maybe even their initials. “The powers… they’ve never reacted like that before. Not even after we beat Vecna, not even when I used them for other things… never this intense. Never this wild.”
“Maybe…” Mike ran his fingers through Will’s hair, gently, tenderly, untangling the knots soaked with sweat (maybe a little glass too, who knows). “Maybe it’s because… when you feel something this intense… something this real… your powers respond to those emotions. To what you feel inside.”
“Don’t make fun of me,” Will murmured, burying his face in Mike’s neck. His breath was too hot against the sensitive skin.
“I’m not making fun,” Mike assured him, kissing the top of his head. Will’s hair smelled of sweat and that strange, woody scent, something like tea tree. “I’m serious. And honestly?”
He smiled, though Will couldn’t see it.
“That was fucking hot. The hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Will nipped lightly at his arm, teeth sinking into the muscle—not too hard, but enough for Mike to feel it.
Mike laughed, holding him even tighter, unwilling to let go, unwilling for this moment to end.
They lay like that for a while longer, savoring the warmth, the closeness, the feeling of complete, absolute contentment, before reality slowly began to creep back in, reminding them that the world outside this moment still existed.
Finally—too quickly, too soon—Mike had to pull back. Gently, carefully, making sure not to disturb the balance between them. He wrapped the condom in an old rag he found in the corner and tossed it in the trash.
They both grimaced at the sudden emptiness. Will let out a quiet, broken protest, and Mike leaned in, kissing him once more—briefly, but intensely, just to fill the space between them a little.
“You okay?” he asked with concern, supporting Will as he sat on the edge of the table. His hands stabilized him delicately, as if any movement could throw him off balance. “Does it hurt? Did I overdo it?”
“Perfect,” Will replied, smiling lazily. His eyes were half-lidded, still shining from the intensity of the moment. “Just… tired. Using my powers always drains me, and that was…” He trailed off, waving his hand helplessly, searching for words that could capture what he had just felt.
“Intense,” Mike finished for him, kissing him once more, holding the moment between them. Quietly, unhurriedly, letting their breaths settle.
“Very intense, to say the least,” Will agreed, laughing softly.
Mike pulled back for a moment, looking at him—Will’s body still trembling, his breath slowly settling, hair damp with sweat and completely tousled.
He managed to find some tissues. Taking one, he gently began to wipe Will, running his fingers from his stomach down across his thighs, with such tenderness that it felt like each movement was trying to pause the moment, to show how much he cared.
Will let out a quiet, satisfied moan, closing his eyes and letting him do it. He was vulnerable and trusting, and Mike felt a wave of affection as strong as the desire that had burned between them just moments ago.
Once everything was more or less “cleaned up,” they started getting dressed. They stumbled over each other, quietly laughing at every accidental movement.
Will accidentally pulled on Mike’s shirt—it was too long, hanging almost halfway down his thighs. Mike had to stop, just stare, and memorize the sight.
“What?” Will asked, noticing his gaze.
“Nothing.” Mike shook his head, smiling warmly, genuinely. “You look good in my clothes, that’s all.”
Will flushed again—so easily embarrassed, and Mike loved it—but he smiled.
“Maybe… maybe I should wear them more often.”
“Please, yes,” Mike said with conviction, almost enthusiastically. “Every day. Always.”
Once they were finally dressed—for the most part, Mike still wearing Will’s shirt, a little tight in the shoulders but refusing to change—it took them a moment to look around at the chaos on the table. Miniatures, dice, cards scattered everywhere, the map crumpled in a corner… and fuck. This was their space, their world, destroyed in one evening, one spree, one hot, all-consuming “now.”
The floor was littered with shards of broken bulbs, a veritable minefield. D&D miniatures lay scattered, some broken; the dragon had lost its head, the wizard an arm, and the rest seemed to glare at them with helpless indignation. The TV looked like it was fighting for its life: the screen flickered with gray, uneven light, flashing on and off, emitting soft pops. The radio hissed chaotically, a metallic, piercing sound filling the basement, as if every piece of equipment was trying to say something but couldn’t.
“Okay,” Mike said, hands on his hips, surveying the chaos like it was a battlefield. “We can clean up the glass. Pick up the miniatures and maybe try to glue them back together. But the TV… I don’t know if it’s still usable.” He squinted slightly at the flickering screen.
“And the bulbs,” Will added gloomily, his voice full of concern. “All of them, Mike. How many… eight? Ten?”
Mike counted in his head, pointing to the shards of glass with his finger.
“Eight. Eight fucking bulbs.”
Will let out a heavy sigh, sitting down on the edge of the table, still feeling every tremor from their moment, and Mike shot him a quick, tender glance.
“Fuck.” Will covered his face with his hands, shoulders slumping. “We’re so screwed.”
“Totally,” Mike agreed, still smiling, unable to stop. He felt too good to really worry.
They started cleaning up. Carefully, they gathered the glass into an old trash bin in the corner (Mike cut himself twice, but only with minor scratches), picking up scattered miniatures and dice. Will found his character sheet, crushed under the leg of the table, and smiled—nostalgically, a little sadly, remembering all their past campaigns.
“Do you remember the first campaign?” he asked quietly, stroking the crumpled edges of the sheet. “When I was eight and had no idea how to play?”
Mike stepped closer, wrapping his arms around him from behind, resting his chin on Will’s shoulder.
“I remember,” he said softly. “You were so shy… scared to do anything in case your character died.”
“And you were so patient.” Will turned his head to look into his eyes, their faces just inches apart. “You were always patient with me. Even then.”
“Because I knew,” Mike said quietly, without a trace of joking. “Even then… somewhere inside, I knew you were someone special.”
Will drew in a sharp breath, as if those words had struck him straight in the chest. His eyes welled almost immediately.
“Mike…”
Mike leaned in and kissed him. Slowly, gently, with the utmost care, as if he were holding something fragile in his hands. It was completely different from every other kiss that night. There was no rush, no fire, no desperation. There was only feeling. Simple, pure, certain.
When they pulled apart, Will turned and rested his forehead against Mike’s chest, exhaling a long, satisfied breath.
“What do we do now?” he asked quietly.
“With the basement?” Mike glanced at the chaos around them.
“With us,” Will clarified, lifting his head. His voice was soft, uncertain, full of questions he was afraid to voice aloud. “We can’t hide forever, Mike.”
Mike tightened his hold, pulling him closer, harder.
“I know,” he admitted softly. “But not today, okay? Today was… today was perfect. I don’t want to ruin it by worrying about tomorrow.”
Will was silent for a moment, staring at a spot between them before nodding.
“Okay,” he agreed. “Not today. But soon?”
“Soon,” Mike promised, kissing the top of his head. “I promise, Will. We’ll tell them eventually. Everyone. But let me have you to myself a little longer, alright?”
“Alright,” Will whispered.
From upstairs, Karen’s voice called out, a little concerned:
“Guys? Why did the lights go out? Is everything okay?”
Mike and Will exchanged a look—half terrified, half amused, and one hundred percent conspiratorial.
“Because someone can’t control themselves,” Mike whispered provocatively, a sly smile playing on his lips.
Will punched him hard in the arm, but he was smiling too.
“Because someone made me do it.”
“I didn’t hear you complaining,” Mike raised an eyebrow, innocently teasing.
“GUYS?” Karen’s voice was louder now. They could hear her walking upstairs; the floorboards creaked under her steps.
Will cleared his throat, trying to sound normal.
“Uh… we don’t know, Mrs. Wheeler!” he called toward the stairs. “Maybe a power surge! All the lights in the basement went out!”
Mike had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from bursting into laughter. His shoulders shook with the effort of holding back a giggle. Will shot him a murderous glare.
“A power surge?” Karen sounded surprised and confused. “That’s strange… the rest of the house still has power. Check the breakers in the basement; they’re in the little cabinet next to the washer!”
“We’re on it!” Mike called back, controlling his laughter with heroic effort, trying to sound deadly serious.
“And be careful! Don’t go barefoot; something might be broken!” Karen added.
“We’ll be careful, Mrs. Wheeler!” Will barely kept his tone steady.
They heard her footsteps fade down the hallway, probably returning to her bedroom.
Only when Will was sure she couldn’t hear him anymore did he collapse onto the couch, covering his face with his hands, laughing quietly. His shoulders shook for a moment longer.
“I can’t believe that actually happened,” he mumbled through his fingers. “This isn’t real. It has to be a dream.”
Mike sat beside him, pulling him closer and intertwining their fingers.
“I can,” he said simply. “With you? I can believe anything.”
Will looked at him. In the faint moonlight streaming through the small window, his eyes were soft and calm. He looked beautiful—messy, tired, happy. With kiss marks on his neck, dark spots that would still be there tomorrow. Maybe even for a week.
“I love you,” he said simply, without hesitation. As natural as breathing.
Mike’s heart leapt—as always when Will said that. Every single time. No matter how many times he had heard it, it never got old, never stopped making him feel like he could fly.
“I love you too,” he replied, leaning in to kiss him briefly, gently. “Even if you blow out all the lights in the house.”
“Technically,” Will raised an eyebrow, “it was just the basement lights.”
“And the TV.”
“And the radio.”
“And the Christmas lights,” Mike added, as if reminding him of something truly important. “Don’t forget the Christmas lights.”
Will sighed theatrically and covered his face with his hands.
“Okay, okay. I get it,” he said, peeking at Mike through his fingers. “I’m a one-man wrecking machine.”
Mike laughed, gently moving Will’s hands aside and kissing each finger, one by one.
“You’re my wrecking machine,” he said tenderly. “And even if I have to spend every penny on new bulbs and electronics, it was worth every cent.”
Will blushed, but the smile never left his face.
“Romantic,” he murmured.
“Only for you,” Mike replied, completely serious.
They sat like that for a while longer, tangled together on the couch, surrounded by the remnants of the game and… their activities. Somewhere on the floor, a twenty-sided die glittered in the moonlight.
It showed twenty. A perfect roll. A critical hit.
Will’s character sheet lay under the table. The table—their table, where for years they had shared adventures, laughter, and secrets—was now witness to something entirely different. Something quieter. Something more important.
“You think… someday—” Will began quietly, fingers playing with the edge of Mike’s shirt. “Someday we could just… be together? Publicly? Without hiding?”
Mike squeezed his hand, intertwining their fingers and holding tight, as if he wanted to anchor that promise in reality.
“I know we can,” he said firmly. “Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not in a week, or even a month. But someday, Will. Someday we’ll be able to hold hands in public. Someday I’ll kiss you in front of our friends. In front of my family. I promise.”
Will nodded. His eyes were wet, but he was smiling.
“Okay,” he whispered. “I believe you, Mike. I always believe you.”
“And now…” Mike stood, reaching for him. “We need to find a flashlight and pretend we’re trying to fix the breakers before Mom comes down to see what’s going on.”
“And buy new bulbs,” Will added, taking his hand and letting him pull him up.
“And maybe a new TV,” Mike sighed dramatically. “That’s going to cost every penny I have. Every single one.”
Will smiled provocatively—the same smile that had started this whole situation back at dinner.
“But you said it was worth it.”
Mike pulled him into the last kiss of the night. Deep, long, promising more.
“And I don’t regret a single second,” he whispered against his lips.
Will rested his forehead against his, their breaths mingling quietly.
“Me neither.”
Then, holding hands in the dark—because here, in the basement, no one could see them—they moved toward the breaker box.
Of course, they wouldn’t find anything. The problem wasn’t the wiring, but Will’s supernatural powers reacting to intense emotion and pleasure. But they’d have to pretend. Make up a story about an old electrical system and an unfortunate coincidence.
Because that’s how it always was with them.
Mike and Will.
Together against the world—even if the world just meant explaining to their families why the basement looked like a disaster zone. Together in secret, until they were ready to say everything out loud.
But always. Always together.
Mike looked at Will in the faint moonlight—at his profile, the strands of hair falling across his forehead, the small smile playing on his lips—and he knew that no matter what the future held, no matter how many more lights Will might blow, it would all be worth it.
Because this was Will.
His Will.
And Mike wouldn’t trade that for anything in the world.