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Will finds himself rolling his hips back into the hard heat pressing against him, a soft exhaling grunt slipping from his throat, his eyes squeezing even further shut. His fingers tangle into the soft sheets above his head, body sprawled belly-down on his bed, the overwhelming presence of another male body pressed up against his own.
He knows he’s dreaming. In the back of his mind he can register that he didn’t fall asleep on a bed, let alone his old bed, in his old room- the one he grew up in. In the real, waking world, he fell asleep on the lumpy old couch in Mike’s basement, the one with moth holes along the skirt and cushion threads picked within an inch of their lives by the never-settling fingers of the Party’s youth.
But lately, Will has preferred the unreality of his dreams over anything else, especially reality. Here in his dream, he lies out, breath stuttering in his lungs as the man on top of him humps his hips up against Will’s ass, a thick hot bulge pressing against his cheeks.
“Distracted, are we?” The man utters calmly, his tone betraying the anger lying in wait underneath. He hates it when Will is distracted by anything other than him. Will sighs into his pillow- the one that in real life is abandoned all the way out in California, in the house they’ll probably never return to- and braces his arms underneath him to better rock his own hips up to meet the next grind.
“W-Why do we always come here?” He huffs, his eyes at last blinking open fuzzily, turning his head to the side to find the soft orange glow of the lava lamp bubbling sluggishly on his bedside table. The man huffs and his hands grip tighter against Will’s hips- bruisingly tight but Will just wiggles in response, his cock twitching, straining against the fabric of his boxers.
“You feel safer here,” the man explains, the hunger momentarily fading from his tone. He gets like this from time to time, when Will manages to ask a genuine question and the eagerness to inform and teach takes over the man’s drive to devour. “More at ease.”
“Easier to control, you mean?” Will doesn’t mean to let the edge of the bite creep into his own tone, but it slips through anyway. The man stills completely for a moment, before his firm hand slithers its way up his body to clench down on Will’s chin, turning his face even further to the side so they can lock eyes for the first time tonight.
Henry Creel gazes down at him with his intense blue eyes, something unreadable within them. He hums from deep in his throat, the hardness in his eyes melting like ice.
“No, William. Would you prefer someplace different?” He punctuates the question with a roll of his hardness against the pliant boy beneath him, his hand shifting from his sharp chin to fist into the soft chestnut waves of his hair, forcing his face down into the pillow to smother the answering moan of surprise.
Will gasps against the pillowcase, hot tingles burning up his scalp from the delicious pull of Henry’s fingers, the weight of the older man against his back, his ass, his thighs, driving a blood-red flush into his cheeks. He feels the air shift around them, the dream oozing and morphing into something new as Henry’s power manipulates it to his will.
Lifting his face from the softness beneath him against the push of Henry’s hand, Will’s hazel eyes widen at the change in scenery. A breathless, incredulous laugh bursts from his lips, hot tears welling and spilling from his eyes before he can stop them. A shadowy Castle Byers rises from the watery shadows around them, twisted branches and twigs forming a protective housing over their still-rutting bodies. Instead of the bed from his childhood room, Will finds himself pinned down upon the soft pad of mismatched cushions that he’d drug all the way out here when he was just a kid. Henry finally releases his grip on the boy’s hair, trailing his fingertips down the curve of his slender neck, over his shoulders, down his back, like he’s memorizing every freckle, every bump of bone.
“Better?” He murmurs, leaning his face close to the side of Will’s head, crowding over him to smother him into the ground, relishing in the soft sounds he gets in response. Will just tries to keep breathing through the sharp snap of arousal through his hips, his face feeling like it's on fire.
This isn’t their first time doing this. In fact, it's become a bit of a regular thing. Henry came to him a few weeks ago, crawling into the space of his mind as he slept and just standing there. At first they didn’t speak. Will was too entrenched in his nightmares, Henry was too engrossed by what he was witnessing. It had shifted slowly. Will was busy reliving one of his worst memories- Lonnie’s fist cracking across his tiny eight-year-old cheekbone, Joyce’s answering screams, Jonathan’s voice cracking in panic as he grabbed Will around the shoulders and ran- when Henry had stepped in. The nightmare had disappeared in a puff of white smoke, the entirety of its foundations sinking down into the abyss below his feet as Will blinked around in terror. He remembers not being able to breathe, all of the air he managed to suck in through his closing throat evaporating before it could soothe his screaming lungs. Henry had just stepped forward, finally, and given Will a different reason to be breathless. Part of Will knew he should be questioning it more but… But Henry had continued- visiting him every night to break him out of his nightmares, before distracting him with the twine of their bodies.
Will hadn’t realized how desperately he had needed to be touched, to be held, to be broken by something different. Until Henry showed him. Since they started doing this, they’ve always been in a recreation of Will’s bedroom, and they’ve never really talked this much. Every new interaction feels like it's burning Will alive from the inside out.
“William,” Henry growls, a touch of Vecna slipping into the deepness of his voice, snapping Will’s attention back into the present. “Use your words. Tell me. What do you need?” The older man- being, thing- shifts his hands from Will’s hips to his back, pinning him harshly to the cushions, forcing the breath from his lungs with a strangled huff. Will feels the thick cock pressing against his ass, his hole twitching in anticipation, his hips canting further up.
“Stop talking,” Will grits out, the scratch of his throat guttural and desperate, his face half-mashed into the old throw blanket his mom had brought out to the Castle years and years ago. “And fuck me, already.”
Henry doesn’t hesitate. He never has. Big, strong hands grip Will’s waist and heave, spinning him so that he collapses onto his back, his eyes flitting over the wooded ceiling of his childhood fort, wincing as he takes in the crayon drawings and the dim light filtering through the blue tarp they used to waterproof the structure. He wonders what it looks like now- in real life- that crumbled, broken pile of trash and snapped sticks that he destroyed during that awful summer in 1985. His elbow scrapes against the rough wood of the pallet the cushions sit on top of, a hiss slipping through his teeth at the burst of pain.
“Oh,” Henry says softly, his blue eyes locking onto the fresh scrape, his grinding stilling, his hands loosening to come to cradle Will’s elbow, gently twisting his arm. He gazes at the scrape as it slowly weeps a few droplets of blood, something in his eyes sharpening. Will thinks he looks like a shark. It hits him sometimes, that this is Vecna that he’s doing these things with. The first man- person- he’s let touch his body, let inside his body is the very being that stole his childhood from him. The same being that killed those kids last spring… The one that’s responsible for Max’s coma. But he rationalizes it by recognizing that Henry hasn’t ever really touched him, not in years at least. This is a dream. And even if they both know it’s plenty real, Will can lie to himself convincingly enough that he lets it continue to happen. And doesn’t tell anyone a word about what he lets their nemesis do to him as he sleeps.
“You poor thing, William.” Henry says his name like a prayer, like he’s more than just some scrawny teen that’s been sucked into the curse of this town by chance or proximity. Like he’s special. Will stutters a sharp gasp as Henry leans forward and licks his way up his pale arm to the wound, his tongue hot and wet against the stinging scrape.
Any thoughts of safe sex, of his real life, of anything telling him that he shouldn’t be doing this leave his mind so fast it’s like he can hear the door slamming shut behind them on their way out. Will tosses his head back with a startlingly loud moan that cracks halfway through, his eyes squeezed shut in elation as a jolt runs through his body starting at the little cuts on his elbow. Henry laps up the blood, his hand tightening upon Will’s wrist painfully hard, but Will just writhes more.
“God, please,” Will keens, planting his toes on the cushions so he can rock his own hips up into Henry’s, chasing any friction he can get. The older man shows mercy by grinding down hard, their cocks pressing against each other firmly through the fabric of his pressed slacks and Will’s boxer briefs.
“‘God?’” Henry repeats, a rare smirk quirking his lip at the corner, Will rolling his watering eyes at the sight, groaning in both frustration and ecstasy.
“Henry, please, I-I’m begging you-” Will pants helplessly, pulling his knees up to spread his legs enticingly, gazing up at the man he should hate from under his lashes, losing the fight with what little dignity he had left. “Shut up and fuck me, or I will-”
He doesn’t get a chance to finish that demand. Henry’s face goes dark, his brows creasing harshly over his eyes as the humor in his face morphs to something meaner. Without another word, he darts back to Will’s arm, his mouth sealing hard around the scrap to bite down, rough suction hollowing his sharp cheeks as he drinks the blood he pulls from Will’s wound.
Will screams then, his head flying back to press against the cushion as his eyes roll back at the pleasure pain that overwhelms him completely. He tries to choke the sounds back down, all the while fisting his free hand in the dingy blanket beneath him, the hand attached to the arm that Henry is brutalizing clenching on the empty air above his mussed blonde waves. Will’s socked feet kick out, knocking over one of the little tables against the wall clear over with a clatter that neither of them really hears, crayons and toys going flying off into the shadows. The space is much too small for the two grown men, even though Will stands more than a foot shorter than Henry.
“No, No, let it out, William. Let it all out,” Henry coos once his lips pop off the wound, his hot breath fanning over it relentlessly. “Keep screaming. No one can hear you. No one is coming to save you.”
The words wash over Will like lava, burning his flesh from the inside, his cock so hard inside his underwear that he swears it's about to break free. It should terrify him. It should make him feel sick to his stomach, to hear those words from Henry. To know that there is plenty of truth to them. No one can hear him because he’s trapped inside his own mind with the villain. No one is coming to save him because no one knows Henry has been visiting him at night, because he hasn’t told any of them. He doesn’t know why- doesn’t understand what’s broken in him so irrevocably that instead of wanting to run for his life, he wants to cling tighter. No one is coming to save him, so he’ll finally get what he wants. Either Henry will fuck him within an inch of his life, or he’ll finally just kill him and be done with it.
“Fuck,” Will moans, long and breathless and high in his throat, Henry’s answering laugh cruel and deep. He releases Will’s arm, letting it drop bonelessly back down to the pallet. Henry leans back to a kneeling position between Will’s spread knees, his pale hands taking a firm grip upon the front of the boy’s underwear and pulling. Will watches the flex of Henry’s arm muscles, wide eyed and awed, unable to catch his sprinting breath as the man rips the fabric clean apart with a loud sound, revealing the flushed, leaking cock underneath. Will sighs in relief, knowing that Henry has finally reached his limit on teasing, knowing that he’ll feel whole soon.
He lets himself go pliant against the pallet cushions, not moving to help one bit as Henry yanks the ruined boxers out from underneath him, briefly crushing them against his face to breath the scent of Will in deeply, his nose pressed hard against the wet spot that his weeping length had left behind. It should be disgusting. It should creep Will out and make him realize that the person he’s been letting touch him and ruin him is insane and deranged. But it's the kind of thing he saw in movies that they used to sneak from the rated R section of Family Video… the kind of thing the romantic lead does when he’s obsessed with the girl he’s chasing. It’s something Will has always secretly fantasized about, someone being that obsessed with him. Someone wanting him so badly they’d take any little hit, any opportunity to consume him, to relish in every aspect.
Will watches in disbelief as Henry stuffs the ripped boxers into his pocket, like he’s going to keep them, like he’ll somehow still be able to pull them out and breathe him in once they both leave this dreamscape. Henry watches Will in return. How the boy can’t catch his breath, how he’s flushed such a beautifully deep red from his cheeks to his chest, his smooth belly heaving with his endless gasps.
“That’s it, William,” he soothes, deepening his voice to something inhuman, his hands reaching up to brush some of the unruly hair from Will’s eyes, before he changes his mind and musses it even more, harshly ruffling the hair to lay in wild puffs and curls, dragging his palms down those flushed cheeks, shoving the boy deeper into the cushions below. “Let it all go. I have you now.”
Henry pulls back just enough to rip his own shirt off, tossing it carelessly into the dirt and dried leaves that make up the floor of this child’s idea of a safe haven. He leans his weight back down upon the teen below him, pressing his broader chest against him, enveloping him in his stronger arms, overwhelming his very being. He presses his hard length against Will’s again, the fabric of his slacks rough against the sensitive, swollen flesh. Will keens beneath him, his hands helplessly grasping against Henry’s arms, his touch fleeting like he can’t think well enough to decide on a place to grab. Henry loves it, loves what he does to this boy, loves the way he so completely loses himself in the feelings their bodies draw from one another.
“I am never letting you go,” Henry admits, a little too raw, a little too honest. It drives Will wild, even as his mind supplies the fact that he should be worried, that this is tantamount to a confession.
“Please,” Will huffs instead of screaming for help like he should, his hands dragging up the lengths of Henry’s upper arms, feeling every curve and bulge of his muscles, fingers dancing over the broad width of the older man’s shoulders. “Please don’t ever-”
“Never, William. You’re mine.”
Finally, finally, Henry’s long, deft fingers slither their way down Will’s front, dragging hard to leave a trail of raised red lines along his throat, down his chest and over his belly. He ignores the boy’s weeping member and soft, flushed balls in favor of the beginning of the cleft of his ass, fingertips teasingly sneaking in between to rub against the sweet hole he finds there. Will’s gorgeous moans shift in pitch, climbing higher and higher in his throat as Henry drags the callused pad of his fingertip over his hole again and again, teasing, threatening.
“Henry-” Will begs, just as Henry relents and dips the tip of his middle finger in just past the rim, the dry digit dragging against the incredibly sensitive flesh. It sends Will back into the yawning chasm of his pleasure, Henry’s blue eyes straining to take it all in at once, unable to pick a particular aspect of Will to swallow whole. The way his ribs flex under his pale skin is enchanting, the shiny gleam of sweat that is beginning to slick their skin hypnotizing. Henry leans his head down with a groan, mouthing at the dark beauty marks that dot Will’s chest, the boy’s answering cry music to his ears.
He can’t begin to describe how glad he is that he stalked into the boy’s mind that night all those weeks ago. With his Master’s lack of communication, Henry had been licking his wounds alone in the deep bowels of the Upside Down- as those imbeciles called it. They had demolished him and his plans with roaring success, as much as he loathed to admit it. He still wonders if that’s why the Master has been so quiet lately.
He’d been bored, stalking through the sleeping minds of Hawkins, searching for something, someone, anyone that could give him a fresh lick of the power he sought in destroying the weak-minded. Instead, he found the one thing that made him feel, little by little, like himself again. The humming draw of William Byers’ mind was like a siren song to Henry, luring him closer and closer through the indistinct, thrumming web of the nether that linked them. He remembers the glimpses of the boy’s mind he had witnessed those years ago, back when Will was still just a child, before his mind had sharpened into the more complex maturity of almost-adulthood. Henry knew Will had endured a horrific childhood, the colorful, childlike memories swimming to the surface when he had pressed before. And it hadn't interested him then beyond the knowledge that Will had the potential to be the perfect vessel for his Master.
Now that Will is dancing the tightrope between boy and young man, his memories and thoughts have been honed into something more discernible. Henry remembers sneaking into the nightmare through the unlocked door of Will’s mind, just in time to watch his father strike him. Something inside of him had shifted right at that very moment, a single jagged shard of the being labeled Vecna cracking off of his being to shatter into the abyss beneath his feet. He became addicted before he ever even got a taste.
Stepping in had been easy. Taking the boy into his arms had been easy. Kissing him, distracting him, opening him up and pressing inside that incredibly tight hot heat, had all been easy. Will had been incredibly eager to be shown something other than the pain of broken love. The hard part was staying away. He could lie to himself that he was the one changing Will, molding the boy into something darker, meaner, more adapted to the life at Vecna’s side that now seemed inevitable. The truth was more ambiguous, more fluid than that. The truth was that the boy was changing Henry right back, softening him, humanizing him in a way he had not felt in so long he hadn’t recognized it at first.
Now, with his cock flooded near to bursting with arousal, Henry chases the feeling of humanity that he finds inside Will without a backward glance, no hesitation while his fingers dip and tease at the rim of the boy’s hole. He withdraws from Will for only a moment to swipe up the pool of slippery pre-cum Will has dispensed so generously across the flat of his belly, spreading the slick across the hole and plunging back in, deeper this time, a second finger teasing at the entrance.
Will’s neck cranes back in a beautiful movement, the diffused light filtering through the walls casting him in a glow that makes his sweat-damp skin luminous. Henry pumps his finger in handout of that incredible space, slipping another finger in just slightly too early, watching in wonder as Will writhes through the pain of the stretch, his dick twitching, oozing a fresh drop of clear precum that drips as if in slow motion down to his navel. The boy is breathing soft grunts, lost in the sensations flooding his body. And Henry loses himself in providing those sensations.
For long minutes, he fingers his boy open, relishing every tiny reaction he draws, every gasp, every sigh, every moan. Two fingers become three, the motion shifting to come more from his entire arm than just his wrist, his free left hand dragging up the length of Will’s lean but plump thigh, catching in the crook of his knee and bringing it up to rest at the boy’s side, opening up the cradle of his hips for better access. Will eagerly writhes against the push and pump of the fingers inside him, doing his best to rock his hips, desperately trying to persuade Henry to brush against that sacred spot deep within.
“Stop teasing,” Will grouches, tears of frustration welling up like silver in his eyes, mixing with the light sweat that drapes his hair in darkened, damp tendrils across his forehead. He’s the most beautiful thing Henry has ever seen. Helpless to his boy’s whims but determined to maintain the illusion of control, Henry just smirks softly down at Will, pressing their bare chests together as he settles his mass over Will, pressing him down into the cushions harder. He raises a chastising brow at him, his usually perfectly neat blonde waves falling forward, bouncing with the motion of the unfaltering thrust of his arm, fingers eliciting soft wet sounds as they drive in and out of the boy.
“What do we say when we want something, William? Hm?” He tries to keep his tone calm, in control, but it’s slipping. Gruff around the edges, just slightly slurring from the delirium of the ecstasy that pleasuring this boy brings him. Will’s mouth stutters on air, his eyes wheeling as he tries to form a vocal thought. Henry doesn’t give him the chance. As soon as Will’s mouth is open wide enough, Henry strikes- shoving his fingers in deep, rubbing mercilessly against his prostate.
Will wails in agony, his jaw dropping loose and pliant, his lids coming down halfway as if to shield him from the sight of Henry’s chiseled body moving over him. Seeing the opportunity open up and unable to help himself, Henry drops his grip on Will’s knee to snatch his jaw in hand, roughly directing his face to where he needs it, spitting a wet glob of saliva right into the boy’s open, waiting mouth. He watches in delight as Will’s eyes roll into the back of his head, his moans picking up in pitch until he’s practically screaming, Henry’s fingers not once relenting in their attack on his prostate.
“Please, Henry! Please, I can’t! I-I’m cumming, I can’t-” Will tosses his head back and forth, his eyes squeezed shut adorably, like he can hide from this, like he can hide any of his utter destruction from Henry’s animalistically satisfied gaze. Will’s voice cuts off with a hissing gasp, choked grunts escaping as his body seizes up, his hole clenching down hard on Henry’s fingers, his insides fluttering. Henry keeps his grip on Will’s jaw firm, his palm spanning the entirety of the side of Will’s face, fingers tangling in his sweaty hair, his other hand continuing to pump against the clench of his hole.
White cum spurts from Will’s cock as he writhes near-violently, trapped between Henry’s heavy body and the blanket, shooting clear up his chest, a few drops hitting the smooth pale skin of his throat. Henry doesn’t hesitate to drop his weight down completely once more, the sticky-slick cum spreading between their chests as he rubs himself like an overexcited dog against his boy, digging his face into his neck, clashing their jaws together hard, all while never removing his fingers from the stretched hole they’re stuffed into. This is his purpose, this is his calling, this is what he was put on this earth to do. Making Will Byers orgasm may be the greatest accomplishment of his long, horrid life. Henry is entirely aware of how insane these thoughts are but he cannot stop them and he finds he does not want to. He always knew he and Will would do beautiful things together, always knew they were tied intrinsically somehow, connected- but he never quite imagined this.
Will is mumbling incoherently underneath him as Henry continues to nuzzle against every available inch of his skin. He feels flayed, feels like the orgasm Henry just gave him both took years from his life and added a thousand on top. Will feels broken and invincible and protected and destroyed all in one tangled ball of feeling that shifts and grows the more Henry presses down against him. Will blinks his eyes back open slowly, whimpering as the fingers still plunged inside of him wiggle experimentally, withdrawing from his body inch by inch.
Henry bumps their noses together, their eyes locking in the heat and silence that lingers between them. Will’s dark brows curve up in that pitifully vulnerable way he can't help and it scoops the rest of Henry’s brittle, charred heart clean out of his chest, slowly replacing it with fresh, red flesh- clean and new and built by the pale gentle hands of the boy he fears he might love. Their lips collide harshly, teeth catching and tongues meeting in the space between.
Will feels those long fingers slip out of him completely, a soft sigh falling from his lips like water, dripping out around the seal of their mouths. Henry leans back, the cum between their chests making a sloppy wet sound as they separate.
“Now what was that you wanted me to do again, William?” Henry murmurs against Will’s slack, panting lips, biting them cruelly before his boy can even try to answer. The mewls he gets in response are almost enough to make him burst, his own still-hard cock twitching in his pants. His restraint should be studied, he thinks semi-deliriously.
Will lays loose-limbed on the moth bitten blanket and simply tries his best to breath through the rippling aftershocks that roll through his body. His hole is sore and stretched and clenching on empty space now that Henry has pulled his hand away. Henry sits up to a kneeling position between Will’s wantonly spread legs, hands rubbing firmly up and down his boy’s ribs and waist and belly, grounding him with his touch, rubbing the remains of his cum deep into his soft, pale flesh, soothing the harsh red marks from earlier.
“Words, William,” Henry commands, one of his hands suddenly moving lower to harshly cup Will’s softening cock. A low grunt fights its way out of Will’s throat as he blinks frantically at the incredibly overwhelming sensation. “Use your words. Tell me again, and I’ll give it to you.”
Henry relents his grip and uses both hands to undo his black leather belt, the metal of the buckle clinking loudly in the quiet, small space they share within Will’s Castle. Will stares up at the towering body of the man, the monster, that so easily tears him apart and puts him back together better, stronger, after the breaking. He knows exactly what Henry wants, what he wants to hear. An approximation of what he demanded earlier won't do, Henry will want the exact words or he’ll keep teasing, on and on forever until Will really snaps.
“I-” Will chokes on his tongue as Henry slides the belt from its loops, the soft sound of leather on cotton short-circuiting his brain. Henry is the hottest thing he's ever seen, hotter than any of the vapid boys in the hallways, sexier than any of the teachers Will has ever had a crush on, more enticing than any Hollywood star he’s pretended not to stare at during movie nights. Will blinks dumbly up at the sight, watching the shift of Henry’s toned chest as calmly coils the belt into a loop around his hand, his dark blonde brows rising just slightly in teasing acknowledgement of the show he's putting on.
“I am begging you,” Will tries again, repeating his exact words from earlier, wiggling in eager bliss at the pleased look on Henry’s face. Will’s puppy eyes melt into a warmer look of shared humor, a soft pant of a laugh leaving his lips as he fights off a smile. “To shut up. And fuck me.”
Henry’s answering grin is like the dawn breaking over a cliff’s edge. Will basks in it, knowing he’s the only one that gets to see this, no matter how much it should scare him. This man has spent weeks saving him from his nightmares, weeks showing him that he can be desirable, that someone could yearn for him in return. Vecna stole everything from him and Henry has spent their time together offering it all back to him in his own personal version of supplication.
Will laughs aloud, the sound pitched high in surprise when Henry burrows back down against his chest, nuzzling his grin against his nipples, teasingly nibbling at them.
“Good boy,” he groans into Will’s skin, one of his hands snaking down to undo the button and fly of his pants, haphazardly shoving them down below his ass along with his briefs to free his neglected cock. Will’s gasping giggles shift to moaning as he feels the hard heat of Henry’s manhood finally press up against his own. “My good boy.”
“Yours,” Will affirms breathlessly, Henry’s hands stilling, his eyes flashing up to meet his boy’s in surprise. It’s not the first time Henry has gotten possessive, but it's the first time Will has so eagerly assured him that he is in fact his. Usually Will’s shyness takes over, his fears creep in, keeping him from so wholly letting himself fall into the dark embrace of the man that wants to own him, body and soul. He’s not sure what’s different about tonight, about this time, that he feels more comfortable, more lost in their own world, the one they create when they’re together like this. Maybe it's the security of Castle Byers surrounding him like a protective shell, maybe it's just the natural progression of what they’ve been doing all this time.
Either way, Will feels more free in that moment than he has in years, as he offers all of himself willingly to the monster that's been lurking in the shadows of his life since he was twelve years old. As the monster’s eyes soften and he rests his chin on Will’s sternum, hands soothing up his hips to squeeze at the narrow of his waist, arms and shoulders flexing. Will sighs as Henry stalks up his body, prowling forward like an animal to envelope Will in his arms, drawing him into a tight hug, dragging him up from the pallet cushions. Will wraps his own arms around Henry’s neck, the man’s blonde waves tickling against his skin, against his face when he presses himself against every inch of skin he can access. Henry maneuvers Will to rest settled into his lap, knees spread on either side of Henry’s narrow hips.
“My good boy,” Henry growls low, one hand slipping down the bumps of Will’s spine, over the swell of his plump ass, between his cheeks. His fingers tease at the rim, still wet from before, but not enough- not enough for Henry to do what he wants and not really hurt him. Will’s pain is exquisite, like heroin in his veins- but too much would shift the tone of the night further than Henry wants to. So he slips his eyes closed and focuses on that power deep within him, willing the dreamscape they inhabit inside Will’s beautiful mind to adapt.
His fingers feel it first as the gush of slick, lubricious liquid spontaneously appears just inside the rim of Will’s hole, a shocked, cracking gasp escaping his boy’s sweet lips at the feeling. Henry smirks against the side of Will’s head, his fingers immediately delving back in, slick dripping down to his knuckles and onto his thighs below Will’s ass.
“Fucking- Yours! Henry, I’m yours, I’m-” Will braces his arms over Henry’s hard shoulders, drives his knees into the cushion and cants his hips down eagerly, his freshly swollen cock rubbing between their bellies. Henry works his fingers in and out impatiently, only making sure that he won’t break the boy in his arms. And what a strange realization that is. To know that no matter how delicious it would be to completely destroy Will, he’d rather bring the boy right to the edge of oblivion and dangle him there than ever, ever let him go.
Satisfied at the stretch, he rips his hand away to fist at his own cock, spreading the slick down over his own length and frantically lining himself up. Just before he presses inside, he lifts his other hand up to thread his fingers into Will’s sweat-darkened chestnut waves and jerks his head back to look into his eyes.
Their gazes lock just as the head of Henry’s length kisses Will’s rim, nudging its way inside the incredible, tight heat. Will’s pupils blow wide, devouring the hazel irises whole and Henry sees himself within them, reflected back. He's inside this boy in every way that will ever matter. Henry pants against Will’s lips, forcing himself to remain in control of himself for just a moment longer. He huffs his own breathless laugh right into Will’s face as he braces his hand in his hair, his other slipping off his own cock to wrap bruisingly tight around his waist.
“Remember that, William. You are mine. And no one- no one- will take you from me. Say it,” Henry demands, his words slurring just a touch from the absolute drunken pleasure he derives from watching Will lose his mind. The boy in his arms tries desperately to writhe down onto the cock just barely breaching him, fighting against the tight hold around his ribs fruitlessly.
“Say it, Will-” Henry never uses the shortened version of Will’s name, has always preferred the formality of his full name, but he’s just as gone as the now-sobbing boy in his arms. “Tell me, tell me no one is coming to take you away, baby- Tell me you’ll never let them take you away- I can’t lose you- I can’t-” He realizes from somewhere distant that he’s completely lost control of this situation, that he’s fallen into the very trap he laid for Will first. His boy sobs into his neck, sniffles ringing in his ear as he fights to regain his senses.
“N-No one will ever take me!” Will cries, just as Henry decides he can’t wait any longer, can’t stay suspended in this glorious half-bliss for another moment. He squeezes his arm around Will’s waist and tightens his fist in his hair, throwing himself forward to slam Will back onto the cushions, pressing down hard against him, forcing his cock into the tight wet space without another thought.
Will screams. It is guttural and heart breaking and so very, very beautiful. It fills the space of the Castle and echoes out into the abyss beyond, shaking the dream on its very foundations. Henry doesn't stop, doesn't slow, doesn't do anything other than plunge himself in and out, desperately chasing after the release he knows he'll find inside William. His own face crumples beyond his control, hot tears flooding his cheeks in a way that hasn't happened in decades, not since he was a child, when he was first brought to the lab. Henry gasps wetly and tries to hide his face in Will’s bouncing hair but his boy is quicker than that.
Will hears the muffled cries Henry tries to smother in his neck and immediately stifles his own screams, hands fighting their way up Henry's body to land on either side of his angled face. Will writhes his body to meet every brutal thrust, pulling Henry’s face back up so that he can stare into those beautiful blue eyes that are dripping tears like drops of starlight down upon Will’s flushed cheeks. With the way Henry's cock is destroying him, he can’t think, not in the language of words. So he follows his instincts and cranes his neck up from the pallet to lick the hot tear tracks right off of Henry’s face, kitten-like and quick, his head tilting to either side to better access the salty fluid, both hands curling into the soft hair at the back of Henry’s head.
“Will- William-” Henry chokes, his hips slowing from a brutal, bouncing pace to a deliciously slow grind, shoving himself in as deep as he possibly can every time, forcing Will’s hips up to meet him. He starts hitting that spot with every roll of his hips, forcing Will to abandon his worship in favor of choking on a scream aimed up to the branched ceiling. His own second orgasm is building, spreading through his body like tunnels under a town, burning him alive from the inside out and pressing closer to the surface with every desperate thrust. From somewhere deep inside, he knows exactly what Henry needs to hear to let himself go, to make the final snap to the tether keeping him from falling into this sweet abyss right alongside Will.
“No one can save me,” Will pants, voice catching every time Henry’s hip bones grind up against his plush ass, his cock burrowed as deep as possible, stretching Will’s innermost walls. He drags his palms through Henry’s disheveled, sweaty hair to meet behind his head, curling his arms over his powerful neck, holding on for dear life, letting the monster hide his face once more against his flesh, understanding the urge to hide his vulnerability very well. “I'm yours, Henry. All yours, you own me, Henry-”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck-” Henry whimpers brokenly against the smooth column of Will’s throat, the sound of it driving the boy underneath him absolutely wild. Will instantly locks his legs around Henry's trim hips, using the leverage he finds to roll his own hips more fervently, meeting Henry thrust for thrust with his open, pliant body, his mouth falling open to gape, his swollen lips pouting irresistibly.
The most horrifying part, Will realizes, as he loses himself in the sensation of being destroyed and lovingly built back into a being with every pounding thrust, is that he means it. He won’t let anyone take this away from him- not the Party, not Joyce, not Hopper- no one will ever be able to pry this from his arms. He’s already been lying to them for weeks, claiming the distracted daydreams he’s been lost in more often than not are from trying to think of new areas they can plan Crawls in, to hunt Vecna down- when really he’s lost in fantasy, remembering the incredible ways Henry drives him insane in the dark of the night, every time he lays his head down upon the lumpy cushion of the couch in the Wheeler’s basement. He loves his family, he loves his friends, but… He doesn’t have it in him anymore to fight Vecna anymore- not when he can save Henry.
“Fill me, please,” he cries into the heated air, surprised that there isn’t literal steam rising from their joined bodies. Henry lunges, shoving their faces together hard to claim those red lips, plunging his tongue inside in a brutal assault, timed along with the thrust of his hips.
It’s enough, it’s everything, it’s too much.
Will feels Henry’s arms clamp down around him impossible tight, bruising, as the cock inside of him pulses and throbs along his walls, hot cum painting his insides and flooding out around the seal of his hole. Will sobs, nearly drowning out Henry’s animalistic groans, their mouths opening against the other’s, helpless to the waves of overwhelming pleasure that course through them, rebounding off the other in an endless loop. Will feels himself clench down, a starburst of heat blooming in the lowest part of his belly, zapping down along his legs to the soles of his feet, up every ridge of his spine to burrow into the base of his skull, heating the space behind his eyes. His second orgasm rips through him like an arrow, his eyes rolling back hard, blinding him as he chokes on his screams, Henry’s hips stuttering against his ass.
“Will, Will, Will-” Henry chants, that deep, dangerous edge slipping into his tone. “William. That’s it- That’s it, you take it so well, love. Let go, Will, I’m here- I’ll catch you.” And Will believes him. Henry may be a monster, may be the thing that stares out at him from every dark shadow, but he knows the monster won’t hurt him, not in a way he doesn’t ask for, not anymore.
Will lets himself go. He drops his handle on the leash that was keeping him tethered to anything that was holding him back before. His cock twitches feebly in between their stomachs, oozing wave after wave of fresh hot cum, body seizing within the unrelenting hold of Henry’s arms. He can’t speak, he can’t breathe, he can’t scream. His entire being narrows down to the stretch of his hole around Henry’s cock, the starbursts popping in brilliantly vivid colors behind his eyes.
He is broken down and shattered upon the bottomless abyss of the way Henry makes him feel, ever so slowly built back into the shape of a person by the big, strong hands that he eventually becomes aware of, petting up and down his sides so gently. Will blinks his eyes open sluggishly, registering the shivers running through his limbs. Henry has adjusted them while Will was gone in that ecstatic other place, laying himself out along Will’s back, his arms cradling him gently, reaching up with one hand to smooth the sweatsoaked hair from his forehead.
“Welcome back,” Henry murmurs, a teasing glint seeping into his gaze as Will continues to blink dumbly up at him, eyes wide in blissed out wonder. Will knows he probably looks ridiculous, but he has to just lay there and breathe, feeling the regular sensations creep back into his extremities, wriggling through the last of the aftershocks, fingers twitching against Henry’s skin helplessly. Eventually, he returns to himself enough to form thought and he huffs an embarrassed puff of air from his sore lips.
“Shut up,” Will gripes, wincing at the sharp scratch of his throat, his voice ruined from his cries. He watches in exhausted awe as Henry tosses his head back to laugh, joy written across his face, the little crinkles at the corners of his mouth appearing. It’s the most beautiful thing Will has ever seen and he’s already sketching it out in his head, debating what grade of graphite to use, how to shade it to get the soft lighting just right as it falls across Henry’s high cheekbones and the sharp lines of his cut jaw. He’s already got a secret sketchbook hidden deep in the bottom of his bookbag, nearly every page filled with loose sketches- Henry’s eyes, his broad hands, the slope of his shoulders underneath his pressed button up shirts. Will catalogues all the details he’ll need to recreate this vision later.
“I mean it, you know,” Will says without thinking, a freedom to his words that he’s never felt with anyone, still partially unable to believe that he feels like this with the man laying partially atop him, nestled in each other’s arms on the uncomfortable pallet bed in the dreamed version of his childhood escape. “I- I’m yours. Henry, I think-”
He’s cut off by something ringing into the dream from outside, a blaring, repetitive, electronic alarm that batters against the walls of his mind. Henry just glances around the wooded walls of the Castle, sighing as he forces himself to accept that this is the end of their time together for today. His eyes drop back down to the boy in his arms, those expressive dark brows curving up in that soft, kicked-puppy look he gets when he’s disappointed.
“I know, Will,” he murmurs soothingly, continuing to pet his boy’s hair back from his face, looking between his hazel eyes, searching for all the answers he knows lay within. “Remember; No one can take you from me. Not now.”
The ringing gets louder, quickening. Will shakes his head in denial, hands lurching up to grip at Henry’s wrists. He doesn’t want to leave, he doesn’t want to let go. He whimpers pathetically, hating the sound, how weak it makes him seem, but Henry smiles in answer, shushing him like a spooked animal, visibly delighting in the vulnerability Will is getting more comfortable showing him.
“Go ahead, love. It’ll be alright. I’ll be right here waiting for you tonight.” Henry leans close to brush his lips against Will’s, lingering as he squeezes Will close one last time, a shared sigh slipping out of the minimal space between them.
“Will! Let’s go- Get up, honey! You too, Jon!” Joyce’s voice rings in Will’s ears from the top of the basement stairs, his eyes flying open as his entire body jolts upon the lumpy cushions of the couch. The harsh light of reality momentarily blinds him, the rays of the morning sun slanting through the small window high up on the opposite wall.
He immediately feels the loss of Henry’s warmth, the stark lack of the arms that had caged him into the embrace Will had no desire to escape anymore. The only thing that keeps him from burying his head beneath his scratchy blanket to cry is the knowledge that Henry will come to him tonight, will stalk his way into Will’s dreams like a wraith, even if he has to force his way through layers upon layers of nightmarish memories. No matter what, Henry will come for him. Because Will is his, his to destroy, his to build up. Instead of feeling like a collar, the knowledge sits against Will’s throat like an oath.
“Will, buddy-” Jonathan’s scratchy voice cuts through his wonderings, coming from the other couch, as his brother sits up and flings his own blanket off, blinking blearily against the light. “You good?”
“Y-Yeah, I-” Will cuts himself off with a grating cough, his throat scraped raw the same way it had been in the dream, like he had been screaming in real life as well. That can’t be true or he would’ve woken Jon immediately, if not the entire house. But the stinging burn stabs through his throat anyway, despite it not making any sense.
“Will?” Jon asks again, his eyes wider now as his concern wakes him faster than any coffee could, shuffling himself to the edge of his couch to stand, moving for his brother’s side. “What’s wrong?”
“What?” Joyce’s voice echoes down, worry instantaneously sharpening her tone. “Jon, what’s wrong with Will?” She asks as she hurries down the steps, her footfalls thudding against the wood.
Will instinctively leans away from Jon’s touch, too focused on grasping one hand at his throat to notice the hurt look that flashes across his brother’s face, or the way his eyes lock onto the small, smeared bloodstain at the elbow of Will’s white sleepshirt.
“I-I’m fine-” Will rasps, using his free arm to push himself up to sitting. Immediately, he feels the wet hot rush of cum trying to slide from his hole, his eyes flaring wide in panic as he clenches on instinct, knowing he needs to move now, needs to flee into the basement’s dingy bathroom behind the stairs before he completely loses his mind. This shouldn’t be happening. There has never been a physical remainder of their involvement, no bruises or scratches or fluids have ever followed him back into the waking world. What made last night different?
“What happened to your arm, honey?” Joyce’s voice cuts through his panic, his wide eyes darting down to his elbow, dreading what he’ll find. His mom comes to stand at Jon’s shoulder, both of their hands raised like they want to touch him but knowing from experience the way he might lash out if they do without warning or permission.
“My arm?” Will croaks in wonder, staring down at the blotch of rust-red blood that has seeped through the fabric of his shirt, right where he scraped his arm on the pallet bed of Castle Byers, when Henry had flipped him over, pressed him down into the cushions and- Will flinches at the memory, trying to control the rush of hot blood he can feel flooding his face. When Henry had licked his blood off, drinking it down with nothing less than utter devotion. Will needs to get to the bathroom, now.
He lurches to stand, the blanket falling to the floor at his socked feet, Jon and Joyce both immediately backing off a few steps so they aren’t crowding him, even though they both clearly want to. He tries desperately to school his expression into something neutral, non-suspicious, knowing without a doubt that he’s failing from the increasingly concerned looks he’s getting from his mom and brother.
“I’m- I tripped last night! It was dark and I-” Will’s voice keeps breaking, like he’s going through the prolonged humiliation ritual of puberty all over again, the sound cracking up into a high rasp, barely intelligible. He watches as utter disbelief flashes through their eyes, quirked brows and pinched lips as they try to keep themselves from immediately demanding to know what really happened because he’s obviously lying and-
Will’s face drops in horror as a tiny bit of Henry’s cum leaks out, dripping hot down the inside of his thigh, his sore, stretched hole clenching down a moment too late.
“Move!” He squeaks, stumbling forward to shove his way past them both, sprinting the few feet to the bathroom door, slamming it shut behind him with a deafening bang, fingers fumbling for the lock.
“Will!” His mom shouts, Jonathan’s voice cutting her off, hissing to give Will space, to not overwhelm him. Joyce’s voice drops down to a harsh whisper, muffled through the door as she demands to know what happened last night, if anything strange occurred, if Jonathan noticed anything. Jon rushes to mumble frantic assurances- that nothing happened that he knows of, that they both went to bed at the same time, that it could be possible that Will was telling the truth, that somehow he really had just tripped in the dark and bumped his elbow. Joyce hisses back that it doesn’t explain his voice being gone, or the way he’s acting.
Will slaps the handle of the little square shower on, blasting it to full heat without a care in the world for anyone else's need of hot water for the next hour. The big, rust-splotched water heater in the corner of the bathroom rattles to life with a grating sound, its hum combining with the hiss of the water falling from the shower head to drown out the voices outside the door, just as he’d intended.
He stumbles over to the mirror above the sink, hands grasping at the cool white porcelain, staring into his own panic-wide eyes in confusion. He can feel more cum slipping down his legs, soaking into the fabric of his pajama pants, his limp cock giving a half-hearted twitch at the realization that this is Henry’s cum running down his thigh. It’s real, hot and wet and real. That’s never happened before. It never even occurred to him that it could happen, that anything they did in there, in their shared dreamscape could manifest into reality outside.
Will reaches with shaking hands to pull his shirt off over his head, staring at his bare arm in wonder, eyes raking over the freshly scabbed scuff on his elbow, the lingering teeth marks that surround it, the developing purple bruising from Henry’s mouth sucking at the wound. His hole clenches around nothing at the memory, the trail of cum tickling at the back of his knee. His eyes dart back to the mirror as he stumbles back a step, gaze dropping to his own reflected chest and torso, entranced by the red marks Henry’s fingers left behind, trailing down his pale skin. Distinctly hand shaped bruises are blooming to life against his ribs and waist, the size of them divulging the secret of who left them. Will lets his fingertips softly trail over the marks, terrified that they stain his skin but ecstatic that he gets to keep them, that part of Henry has crept out of his dreams to bite in possessively. He really is wanted, and the marks are Henry’s proof of ownership, his brand to warn others off. He wonders if Henry knew this would happen, if he had any idea that they had transcended the bounds of what Will thought was possible.
A soft smile caresses Will’s cheeks at the thought of telling him tonight, of watching the feral grin he’ll get when he sheds his clothing and reveals the marks to the older man. The fear of discovery fades into the background, the rambling, panicky ideas of what he’ll tell his family, how he’ll excuse his strange behavior, floating off into some faraway corner of his mind as his fingers ghost over the marks again and again.
Will lowers his hands to shove his pants down his hips, revealing even more marks, proof of Henry’s devotion. He steps out of the pants and peels his socks off, straggling drops of cum slipping out of his sore hole when he bends. He stares down at his body, placing his hands over the bruises Henry’s left, fitting his palms on top, lining them up, a delighted thrill running up his spine at how much bigger the marks are than the span of his own fingers. Smothering his thrilled laugh in his fist, Will prays that neither Jon or his mom heard him through the door, over the drone of the water hitting the shower pan behind him.
He’ll have to think of an excuse, something more believable than tripping in the dark, or a spontaneous case of strep throat with no fever to speak of. But for now, he presses his fingers into the purple and blue marks that paint his pale skin, and turns to step into the shower, the rush of scalding water like a cleansing rain over his head.
Henry will help him figure it all out when they meet again tonight.