Chapter Text
Five months later they haven't talked about it still—the puppy thing that is. They haven't talked about it because quite frankly it's terrifying to even think of, nonetheless talk about, because that night hadn't just been them figuring things out by themselves, but in front of all their friends too. For weeks after Halloween their friends had teased them about it, cracking dog jokes and teasing them about their newly confirmed relationship, and it wasn't long before those remarks began to weigh on Mike; everything between him and Will is still fresh, basically brand new compared to the length of time they've been best friends, and it all started because of a fucking dog costume.
Which, if you ask Mike, is not even mildly humiliating but majorly humiliating because all of their friends know that's how it happened and fuck, basically saw it all too. And Mike, the master at not dealing with things, does his best to avoid the subject, diving head first instead into figuring out their new relationship until one day all his avoiding comes to an end, and it doesn't take a genius to guess who put an end to it: Will. He always looks out for Mike, but especially does now that they're dating. Maybe it was a one time thing, maybe it wasn't, but it's bothering Mike, so Will does his best to do something about it.
It's easy to get swept up in their new relationship after Halloween, easy enough to get distracted with the fact that they're dating now—officially—that the puppy thing isn't even in the top 10 of things to figure out first. First is figuring out if they actually meant the boyfriends thing which yes, clearly they did, and next came telling everyone. Then came Christmas and telling their families, and then came a whole list of other things until the whole puppy thing was stuffed so far into the back of Mike's mind he hadn't thought about it until now.
Or at least he wishes he could say that, truly. In reality, the puppy thing is a constant at night. A constant in his dreams. A constant when he's fucking Will and when Will is fucking him. Hell, even a constant when he's making breakfast in the mornings. It is by far the hottest thing that's ever happened to him and he misses it, but he doesn't exactly know how to bring it up to his boyfriend that he wants him to shove ears and a collar on him again—there's no Halloween or liquor excuse this time.
But with all his worrying, Mike doesn't bring it up; he lets it linger in the back of his head—in his dreams—as the two fall into the familiarity that comes with a couple nearing their six-month anniversary. They go on dates, make dinners together, go on double dates, and have lots of naps—naps that only increase in number towards the end of the school year.
One day, early in the month of March, Mike is laying on the couch, fast asleep, with his head buried into Will's lap. It had been a long day, one where he had come home from class exhausted, having written himself half to death trying to come up with a new final paper idea after his professor had completely torn his last one apart. His professor had called it overused and 'quite frankly—boring', which Mike took offense to thank you very much.
Because he tries, a lot, and it sucks always having his professor brush him off time and time again despite his high marks. Maybe he's pushing Mike to do better, to break out the ideas that always let his creativity surge and push him to top spots in all his classes, but it makes him feel horrible more often than not, which is exactly why he's halfway curled up in his boyfriend's lap. Well, mostly.
Will is comfortable for one, and for another, Will always knows how to make him feel better; he knows just when to ask about Mike's day, knows just how much to talk back or when to simply hum to show he's listening, knows how much to press a smattering of soft kisses along Mike's forehead and cheeks, knows how to scratch at his scalp until he's putty in his lap, knows exactly how to be the best boyfriend ever.
So it's no surprise when Mike wakes up later, having not even noticed he fell asleep, with his head in Will's lap and his brain practically mush. There's a quiet moment after he awakes where all he does is stare at Will through his sleep heavy eyes, watching the way Will gnaws gently at his lip as he focuses intensely on his work; he's beautiful, as always. Mike can't help but nuzzle further into his boyfriend's stomach before he just barely manages to lift his head up, just in time for Will to duck down, pressing a kiss onto his hairline. Of course Will notices Mike is awake before he even says anything—he's just perfect like that.
"Morning. You have a good nap?"
Absolute nonsense falls from Mike's lips in response as he shifts, still blinking the sleep from his eyes. It's not until he catches sight of the art piece Will has been working on that he truly wakes; he's been working on it since Mike had stumbled through their apartment door earlier that day, practically throwing himself onto the couch on top of him and Mike never even bothered to take a peek—but it's him.
It's him, curled up not too dissimilar from how he has been laying on Will's lap the whole time, but it's different; his eyes are half-open, irises barely peeking through sleep weighted eyelids to peer towards the audience—the viewer—but the real difference comes from what he's wearing, or well, the lack of what's he's wearing. Unlike now, where Mike is covered in a soft downy sweater and an old pair of jeans, in Will's drawing his skin is completely bare, or at least he thinks it is for a moment until his eyes trail further up his body, catching on the sight of the all too familiar thin black strap of leather around his throat—the collar. But it's not just the collar because barely visible through the mess of curls atop his head is those same puppy ears from Halloween.
The drawing is still rough, clearly just a sketch that Will has been working absentmindedly on, but the roughness of the work does nothing to prevent the harsh swallow Mike has to fight through. He's naked in the drawing. Naked. He's naked and his body is littered with marks he's all too familiar with after the months they've spent having sex: hickeys, bites, and finger shaped bruises.
Will must notice where he's looking because he tilts the drawing more towards him, letting him see more clearly the love he's drawn Mike with.
"'S not for class." Is all he says.
"I'd hope not." Mike retorts, shifting up more from Will's lap to lean back into his front.
One of Will's arms abandons his work to wrap around his side, tucking him further against himself before pressing a kiss against his neck and Mike hums, letting his head loll back slightly to give him more space.
"It's really good though. You always draw me so handsome."
"Because you are."
They're dancing around the subject of the drawing having the ears—having the everything really. Will hardly ever draws him naked, too embarrassed at the thought of anyone else getting to see him that way, but this is a whole other story; this is Mike, naked, clearly having just had sex, with the very ears and collar they've been dancing around the last six months.
Mike scoffs, but it's mostly lighthearted. "I'd show you handsome if only I could draw."
He can feel the crinkle of Will's lips against his neck. "You'd draw yourself?"
Mike lets out a groan this time and shifts away while Will starts laughing. "I meant you! I was trying to be smooth."
"I know! I know! It was cute." Will smiles and the sight makes Mike huffs, although both of them know it's clearly an exaggeration.
"I can teach you sometime, if you want." Will offers after a moment.
"Teach me what?"
"How to draw people."
Mike's eyes flicker back to the drawing Will has been working on. "You gonna teach me to draw animals too?"
It's a taunt—a jab—and Mike wants to reel his words back in the second they slip from his mouth. It's been almost 5 months and they haven't talked about it, dancing around the subject the same way they've been dancing around each other for years.
It's Will's turn to scoff this time, but he's more amused than anything. "No, not if you wanted to draw me. You're the one who likes to be the puppy."
The flush rises to his cheeks before Mike can stop it, forcing down a shaky gulp; there's no stopping the sense of awkwardness that follows either because it hasbeen on the back of his mind—the puppy thing that is—because he had liked it, a lot actually. A surprising amount. He practically loved- loves being Will's puppy, and sure, he loves their relationship as it is, and he certainly loves the sex they've been having since they got together, but part of him still longs for what they had that Halloween night.
But it's precisely because he's Will's puppy that he can't say it; he's Mike Pathetic Puppy Wheeler, so instead of telling his boyfriend something arguably much easier than the 'I love you' he's long since said, he changes the subject.
"Whatever. How long was I out?"
It isn't a denial. It isn't Mike telling him that no, he doesn't enjoy being Will's puppy, it's just him sidelining the conversation again, like he had been doing for months; but he knows that Will knows it isn't a no—can see it in his eyes. And because he's Will Amazing Boyfriend Byers, despite knowing exactly what Mike is doing, Will doesn't push, and just gives him a searching look for a moment before he humours him.
"Just over an hour."
"I love you."
And clearly, Mike doesn't tell him he loves him enough, can't possibly tell him he loves him enough, otherwise Will wouldn't react like this; maybe it's because Will knows what he means, knows why he's saying it, knows it really is part of why Mike loves him, but there's that jump to Will's expression, like he still can't quite believe it's Mike saying that to him of all people.
"I love you." He says again and watches the heat rise to Will's cheeks.
It's been months and a simple 'I love you' still does that to his boyfriend. He wants to say it again—wants to watch Will's cheeks redden, watch the corner of his lips crinkle, and to watch his eyes soften.
"I love you too." Will says back.
"You still got work to do?" Mike's jaw cracks with the yawn he lets out, hand flying to cover his mouth as Will shifts to put the drawing fully down on the table in front of them.
"Hmm, no, not really. Why?"
"Wanna take a nap together this time?"
It's an innocent suggestion but just the thought has Mike's heart racing. Something about how domestic this is will never fail to make him happy, and it's clearly the same for Will when he offers him a sweet smile.
"Course." He lays back against the arm of the couch and lifts his arm, as if expecting Mike to curl up against him.
Normally, that would be a wonderful position, one he loves, but something about today has him wanting more.
"Turn around."
Will raises an eyebrow until Mike motions at him to follow his demand and he does, turning onto his side and facing the outside of the couch. Taking advantage of the new space before his boyfriend, Mike quickly slides behind him, morphing his body around Will's and winding his arms around his middle, pulling them flush together as he nuzzles his face into Will's neck.
"I love you." Mike whispers, breath ghosting out over the nape of Will's neck.
His eyes flutter shut, body already being swept up by the sweet promises of a nap with his boyfriend; he can barely manage anything above his quiet whisper, but he knows Will hears it from his soft intake of breath. It's good that he hears it now—Mike doesn't know if he can manage to force out another confession before sleep takes him.
Will laces his hands over where Mike's are wrapped around his stomach, his thumb tracing over his ring finger.
"Love you too." He whispers back.
He does love him. Loves Mike so much his very heart hurts trying to find the words to convey it. Part of him can't believe they're coming up quickly on their six-month anniversary, can't even believe they're together—finally—and that it's Mike who's the one to have 'I love you's falling from his lips every other sentence. Mike Wheeler loves him and it makes his heart hurt. Mike Wheeler loves him and wants to be his boyfriend. Mike Wheeler loves him and loves him enough to hide from him.
Will's not an idiot and never has been. Choosing art has never been an indication he isn't as intelligent as his friends, moving on to study literature, physics, and anatomy; it's merely his calling, a way to bring creativity to a world that surely needs it—from a boy who lives and breathes love, enough that Will can't deny his desperate need to make it so one day Mike won't have to deny himself what he wants. They've both been afraid for far too long in their lives.
His thumbs drags over Mike's finger again, circling. Maybe he knows what might make it easier—make it so neither of them feel the need to hide from each other anymore. But it's a want, not a need—something he knows rationally is too early, but the longer he lies in Mike's arms, the longer he feels the puffs of breath against the back of his neck, the longer he remembers the late night sleepy whispers of 'I love you', the more he wants to make it a now. Will got over his fears a long time ago, but some part of Mike's still linger; he still fears his desperation to submit—to open himself up wholly to another and feel good, like a good boy.
"Mike?"
It comes out as a whisper, softer than anticipated, but perhaps it's the right move when Mike doesn't so much as stir from behind him. Asleep.
"I love you." He says softly.
"I love you." And again.
"I love you." And again.
Because he does. He does so much it hurts.
The next time anything puppy related is brought up is—again—when they're sitting together on the couch a few weeks later. It's some random day of the week, one Mike doesn't bother to remember because it's far from the most important thing that happens that day. But they're sitting and chatting absentmindedly until there's a knock at the door and Will bolts up from next to Mike and practically races to the door; it's weird, and quite frankly, almost out of character, because Will has never rushed to get what Mike assumes is a package even once in his life.
For a brief moment Mike considers what it could be: probably art related—maybe those new paints Will was talking about wanting to try out a few weeks ago. But then quickly his train of thought switches and he can't help but focus on the package—not what it could be but why. Why did Will bolt over to the door to answer it before him? Why didn't he even mention something in passing about ordering something?
"-that's all. Thank you."
Mike's head is practically spinning as he watches Will quickly close the door after grabbing the package; he examines it closely, squinting at a label before his eyes dart up to meet Mike's and then he's quickly crossing the room, settling back into his spot on the couch and tentatively setting the package in front of Mike, not himself. Confusing and suspicious.
Worse than just spinning, Mike's head begins to fill with ideas. Was it something bad? Were they about to have their first talk? Oh god. They so were and it was almost their six-month anniversary and maybe this is a break up gift or somehow something even worse-
"It's for you."
Mike startles, blinking when Will pushes the box even closer to him.
"You got me something?"
Mike tries to keep the anxiety out of his voice. Maybe it's a good something after all—maybe Will rushed over to the door out of excitement, not out of desperation to keep it hidden from Mike. He stares down at the box again and after a moment, some of that anxiety melts away, because why would it be something bad? More realistically it was just a normal gift, or maybe even something for their anniversary which oh god, has his heart racing again but in a good way.
Will tries to shrug it off. "Just something small. Early six-month anniversary gift lets say, or at least part of it. The rest will come later. Now open it."
There's a smile on Will's face, one he hopes comes across as comforting, because, despite Mike's best efforts, Will can and has been able to read him the whole time, and what Mike seems to think is a neutral expression practically screams nervousness to him. In reality, Will is nervous himself too. They haven't talked about this, barely even hinted at the topic since Halloween, so to say this is a bit of a gamble is an understatement.
"Oh." Mike's response comes out almost breathless.
It was for him. Part of his thoughts were real—at least the good ones—and something odd settles in his chest at the realization. Being the middle child it wasn't like his parents just got him things. Maybe on birthdays, sure, but this is different; it's his first time receiving an anniversary anything and it's from Will. Everything from Will is special. He still has the first gift Will ever got him—a small knight figure for his birthday—and he intends to keep everything else Will might get him over the years; they mean that much to him.
The package seems daunting in his hands for a moment—like something he's been waiting for. But even despite his hesitation, Mike can't hold back for long before finally giving into his excitement and Will's demand, tearing into the package. There's several ideas floating around in his brain again: possibilities and uncertainties, things he knows it could and couldn't be—but this was nowhere on the list.
Mike finally tears through the cardboard exterior, ripping a thin black sheet of stuffing paper out of the box before he freezes, because it isn't a figure or something to do with DnD but a collar. For a moment, Mike stills, unable to do anything but stare, not even processing what he's seeing because they haven't talked about this. It's been months and besides one drawing he saw Will work on, neither of them have brought up anything to do with the puppy thing. But now that the time for discussion is very apparently here, right in front of him, Mike's eyes practically glaze over as he finally takes in the collar.
It's custom, that much is clear from the moment he truly looks at it. The collar is made of a study dark brown leather, much nicer than the flimsy fake one from Halloween. There's an o-ring, similar to his Halloween collar—the one still tucked away, hidden in the back of his closet—but that's where the similarities end; the o-ring is clearly real metal and looks expensive, bent into the shape of a heart, instead of the normal circular shape.
Mike turns the collar over in his hands, fingers tracing over the heavy weighted leather on the outside before his fingers dip inside where it's smooth. There's soft padding on the inside of the collar and it's clearly there to prevent chaffing—to prevent bruises like last time. His fingers tremble ever so slightly over the padding before he continues to turn the collar in his hands until he freezes again, because engraved onto a small tag on the front reads: Property of Will Byers.
Mike blinks, or at least he thinks he must in the eternity he spends staring at the tag, and finally forces his gaze away and up at Will. Will is staring back at him intently, and it doesn't take a genius to understand why. He's trying to gauge his reaction; Will hadn't exactly asked if Mike wanted this—if he even ever wanted to continue their puppy thing—but he just had a feeling.
Truly, it wasn't just a feeling, because Will knows Mike almost as well as he knows himself, if not better at times. He can read Mike as easily as he can read a book, and even without words he can tell what Mike has been trying to say and also been trying to hide.
"You got this for me?" Mike's breathless asking it, tracing over the name tag on the collar over and over again with his thumb, almost mindlessly because he can't quite seem to look away from the leather collar.
Will seems to pause slightly. "Sorry if you don't like it, I never really asked but I just thought-"
"I love it." Mike interrupts.
He's not lying, he couldn't be, not when the collar is comfortable and soft and everything he's been thinking about since November 1st. Deep down, Mike's craved this more than anything, so he can't resist now that there's finally a collar in his hands: he needs it on.
"Can you… put it on me?" Mike asks, and his voice is quiet, as if, despite it being a gift, there's still something in him that's afraid.
Will blinks, seemingly shocked by the request. "Right now?"
"Please. I- it's- I just-" Mike can't seem to find the words to describe just how much he needs this, but he doesn't have to—Will understands.
Will shifts, reaching forward to gently take the collar from Mike's hands, and when he does, Mike can't help the shaky breath he releases. It's time—finally—after months of waiting and hoping. He's finally getting his collar.
"Can you turn-"
Before Will can even finish speaking Mike is moving, tilting his head away and staring, fixated at the wall opposite from him. He's practically quivering with anticipation, but deep down, some part of him still cowers from nerves—even more so when he hears the clinking of the collar's clasp being undone. There's a growing want inside of him, one he didn't think had the possibility to even grow at all; he needs this.
"Will, please."
There's a hand brushing the hair from the back of his neck—Will's—and the tenderness of the action has him flushing. Cheeks burning, Mike's eyes flutter shut when suddenly there's leatherleatherleather around his neck and the clink of the clasp, and then nothing else matters—not his embarrassment, not his nerves—because all he can feel is that familiar weight around his neck.
It feels so much better than the cheap collar he had been wearing for Halloween. The leather is thick but doesn't bite or rub into his skin like that other one, it's just thick and weighted around his neck, making him feel owned—safe. Even the tag is nice and clinks lightly with every shake of his head as Mike tries to familiarize himself with the new collar.
With each shake of Mike's head, Will can feel his heart swell bigger and bigger; he's so fucking cute. It's normal for him to feel that way about his boyfriend—he's been in love with him for almost a decade after all—but nothing has ever been quite like this. Mike's curls bounce with each shake and shift and with the collar around his neck and clinking of his tag, he's somehow already perfected the puppy look.
Surprisingly, when Will first started thinking about collars it hadn't even been solely a sexual thing; he just liked the look of Mike in a collar. He would look cute and hot all dolled up as a puppy again, and Will also just liked how free it made him look. For once, Mike hadn't shied away from asking for things or opening himself up, and really, maybe what Will had liked best—had looked forward to most—was him being happy. And Mike truly looks it as he tilts his head from side to side, hands gently tracking over the collar on his neck as he tries to get used to the feeling.
In all his excitement regarding the collar, Mike overlooks the second sheet of stuffing paper carefully hiding the second part of the gift, so Will reaches forward, tugging the box towards himself and gently removes it himself. Will lets out a breath, holding the leather in his hands; he's nervous again—despite Mike's good reaction to the collar, this is more and what if it's too much?
"I got you this too."
Mike freezes, head tilted awkwardly, still trying to test out the collar, before he glances back over at Will and his eyes instantly blow wide. He isn't sure what he expected to be the second gift and realistically, this made sense, but it still didn't stop his shock upon seeing the leash. To him, a leash can't really be high quality—or at least it never occurred to him that it would matter—but the sight of the smooth looking leather, matching the exact shade of his collar, with an embroidered M on the handle has his blood burning.
Something in him fractures; the feeling is overwhelming, tugging and twisting and stealing the breath from his lungs until Mike realizes it's desire. But it's not just desire, but care and love and every other emotion he's felt the last few months in his relationship. Will cares enough about him to get him this—high quality, expensive stuff—cares enough to practically read his mind and get him exactly what he's been craving and make it perfect for him.
"Will." Mike's voice is breathless. "This is- this looks expensive."
Will shrugs, picking at the material of his pants. "It was a bit, yeah. But it's worth it for you. I told you it was part of your gift."
"My early one." Mike mumbles, gaze still stuck on the leash in Will's hands.
"Yeah." Will's tone is soft and it's what finally gets Mike to tear his eyes away from the leash and back to Will's face.
The expression he finds there isn't one of of heated desire like he expects or even sweetness, but one of contemplation.
"So you like it?"
Mike lets out a puff of air. "I told you yes already."
"Mm, I just-" Will's eyes dart between his. "Wanted to be sure."
Of course he did, this is Will, always the one to make sure he's fine, always the one to make sure whatever Mike isn't saying is figured out—and he did. Will had figured out what he wanted without Mike even needing to voice it.
"You want me to show you how sure I am?"
It's then that Will's expression changes again, falling into that sultry expression that Mike had expected earlier; his eyes fall half-lidded, those bunny teeth biting into his bottom lip, and his hands fidget restlessly at his sides.
Mike shifts forward until his hands rest on Will's knees. "Will?"
"Yeah?" Will's eyes are hardly focused, going almost hazy as his hands fly up to clutch at Mike's hips.
"Yeah to your name or yeah to me showing you?" He's teasing and he knows it but the flicker of a grin on Will's lips—the amusement in his rolling eyes—tells him Will's playing along.
"Yeah." Will says, that same grin stretching his lips further before Mike covers them with his own.
It's languid for a bit, the two simply savouring each other—slow drags of lips over lips—before Mike pulls back, brushing his lips over Will's—teasing, again—before he whispers.
"You're perfect to me."
Mike can feel the quiver of Will's lips against his, the quiet intake of breath, before it all comes heaving back out against his mouth.
"You're perfect too-"
"Will."
Mike doesn't let him finish—can't—because this isn't about him. This is about Will. This is about how much Mike wants to show how he appreciates everything he does for him, time after time.
Their lips meet again, but this time Will opens his mouth against Mike's, licking over the seam of his lips until Mike lets him in, lets the kiss evolve from mere languid movements to heat and tongues and teeth. With each movement of Will's tongue against his, Mike feels his body grow hotter, the heat rising, burning through his veins until it reached his head; it's blurring his mind, burning away anything that isn't Will—kissing Will, touching Will, Will, Will, WillWillWill. He could survive this way, could drink down the saliva dripping from Will's tongue and eat anything Will offers him so he can stay here, lips pressed together, clawing his way closer until there's no more space left between them. Mike's going crazy with it—how much he needs to show Will what this means to him.
Mike tears himself back after a few long moments. "Let me show you how much I appreciate it. How much I love it. How much I love you."
He watches the pretty flutter of Will's eyes, listens to the groan fall from his lips. "How are you gonna do that?"
"By sucking your dick. You can even-" Mike swallows, suddenly nervous. This is all still so new. "Fuck your puppy's throat if you want."
Calling himself that feels big and Mike feels almost awkward, but he can't deny the wave of heat that hits him the moment the words fall from his lips. He's spent far too long denying himself this—denying how much he desperately wants to be Will's puppy again.
Will groans loudly again and Mike barely has a moment to breath before Will yanks him back in for a kiss. It's just as desperate and messy as before and Mike can feel a line of drool dripping down from between their mouths—his or Will's he isn't sure, but what he does know is how much he wants to break the kiss to lap it back up. Before he can, the hands that had settled on his hips move, and for a moment he misses their warmth, the deep pressure of Will's fingers pressing into the bones of his hips, until he hears the sound of a zipper and his breath catches in his throat. That was Will's zipper. Mike knows his excitement is caught when Will's lips twitch into a smile against his, pressing one last lingering kiss against his lips before he pulls back.
Their eyes meet in the middle, hot and heady, and for a moment Mike wants to yank him back in, press his lips against Will's and stay there for the rest of the night—it's certainly tempting. But, as his eyes flicker down, he realizes there's something just as good—if not better—than making out with Will just waiting for him—sucking Will off. Will's zipper is undone now, and it's obvious through the slight gap in his fly that he's hard, but Mike is too, he has been for a while.
Mike's hands fly down, widening the gap in Will's fly until Will shifts, giving Mike room to open it fully, leaving the hard bulge in his boxers more exposed. The pooling of drool in his mouth is almost instantaneous, but not unexpected, not with how much Mike loves to go down on his boyfriend, how much he loves the heavy weight of a cock in his mouth. His eyes finally tear away from the tempting sight when he hears a slight snort from Will, having seen how desperately he was staring down at his dick, but could he blame him?
"So hot." Mike murmurs, one of his hands slipping through the gap in Will's corduroys to grasp at his erection. "So fucking hot."
"Says- haah, you." Will retorts, the grin falling from his lips as Mike's hand strokes over his dick through his boxers, thumb rubbing at the wet spot at the top before deftly slipping his dick out, finally getting his hands onto Will's bare cock.
Mike's cheeks flush from the compliment. Somehow despite how many times he hears Will call him that, he still can't help the burning heat on his cheeks.
"It's not about me right now, but thanks." The cheek slips out and Mike watches the exasperation mixed with fondness fill Will's eyes before he continues. "I think I remember saying I wanted to show you how much I appreciate this."
One of his hands moves, grabbing onto the leash that had been put aside and snapping it onto the clasp on his collar, hand trailing down the length of the leash until his hand was on the handle, slipping it into one of Will's hands. He wants Will to yank it, to tug him around and control him the same way he had last time.
Will's eyes flicker down, stare at the leash for all of a second before snapping back up, fixated on Mike's mouth this time. "Yeah. You did. Said something about being my puppy too—about letting me do something. Can you say it again?"
Will's hand tightens on the leash, tugging ever so slightly and pulling Mike's head down until their faces are inches apart.
"Can puppy speak for me?"
Fuck yes he can.
Mike feels himself already beginning to slip into the same feeling as last time—the same floating, weightless feeling; the feeling that makes him want Will to tug on his leash, pet through his hair, and tell him he's good until Mike finally feels like it's the truth.
"Fuck your puppy's throat, baby." Mike whispers, leaning forward to brush his lips against Will's before he moves back, slipping off the couch to fall to his knees in front of Will.
"Fuck, Mike." Will groans, head thumping backwards onto the back of the couch before he stands, the hand clutching Mike's leash pulling until his head is forced upward, forcing him to stare up into Will's eyes.
"You look so good for me- are so good for me."
The praise makes Mike's eyes flutter and his cheeks flush bright red. It's hard to imagine how he went this long without saying something to Will about what he had wanted—it's clear now and it had been months ago that they both want this.
Mike's legs spread wider as he settles further onto the floor, settling in for what he knows is going to take a while; Will always likes to string blowjobs out—loves the way Mike looks on his knees for him, loves to comb through his hair and pant out compliments, loves the look of tears in his eyes when his dick goes just a bit too far for a bit too long. Will's hand strokes at his cock a few times, angling it towards Mike's face as his other hand grips the leash tighter, forcing Mike closer until the tip of his dick is pressed against his lips, smearing precum onto them as Will traces his tip over his closed mouth.
"Gonna open for me?"
They've barely even started and Will's voice is already shot, betraying just how much the sight was destroying him, but really, was he supposed to be composed? This is Mike, on his knees in front of him, and just that would normally have him gone, but this is Mike, on his knees, in the puppy leash and collar he has spent weeks thinking about; this is all of his wet dreams from the past six months in one perfect person.When Mike doesn't bother to respond and instead lets his mouth slip open, lets the tip of Will's dick press in until he was pressing forward, slotting his dick into Mike's mouth and letting the wet heat surround him, Will doesn't even try to hold back his loud moan.
It feels so fucking good—always does. His puppy's mouth feels better than almost anything else, second only to his hole, but just barely. There's something about a blowjob that ruins him, whether he's giving or receiving it; something about the power of being on your knees, about the pleasure of seeing your partner fall apart from below makes it all that much better for him, but now? With his pretty puppy finally on his knees again for him? It's less about giving up his control and falling apart and more about letting Mike know just how much he fucking loves him like this—how much he loves him period.
Will's hips thrust forward, just an inch, barely any significant amount, and feels the immediate tighten of Mike's throat; he's never been particularly amazing at deep throating, but that doesn't really matter really, maybe it's even better because it means just a few thrusts—a few gags—and Will could see the pretty picture that is Mike Wheeler crying.
Mike feels his eyes begin to flutter once again, trying desperately to hold back the tears threatening to fall as he tries to force his gag reflex to calm. There's a flash of pain as his nails dig into his palm, digging deeper until Will's pelvis is flush with his face, finally having taken all of his dick. It had taken a while to be able to do this successfully, enough that Mike almost feels a sense of pride when he feels the length of Will's dick slide down his throat.
Fuck was it hot to feel him like that.
"Good boy." Will murmurs, his free hand moving to pet through Mike's hair.
"Want to sit like this for a bit? Or do you want me to take that pretty mouth of yours apart now?"
There's no way for him to speak, not like this with his mouth and throat stuffed full, but as Mike forces his eyes open, forces them to look up at Will and flutter, he knows Will gets what he wants even without words, knows it the second he tugs the leash even tighter.
"You really like your present, huh?"
Mike whimpers, because yes yes he does, but choked on dick the noise comes out more like a garble, his whimper vibrating down the length of Will's cock until the hand combing through his hair tugs, choking the noise off.
"So pretty. S-so good- feel so good for me, Mike." Will sighs out, bliss clear in his voice as his hips begin to pull back.
Normally, Mike would be right there along with him, following his hips as he tries to pull back from his mouth, but the grip on his hair and the tautness of his leash prevent him from going anywhere. Not that it really matters when seconds later Will's hips snap forwards, burying the length of his cock back into Mike's mouth.
"Hgrk-"
Mike lets out a choked noise, eyes squeezing shut as Will grinds in as far as he can go before pulling back again, hips snapping stronger this time.
"So good." Will whispers again. "So, so good, Mike."
Hips pushing forward, Will fucks through the resistance he finds in Mike's throat, groaning when he feels him tighten after each thrust. He would be pressed to find anything that feels better than this: someone—his boyfriend—eagerly on his knees in front of him, begging to get his throat stuffed with his dick and doing so perfectly good for him. Will can feel himself leaking as his head whirls with thoughts and feelings; he feels so good, the pressure constant and tight over his dick, with Mike doing his best to suction and lick along the length of his cock as he fucks it into his mouth, hips slowly picking up speed.
He keeps at it for a while, stuffing his puppy's throat and melting into the feeling of getting his dick wet, until a spare glance down at Mike's tearful face has him changing his mind about what he wants. One moment he's balls deep inside Mike's throat and the next Will's inching his hips back, ignoring the confused whine from his puppy beneath him, no matter how much the sound almost tempts him to keep going. There's no stopping the wicked thought growing inside him—the burning desire and want—and even Mike's best attempts at getting his dick back in his mouth do nothing.
"Wi-"
Mike never gets to finish before, instead of stuffing his dick back into his mouth, Will smears it along his face. There's tears there—fresh ones and tracks of dried ones—and it's never been something Will's thought of before, but the second the thought had settled in his brain he was helpless to stop himself: he wants them coating his dick. Mike's crying face has always been a weakness of his; he's always had a soft spot, both sexual and not, for seeing tears bubble up in Mike's eyes until they spill over, but this? This is something more.
Will's dick slaps onto Mike's cheek and he flinches instinctively, shock apparent in his expression and Will feels his dick start to drip when the flinch causes a fresh wave of tears to fall from Mike's eyes. His hand trembles as it grasps onto the base of his dick and then he's moving, dragging the head of his cock across Mike's cheek, collecting the tears as the fall. It's almost impossible for him to be able to feel the small drops, but Will swears he can, that he can feel each tear as they drop—just for him. There's a trail of precum being left behind as Will continues to drag his dick across Mike's face, smearing it onto the tear tracks until the two are almost indistinguishable.
The combination of precum and tears leaves his dick shiny and slick, perfectly lubed up to be able to fuck his puppy's face even better later. Realistically, it's not even needed, not with how drooly Mike gets when Will fucks his throat, but just the concept is hot; his dick, slick and coated in a combination of them, being used to break the both of them down until they were both messes. Will has to hold himself back from finishing just at the thought, cock pulsing and twitching against Mike's cheek as another set of pretty tears begin to drip down.
"You're so good to me, Will."
Not that Mike's rough, ruined voice is doing him any favours. Will's eyes flicker from where his dick is pressed against Mike's face and up to his eyes, which have lost a bit of their haze.
"Want you so bad. Didn't even have to say it."
Praise is falling from Mike's lips, unfiltered and almost desperate in the way Mike can't seem to get them out of his mouth fast enough. Mike's never seen Will like this, and he needs to see more of it—needs to keep winding him up until he snaps.
"Know me so well- haah. Know just how to treat me."
And he does.
"Course I know how to treat my puppy."
Will finally pulls his dick back from Mike's face, slick with his spit and tears and strokes it down over himself, jerking himself off slowly justout of reach of Mike's mouth. Somehow it's just as hot seeing Mike's face ruined by tears and his own spit as it is stroking his own dick with it. It's the knowledge that he got Mike so desperate and ruined that he cried- is crying, and the evidence is all fucking over him and for a second, part of him wants to cum just like this. He wants to jerk himself to completion with Mike's tears and spit lubing his hand, jerk himself off until he's cumming across his puppy's face and ruining him even more—but then the thought trickles in. What would be better than making Mike taste it? Taste his own desperation and ruin on Will's cock and make it even worse? Treat his puppy just how he likes it and reward him all the same? And it's decided instantly as he makes sure to keep just out of mouth reach from Mike, just close enough to be teasing, but just far enough away that Mike has to stay his good boy to get rewarded—because fuck would it be a good reward, for both of them.
It's so tempting to lurch forward and to stuff Will's cock back in his mouth, to keep showing him just how much he loves this—being his puppy—but he doesn't. Mike sits and waits, watching as a bead of precum drips from Will's slit and joins the spit and tears along his shaft—because that's what a good boy would do.
"Which is why I'll keep giving you your treat. My good little puppy, just letting it happen, huh?" Will's voice is raspy, hitching at the end as he rubs his thumb over the head of his dick.
It must feel good because Will does it again, and then again when he catches Mike staring openly down at his cock. But instead of continuing to jerk himself off, Will finally shifts forward, letting the tip rest against Mike's lips, yanking his hair back until Mike is forced to look up at him.
"Gonna let me fuck you with your own tears, Mike?"
Mike can't manage words, not with the promise of Will's dick so so close, so all he can force out is a low groan. His throat aches with the force of the moan vibrating through it but it feels so good knowing it's because of Will, and that he is just going to make it hurt even better when he finally gets back into his mouth.
And finally he gets what he wants—Will's cock back into his mouth—when Will slips the tip past Mike's lips and presses forward until the length of his dick disappears down his throat in one smooth movement.
"Taking my cock so fucking good." Will groans, keeping his hand tight in Mike's hair.
It's hot for both of them, this play of theirs, their ruination together, their descent into almost madness as the desire almost overtakes them both; it's trickling through them, burning through their veins and settling so low in their stomachs it's almost searing straight through them.
Mike wants to beg, to whimper and whine and nuzzle into Will until he calls him puppy again—until he gives him a treat just like last time for being a good boy; but it seems he doesn't even need to when Will's movements start up fast, hips snapping against Mike's face, forcing out near gags with each forward thrust.
"Good boy. Good boy. Good fucking puppy, Mike."
Mike keeps crying, even more now because Will doesn't stop this time, battering the back of his throat and forcing slight gags out of Mike's mouth with each brutal thrust forward. He's near choking but it feels so fucking good and god he knows Will feels good too from the near endless moans spilling from his mouth. This is what he wanted—wanted to make Will fall apart beneath him, to know this is what Mike wants and has wanted for months; he'll fall to his knees before him, give up his throat and voice to make Will feel even an inkling of pleasure because look at everything he's done for him. Mike loves his new collar, loves his leash, and he loves his boyfriend so fucking much he has to show him.
There's no holding back his moan now as Mike lets his tears flow freely and looks up through his watery lashes at Will with his best puppy eyes—the ones he's practiced. He wants Will to fall apart. Wants to be the best version of himself he can to drag Will's orgasm out of him.
But it seems he won't have to try very hard for much longer when Will's hips stutter, falling out of rhythm when he forces his eyes open and glances down, struck all at once with the beautiful sight of his boyfriend taking his dick so good beneath him. The hand that had been loosely holding Mike's leash tightens, using it as some form of handle to drag Mike further onto his dick with each thrust, but he can quickly feel himself approaching his end; there's no holding back when Mike looks like that.
Two more shaky thrusts later and Will is cumming, eyes slamming shut as he shoves in balls deep before they snap back open—he needs to watch this. His hand wrenches back, tugging the leash taut, keeping him pressed deep in Mike's throat as he pumps pulse after pulse of cum down his throat, watching as Mike's eyes flutter and feeling the way his throat convulses around him. It feels so fucking good—the tight squeeze of Mike's throat as it milks him through his orgasm—that he wants to stay here forever, but he doesn't need to, not when they can do this anytime, anywhere, and from the look in Mike's eyes as he swallows around him one final time, he feels the same want that Will does.
Despite their brief experience with the collar the other day, they don't truly jump into sex with it right away. Partially it's because Mike is probably the worst person ever at initiating conversations about things—he can never just outright ask—but also because there's just no rush. There's no need to push things, to hurry them along when Will is completely content with how things are now. Clearly, they both enjoy the collar and the whole puppy thing, but after waiting this long, Will can wait just a bit longer for Mike to grow more comfortable with everything.
It's not a secret that Mike struggles with initiating conversations and asking for things—it's always been like that—which is precisely why Will is okay waiting—he wants Mike to be comfortable. Will is excited about this—the collar and puppy thing—and he knows Mike thinks so too, but he would give up this and anything else in their sex lives to make his boyfriend more comfortable, so he would wait another 6 months if he has to.
For a period of time after getting the collar, they take things slow, but even without outright initiating anything, it doesn't prevent Mike from stumbling into it himself. He'll find himself falling into that dazed feeling he's felt the last two times he's worn the collar: head filled with cotton, limbs heavy, skin warming and tingly; he's practically putty in Will's hands whenever it happens, and it feels like it happens a lot—almost at random, until Mike starts to put it together.
The Party is standing together one day, idly talking about something while waiting for their drinks at the campus cafe and Mike is talking a mile a minute to Dustin, standing next to him, about something random until Will brushes his hand against the back of his neck and suddenly Mike freezes. At first, he thinks it's just because he didn't expect it, that Will's hand suddenly on the back of his neck scared him, but another, maybe bigger part is because it brings him right back to the puppy thing—to Will's hand on the back of his neck, of Will's hand threading through his collar, of the collar.
"Going with Lucas to find a table, okay?"
Will leans into him to speak, just close enough that Mike can hear him over the loud chatter around them, and something about the hand on his neck and the gusts of breath against his ear, the low raspy timber of Will's voice, has his brain turning fuzzy, blinks slowing.
"Mike?"
"Huh?"
He blinks out of it.
"I just said Lucas and I are going to find a table." Will says it louder this time, as if a low volume was the reason Mike hadn't responded the first time. "You okay?"
Mike nods. "Y-yeah. All good. Just didn't hear you."
A lie, clearly, but Will doesn't seem to notice.
It happens again at the library, when the Party is studying all together for their classes and doing homework. They're sitting at a table together, Mike and Will on one side together, El to Mike's right on the side of the table, Max and Dustin across from them, and Lucas across from El—their typical seating arrangement. And, like usual, Mike is grumbling about a paper he has due; he's been stressing over it for nearly a week, ranting about how even he isn't happy with how it turns out and it's clear his professor isn't either from how harsh the feedback he had given is.
He barely has time to restart but he knows he needs to if he wants a good grade and he does—practically needs one if he hopes to keep his grades up. So his papers are spread out on the table in front of him, red ink scrawled in between lines of his writing, and maybe Mike wouldn't have been so upset over the 'feedback'—the sorry attempt at feedback, really—if his professor had given him the same respect Mike had given him by not scribbling over half his pages.
After one especially furious gesture of Mike's hands over his papers, Will leans over, resting his side against Mike's as he reaches over and plucks a few pages from the table. Immediately, Mike frowns, and almost tries to grab them back before Will tilts them just out of reach, skimming through a few parts. Will is quiet for a while, knocking Mike's hand away when he tries to steal them back again, and turns the page before he pauses.
"This is really good actually."
Mike frowns, almost immediately.
"No, it's not. I barely was able to go into detail about-"
"Mike." Will's voice is disgruntled.
Mike's frown only grows deeper. "What? It's the truth!"
Gently, Will digs his elbow into Mike's side, setting down the pages as he turns more to face him, his voice lowering to something almost intimate. "This is amazing. You did so good."
This time, it's not a frown that comes to his face but a flush because those words remind him exactly of the whole puppy thing a few months back and a few weeks ago and he can't be thinking about that right here in a library.
"Mike, seriously, this is one of the best things I've ever read. You're really talented."
One of Will's hands reaches out and rests on his hand. He means it to be comforting—sweet—almost certainly but it does nothing to help Mike's fluster, if anything it makes it worse. The compliments, he figures out, are what's making his cheeks burn red—making his head feel all floaty—and he's starting to realize why.
The next time it happens is when they're at home together, snuggling on the couch. There's a movie playing quietly and for a while the volume was okay, but with their neighbours coming home and the sudden influx of muffled laughter from next door, it's practically impossible to hear anything the movie is saying now.
"Mike? Can you grab the remote?" Will asks.
Immediately, Mike grumbles, whining. "Why me? I'm comfortable."
Will lets out a laugh, one of the hands he had wrapped around Mike's back moving to poke at the back of his head. "You're the one laying on top of me, if you somehow didn't notice. I can't move, Mike."
"So?" He grumbles.
Will laughs again, his laughter vibrating up through Mike's chest where he's flopped on top of him. "Mike."
"Fineee." Mike groans, making sure to move as slowly as possible as he sits up from Will.
He leans dramatically over to the table in front of the couch, grabbing the remote quickly before settling back into his spot from earlier, flopping back onto Will. Will's arms wrap back around him almost instantly, and Mike quickly relaxes back into his comforting embrace as he vaguely hears the volume of the TV being turned up—Will of course.
"Good boy." Will whispers, pressing a chaste kiss onto the hair at the crown of Mike's head.
It makes Mike's brain grow fuzzy—fuzzier even than before, when he was practically boneless on his boyfriends chest, relaxing after a long day. This is perfect, being wrapped up in Will's arms with nothing weighing on his brain; it's so perfect that Mike doesn't want anything to change—nothing—he just wants to lie there and be good for Will. His brain is floaty and somewhere, buried beneath that floaty feeling, there's a flicker of recognition, because he's felt this—has been feeling this.
"You comfortable?"
It feels as if everything is slipping through his fingers, like he's in some sort of hourglass watching the sand rush by him, but it's not a panicky sort of feeling. It feels comfortable—safe.
"Mike?"
Mike blinks. Will's tone makes it sound like he's repeating himself, but Mike hasn't heard him say anything else.
"Hmm?"
"Are you comfortable?"
There's that tone again. As if maybe he didn't hear something which is impossible because he's right there, under Will. But maybe with the sand rushing by him and the cotton in his ears and the warm breeze across his skin—maybe Will's words might have slipped by him. Maybe.
"Yeah." He's practically breathless, the words falling from his mouth so quiet they're barely audible.
Mike's words feel small in the same way he does.
Will shifts, peering down to get a better look at him and where his face once held confusion, it melts away into something softer, something Mike doesn't really understand.
"Feeling a bit floaty?"
Of course he nails it on the head first try—the exact feeling Mike has been trying to describe.
"Yeah." Mike says again, but louder this time.
Will just hums, leaning up on his forearm to press a chaste kiss against Mike's chin, and then another when something like laughter falls from Mike's lips.
"You're warm." Mike says, and again, it comes out quieter than he means.
"Uhuh." Will giggles, and the sound lights something in Mike's chest.
"And sweet."
"Am I now?" And he's smiling now too, and this time Mike knows what's burning in his chest—his heart.
"And um. Good."
This time the laughter is louder and Will leans up again on his forearm. "Good?"
"Yeah, like, to me. And in general. Good."
Will's eyes shift between his and he's quiet when he says— "You're good too."
And when he leans in and kisses him too, whispering into his mouth. "Good."