Archive of Our Own

Will is unreasonably nervous, at first. Mike. . . doesn't know what to think.

"I know you hate it," says Will, wringing his hands together. "I guess you always want to be, like— the man, with me, and that's okay! It's just—"

He pauses, groaning. With his face in his hand, Will unrolls the slip of blue fabric, letting it hang in front of Mike for him to see. "I can't stop thinking about you in this," he admits, blushing. "It's terrible."

The blue dress sways slightly, a shimmering, soft fabric that lures Mike in. His heart skips a beat at the thought of that fabric slipping over his skin.

This isn't like him. Mike hated when Nancy would try to play dress-up with him, even when he was five and hardly knew that dresses and makeup were for girls, not men. He dunked his face in water when Nancy put lipstick on him, stomped his foot when Nancy begged to curl his hair, and even bit her that one time, when she attempted to put blush on his cheeks. He still hasn't apologized for that, and he probably never will.

As he grew up, he only hated femininity more and more. He despised the tackiness of lip gloss El left on his skin, and he felt sicker and sicker with every inch her hair grew longer, and— well, he's apologized for that, for being so terrible about El finally getting to feel pretty, but that doesn't mean he likes anything feminine. Max tried to tell him about this thing called misogyny, and though he really was an idiot for thinking women relied on emotion and not logic, that doesn't mean Mike likes feminine stuff on him. As Will said, he likes to be the man.

He likes to carry Will's things. He likes to open the door for Will, and feels a fiery, possessive spark when he pays for Will's things and holds him close in a crowd, and he likes when Will sits on his lap. He likes being Will's guard dog, likes protecting him, and he doesn't like—

Well. He does like being turned into more of a sad, pathetic puppy when Will pushes him around in the bedroom. Maybe the weird, swirly feelings that pop up in his gut when he looks at the dress Will's holding has something to do with that.

"You bought that," said Mike, throat dry as the Sahara Desert, "because you wanted to see me in it?"

Will groaned again. "Yeah." He peeked through his fingers, looking up at Mike. "We, uh— we don't have to do anything with it, though! I don't want to weird you out, and I know I already make you do a lot of things—"

A lot of things includes, but is not limited to; choking, slapping, being made fun of until Mike, like, kind of starts crying, being tied up and basically tortured because Will won't let him come, etcetara. Will always seems to think he makes Mike participate in these things, and he always gets nervous when he brings these wants up, but it's not like Mike doesn't want them too. He just— hasn't thought of this stuff before. Will is. . . very creative.

"Will," he starts, "it's—"

Will, in response, bulldozes right over him. "It's just that— I don't know. You get so weird when I talk about feminine things," he says, "like practicing makeup on you, or that time when we passed by a store and I said a top in the women's section would look good on you," and he bites his lip, and it comes out wet and red, and Mike wants to scream, "and you get all squirmy and red, and you shut down the conversation immediately."

"Wait," says Mike, and yes, he is already getting squirmy and red, "I don't—"

"It's cute," Will interrupts, glancing away. "You're cute, and it works me up, and it makes me want to make fun of you. It's weird."

He already feels like he's being made fun of. Mike shuffles his feet, swallowing thickly.

"I don't— uhm." Mike forces himself to look Will in the eye, because he's adorable when he gets embarrassed, too. "I don't hate it."

Will blinks. "You don't?"

"I mean, it seems like you really want it," says Mike. "I want you to get what you want. Just— tell me what you want to do to me."

For a moment, nothing happens. They stare at each other, Will biting his lip while Mike plays with the hem of his shirt, and silence thickens in the room. Then, Will moves away, bending over the couch to grab something— and yes, Mike does stare at his ass— and presents it to his boyfriend with a nervous smile.

"This was on sale," says Will, holding up the set of baby blue lingerie. "Think it'll fit you?"

Mike studies himself in the bathroom mirror, grimacing at the lacy bra and panties. He hates it. He's also half-hard.

The lingerie is surprisingly flattering, ignoring the fact that there's nothing nice on his body to accentuate in the first place; the lace slinks across his flat chest like the flowers Mike buys his Will, a cluster of forget-me-nots drooping in a vase in the kitchen. Delicate frills hug his thin, boxy hips, complete in the middle with a teensy bow. To Mike's horror, the set even came with stockings and garters. White straps circle his thin thighs, and see-through blue stockings somehow make his stick-like calves look like twigs. As his eyes travel up his legs, body hair peeking from the stockings in a way that cannot be hot, like, at all, Mike's gaze snags on the terrible, sizable bulge that the lacy panties only halfway cover.

His dick twitches. Mike sees it. He's going to die.

"Mike?" Will's voice calls out from their bedroom, honey-laced and saccharine. His sweetness turns from genuine to suffocating, almost, when he wants to make Mike squirm; even the worst insults turn kind, when Will says them with Mike under him. "You okay in there?"

"Yeah," says Mike, the word coming out embarrassingly raspy. "It's just— Jesus, Will. I look stupid."

Will makes a clicking noise with his tongue. He does that, sometimes, when Mike acts up, and it almost always whips him into shape like a dog with a clicker. "Don't say that," Will chides. "Come out here. I want to see you."

For some reason, Will politely ordered Mike to put on the lingerie in the bathroom, and leave the dress in their bedroom for Will to dress Mike in himself. The thought of Will dressing him like a doll made Mike blush hot all over, so he tries not to think about it. Instead, he takes a deep breath, braces himself, and opens the bathroom door.

A second of Will looking at him is all Mike can take. He covers his face with his hand, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to ignore the weight of Will's gaze on him, so heavy Mike can feel it without seeing Will stare at him. The silence thickens between them, and Mike's mind is a constant loop of oh, God, Will thinks I look stupid, so he doesn't think, just bursts out and says—

"I look like an idiot," he says, words falling too fast from his mouth for his brain to keep up, "I know. I mean, I don't even have, like— the body for this stuff, 'cause I'm all limbs, you know? I look stupid. I— I feel stupid," he mutters, words getting whinier by the second, "and I feel like a— a girl—"

The hand Will cups Mike's cheek with shuts him up. He removes Mike's hand from his red face, slowly, and waits patiently for Mike to open his eyes, stroking Mike's cheekbone with his thumb. Sometimes, Will isn't this patient, but he's always sweet to Mike. Sweeter than he deserves.

When Mike opens his eyes, squinting at Will, his heart drops with relief at the sight that waits for him. Will is smiling at him, all soft and warm, eyes crinkled with love. It's too sweet. It makes Mike's stomach churn.

"You're pretty," says Will, breathily. Now that Mike looks at him harder, Will looks awed by Mike, almost. Mike can't comprehend it. "You— Mike," and he brings his lips to Mike's nose, kissing the peak with a giggle. "You're really pretty."

Mike runs hot under Will's touch. He shimmies away, uncomfortable with the warmth spreading down his neck. "Do you have to call me that?"

They have a word they say, when things get too much or one of them just wants to stop playing, for any reason at all. Will knows that Mike moving away is part of their game, part of how he riles Will up and lures him in; he steps back, pouts or complains or whines, and Will gives him a harsh order and all Mike's brains melt out of his head instantly. Mike starts this game now, backing away and complaining to rile Will up partly because it's fun— but partly because the wave of heat that shot through him at the word pretty kind of freaks Mike out, because he's meant to be masculine. He needs Will to boss him around so that weird, stomach-churning feeling will go away and he can just let go.

"I do," says Will, plainly. "You'll look prettier when I doll you up, though."

Mike frowns. "I think this—" and he pauses, gesturing to the lace (and his hardening dick, shit)— "is dolled up enough. You're not satisfied?"

"Nope," Will responds, popping the p. He turns over to their bed, picking up the soft blue slip dress and a little black bag— oh, no. Oh no. "Come sit on the bed, will you?"

He pats the bed, giving Mike a narrow-eyed look that leaves no room for no. Mike, obviously, squeezes through and makes himself a space to complain. "Will. Please tell me that's not your makeup bag."

Will pats the bed again. He raises an eyebrow. Mike doesn't move.

"It is," says Will, shrugging. "Are you going to listen to me?"

"I'm not—" and Mike pauses, swallowing thickly when Will's narrowed eyes start looking a little more punishing. "Come on, Will. I can't do that."

Oh, Mike's in for it now. He shuffles on his feet as Will looks him up and down, crossing and uncrossing his arms as the silence gets thicker and he gets more antsy, as Will's glare turns into a dark, heady look that threatens to swallow Mike whole.

He doesn't even move. He just stares at Mike, points at the bed, and murmurs a slow, dangerous; "Mike." Like a cowed dog, Mike sits on the bed before he can even think, spreading his legs wide and leaning back to let Will do as he sees fit to him. Heat licks between his legs when Will stands just far enough for Mike not to touch him, but by now, he knows not to touch without permission.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, quietly. The glare on Will's face softens, a little.

He cups Mike's cheek again, tilting it up to face him. "It's okay," says Will, softly. Then, he picks up the slip dress, and asks; "Lift your hips for me?"

It's a soft, silky thing, moreso a piece of frilly nightwear than a dress to wear out. The hem hardly reaches Mike's mid-thigh, decorated with lace, and the straps look too flimsy for Mike's shoulders and overall, it just looks embarrassing. Simply the thought of wearing it makes Mike's face burn, but he raises his hips anyway, letting Will slip the dress over his legs and up his body.

As Will dresses him, he's kind— or evil— enough to let his hands linger, skimming his nails over Mike's inner thigh and tracing the skin of his hip. Mike's breaths start to puff out of him, short and clipped. "What's the point of putting me in lingerie and then covering it all up?"

"I'm not covering it up," says Will, shrugging. "I could pull up your dress anytime I like."

Mike splutters. His face goes red-hot as Will slips a hand under the short hem of his dress, caressing the skin of his thigh. He slips his hand behind Mike's leg, then grabs at the thin skin of his inner thigh. Too close to his dick. Shit.

"Are you saying I can't do what I want with you?" Will raises an eyebrow, swinging a leg over Mike's hip, crowding his space. He pushes himself onto the bed, taking his makeup bag with him, not letting Mike forget about it. "I thought you were mine, Mike."

He simpers at Mike, all sad and fake-pouting, doe eyes blinking so wide Mike has no choice but to give in. Will pushes him back further, a hand on the silky fabric over his chest until he falls on the mattress with an oof, until Will takes his arms and puts them above his head with a small smile and a pat to his wrists. Stay put, it means. Mike listens.

"You are," Mike confirms. "I— I'm yours. I belong—"

"To me," Will finishes, with a sickly sweet smile. "Good. Do you want blue eyeshadow, too? It'll go with your dress."

His legs spread wide around Mike, caging him in. If Will scooted up just an inch, he'd brush the sizable bulge under Mike's panties, something the fabric bunched up around his legs does its best to conceal but can't hide forever. Mike's face burns at the thought of Will pointing out his cock sticking up through the dress, making fun of how hard he is over girl's clothes. It's so embarrassing, but Mike can't stop the whine that slips out of him.

"Eyeshadow, then," murmurs Will, at Mike's silence. He takes a brush and a palette out of his bag, bringing it to Mike's face. "Eyes closed, please."

Soft bristles whisper over his eyelids, painting them in a powdery blue. Mike tries his best not to squirm, but Will's thighs are so warm and heavy on him, and he wants to touch and bite and kiss them so badly. He lets out a whiny huff when Will starts to apply something to his eyelashes— mascara, maybe— instead of letting go, and then he lets out a groan when Will puts more makeup on his cheeks. Will hears his complaints, probably, but he's not one for giving in. He likes to make Mike work for it.

When Mike hears the popping of a cap and feels Will's thumb brush his bottom lip, he knows he's done for. Leaving lipstick marks on Will sounds perfect, but he probably won't even let Mike kiss him, much less touch him. Even though Will gets to touch all over him, sweeping his free hand over Mike's clothed torso and up over his collarbone, tracing tickling patterns on his arms, Mike doesn't get to move a muscle. It's torture. "Lipstick, Will? Seriously?"

With Will's thumb so close to his mouth, the words come out a little muffled. Will laughs at him. "You're really arguing over some lipstick? That's the hill you want to die on?"

"No," he mutters, "I just don't want to look like a girl—"

Will shuts him up with his thumb and his index finger in Mike's mouth. Mike's eyes shoot open as he takes to sucking on the digits immediately, swirling his tongue around Will's thumb and soaking it in spit, eyes fluttering back as he imagines something bigger and heavier hitting the back of his throat instead. It's meant to be a punishment, Mike thinks, with Will's eyes narrowed at him and his fingers gently thrusting in and out of Mike's mouth, but Mike likes it. That's the problem with most of Will's punishments; Mike is insane, and he enjoys them.

"You're mine," he whispers, leaning down to Mike's ear, taking his fingers out and trailing down the exposed skin at Mike's chest. He slips his hand under Mike's dress for a moment, pinching a nipple. Mike's body convulses. "I do what I want with you. Understand?"

The words are so soft, so sweet that they trickle through Mike's ears like honey. He nods dumbly, only half-aware of what Will was saying.

"Pucker up," Will says, and Mike rolls his eyes a little, but Will just laughs instead of punishing him. Mike presses his lips out, and Will uncaps a reddish-pink lipstick, sweeping it over Mike's mouth with a smile. To Mike's horror, he takes out a tube of lip gloss, too, but by now he knows better to complain. The gloss is sticky, but it tastes like apples, so at least Will might be happy kissing him.

After a moment, he pulls away. Will sits back on his haunches to admire Mike, eyes skating over his scantily-clothed body. His gaze lingers on the low neckline of the dress, exposing Mike's sharp collarbones and flat chest, the parts of Mike's body he always tried to cover with his just as lanky arms. All of Mike's body is the same, to him, hard and angular and no place for a soft, sweet boy like Will, but Will somehow likes looking at him anyway. Mike doesn't know how he got so lucky.

His eyes skirt down, where the slip dress bunches up and barely hides Mike's hard cock. A small smile lets Mike know that Will hasn't missed that, and his heart lurches as he does his best to stay silent, letting Will look at him no matter how much it makes Mike want to squirm. He stays still as Will tucks a lock of his short hair behind his ear, as his hands trail down Mike's thighs, brushing over the stockings and snapping the elastic hem against Mike's skin. Mike whines, softly.

"You look so pretty," Will whispers. His hand comes back to push up the hem of Mike's dress, slowly. "My pretty girl."

Mike is humiliated. He can't get ahold of himself; the words send a shock of white-hot pleasure straight to his cock, making him twist side-to-side and squirm as he lets out an undignified moan. At this point, he can physically feel the pre-come leaking from him, beading at the tip of his dick and making a new wet patch in the middle of his dress. The shame that rolls through him only turns Mike harder, somehow, sendings aftershocks rippling through his body as he jerks his head to the side to avoid looking at Will. No way can he face Will, not right now.

Unfortunately, Will makes that choice for him. He takes Mike's face in his hand and gently turns Mike towards him, smiling and speaking in that dumbed-down, patronizing way that makes Mike's face burn. "Did you like that?"

Mike glares. Since Will is pushing up his dress, exposing the lace over his hips and getting closer to his hard-on, it's hard to do anything with his eyes but let them go half-lidded in pleasure. "No."

"Looks like you did," says Will, tracing his fingers around Mike's cock, careful not to touch. "You're getting your lace all dirty." He tuts, clicking his tongue, before grabbing Mike's dick and laying his palm flat against it— not stroking, not squeezing, just leaving his hand there for Mike to rut against.

"Messy girl," Will murmurs, and oh, God, his dick practically jumps off his body. Mike throws his head back, gritting his teeth to keep in a pathetic whimper. "Can I finger you?"

Obviously, Mike nods enthusiastically. "Yeah, just— stop calling me that."

The words come out all whiny, and Will just laughs at him. Mike's cheeks go hot when Will says nothing, simply reaching over Mike to grab the lube from their nightstand drawer, leaving Mike exposed with his dress pulled up and the wet lace clinging to his dick, bulging through the panties. He tries to pull the hem down, just to be difficult, and—

Will turns back to grab his wrist and pin it to the bed, hard. "I thought you wanted me to be gentle with you tonight," he murmurs, squeezing Mike's wrist. Mike lets out a gasp. "Do you really want to be bad, Mike?"

No. Mike wants to be good. He's like a dog, eager to please, head ducked and tail between his legs when he's scolded, ears perking when he get to follow an order. "I don't," he says, voice raspy.

"Thought so," says Will. Without further conversation, he pushes Mike's dress up to his chest.

He immediately goes for Mike's chest, one hand coming to grope at the lace like the tiny amount of fat on Mike's pec counts as a tit, the other effortlessly applying lube to his middle and index finger. Those skilled artist's fingers have a mind of their own, Mike thinks. Will proves that by rolling Mike's nipple between his fingers in one hand while rubbing the lube-covered fingers of his other hand together to warm them up, all while watching Mike breathe heavily with a small smile.

"You like that?" Will squeezes the bud between his fingers, smile growing bigger when Mike's eyes squeeze shut as he throws his head back. "You really do like your tits being played with," he murmurs, and his smile turns evil.

The words make Mike whimper. "I don't have—"

"It's okay if they're small," says Will, pressing a kiss to Mike's temple. "I like them anyway."

He switches to Mike's other pec, ducking down to suck the bud into his mouth and keeping his eyes on Mike all the while. A grin fights to tug up Will's lips as he lathes his tongue over Mike, but it's still mortifyingly pleasurable, with Mike's eyes rolling back in his head when Will scrapes his teeth over Mike's nipple. All the while, he squeezes and gropes Mike's chest like a girl, and though there's really nothing to grope, it drives Mike insane with want and humiliation.

"Fuck you," he gasps out, no bite behind his words. Will's mouth falls off Mike.

He glances away, blushing. "I'm trying," says Will. It's shy, soft and sweet as his smile, so undeniably Will.

When Will's index finger sinks into Mike, his hands immediately shoot up from where Will had told them to stay put, nails scratching across Will's clothed shoulders as Will slowly pushes in, filling Mike up until his first knuckle. Mike whines, wriggling down to press on Will's finger, and he gives; all of Will's finger slips inside him, but he's still not moving.

"Move," Mike hisses out, panting.

Will grabs the elastic of Mike's lacy panties and snaps it against his skin. "Ask nicely."

"Oh my God," mutters Mike, "you're terrible. Please— can you please move, Will? I— I really need it."

"Yeah," says Will, biting his lip, "yeah."

The first thrust makes Mike grit his teeth, pressing his tongue hard to the roof of his mouth to stifle a moan. Will moves his finger in and out of Mike slowly— too slowly, but Mike's not in a position to complain— stretching him out, probing his walls for that little bundle of nerves that make Mike see stars. Will's fingers are shorter than Mike's, but they're thicker, stretching Mike out full. He'd ride Will's fingers and kiss him all over all day, if he could.

He asks for that now, blinking his wet eyes up at Will, bringing a hand to his face to pull him down for a kiss. Will instead ghosts his mouth over Mike's jaw, trailing his lips in a wet line across the skin, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the corner of his mouth before nipping at the shell of his ear. All the teasing makes Mike impatient; he whines, grabbing gently at Will's cheeks again to bring their mouths together.

With a smile, Will eases into the kiss as he adds another finger, sucking Mike's bottom lip into his mouth with a slowness that drives Mike insane. Mike's mouth opens in a gasp as the stretch burns inside him, and Will takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into Mike's mouth, licking at the spit in Mike's mouth and claiming the space of his own. The thought makes Mike whimper; he wants every part of himself to belong to Will, down to the air in his mouth. He lets Will breathe it in eagerly.

After a moment, Will's fingers thrust up and hit Mike's spot, and oh God, the pleasure wipes out every thought in his mind, makes him nothing more than Will's sweet, useless girl. His back arches off the bed as he breathes a broken, humiliating moan into Will's mouth. Too overcome with pleasure to kiss back, Mike's tongue hangs limp in his mouth as Will continues to fuck him through it, sucking on Mike's tongue for a moment longer before pulling away.

He thinks that's it, but Will opens his mouth to spit on Mike's tongue instead. It takes him a moment to process what happened, the warmth dripping down his tongue, a little bit of Will's spit dribbling down his chin— but once he processes it, Mike can't hold back his whimper, because it drives him crazy to know how much Will wants to claim him. Will's always had a jealous streak, always quietly temperamental, but he never let it show. Now, he gets to fuck all that jealousy into Mike instead.

The difference between two fingers and three fingers is hardly noticeable to Mike, at this point. Deep pleasure rolls through him in waves, blurring his mind and making everything fuzzy, and he thinks if Will had just touched him before dolling him up, Will would've had less of an issue. Mike's brain melts out of his ears when Will fucks him like this, slow and deep, but he's really going to lose it if Will doesn't just put his dick in.

"Will." His name comes out whiny, desperate. "Will, come on. I'm ready."

"Ready for what?" Will raises an eyebrow, teasing. He fucks his three fingers up in Mike, and Mike moans hard, body twitching. "Good girls ask for what they want."

His voice turns breathy as Will continues to push inside of him. "Stop fucking— haah—"

Without warning, Will yanks out all his fingers. "Come on, Mike," he murmurs, sweetly. He leans in, breath ghosting across Mike's ear. "I don't know what my girl wants unless she asks for it."

Though Mike attempts a glare, it doesn't exactly work. His body seizes up with an instinctual reaction when Will undoes his zipper, tugging down his boxers— they might be women's too, Mike thinks, short and skimpy— just enough for his cock to slip out, hitting his stomach hard. A wet smear of pre-come stains his shirt.

Slowly, Will crawls over Mike's body, and Mike stares with wide eyes as he settles his thighs over Mike's shoulders. His weight presses Mike's body into the mattress, and his flushed, dripping cock hangs over Mike's face, tempting. A clear drop falls from Will's tip and onto Mike's face. Mike wrinkles his nose.

"Do you want this?" Will takes his length in his hand, stroking slowly. He lets out a soft, sweet sound, music to Mike's ears. "You have to tell me, okay?"

"Will," he huffs. "Please."

Will tilts his head. "Please what?"

"You know what," Mike says. In response, Will slaps his cock across Mike's face.

It hits Mike's cheek thickly, hard and wet with a loud slap. Mike moans, mouth falling open, and Will takes the opportunity to drag his tip across Mike's lips, wetting them with pre-come. That only makes Mike open his mouth wider, sticking out his tongue.

"I guess we're not being gentle anymore," says Will, softly. He smears his tip across Mike's face again, making Mike's face screw up and coating his cheeks in the sticky liquid dripping from his dick. For good measure, Will slaps it against Mike's waiting tongue, too. "Say it, or I'll leave you here."

"Please," says Mike, half-muffled from Will's dick halfway in his mouth. "Please, don't— 's embarrassing—"

The wet noise of Will shoving himself into Mike's mouth cuts off the rest of his words. "I know," he says, sweetly, stroking Mike's wet cheek as he gags Mike with his cock, "I know. But you can do it for me, right? You can make me feel good?"

He wants to make Will feel good so, so bad. Mike's body is hot with humiliation, dress wrinkled up to his collarbones, lacy panties wet and straining with his desire. His legs splay wide open, aching and trembling. Dark hickies litter his skin, and he's so ashamed, but oh, God, it feels so good. All he wants is to let go, to let Will use him and feel good, to let himself feel good, too.

Slowly, Mike nods. He finds it hard to speak with Will's dick in his mouth, but Will has always understood him without words; he smiles, stroking Mike's hair, petting him like a puppy. "Yeah? You gonna tell me what you want?"

Mike nods again. A desperate, muffled whine leaves his mouth. With a kiss to Mike's forehead, Will pulls himself away, settling himself back on Mike's hip. He waits for Mike to speak, head cocking.

His voice comes out totally debauched. "Want you to fuck your pretty girl," he moans, unabashedly. "Use her— her pussy," he says, because while Will doesn't like saying dirty words, he likes them on Mike's tongue, "take her, 'm ready for your dick, please. Please. I need you in me, using your sweet girl— oh my God—"

When Will pushes in, he goes slow. He always makes sure never to really hurt Mike, and Mike loves him for it. He can be so gentle, even while he's splitting Mike open. Not like Will is big, but he's thick, and— well, he's Will. Mike could come just looking at him.

"Ah, Jesus— move, move," Mike demands, squirming. Will stays still.

"Think you can call yourself pretty for me?" Will strokes his cheek, scratching his scalp. Meanwhile, his other hand travels down Mike's chest, pulling and pinching his nipple, making Mike whine. "I'll move if you do. However hard you want it."

For a moment, Mike says nothing. Will amuses himself by playing with Mike's nipples, groping them like tits, massaging the flat skin. Mike whines, twisting away and arching towards the touch at the same time.

"Please, please— 'm pretty," he says. "So pretty. Your pretty girl, your sweet, obedient girl, gonna be so good for you," and his words dissolve into whines, barely intelligible, "fuck her hard, fast, pleaseuhh—"

That's all it takes for Will to thrust into him hard enough for Mike to see stars. His body rocks back and forth as Will fucks into him, grabbing his thin hips to hold him still. All Mike can see is a blur of Will's face all screwed up as he fucks into Mike, body shaking and covered in sweat, biting his bottom lip with his bunny teeth. Mike hates that. He wants to hear his Will.

"Wan' hear you." Despite slurring his words, Will understands him. "Let me know I'm making you feel good."

Will's expression shifts, turning softer. His eyes shine, and Mike can tell without words how much Will loves him. "Yeah?" He leans down, breathing the words into Mike's ear, shaky with pleasure. "Can you tell me who you belong to first?"

"You," Mike whines, "you, 'm yours. Belong to you, just you. I'm your doll."

With that, Will flips him over. He grabs Mike's waist with his lithe artist hands and pins him to the bed, shoving his hand into the small of Mike's back to make him arch up. Mike had been embarrassed about getting fucked like this, at first, never thought his lanky figure was worth Will's eyes— not when Will could've been made from marble— but Will's appreciation for Mike showed him otherwise. He loves Mike on his front, ass pressed up into Will's hips, and he loves to grab Mike's hair and shove his head down into the pillow, too.

Pleasure rocks through Mike in hot waves. Will hits his spot every time; he decides to drape himself over Mike's back, peeling his shirt off and pressing his soft chest to Mike's slim back, head falling down so he can moan right in Mike's ear. His moans are soft, high, pleased little mm's and ah! noises that go straight to Mike's untouched cock. It drips all over his stomach, and Will's hands drift down to stroke where it bulges from his panties, but Mike wants—

"Don't want you to touch me like that," he says. "Touch me like a girl."

"Jesus," mutters Will. "I really fucked your brains out."

Mike giggles. "Yeah."

With two fingers, Will rubs the tip of his dick, barely any stimulation. It still lights Mike on fire, and with that goes all Mike's sense. He lets Will shove his face into the pillow, smearing his already-wet makeup into the pillowcase, lets him pull his hair and make him cry, lets Will fuck him until all Mike's filter is gone.

His mouth runs ahead of him. Mike's always been a talker, when Will fucks him. "Just like that, touch my clit like that—"

"Yours," he slurs, "your sweet slut, your good girl—"

"Feels so good," he whines, as Will pulls at his nipples, "love when you play with my tits—"

He gets close rather quickly. Mike tries to hold on, to let Will use him as long as possible, gripping the pillow and crying as Will fucks in and out of him, over and over. "Can't last."

"Me neither," Will says, panting against Mike's ear. "You did so good, Mike. So good for me. Such a good girl."

"Don't—" and Mike gasps, pleasure spiking through him— "don't call me that, I'll come—"

Quickly, Will flips him over, pinning Mike's wrists up above him as Will drills his dick inside him. Mike sobs unabashedly; he can feel makeup smeared all over his cheeks, hot mascara tears rolling down his face. He must look absolutely debauched, with lipstick smeared in a red ring around his mouth and pre-come slicked across his skin, but Will must like it when he thrusts into Mike harder.

Above him, Will is beautiful. Soft, damp puffs of hair ring his head, and his sweet green eyes are glazed over, gone from pleasure. His whole body looks flushed, red from exertion. Seriously, Mike could come at the sight of him.

"Wanted to see your face," he murmurs, softly. "My pretty girl."

Mike comes hard. He sobs when the peak rolls through him, arching his back and throwing his head back as he comes, white splattering his chest all the way up to chin. Will just fucks him through it, and Mike takes it, twitching, crying. His vision goes white, and nothing exists in his mind except for how much he loves being Will's pretty, messy girl.

When he finally stops making a mess of himself, Will stops too. He tries to pull out, but Mike clenches his legs together, stopping him. "What are you doing? You haven't come."

"I'm fine," says Will. He looks away, suddenly shy. "You— that was a lot, for you. I don't want to—"

"Will," Mike says, glaring, "I swear to God, if you don't come inside me, I will open a new gate to the Upside Down and never come back. Fuck me."

Will blinks. He stares at Mike hard, mouth falling open.

"Well," he mutters, "you're dramatic."

It hurts. It hurts so bad, Mike's poor walls already abused from Will, but it doesn't take long for Will to come; he clutches Mike tight, holding him close and moaning in his ear, fucking up into him once, twice, three times before he's coming, hard. He fills Mike up good, and Mike feels his softening dick twitch hard at the come leaking past Will's dick and out of his hole. Honestly, he could go again.

As he comes, Will murmurs into his ear. "Oh, God— ah, haah— feel so good, Mike, so— so pretty, mmph—"

Will holds him close through it all. Mike cries, hard, but he's never felt better.