#flashfic

You give him a pretty smile, "You wanna take this somewhere private, big guy?"

And, no, he fucking doesn't. Can't. Too consumed by thoughts of beating his fat cock into you until you scream. At this point, he can barely string together a sentence, words reduced to throaty animal noise. You giggle, sweet as sugar, and raise one hand to cradle his jaw and boldly sweep your thumb across his bottom lip.

"You're in bad shape, huh?" You comment, not surprised when he snaps his teeth at your thumb.

Breathing labored, eyes boring into you as you gaze so fondly up at him, "Want," he manages to growl. You don't consider it an attack when he grabs you roughly and pushes you against the wall, brittle nails digging into your flesh as he lifts you by the backs of your thighs. A long pause wherein he just pants against your neck and then, "Please."

Such a courteous beast.

His Z-band is practically wailing, the sound reminding you to cast that neat little spell you've been using since you and Zed started this thing.

You mutter the incantation between stinging kisses before he savagely shoves his tongue in your mouth, fucking it in and out as he tries to taste every tooth and ridge and soft piece of tissue. God, you live for these moments. When he's completely at the mercy of his darker side. The side he tries so hard to smother outside of Zombietown. The side you love.

Not to say you don't love the whole package. It's just that you're more exclusive with the monster than the man. Person Zed isn't as...upfront about what he wants with you. Less demanding, more cautious. Meanwhile, Zombie Zed is a lot more decisive and has sunk his teeth into your neck to claim you more times than you can count. Hence the rubber-skin spell. Keeps your skin intact and the Zombie cooties from spreading.

He finally releases your mouth, biting and kissing a trail from your jaw to your pulse point. He pins you to the wall with his hips as his hands claw under your shirt, fisting into the fabric before, without warning, he tears it open. Needy. Desperate. Fucking hungry for you in his ragelust.

You can feel him through his jeans, huge and growing as the Zombie takes over completely, and your mouth waters. This is going to hurt in the best way. He grinds himself against your pussy; sharp, vicious strokes a threat of what's to come, all the while panting and snarling into your skin as he chews chunks of flesh that don't tear away from your throat.

Witches and Zombies really do make the best match, you think greedily, equally as frenzied as you yank his shirt over his head. Then it's skin on skin, your bra in pieces at his feet; his big, calloused hand groping your tit just this side of painful. He grunts, hips moving harder, faster, blunt teeth grazing the soft underside of your chin.

"Want," He rasps again, long fingers teasing under your skirt and pressing insistently between your pussy lips through your panties. In a brief moment of clarity, Zed leans back, expression pleading, "Baby, let me—fuck, I can't—" And then it's gone, the green mist rushing back in, making his eyes wild and his movements stiff as rigor mortis.

You don't even have the chance to give him permission before his fingers dig under the edge of your panties and plunge into you, corkscrewing deep as he growls in delight at how wet you already are for him.

"Mine," Zed bites into your throat, and you don't disagree, moaning as his fingers snap in and out, drilling your sweet spot. "Only mine."

There's no point echoing his sentiment, Zed so far under that he doesn't actually care to hear your thoughts, just wants to make sure you're aware that you're owned. He removes his fingers long enough to rip a hole in your panties, then to get his fly undone—the button flying, zipper torn—and his jeans pulled down enough to free his dribbling cock.

His free hand clenches a chunk of your hair and he angles your head, presses his brow against yours, demanding, "Tell me." He teases the fat head between your lips, pushes in the barest fraction, and smirks when you keen.

For a second, you have no fucking idea what he's asking until you remember, "I want it, Zee."

"Again."

Louder, "I want it, please, Zee."

Zed leans in, nips your earlobe and breathes, "Good girl...perfect little prey for me..." and then, fuck, he spears inside you, the feeling like being split in two. He has one hand on your ass, the other tangled in your hair, his teeth deep in the join of your shoulder and neck.

Every thrust is brutal, punching sighs and whimpers from your chest. He doesn't care if it hurts. He needs this. Needs you like this. And you lose yourself in it as much as he does, your nails mauling welts across his back. The sensation coaxes him to move faster, harder, both hands on your hips now to guide you on his cock exactly how he wants. Your tits bounce as he fucks you with everything he has, your brain scrambled from the sheer fucking strength he has at his disposal.

"Close," He grunts. He sinks to his knees, keeps your back against the wall, and fucks up into you with abandon. His head thrown back, lips parted, eyes clamped shut in ecstasy. "Fuck, baby, gonna come."

He slams into you a few more times and then roars his release, biting into your neck with the intention of ripping flesh from bone. Zed stays like that, his cock pulsing inside you as he spills an ungodly amount of Zombie seed, so much that some oozes around his cock. He hitches his hips three, four, five more times before going still.

The wailing soundtrack of his Z-band finally stops. You don't actually need that to tell you he's slowly returning to normal. His muscles loosen marginally, his skin warms; popped veins shrink and his skin adopts a less sickly hue. Still grey, just less dead. It takes a minute for him to calm all the way down, and when he does, he removes his teeth from your neck and lifts his head.

You smile at him, gentle, fond, "Hey, big guy. You with me again?"

Zed swallows. Nods. His gaze falls between your joined bodies, and he licks his lips at the sight before glancing back up at you.

"Did I hurt you?" He has to know, his concern palpable.

"No." You promise, "You never actually do."

He doesn't look like he believes you, but he doesn't argue. Not today, anyway. You watch him take in your torn shirt and basically disintegrated panties and bra. With a cringe, he hands you his shirt.

"You know, one day I'm going to bill you for everything you've shredded," You say playfully in an effort to prove you're okay.

It works, "You'd think by now you'd start bringing an extra set of clothes with you." He teases back, smirking. It's the first time that he's acknowledged how he gets when the Zombie takes the wheel, and you almost miss it because you can't get your brain to get your mouth to work fast enough.

"You keep saying 'this is the last time, cutie, I swear'," You parody his voice as you roll your eyes. "So, why would I prep for something that isn't suppose to happen?"

And Zed looks utterly confused—still cockdeep inside you, mind you, hardly softened at all.

"I mean the last time I'll be rough. You know that I've claimed you, like, eight times," He says, again acknowledging for the first time what happens when his inner Zombie comes out.

You're almost stunned at how casual he's suddenly being about everything after months of ashamed side-eye and stilted aftercare.

"I think that's a pretty convincing argument to be prepared, babe." He tacks on, his expression telling you that you should've known.

Gaping at him, "Wait, I thought all of that was heat of the moment stuff?" You blink wide eyes at him, almost falling back on your ass when he dislodges you and helps you to your feet.

"Heat of the mo—You know I'm still me when I'm Zombied Out, right?"

Actually. No. You didn't know that. You assumed up to this point that Person Zed and Zombie Zed were completely separate entities with conflicting views on what they want from you.

Oops.

"So, when you say I'm yours...?" You ask slowly, not quite able to believe that this whole time you've possibly been Zombie married.

Zed scoffs, hooks an arm around your waist and pulls you into his body, his gaze turning dark and heated. "It means your mine, baby girl." And then, "Why the fuck do you think I come to you when I'm having a meltdown?"

"...because I don't scream in terror and run away?"

"You're an idiot." Zed snorts as he presses a soft kiss to your lips.

You shrug, "Apparently, I'm your idiot."

In playful retaliation, Zed nibbles your neck, bites and pulls the skin, chuckles, "Definitely mine." Then, dangerously, "but it looks like I gotta make sure you really understand what that means," he murmurs right as his Z-band beeps its first alert.

🫧___________fin.____________

also on AO3!

if you enjoyed this, you may also enjoy THORNS.

When it's just you two alone, he's an absolute cuddlebug. From the minute you're with him to the minute you leave, he has his arms around you, his fingers interlaced with yours, his head on your shoulder, really any form of contact he can work in. However, when around others, he definitely gets a bit more shy and might tone down the affection just for the sake of decency. He's beyond proud of your relationship and would blab about you for hours to anyone willing to listen, but he likes to keep certain things just as a treat for you and him, not others.

On that note, he doesn't shut up about you when you come up in conversation. His friends in the poetry club have heard lecture after lecture about how smart and funny you are, how beautiful you are without trying, how lucky he considers himself, and so on and so forth. To some, it's obnoxious, but to the rest, it's charming.

He's a total sweetheart at his core. Your smile is like a drug for him. Seeing the way your lips curl and your eyes scrunch up makes him feel lighter than air. He blushes so easily when it comes to you. A kiss on the cheek? Bright pink. Giggled at one of his dumb jokes? Full-on fuchsia. Grazed a finger against his arm? Hard. He's so fucking hard. Like immediately.

It makes him light-headed.

You consume his thoughts almost all hours of the day. Some would argue that he thinks about you too much, but his response to that is “Have you met her?” Because he's convinced everyone else thinks as highly of you as he does once they know you.

The guy thinks you hung the moon.

The way you smell drives him crazy. That perfume you always have on, even if it was a five-dollar purchase that you got on a random Tuesday, that scent was sweet, addictive nectar to Colin. When you two cuddle, his face is buried in your neck just huffing away like he needs that aroma instead of oxygen. Anytime he catches a whiff, his brain turns to mush. Especially when you two are making out, and you're straddling his lap as he kisses down your chest. That smell makes him so horny that he sees spots. He breathes it in while fingering you until you can't speak, words replaced with gasps and whines.

Colin lives to please in any way he can. Little favors for you at a moment's notice, driving you around as his passenger princess of darkness (a pet name he once threw out as a joke but it stuck), and 100% making you cum so hard your head spins. Whether it's using his skillful hands to coax your orgasm out of you, or eating your pussy like it's his last meal, Colin is never afraid to put your needs before his. Except when you insist.

How could he say no to you when you ask so nicely?

When he fucks you, it always starts off delicate, slow, savoring the feeling of you enveloping his throbbing cock in your warm, wet insides. However, sooner or later he loses any semblance of control and always ends up fucking you like an animal. Pushing your head into the pillows as he beats his dick into you from behind, gripping your hips so hard they bruise as you ride him, biting your neck while plowing you missionary. It's all thrilling for him. Especially the biting part. He fucking loves leaving teeth marks on your skin, even more when they surround a proud hickey.

Colin considers leaving hickies on you to be just another form of art that he can use to show you how much he loves you, and he'll use an entire afternoon just adding more and more to your body, reveling in the mewls and coos that float out of you, your body writhing under his ministrations.

Although he'd never admit it, he loves it when you tear up just a little because of how good he's making you feel. Are the bites too much? Maybe. Eyes well up while sucking him? For sure. The overstimulation of him continuing to lick at your clit after making you cum? His personal favorite. When your hands grip his hair in balled fists as he relentlessly carries on his onslaught on your quivering pussy, pushing your button past its limit, Colin can't bring himself to stop until his appetite is sated.

The good thing was that he perfectly balanced his physical doings with the sweetest, most adoring whispering of encouragement and praise whilst unraveling you. Pumping in and out of you like a machine, he purrs about how incredible you feel, how you're taking him so well, how beautiful you are when you're like this. He may not be the hardest dom in the world, but when he does take control, he's a gentle and passionate lover.

When you take the reins, however, it's a whole different story. Colin loves letting you have your way with him, shutting his brain off as you order him around, treating him like your little plaything. Being an anxious person, Colin craves opportunities to not think, and you're generous enough to provide plenty. One thing you do that he can't get enough of is when you stuff your panties into his mouth while you ride him. Cuff his wrists to the bed frame, too, and he'll be in heaven. He really likes being restrained in those scenarios. Loves relinquishing all the power to you. He trusts you with all of his heart, never fearing a thing you do while he's exposed like that.

Colin certainly has a thing for pain. Slap him. Bite him. Scratch your nails down his chest so you leave behind red marks. Choke him against the wall while you stroke his cock. He's an absolute whore for that sort of thing.

Funny how it's always the sweethearts that double as mega freaks.

On your period? Colin is a munch. He fears no blood, not from you, at least. But he also takes great care to ensure you're comfortable, well-fed, well-hydrated, and well-snuggled during those more hellish weeks of the year. He rubs your back and massages your shoulders as you both binge your latest tv-obsessions, the heating pad purring away at your stomach. He makes you herbal tea that makes your cramps less awful.

The man was raised to dote, and dote he does.

You are the center of his world, the reason he gets up in the morning, and the love of his life. Even if you both haven't even graduated yet. Hours were spent working out how to go about seeing each other when you go off to your respective colleges, pursuing different things and having different goals, but still wanting to be a part of each other's lives.

To sum up, you are Colin's everything, and he would shake the rain out of the clouds if it meant getting to spend a cozy day in with you. If you were the moon, he'd never seek the stars. “Wrapped around your finger” is too light of a term, he worships the ground you walk on.

(For context: McCoy is trans here.)

Leonard checks his cross-referenced data for the third time, but he already knows it’s correct. Just seems like it shouldn’t be. He’s sitting at Jim’s desk, his PADD and tricorder readouts spread across the surface, while Spock sits perpendicular to him in the chair opposite, working on his own PADD. His ridiculously long legs are stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankle. Spock tends to hunch a bit in public, try to draw his lanky body inwards, but Leonard’s started to notice how he relaxes when they’re in private. Lets himself spread out and take up space.

Leonard’s own ankle is resting on his knee, foot jiggling restlessly; he makes himself still, leaning back and interlacing his fingers on his stomach. Eventually Spock notices and looks up. He raises an eyebrow.

“I think we’re gonna hafta reschedule the wedding,” Leonard says.

Spock’s other eyebrow goes up.

“Most unfortunate.”

“Reschedule?!” says Jim, sitting up from his sprawl on the bed, finger between the pages of his book. “It’s not enough that we found a date that worked for Sarek AND my parents AND Joanna AND T’Pau AND that the admiralty would approve? You want to start over? I can’t do it, Bones. I can’t. I’m only one man. I only have so many godlike feats in me.”

“Might I ask why we would consider rescheduling?” asks Spock, ever the pragmatist, ignoring Jim.

“Well,” Leonard says slowly. “Seems I’ll be a little busy around that time. Havin’ a baby.”

Dead silence, but for the sound of the engines.

Jim’s book hits the floor.

“Bones,” he says. “You. What!” He’s already across the room, hands on the desk as he bends to meet Leonard’s eye.

Leonard bites back a nervous grin, looking at Spock, who’s gone very still.

“You are sure?” he asks.

Leonard’s nascent smile immediately becomes a scowl.

“Whaddya mean? ‘Course I’m sure. I’m a doctor, not an astrologist. 'sides, I recognize the symptoms from Jo.”

Spock is still not moving or emoting.

"How?" he says. Leonard raises an eyebrow.

"Do they not teach the birds and the bees on Vulcan? Or is this a ploy for a demonstration?"

“How was this able to happen?" Spock says, not rising to the bait. "Jim proceeded with uteroplasty. Because you were no longer a viable carrier.”

“I didn’t say that,” Leonard says. “I said it’s hard to predict these things once ovulation’s become irregular. I know you remember me telling you I stopped birth control, to up our chances.” He shrugs. “Guess we got lucky.”

Jim’s thumb strokes across the back of Leonard’s hand and he looks up to meet Jim’s sunshine smile, before it's turned on Spock.

“Spock,” Jim says gently and Spock startles before looking at him. “Take a breath,” Jim suggests.

Spock takes two deep breaths and some color seems to return to his cheeks.

“Leonard,” he says. “Ashayam!” And he's on his feet bending over the desk too, fingers brushing Jim’s, hand cupping Leonard’s cheek — and now, now Leonard can’t stop smiling. Jim swoops in and gives him a breathtaking kiss before planting one on Spock as well.

“A baby!” he says. “A tiny Bones. Ha, Chapel’s gonna be insufferable.”

“Don’t I know it,” Leonard mutters. “Say, Jim, how are you feeling after swinging by this morning?”

“Oh, fine,” Jim says dismissively. “I’m not the one to worry about here, we’ve got to take care of you.”

“You were ill, Jim?” Spock says with a slight frown.

“It was nothing,” Jim says. “Bones gave me a hypo. I was just feeling sore and a little queasy. An ensign in the turbolift had on the heaviest perfume. And I don’t know what someone ordered for breakfast in the officers' mess today but it stank. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.”

Slowly, Spock’s eyes slide over to Leonard. Leonard looks blankly back.

“Sore?” Spock says. “From our sparring the other evening?”

Jim frowns, his pretty face screwed up in thought.

“No, nothing that would’ve been caused by that. Mostly just my chest.”

He presses a hand to his pectoral and winces minutely.

Spock’s eyes widen and he gropes behind himself for his chair, landing heavily.

“I was thinking, when we reschedule the wedding,” Leonard says conversationally. “We should make sure we push it back far enough.”

“Far enough for what?” Jim asks.

“For when you have your baby,” Leonard says, nodding at Jim’s abdomen.

Jim’s mouth actually drops open in shock, something Leonard always thought was figurative. Because he’s a starship captain, the noise he lets out surely isn’t a squeak, but it certainly approximates one. He swings his open mouthed gaze to Spock, who’s had about 30 more seconds to come to terms with the news but is still looking fairly thunderstruck, especially for a Vulcan. Leonard grins. This is even more entertaining than he’d hoped.

“…two babies?” Jim asks.

“Yep,” Leonard says, with some satisfaction.

“Jim is pregnant,” Spock finally manages. Leonard’s gonna make so much fun of them later.

“Correct.”

“And you are pregnant,” Spock states.

“Also correct.”

“You will both be giving birth.” Spock’s really gone off the deep end if he’s restating this many facts.

“Right.”

“To our children.”

"You might even have to hold a baby, Spock."

Jim gives a slightly hysterical laugh, hands in his hair. He stumbles the few steps to the bed and sits down heavily.

"Bones," he says, dazed. He looks up at them. "Spock. We're having babies!"

"Multiple infants," Spock says faintly.

"Think Amanda will be happy?" Leonard asks and the look on Spock's face is such a combination of joy and terror he'd like to frame it.

"Why is nobody sitting with me?" Jim asks. "Come here."

Mutely, Spock obeys, and Leonard follows, hands in his pockets. He's playing this cool, but his heart is beating pretty fast as well. It's been a fairly shocking day.

They settle around Jim like a pair of parentheses. Leonard nuzzles into the skin of Jim's neck, where he smells best. His ankle hooks around Spock's.

Jim kisses his forehead, then grabs their hands, squeezing them.

"I'm having your baby, Spock," he says, still sounding faintly hysterical. Spock scoops Jim even closer to himself.

"Actually," Jim says, looking at Leonard. "Your baby. Do we know? Who the other parent is? Or— Not yet. Right?"

"Funny thing," Leonard says, untangling from Jim and leaning back on his hands on the bed. "My bloodwork was lookin' a little strange, so I poked around. Turns out the nutritional needs of an embryo are a little different. When they've got Vulcan heritage."

Jim whoops, smacking Spock on the arm. Spock looks startled and a bit dismayed.

"Spock, you sly old dog," Jim says. "You knocked up both your partners?"

"I … did," says Spock, uncertain. Then, firmer. "I did." He squares his shoulders.

Leonard is grinning — he was worried Jim would be disappointed it wasn't his, but of course he's not.

"Wow," says Jim, scrubbing a hand down his face. "This is going to be…"

"Absolute lunacy?" Leonard suggests. "An unmitigated disaster? A spectacle of chaos and absurdity?"

"Probably!" Jim agrees.

"Fascinating," says Spock.

"What now?" asks Leonard.

"I do not disagree and yet…"

Leonard will never say so, but he loves Spock's eyes when he's introspective. There's something damn near soulful about them.

"And yet?" Jim says.

The shape of Spock's eyes shifts, his whole face softening into a true smile, subtle but real. And just for them.

"And yet," he says. "I find I am delighted."

==

Will was in the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist, wiping the mirror. He took a look at himself for a moment. His hair grew over the summer and he hadn’t been eating much. He looked… He didn’t like how he looked. Something in his appearance made him unsure; one moment he knew exactly who he was, and the next, he no longer recognized the person staring back at him. It was as if the face before him was someone else’s.

He clicked the bathroom light off.

In his room, he changed into his pajamas and hoped to sleep the insecurities away, though it was useless. They chipped at him with each breath he took and, no matter how often it affected him, it always hurt like it was the first time. He just felt all so wrong. In bed he tossed and turned until he couldn’t anymore, covers coming off. Laying still, a pale strip of moonlight lay across his chest. The cicadas sounded louder and the TV, droning. He tried to quell the familiar burn of an oncoming cry tightening his throat.

“I wish,” he whispered, trying to steady his voice, “I wish I had someone. Someone who would like me for me and that’d be okay. Where I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t have to change myself at all. And— and I wish…” He thought of the other day when he went to visit Lucas. Erica had warned him it wasn’t a good time, but he figured it was nothing until he was at Lucas’ bedroom door. It’d been cracked open enough where he could see what Lucas and Max were doing, or beginning to do.

“I wish I had someone,” he started again, closing his eyes, “someone to hold me too. To ki—kiss me. To show me what that feels like.” A flush began to color his face and he bit his lip, feeling strangely conscious under the moonlight. He pictured, faintly, someone drawing him close, whispering that Will was all he would ever need. It was his favorite daydream, and he lingered in it, savoring the quiet promise of relief. Again and again, he replayed the scene, letting it soothe him until his breath steadied and his eyelids grew heavy.

And then the cicadas were quiet. He no longer heard the TV.

But it was strange. He was still awake.

Will blearily peaked an eye open to the darkness.

A man was hovering him, arms on either sides of Will’s head.

“Hello, Will.”

His voice was light. He was staring at Will calmly, barely looking any older than his age, yet something about him told of maturity, of coming from an older time. He appeared almost made from marble.

Will couldn’t move. Fear had already paralyzed his bones.

“William.” The man said.

Will whimpered as the man gave a simpering smile. His too white teeth glinted with his paleness, his fangs noticeable above all. Will began trembling, his lips parting. He wanted to scream.

“You called for me and I heard you.” The man leaned close. His breath was cold. “I found you after this all time.”

Will shook his head, or at least he tried to. He only could lay there, eyes wide as the man nuzzled his neck, breathing him in. He scrunched his eyes shut. His heart began to pound. His body began feeling hot and his chest tight. He didn’t realize, but his hands, his arms - they were around the man’s back, hugging him closer.

“Will,” The man huffed a laugh into his neck, “as always, your body remembers me.”

This time, Will managed to shake his head—barely. "Though you never called me that," the man eased back, his gaze warm with something unspoken. “My name. It's Micheal."

The dread melted from Will in an instant then. It was as if it had never been there at all.

Out of his control, Will suddenly hugged Michael closer, bringing his body flush with his. Another sound escaped him, a gasp of relief, of… gratitude? He felt so different, so foreign, as if he were in a dream and who he was was not himself. And yet, he felt at total peace. In his mind, he felt a haze so heavy and a name that was now already at the tip of his tongue. He knew he felt in absolute love in this dream, in this haze.

“Mike.” He breathed.

He felt the man smile against his neck, hugging Will even closer. “That's me." He murmured.

Will smiled drunkenly, his hand now in his Micheal’s hair, the other still holding his back. His lips began to move though he felt not present. “Mike.”

“Fuck, Will.” In Will’s haze, he barely registered Mike’s heavy breathing before warm lips found his neck, sending a shiver through him. It was so ticklish that Will let out a breathy giggle, gently tugging at a handful of Mike’s hair, hoping to pull him away and make him stop. He felt a flicker of confusion when his hand did the opposite, pressing Mike’s face deeper into his neck, his fangs grazing his skin. At this, Mike’s movements grew urgent, lifting Will’s hips suddenly as he began slipping off his pants. Will didn’t even know who Mike even was, but he helped raise his own hips anyway, laughing shyly. The cool air hit his ass and Will felt his dick stiff and already leaking, some precum catching on his thighs.

Before he could let out a moan, Mike’s lips were on his, his tongue already sliding against Will's, over and over, hot and cold all rolling against each other. He moaned against Mike’s lips, unable to properly speak, unable to feel anything but complete rapture. He was so lost he barely realized his thighs had been spread apart and Mike was between them, undoing his own pants, freeing himself. Will felt it then, the hardness of Mike’s cock pressed against his as Mike aligned himself, groaning into Will’s mouth.

"It's been too long." Mike said, breathy as he held both of their dicks, rubbing himself against him. "I missed you, Will. I missed you so much."

It was already hot mess of precum, or just cum, Will couldn’t be sure. Somewhere in all the kissing, he felt he came already. He’d never done this before, with anyone for that matter, and here he was - moaning as Mike grabbed him by his jaw, making him stick out his tongue as he slid his own against it, kissing him deeply again and again, as if his life depended on it. Will nearly couldn’t breathe but he didn’t care. Never in his life had something felt so right as this. At some point, Mike then held either sides of Will's face, whispering his name over and over, trying to keep him still while his hips rutted jerkily, his own cock rubbing wetly against Will’s. And then Will was gone again, his eyes rolling back as he felt another orgasm hit him, cum dribbling all over Mike’s cock and some spilling on their chests.

“Mike.” His voice cracked. He had no idea what has happening anymore, only feeling his cock pulse in sensitivity and his throat so dry in how breathless he was. In his delirium, a memory flickered in his mind. A dream within a dream.

It was Mike, smiling at him. He was buttoning his waistcoat, giving him a gleeful eye. “You do know I’ll reject her proposal, right?”

Another memory. Mike, shirtless, burn wounds littered over his chest. A heart-shaped one over his cheek. Will saw a hand that looked much like his own come to ghost over it and Mike closed his eyes, leaning against it. “Will.” He murmured.

“Mike.” He heard himself say. In memory or in this dream, or in real life, he couldn’t be sure. He couldn't be sure what this was.

Will opened his eyes, not knowing when he closed them. Mike had sat up on his knees, raising Will’s legs to rest on either sides of himself. His dark hair was ruffled over his eyes and in the darkness of Will’s room, he looked like a breathing statue.

“Do you remember me now, Will?”

Will blinked sluggishly, breath still coming in quick bursts. It was only a moment before he lifted his hand hesitantly, and Mike leaned in, watching as Will’s fingers brushed the spot on his cheek where the heart-shaped burn had once been.