Fun night

The soft glow of Will’s desk lamp cast long shadows across the room, illuminating the quiet domesticity that had settled between them. Will, perched on the edge of his bed, meticulously sketched in his notebook, his brow furrowed in concentration. Mike, sprawled comfortably beside him, was lost in the vibrant panels of a Dungeons & Dragons comic, occasionally chuckling softly at a particularly witty line. The air was thick with the comfortable hum of shared space, a secret language only they understood.

It had been a few months since their first tentative steps into this new, exhilarating territory. Their relationship, a fragile, precious thing, was carefully guarded, a hushed understanding whispered between stolen glances and lingering touches. Tonight, like many nights before, Mike had come over for a sleepover, a perfectly normal occurrence in the Byers-Hopper household. No one suspected the true nature of their late-night rendezvous, the electric current that hummed beneath their innocent friendship.

Around eleven o’clock, a yawn escaped Will, stretching his lithe frame. "Getting late," he murmured, closing his sketchbook.

Mike, tearing his gaze from the comic, grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Already? Time flies when you're having fun… or when you're with me, I guess." He patted the space beside him on the bed. "Come here, Byers."

Will, ever so slightly shy, hesitated, but the pull was too strong. He slid onto the bed, a comfortable distance separating them. "You know, we should probably actually try to sleep tonight," he said, though his eyes betrayed his true desire.

Mike, however, had other plans. He leaned in, his breath warm against Will’s ear. "Or… we could have a little more fun first." His hand found Will’s, fingers intertwining, a spark igniting between their skin.

Will’s heart hammered against his ribs. He knew this feeling, this delicious anticipation. Mike’s lips were suddenly on his, soft at first, then growing more insistent, more demanding. It was a sloppy, hungry kiss, full of all the unspoken longing they’d held back. Will’s hands found purchase on Mike’s shoulders, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them.

Mike broke the kiss, his eyes gleaming with a familiar eagerness. "You have no idea how much I've wanted to do that all day," he whispered, his voice husky. His fingers fumbled with the hem of Will’s t-shirt, tugging it upwards.

Will gasped softly as the cool air hit his skin, but made no move to stop him. He knew he should, knew the house was full of sleeping family members, knew the risk they were taking. But Mike’s touch was intoxicating, a siren song he couldn’t resist. Mike shed his own shirt, tossing it carelessly to the floor, his bare chest a warm, inviting canvas. He peppered kisses down Will’s neck, leaving a trail of fire, then moved lower, exploring the sensitive skin of his collarbone, his chest. Will arched into the touch, a small, involuntary moan escaping his lips. He felt the tell-tale sting of Mike’s teeth, knew he was leaving marks, but at that moment, he didn't care.

Soon, both of them were clad only in their boxers, their breathing ragged and uneven. Will’s mind, usually so cautious, was a whirlwind of sensation. He knew this was reckless, knew they were pushing their luck. But the feel of Mike’s body pressed against his, the urgent need in Mike’s eyes, rendered him powerless to stop.

"Everyone's asleep," Mike murmured, as if sensing Will’s internal struggle. "We’ll be quiet."

Will wanted to believe him, wanted to lose himself completely in the moment. He tried to nod, but his breath hitched as Mike’s fingers found the waistband of his boxers, teasing the elastic, his thumb brushing lightly against the sensitive skin beneath. Then, with a playful tug, Mike’s hand slipped completely inside, and Will gasped, a loud, undeniable sound that echoed in the small room.

Mike chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated against Will’s chest. "See? I told you we could be quiet." He rolled them over in one fluid motion, Will now on his back, Mike hovering above him, a dark silhouette against the faint light from the window.

The air crackled with a new intensity. Mike’s lips found Will’s again, deeper, more possessive this time. His hips pressed against Will’s, a silent promise of what was to come. He whispered things, dirty and sweet, that made Will’s head spin. Will’s hands found purchase on Mike’s back, his nails digging in, leaving faint, red crescent moons on his skin. Small sounds escaped Will, involuntary whimpers and gasps as Mike explored him, each touch more electrifying than the last. Sometimes, when Mike found a particularly sensitive spot, or when his movements became a little rougher, Will’s cries would grow louder, bordering on a muffled scream.

And then, it happened. Mike hit a spot, a perfect, exquisite pressure, and Will let out a cry that was undeniably loud, a desperate, breathless sound that cut through the silence of the cabin.

Mike froze, his eyes wide with a sudden jolt of panic. "Shit," he whispered, his voice laced with alarm.

But the moment passed, the adrenaline fading as quickly as it had come. The desire, the need, was too strong to be denied. Mike resumed his ministrations, a little more cautious now, but no less passionate. Will, still slightly breathless, clung to him, lost in the intoxicating rhythm.

Suddenly, the door creaked open.

Will’s eyes snapped open, his heart leaping into his throat. Mike, caught mid-thrust, froze, his head snapping towards the sound.

Jonathan stood in the doorway, a sleepy, disoriented look on his face, his hand still on the doorknob. He had originally come to ask Will about his camera, needing it for a shoot in the morning. But the scene before him…

Mike, half-naked, was still perched precariously over Will, who was flushed, disheveled, and gasping for breath, his hands still clutching Mike’s back, the faint red scratches now starkly visible. And Mike was… inside Will.

Jonathan’s eyes widened, his jaw slacked. The air left his lungs in a silent whoosh.

The sound of the door opening, though quiet, was enough to shatter their illicit world. Mike, with a panicked surge, pulled out of Will, a soft, wet sound echoing in the room. Will, still on his back, instinctively grabbed the blanket that lay beside them on the bed and yanked it over himself. Mike, scrambling off Will, quickly pulled the blanket down to cover his own lower half.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Mike hissed, his voice a frantic whisper, his eyes darting between Jonathan and the door.

Jonathan, still frozen in the doorway, finally found his voice. "What… the… fuck?" he managed, the words barely a whisper, yet loud enough to puncture the fragile silence.

As if on cue, the muffled sounds of Jonathan’s exclamation and Mike’s frantic whispered curses seemed to trigger a new wave of disturbance. A heavy tread sounded from down the hall, followed by an annoyed groan. Jim Hopper, woken from his already too-short sleep by the commotion, was clearly not pleased. He had an early Saturday shift, and his temper was already on a short fuse.

"What in God's name is going on in here?" Hopper grumbled, his voice rough with sleep and irritation. He appeared behind Jonathan, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The room was dark, and he couldn’t quite make out the scene. "Jonathan, why are you just standing there like a statue?"

Before anyone could answer, Hopper reached for the light switch. A click, and then the room was bathed in harsh, unflattering light.

Hopper’s eyes, still narrowed from sleep, slowly adjusted. And then they widened, mirroring Jonathan’s earlier shock.

There, on the bed, were two boys. Will, his face crimson, his hair a tangled mess, was clutching the blanket to his chest, his breathing still uneven. Mike, equally disheveled, sat beside him, also covered only by the blanket, his eyes wide with mortification. In the unforgiving light, the hickeys on Will’s neck and chest were glaringly obvious, dark bruises against his pale skin.

Hopper stared, his jaw slowly dropping. The initial annoyance at being woken up was quickly replaced by a potent mix of disbelief, anger, and a dawning, terrible understanding. His stepson, his *son*, and Mike, the kid he’d known since he was five, were…

He let out a long, slow sigh, a sound laden with exasperation. "Let's talk in the morning," he said, his voice surprisingly calm, but with an underlying steel that sent shivers down Will’s spine. He turned and walked away, pulling Jonathan with him, leaving the door ajar, a silent threat.

***

The next morning, the air in the Byers-Hopper kitchen was thick with an unspoken tension. Sunlight streamed through the window, a cruel contrast to the heavy atmosphere. Joyce, ever the cheerful morning person, hummed softly as she poured coffee. Eleven, preternaturally alert, was already halfway through her waffle. Jonathan, however, was unusually quiet, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

Will and Mike eventually made their way to the kitchen, a picture of forced casualness. Will, still visibly embarrassed, was wearing one of Mike’s oversized sweaters, the collar riding high on his neck. But even the sweater couldn't hide everything. Two distinct bite marks, dark and angry, were visible on his neck, and a third, peeking out from beneath the collar, hinted at more. Mike, though trying to appear nonchalant, kept his eyes glued to his plate.

They slid into their seats at the table. Jonathan, unable to resist, cleared his throat. "So, Will," he began, a mischievous glint in his eye, "did you find what you were looking for last night… or did it find you?"

Mike let out a choked chuckle, quickly stifling it when he caught Hopper’s glare. Will’s face, already flushed, turned an even deeper shade of red.

Joyce, sensing the strange undercurrent, looked up, a puzzled frown on her face. "What's going on?" she asked, glancing between her sons. Hopper, meanwhile, let out a low, guttural growl, which only deepened Joyce’s confusion. "Jim? What was that for?"

Eleven, oblivious to the deeper meaning, perked up. "What happened?" she asked, her curiosity piqued. But before anyone could answer, she looked at her watch. "Oh! I have to go. Max is waiting." She quickly finished her waffle and dashed out the door, leaving the remaining four in an unbearable silence.

Will, still burning with embarrassment, kept his gaze fixed on his plate. Joyce, however, was now thoroughly intrigued. She leaned forward, her eyes falling on Will’s neck. "Will, honey, are you alright?" she asked, her voice laced with concern, her gaze lingering on the visible marks. "What happened to your neck?"

Before Will could even stammer out a half-baked excuse, Hopper slammed his coffee mug onto the table, the ceramic clattering loudly. "Apparently," he announced, his voice low and dangerous, "he and Mike had themselves quite the 'fun' last night."

Will choked on his orange juice, a sputtering cough escaping him. Mike, eyes wide with mortification, side-eyed Will, equally embarrassed. Joyce’s eyes, previously filled with concern, widened in slow, dawning horror as she stared between the two boys, the pieces of the puzzle clicking into place. Jonathan, meanwhile, was clearly fighting a losing battle against a fit of laughter.

Hopper, seeing the realization dawn on Joyce’s face, took a deep, steadying breath. He wasn't screaming, but his voice was firm, every word laced with a controlled fury that made the air crackle. "I walked into Will’s room last night," he stated, his gaze sweeping from Will to Mike, "and I saw more than enough." He paused, letting the words sink in. "Now, I don't care that you two are… together. That's your business. But I *do* care what happens under my roof, and I care about the absolute lack of judgment I witnessed."

He turned his gaze specifically to Mike. "Mike, I've known you since you were five years old. I know how impulsive you can be. I expect better than that, young man." Then, his eyes, dark and piercing, fixed on Will. "And you, Will. The noise last night. I could hear you down the hall. If Jonathan hadn't gone in first, I would have. If you're going to act grown," his voice dropped to a menacing whisper, "you need to be quiet and you need to be smart. Especially you, Will."

Will felt his cheeks burn, wishing the floor would simply open up and swallow him whole. He could feel Joyce’s shocked gaze, Jonathan’s barely suppressed amusement, and Mike’s mortified, respectful silence. He wanted to disappear.

Hopper wasn't finished. He leaned forward, his hands flat on the table, his voice low and unwavering. "So, let's establish some ground rules, and we're going to establish them now. From this moment forward, if that door to Will's room is closed, it's locked. No more careless sleepovers where you think you're invisible. Absolute discretion. No more… midnight surprises." His eyes narrowed. "And if I ever hear that kind of noise again, from either of you, that door stays open. Permanently. Do I make myself clear?"

He then turned his attention back to Mike, his voice taking on a dangerous edge. "And Mike. You hurt Will. In any way. Physically, emotionally, I don't care. If you hurt him, we're going to have a very serious problem. Do you understand me?"

Mike, looking utterly chastened, simply nodded. "Yes, sir."

Joyce, still reeling from the shock, finally managed to interject, her voice a little shaky. "Jim, maybe we don't need to be quite so…"

"We *do* need to be, Joyce," Hopper cut her off, his voice firm. "These are my boys." He softened slightly as he looked at Will, a hint of his usual protective fatherhood seeping through the anger.

Jonathan, seizing the moment, piped up, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "Yeah, Will, you really did sound like you were… *struggling* last night."

Mike couldn't help but let out a small chuckle, quickly stifling it with a cough when Hopper shot him a warning look. Will, however, buried his face in his hands, his embarrassment reaching critical mass. Hopper let out another long sigh, but this one held a hint of resignation. He might be angry, but he was also a father, and he knew some battles were just… inevitable. He just had to make sure they fought them quietly.