(no subject)
the academy is; rise of the fall tour series, 2003
logan to government center (prelude)
mike / william, 4445 words (nc17)
-- i never thought this day would end, i never thought tonight could ever be this close to me, so let my hands stray past the boundaries of your back to get you breathing and get this started
It's four am when Mike hears a small racket in the kitchen; water being boiled, or something. Only on the nights before a big day, before Mike has to work long shifts that start early, does William feel the need to wake up in the middle of the night for a snack and fucking tea. Mike rolls out of bed because he's up now and there's no use trying to go back to bed if William keeps this up. He might as well make some coffee, and the two of them can put on a movie and watch the sun rise over the buildings and filter through to their apartment. That's usually the way these nights go.
Mike doesn't even have to go into the kitchen to alert William of his presence. He walks over to the TV and rifles through the stack of DVDs they borrowed from Ally and Colleen. He settles on The Fifth Element-- Andrew lent it to them months ago and they had watched it about a dozen times, but once more wouldn't hurt-- sticks it into the DVD player, and plops down on the couch, stretching his feet out.
"Morning," William smirks, chipper as always, and hands him a cup of coffee, no milk but with enough sugar to give you an instant cavity, just the way he likes it. "I knew you'd wake up so I made you coffee."
"You made noise on purpose so I would wake up and watch a movie with you, you sneaky little bastard." William doesn't correct him, just sits down and turns the TV on. Mike takes a sip of the coffee and scowls. "Not enough sugar, Bill, not nearly enough sugar." He gets up and makes his way to the kitchen, still sleepy and stifling yawns, his eyes still half closed.
The kitchen is a complete mess, but it's his own fault since it was his turn to do the dishes and he's clearly neglected his duties. Dinner plates from two nights ago are stacked high in the sink along with empty cups and the tea bags William has just used. Mike looks around for the sugar, but there's no way he's going to find it with the way William has decided to pack every single thing into the small cupboards they have. Things that should be in the fridge, like orange juice and tomatoes, are squeezed in between boxed mashed potatoes and an assortment of herbs and spices. There's no sign of sugar anywhere so Mike grabs the bottle of maple syrup and contemplates it.
William walks in and clears his throat, "I have to tell you something."
"Is it the dishes?" Mike asks, "cause I'll do them, I mean I know I procrastinate sometimes, but I'll do them."
"No, no, it's nothing like that. It's--" he clears his throat again and averts his eyes, glances at the fridge and the window and even the maple syrup to avoid looking at Mike. "It's kind of important, and a little embarrassing." His feet move him a little further into the kitchen and Mike sets his coffee down on the counter.
"What's wrong?" Usually Mike doesn't like talking about things that are deemed "important," these subjects make him uncomfortable, to say the least. He'd rather avoid serious subject matter altogether. It's not that he's unsympathetic, or mean, he just never says or does the right thing, and he wouldn't want to hurt someone by voicing the wrong opinion or giving really bad advice, so he usually likes to stay out of it. It's different with Bill, though, because he likes to talk about everything and he likes to talk about everything to Mike. Most of the time he just has to listen, but this sounds like it could be different, and difficult.
William wets his lips and shakes his head slightly, in this dejected way. "Nothing's wrong, exactly, I just think it's about time you knew something and I don't know how you're going to react but I need-- I need to say this."
Mike reaches up and puts his hand on William's shoulder, his fingers reaching around to pull him closer. "Hey, tell me, you can tell me anything."
Mike is too concerned to notice that the way William touches him is different from the way he has ever touched anyone before; both of Bill's hands fall lightly on his shoulders, but they linger there, his fingertips brushing the exposed skin at Mike's collar, soft and delicate as though he's trying to be careful not to reveal too much. His palms are warm and clammy and he's chewing nervously on his bottom lip.
"I have to-- have to actively stop myself, you know, from kissing you," is what he says, nervous and stuttering slightly, tripping over his words as though he had them memorized but promptly forgot them. Mike is confused for a moment and then he is just impressed. "Do you even know what it's like, watching you day in and day out, knowing that you're completely oblivious to the way I look at you?" William sighs as though a weight's been lifted off of him. Mike is acutely aware of his own body, the way it is pressed between the counter and William, aware that his hands are resting on Bill's hips and he doesn't know how they got there. "I don't want to not kiss you," he says, and Mike stops breathing. "I don't want to ever not be kissing you."
Mike blinks; once, twice, and before he can form any sort of thought, William's lips are against his. There isn't any time to register what is happening, he just closes his eyes and enjoys it, because it's nice if not a little different, but definitely something to take your time with. William tastes like herbal tea and butter cookies but there is something distinctly boyish about him-- even the quiet noises he makes are low and rough against Mike's mouth. Their tongues do a little dance around each other while their hands are occupied with prolonging contact.
It is a kiss for a moment, and then it is apprehension and uncertainty settling in. "Wait, wait," Mike chuckles. "What are we doing?"
Bill clears his throat, almost business-like, and forces a short laugh. "Um, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have. It, um--"
Mike doesn't understand the sudden apology, but he doesn't understand much at this point, either. "No, it's not-- I mean, but that was a-- well--" he shrugs his shoulders and smiles weakly. He wishes William hadn't moved so far away; the space he had been occupying was warm and inviting, now it is cold and still, and lonely.
Mike would say something if he knew what to say, but William coughs into the quietness and smiles kind of awkwardly. "I'm sorry, I-- sorry." He turns without another word and heads straight for the bedroom, closing the door behind him. Mike stands in the kitchen for a while longer, now incredibly confused but curious, and wide awake.
-
For two days after the midnight kitchen fiasco, if it can even be called a fiasco, William didn't say a word. He went about tidying the apartment, tucking things into drawers and hanging up clothes that had been left lying around. He did all the dishes, washed, dried and folded the laundry-- which was incredible because he usually made it a point not to even touch the laundry-- and he didn't say one word to Mike, just nodded politely every now and then and smiled in this horribly forced way.
It was getting on Mike's nerves that he wouldn't just talk about what happened, that he would laugh nervously every time Mike tried to bring it up, so he just stopped trying, returned the weak, fake smiles and helped William silently rearrange the furniture in the living room.
On the third day, William organizes all their DVDs in alphabetical order, all their CDs by order of artist and album, sweeps, mops, dusts all the hidden nooks and crannies an apartment can offer and takes a walk. Mike stays out on the balcony, chain smoking and contemplating whether or not this would become a thing and whether or not he really minded if it did.
William returns home with groceries they really don't need, sticks his head out the door and says, "Ice cream!" with a smile.
"Stop smiling like that," Mike sighs, his eyebrows furrowed, the cigarette in between his fingers abandoned for the moment. The ash falls hot against his jeans but he ignores it, flicks his half finished cigarette over the edge and continues, "you look like a serial killer."
The serial killer smile fades from William's lips but he just waves a hand dismissively and repeats, "Ice cream." His enthusiasm seems to have vanished as well.
Mike follows him into the apartment, the screen door swinging back against his shoulder as he does, but he ignores the bit of pain to hurry after William and yell, "It was a kiss, Bill, just a kiss." As soon as the words leave his lips, though, Mike knows this wasn't what he meant to say exactly. He meant to say, it was a kiss-- a kiss-- and that is certainly something he doesn't know how to deal with without William to help, so not talking and going out to buy ice cream is not what he should be doing right now, although Mike does have to admit that the apartment has never looked better.
He meant to say, it was a kiss and it was nice and William is graced with thin lips, and gorgeous hazel eyes that turn slightly green at times and Mike would have never noticed if they hadn't have been so close. He meant to say, he would very much like to kiss William again because he doesn't know if the first time was a fluke and the second time will be horrible and weird and they'll both agree never to do it again, but he can't know if they don't try, right? So he'd like to try, he'd like to know.
He meant to say, it was a kiss, just one kiss, and maybe they should try another.
What William hears is what he suggests in a clearly offended and upset voice that he tries to hide with nonchalance, "Yeah, it was nothing. Won't happen again."
Bill heads to the kitchen and neatly arranges the groceries into the fridge. Mike spoons big heaps of ice cream into their newly washed bowls, mint chocolate chip and plain vanilla, and watches Bill try to fit a carton of milk on the first shelf. He manages it in the end and they settle down on the couch to watch Meet Joe Black. They don't mention anything worth mentioning again, although William starts talking during the movie and doesn't shut up and that's always a good sign.
-
It's August the next time it's brought up, but this time William doesn't avoid the subject like the plague. He doesn't stop talking, in fact, he talks a little too much. Everyone is gathered around sitting in odd places in their living room, drinking or drunk and playing the world's worst game to play when you are drinking or drunk.
Johnny says, "I've never had sex with a guy."
All of the girls take another sip, as does Nick, who defends the questions being shouted at him by admitting that he loves himself a lot. "Okay, okay," he starts, quieting the crowd with raised hands and chuckles to himself for a moment before letting everyone in on the joke. "I've never thought about having sex with a guy."
From the back of the kitchen, Sisky shouts, "Is this going to turn into the Who's Gayest Competition because we had that last week and Pete won." He reappears in the living room, hands another beer to Adrian, Little Mike and Bill, who is sprawled out on the carpet, his legs stretched over Mike's lap, toes tickling his side. William reaches an arm out for his, falls on his back onto the, thankfully, soft carpet, and grabs his bottle, attempting to drink it lying down. "Pete always wins."
"So, anyone?" Nick reminds them, and the girls (once again) and a handful of boys take small sips, defending the action by shouting out names like Brad Pitt, Ed Norton and George Clooney; Noah Wyle makes an appearance.
"Alright," Adrian announces, taking William's beer away from him and setting it down on the coffee table, "Since this is obviously going to turn into the Who's Gayest Competition and Pete isn't here to defend his title--" he glances around the room at all the terrified faces and grins. "I've never kissed a guy, but before you go chugging those beers, girls are excluded from this one and boys, it can't have been a dare or a joke or a drunken moment of hilarity. Who here has kissed another guy and really, you know," he laughs, "really, really meant it?"
There is a brief moment of hesitation, during which no one is certain of what to do. Everyone sort of glances around cautiously, waiting for someone else to make a move. When no one does, the silence is broken by the uncomfortable shuffling of feet and bodies in their respective places of sitting or standing or laying down, until William says, "Fuck it," sits up, grabs his beer from the table and drinks the whole thing.
Tony chokes out a half-laugh and manages to ask, "Care to, uh, elaborate?"
Bill just shrugs and reaches over to steal Harry's unaccompanied alcoholic beverage. "It was a kiss," is what he says, more of a slur than real words, but he gets them out. "It was a kiss, a very good one, and there was-- I mean there was just niceness, and here-- here's the thing, we were both very, very, what is that word? Aware-- yes, aware, we were aware of the kissing, it was something very mutual and then it was nothing at all because you know, I think, maybe it was more of my kiss than it was our kiss and he-- he just, you know how it is." The room is quiet and confused, and Tony looks as though he's going to say something but William sighs dramatically and pouts, pushing his bottom lip out as far as it will go. He looks up at Tony and Johnny and says, in barely a whisper, "Guys, I think I'm gay."
This is Tony and Johnny's, and everyone else's, cue to laugh hysterically, clap William on the back and congratulate him on a fine attempt to steal Pete's title from him while William scoffs and declares that he hates this game. He stands up and staggers over to the bedroom, deciding to call it a night while everyone else sets up for a game of poker. Mike takes a sip of his beer and sets it down. It takes a few attempts for him to finally stand straight, but he does, and manages to slip away unnoticed.
"Hey," he says, closing the door and climbing into bed and settling into the messy bundle of blankets. "Bill, I know you're not sleeping, open your eyes." William doesn't move, so he takes this as a cue to speak further. "Look, it wasn't just a kiss, okay? It was, it was the single most confusing experience of my life, is what it was." Bill doesn't move but scoffs under his breath. "Hey now, you caught me by surprise is all."
William turns around so that he's facing Mike, finally opens his eyes and mumbles something completely inaudible. At the look of confusion on Mike's face though, he repeats himself, "I said you're an asshole, I mean, you could have done something instead of just standing there, blinking like an idiot and stuttering like you don't know english."
"It was a kiss, William, I was shocked-- astounded even, but that was an inaccurate depiction of how I usually act when I'm kissed okay and you-- you ran away!" Mike retorts, his voice a rushed whisper.
"I did not run away," William mutters, rolling his eyes. "I walked, I walked very quickly. And that's beside the point! The point is, you were awkward and I'm sorry I surprised you but, whatever, everything I said is still true, none of that's changed, all that's changed is us, we're all weird now." He sighs dramatically, and Mike really should have known he would be dramatic about this, because what else could he be, really? William is at the point of pouting again, and Mike is just about done with the theatrics.
He slides an arm under William's waist, pulls him close and presses their foreheads together. They are so close he can feel Bill's hair on his face, the goose-bumps rising steadily on his arms; his breath hitches in his throat, escapes his lips slowly, hot and shaking. William closes his eyes, his eyelashes barely brushing Mike's face.
Their noses touch.
"It's not weird," Mike whispers against william's lips. "We're not weird."
He's not sure who leans into it first, not sure that he cares either. Their second kiss is not horrible, definitely not weird. William tastes like beer and vodka and a little like the cinnamon sticks he was eating before everyone came over.
Mike wakes up with a weight on his legs that, upon further inspection, he finds out is Sisky's body. Allison and Lisa are sleeping on the second mattress, Adrian seems to have fallen off and is curled up beside them on the floor. He can only imagine how everyone is arranged in the living room, or on the balcony like last time, and there is definitely someone in the bathtub-- there is always someone in the bathtub. He turns his head and is glad to see that William is still sleeping, using his arm as a pillow and his body as a blanket. There is a look of complete complacence on his face and his lips are pursed and a pretty shade of pink in the morning light.
Maybe he doesn't remember a thing from last night, Mike thinks, but he hopes that he is wrong. He presses a quick kiss to William's lips and pulls his body closer, closes his eyes and tries to get a few more hours of sleep before everyone wakes up and all their fun has to end.
-
It's not a sudden thing, their being together. It doesn't happen the way normal relationships happen.
One day, William is sitting in the living room, on the couch with the TV on but muted. He's reading the second Harry Potter for the hundredth time and laughing at jokes he already has memorized. The balcony door is wide open, despite it being cold outside, and Mike is making lasagna in the kitchen. In the bedroom, Adam and Jason are playing video games and generally fighting over who is the "better Siska."
Mike walks from the kitchen to the balcony to have a quick smoke; William won't let him smoke in the apartment.
Bill joins him after a few minutes, still staring down at the words on the page, but no longer reading. "I can't stop thinking about you," he says, quietly. "Especially not after last week."
Mike glances back into the living room, but Adam and Jason are still arguing in the bedroom, ("Whatever, schizo," "Hey! You have those genes too," "Alright then, hippie.") completely unaware of the going ons of the balcony. "Yeah, yeah," he grins, "last week was great, if you exclude the part about you getting your--" William shrieks, laughs and claps a hand over Mike's mouth, which he licks. "-- In my hair, of all places, then yeah, last week was great."
"It was." William smiles, leans over and pecks the corner of Mike's mouth but is pulled into a deeper kiss, one that nearly causes him to drop his book. "We should--" he moans as Mike nips gently at his jaw. "Mm-- we should do that again, and soon."
From the bedroom, Adam yells, "Victory!" and Mike and William laugh before breaking apart reluctantly. Mike runs his fingers through his hair and frowns. "I should go check on that lasagna, huh?" William nods fervently, opens his book to the page with the tucked corner and resumes his reading. Mike stops walking before he is entirely in the house, turns around and smiles. "I, uh-- I can't stop thinking about you either. It's kind of, kind of great."
-
In two days, they have to go back to work and present the guys with an album of lyrics to record, and so far, they've got nothing. William has an entire journal of scribbles that no one within a million mile radius can read, and Mike has some music that won't be very useful the way it's scattered around, but so far there's nothing solid. Nothing Adrian will accept anyway, and both Mike and William agree that he can't write the album by himself, which he has suggested a few times already.
They promised the guys they'd take the weekend and work out most of what they wanted to do, but it just isn't happening.
"Are you okay?" Mike whispers, moving the extra pillows over to the side of the bed. Bill nods, but his eyes are tightly shut and he's biting hard on the corner of his lip, on the left side. He presses his lips together, inhales deeply and slowly, and digs his nails into the small of Mike's back. Dull and harmless as they may appear, it hurts. "Are you sure this is okay?" he asks again.
William nods once more but this time he adds, "You're on my rib," and he and Mike both burst out laughing. "No really," he giggles, leaning up a little, "it kills, I don't know what you're doing, I think you broke me."
"I should be more careful then, you are very fragile," Mike points out matter-of-factly and pushes himself up on his arms. "We should just stop--"
"No!" William pulls him back down. "No, don't stop, stupid." He kisses the side of Mike's neck and nibbles on his earlobe as Mike slides his arm back underneath William's back, laces their fingers together and smirks. William kisses his chest and sighs, "Come closer."
Mike leans down to kiss Bill, holds him as tightly as possible and trails wet kisses to his neck; he has to complete the hickey he started earlier without being interrupted by Bill's giggling. William closes his eyes and blushes and Mike knows, that's not the kind of close he was referring to. He doesn't say anything, though he is always willing to comply, and always more than happy to make William blush even a little bit brighter. "Oh," he smirks, "that's what you meant."
William covers his face with his free hand and turns about as red as the sun rising slowly outside their window. Mike kisses around his fingers, kisses his nose and his cheeks and his silly chin, he nudges William's hand out of the way and presses their foreheads together, tightens his hold on William's hand and pushes his hips forward as far as they can go.
They both allow themselves a moment of staggering satisfaction; William's entire body arches upward but with nowhere to go, Mike just pushes him back down, pushes deeper into him, and they get more and more tangled in each other.
"Oh, Mike, Mike, Mike," William moans, interrupting each word with another. "God, you're perfect," he brushes Mike's hair out of his eyes and kisses him on the mouth, sweet and soft, the taste of the cheesecake they had for dessert still on the tip of his tongue. "You're perfect for me, we fit-- mm-- you fit so perfect in me, Mike."
"Hmm, like puzzle pieces," Mike adds, then remembers what someone once said about puzzle pieces being able to fit with three other pieces at any given time. "Like puzzle pieces in a two piece puzzle."
This is the way they should be, Mike thinks as William frees his hands, presses hot fingertips into Mike's shoulder blades and bites down hard on his lip to stay quiet. There isn't a word to describe the two of them, though happy just about covers it. This is the way all people should be, just together, just happy. Mike isn't one for being romantic or even sentimental, but a few months ago he wouldn't have been one for this kind of thing either. It's just, of all the places and with all the people he could have ever imagined he would be, in bed with William Beckett never made the list. It's not the way he imagined his life, not in the least, but that doesn't mean that he regrets it, in fact, this is the only thing he knows he will never regret.
When he looks back on these months, he'll feel stupid for doing such a ridiculous dance around each other, for skirting around the issue and being so illusive. Sure, they enjoyed the casual making out, and lounging around the apartment together took on an entirely new meaning-- watching movies was never the same again. They both were pretty keen on being sneaky and secretive, having a relationship free of definition but one that still had meaning and excitement and free hand jobs when the occasion called for it. But when Mike looks back on these few months, he will only think of all the time they could have been in bed, being close, like this.
--
yes, i wrote this without capitals. i had thoughts! thoughts are more important than capitals! one day i will fix all the punctuation, i promise. the regularly scheduled chapters in the rise of the fall series took a short hiatus, but will return next week since it is mid-autumn festival and i have a break until the 8th of october from work. i am finding it particularly difficult to write the sixth part to that, though, which is why i thought i'd give you all something complete but something that was still related to enjoy.
photo from forevernever.net