Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When Will and Chuckie were teenagers, they both went through a similar phase. Like all teenagers, emotions swung and crushes were fires that burn passionately for only a moment before distinguishing in the night. This phase was particularly notable for them both, yet never spoke about past vague acknowledgements in fleeting moments between the two in quiet bars or lonely streets. 

This phase being the time of their lives where they were unapologetically in love with one another.

Of course, the depth of their emotions were never articulated. Nothing more than a moan of satisfaction or cry of the other’s name was ever uttered, but it was present in every action and every word.

It started, as most things do with teenagers, in the middle of the night. Chuck and Will were the last ones out after a long night of hoping from party to party. Buzzed and more than a little tired, they allowed themselves to explore what had been brewing in their souls for years, if not their whole lives. 

A subtle touch to Chuck’s arm. An arm around Will’s waist. A laugh that prompts Chuckie to let his head fall right on top of Will’s. 

By the time they reach Chuckie’s house, the energy and tension that has been twisting and curling around their every step is unable to be ignored. A charged look into each other’s eyes before they enter the house is all it takes to set things into a blaze. It's cheesy, but fuck it they're teenagers.

Limbs tangle, bodies explore one another, and lips wander and travel over every inch in the night. Each crevice of their skin is touched, fucked, licked, or kissed that night, and it's the most either has felt for a long time. While neither boy was a virgin, it might as well have been their first time even hearing the word sex. 

The next morning, Will dresses before Chuckie wakes. He slides a pair of his boxers onto Chuckie and tries desperately to ignore the twitch from his cock when he sees his friend laying there with nothing but Will’s boxers on. Chuckie wakes and asks Will what he wants to eat for breakfast.

They don't talk about it. There are no longing looks or touches exchanged between them for almost a week. There is a coldness in Chuckie’s bones that cannot be fixed with fire or a warm hoodie. An empty hole threatens to swallow Will whole, his insides ache a constant twist of emotions.

Chuckie breaks first. He pulls Will aside at some random party and begs him to go back to how things were all while delicately dancing around what changed everything in the first place. In the middle of his pleas, Will yanks his head forward- so hard Chuckie might've gotten whiplash- and kisses him with the same burning passion as before. Chuckie succumbs to the thumbing of pleasure instantly.

It continues like this for a little over six months. The experimentations happen more frequently throughout the course of time, until Will gets a girlfriend and their sessions are brought to a grinding halt. It is unspoken that they are over, but Chuckie can still feel Will’s staring eyes on him every time his girlfriend is away. Still, things return to how they were before, hallowing as that may be for the two boys.

Their time together becomes a dirty secret. A corpse rotting in the dirt never to be unearthed. A skeleton hanging from a noose in their closet. A ghost haunting their bodies, possessing them and dictating their every choice.

Chuckie ignores the pains and phantom limbs traveling over his body and through his skin. He tells himself what happened between them was nothing more than a futile exploration of something that ultimately changed nothing between them. Chuckie loved Will, but he would always have to hide how deep this love went.

Chuckie pretended he didn't know how Will’s eyes could never stay open when he came. Pretended he had no idea that Will went crazy when Chuck sucked his dick just right. Chuckie knew Will down to his molecules, but could not tell a soul about it.

Will's relationship doesn't last long. They never really do. She must've asked the wrong questions, must've tried to know him deeper than he wanted to share. Chuckie almost felt bad for her, but this way he finally got Will back to him, or so he thought.

Chuckie waited and waited for Will to kiss him again, to come to his house on his knees begging to have just a taste of what he gave up. He waits and he waits for the moment that Will lets down his guards and sees that there is always a spot for him in Chuckie's bed. It never comes.

Of course it fucking doesn't. If it did that would mean Will would have to have some emotional maturity but he's fucking inept. For all the genius the boy possesses, he's dumber than a fucking rock when it comes to how he feels. It infuriates Chuckie because how can Will not see what he sees? How can he ignore every moment they had as a euphoria unable to be reached through any other avenue? How the fuck can he look at Chuckie and not be as in love with him as Chuckie is with Will? 

Two can play at that game. Chuckie brings home woman after woman. Fucking them while Will is in the other room, making them scream and groaning right along with them. Sick, disgusting sounds of pleasure permeate throughout the house every night and Chuckie hopes Will hears every one. Hopes when he hears Chuckie cum through layers of drywall, he's brought right back to what he's been avoiding. Begs a God he hardly believes in to stir some sort of emotion in the prick, something that will finally wake him up. It's futile in the end.

Will is gone. So far from Chuckie despite his skin being inches away from Chuckie's at any given moment. Chuckie slowly loses any notion that Will will ever come home.

Chapter Text

Will gets thrown in jail after they beat the shit out of some bully hadn't seen since elementary school. Chuckie scrapes some money together, forcing the other guys to pitch in, in order to cover Will’s bail. Just as he goes to the jail to pay it off, Will is released because some rich fuck from Harvard picked him up, seeing something in Will. A tight coil of jealousy fills Chuck but he dismisses it as stress from the whole situation. Will avoids him for almost a week after he's released.

Finally, Will gets over whatever the fuck was bothering him and goes out with the group. But it's not until Will starts therapy that Chuckie begins to really hope. Court mandated or not, maybe- if God is real and truly wants the happiness for all like he claims- it can bring his Will back to him. Of course, this is understood to never be allowed to cross his mind for more than a fleeting moment before it is swatted away like a bug flying over a corpse.

Will’s appointments end at 4 and at 4:30 Chuckie calls him. It picks up on the third ring. Will is quiet and reserved like something must've happened, but Chuckie invites him over anyways. It takes a little begging, but Will agrees. Chuckie tries to not let his excitement show, but fails miserably. Will just laughs and asks what made Chuck miss him so much. Chuck remains silent. Will says he's on his way, picking up something that must've gone unspoken unbeknownst to Chuckie.

Chuckie feels like a fucking girl waiting for Will to arrive. He fixes his hair, cleans up the house, makes sure he's wearing an outfit he knows Will will like. It's fucking pathetic, but Chuckie can't bring himself to care when Will might finally be coming back to him.

Will’s arrival is signaled by a knock on the door. The door was always unlocked for Will, and he knew that. Will would always just enter like he was a part of the family, and, honestly, he was. And yet, he knocked. A subtle twist of the knife in the wound for Chuckie.

Will seems almost somber when he comes inside. A shift away from his usual demeanor around Chuckie. Chuckie always brought Will out of his shell, Will came alive and blossomed into the boy Chuckie has always loved. Today, it seemed the presence of Chuckie was a suffocation. 

Will does not, will not look him in the eye. His eyes are glued to the ground as he makes his way through the house. He quickly navigates them to Chuckie’s bedroom, closing the door behind him.

Chuckie is turning around when- suddenly- Will is kissing him. He can't even bring himself to be mad or confused. He just welcomes it and lets the familiar motions of falling into bed with Will take over.

Will traces a vein in his neck down to the collar of his shirt. He stays there a moment as he unbuttons each button one by one. Slowly, meticulously filling Chuckie with tension. Once the shirt is open, he slides down stopping at Chuckie’s nipple. When his lips wrap around them, Chuckie lets out a moan. 

“You're so pretty, Chuck.” Will doesn't even lift his head from Chuckie’s chest as he speaks. He moves down slower, until he is on his knees in front of Chuckie. 

“Be loud for me, ok? I need to hear you. I need it.” He is desperate, pleading, begging. How could Chuckie deny Will when he looks like heaven on his knees. 

And, God, he really must be a manifestation of God to be able to do what he does to Chuckie. A slow slide of his tongue up Chuckie’s dick. An almost violent tug, after being so gentle, that makes Chuckie thrust into Will’s throat. A finger coated in his spit that slides into Chuckie’s hole. It ends when Will looks up and looks deep into Chuckie's eyes as he sucks his dick. 

Then he's standing up and kissing Chuckie again. The foggy bliss of orgasm still clouding over Chuckie does not remove the awareness of Will’s hard cock pressing into his thigh. He wants so badly to return the favor. To taste Will again. To remember what it feels like to have Will so deeply connected to him. 

As soon as he moves to kneel down, Will stops him and guides his hand to his bulge. Chuckie is almost disappointed, but when he feels Will thrust into his hands, he gives in. He unzips Will’s pants and hurriedly shoves his hands inside his underwear. So eager and wanting to give Will the pleasure he just received. So he does. 

Will cums with Chuckie’s name falling from his lips. 

They kiss and Will pushes them into Chuckie’s bed, never disconnecting their bodies. They make out and hold each other and it's all Chuckie has dreamed about for months. 

“Chuck,” Will says, breaking the comfortable silence that had been set. “I need you to know that this is just for fun. Nothing more.” Chuckie feels the exact moment his heart stops beating. “I just feel like sometimes we get caught up in the moment, but you know that we're best friends and this shouldn't ever be more than that.” His tone is casual, but rehearsed. Fuck, was he practicing this while he waited for Chuckie to answer the door? 

Did he know all along that Chuckie would fuck him the moment he offered it? Was it that clear?

“We just can't ever tell people about this. Like I don't ever want to hear Morgan talking about how gay we fucking are you know? This is just two best friends getting some release. Call it therapy.” It's like Will knows exactly what to say to kill Chuckie. Like he's dissected his brain and picked out every doubt and worry he's ever held about what they do. Chuckie feels raw, ripped open and destroyed.

“Yeah. Yeah, no obviously. It's nothing.” Chuckie pushes Will away and sits up. His back faces Will. Will climbs up and wraps his arms around Chuckie. He tenderly holds him as Chuckie’s soul weeps. 

“This shouldn't mean anything.” Will presses soft kisses into Chuckie’s neck. Just in the right places that he knows Chuckie loves.

“You're right.” Chuckie gets up and shoves Will off. He runs to the bathroom with a hurried excuse of needing a shower. A lie that grinds its way out of his teeth.

Chuckie stands looking at the hickeys covering his throat. He wishes he could rip them right off his skin. Wishes for Will to either leave him alone or give him everything. He can't fucking take this anymore.

Every day he sees Will. Every day he hears the sound of his laugh. He falls in love each time he sees Will smile. 

None of that Will ever fucking matter because Will doesn't love him. Doesn't want to give Chuckie his heart, his life. He brings Chuckie in like a winning fish on a rod, only to throw him back in the lake as soon as he's received his prize. 

Will is a lion and Chuckie is his prey. He watches from the shadows, learning about his habits and what he loves. Then he uses it to kill him and eat away. Chuckie's flesh burns from his touch.

Chuckie turns the water to boiling and scrubs at his skin. It does not feel clean. He can still feel Will in his blood, in his bones. He lets the water wash over him, hoping that all the sobs are covered by the sound of the water hitting the floor. 

It is not a rebirth. It is not a cleanse. It is a desperate attempt to rid himself of something intricately tied to his being. A love woven into the threads of his DNA that he tries to wash away.

It does not work.

Chuckie still loves Will.

And Will doesn't love him back.

Chapter Text

Will’s visits become consistent. A fuck or a suck always imminent when he knocks on Chuckie’s door.

That's how Chuckie knows Will wants him. There's a sort of a pavlovian response to Will’s knock now. A tap on his door and Chuckie is hard and waiting. 

Just as sure as Will is to come around, is the inevitable denial. Always a delicate thing, like Will knows what each “this means nothing” does to Chuckie. Will holds him through it every time. He uses his body heat to hide the brutal bite of coldness in his words. Chuckie accepts all he is given and what he is not.

A never ending push and pull of emotions. Will’s body pressed up against him as he connects with Chuckie in a way that brings them both to a high that not even drugs can replicate. 

Will usually comes over after therapy. “Therapy for therapy” he calls it. One day, he does not knock. He just comes in. Chuckie is almost surprised when he sees him walk in, but the comfort of Will’s presence outweighs any other feeling. 

Will looks exhausted. Chuckie assumes his therapist treaded on some grounds Will is not used to being tread on. Will does not look at him, but goes straight to the fridge and pulls out a beer. He sits next to Chuckie. Chuckie does not say anything.

“I told Sean you were my soulmate.” Chuckie’s heart does not beat for a moment. His lungs do not breathe. His organs collapse in on themselves. 

Will has just taken the last part of Chuckie that was still intact, the one that has become silently resigned to just fucking Will and nothing more, and shattered it like glass. He threw it at the wall and saw the pieces on the floor and decided they were too big so he stomped on them until only dust was left. 

Something sickening began to form in Chuckie’s chest. He prayed it was cancer, not the hope that he so long ago locked away.

“The fuck are you talking about, Will.” He takes a swig of his beer and hopes his implosion was not observable to the outside. Will finally looks up at him.

“I told Sean you were my soulmate, Chuckie.” It's so matter of fact. Like it's a fact carved into the walls of their very existence. Like it doesn't change everything Chuckie has ever known.

“Very funny, can we just get to the screwing?” God, just let him feel Will one last time before he runs. Before he realizes what he's said and doesn't speak to Chuckie for years. Just give him one more moment of color before his life becomes dull and gray.

“Chuckie, you're my soulmate.” 

“Shut the fuck up.” Chuckie slams his beer on the table and gets up. He goes to the stairs and waits at the bottom for Will to follow. He does.

When they fuck, it is tender. There is a passion that has been repressed and subdued in every other time. Will whispers to him how good he is, how perfectly made for him Chuckie is. Each stroke paired with a kiss to Chuckie’s neck. 

There is no denial. No rebuking, no dismissal, nothing. Will holds Chuckie from behind. His arms wrapped around Chuckie’s waist as he tells him, “I love you.”

Chuckie lets himself believe it's true. 

Will stays the night. He sleeps in Chuckie’s bed with Chuckie in his arms. He presses tender kisses onto him when Chuckie begins to shift and turn. Pushes his body flush to Chuckie’s any time he tries to pull away. 

Chuckie thinks it feels like a noose. Like he's waiting to be hanged for his crimes, but they're required to give him one last meal. There's a timer counting down the second until the floor below him gives out. 

At the same time, it is an embrace of an angel. It is being gently put down to rest with a warm kiss to his temple. It is being wrapped in warmth in the cold of winter. It is the sun breaking through the clouds on the first day of spring. 

Chuckie wishes the other shoe would just fall. That Will would just shove him off the bed and beat him until he couldn't see through the blood while telling Chuckie that he could never love him.

Chuckie needs it to last forever. He needs Will to wake up next to him in the morning and kiss him softer than the pillow he lies on. He needs Will to make him cum and hold Chuckie while telling him how much he loves him. 

Neither happens. Will leaves early the next morning to go to work, but presses a kiss onto Chuckie’s cheek before he leaves. The bed is cold where he lay the night before.

Things do not go back to what they were, but they aren't much different. Will still comes over after every session to fuck, but he tells Chuckie that it means everything now. Still, he swears him to secrecy saying it can never leave the privacy of Chuckie’s bedroom. 

The group all still goes out for drinks, but Chuckie never hits on any girl. He does not take anyone home. He doesn't even try.

Conversely, Will tries to fuck anything with tits. Every girl who even looks his way ends up taking him home that night. Sometimes they don't even make it to her house. Sometimes Will fucks them in the bathroom or sneaks out to smoke while the girl follows closely behind. 

Will decides Chuckie isn't getting enough play, so one night he sends a girl his way. Will is busy making fuck me eyes at her friend, so Chuckie sends her away with a polite denial. When Will comes back from railing the girl so hard she barely can walk out of the bathroom and finds that Chuckie is still nursing his beer at the bar alone, he's irate.

“The fuck is wrong with you, Chuck? That girl was like a 9! You should be nailing her right about now!” Will is almost screaming at him. His fists are clenched in rage and he looks ready to beat the shit out of Chuckie. Chuckie sort of hopes he does.

“I don't know, man. Struck out. Guess I'm getting rusty.” Chuckie sips his beer and tries to look anywhere but at Will. He fails, and he sees Will breathing heavily and looking so angry he might explode. Chuckie sets his beer down and faces him. 

“If this is because of our thing, then get the fuck over it, Chuck.” Will whispers this through gritted teeth. He grabs Chuckie’s shoulder and stares into his eyes. Chuckie just wishes Will would kiss him or hit him.

“I don't know what the fuck you're talking about.” Chuckie shoves Will’s hand off him and stands up. He storms out of the bar and does not wait to see if Will follows. He calls a taxi and heads home.Will does not call, and does not chase after him. 

Chuckie falls asleep alone.

Chapter Text

Chuckie sleeps in a cold bed. It is far too big for one man. He deals. He becomes accustomed to the lack of a dip on the side where Will used to sleep. He sleeps in the middle of the bed to counteract any feelings that might stir up.

Just as Chuckie becomes resigned to the idea that his bed will forever be too big, Will comes by. 

A knock is what tells Chuckie that he's there. It's Will’s knock. The sound of his knuckles beating against the door is like the sound of Church bells on a warm morning. 

The warmth that was stirring in Chuckie’s gut is snuffed out as soon as he sees Will. The man is red-eyed and disheveled. An angel that has seen the brokenness of man for his own eyes. Wings torn, halo flickering, he is dejected.

Will quietly asks to come in. Chuckie moves aside and lets him walk past.

They're in the living room. They sit on the same couch that Will sucked him off for the first time on. It doesn't bother Chuckie as much as it used to.

“I told him about you,” Will says.

“Back on this soulmate bullshit?” Chuckie tries to be light. He tries to not let the words make a nest in his mind. 

“I told him I left you. That I fucked things up again. That I'm a fuck up.” Will meets his eyes for the first time. “He saw my file, too. Saw all that shit about me.” The words seem to tear Will limb from limb. Like the simple articulation of events is a special torture designed just for him.

Chuckie does not respond.

“He told me it wasn't my fault. What happened to me.” Will looks away. He stares at a photo taken of the two of them when they were kids. A bruise is poking out from the collar of Will’s shirt, but partially obscured by Chuckie’s arm that was thrown around him.

“It wasn't.” Chuckie looks only at Will. He watches as he sees the words settle into his skin. How the thought crawls its way through his body before leeching onto his mind. As it burrows and settles, Will’s face cracks and tears start to fall.

“I'm sorry, Chuckie.” The photo pierces his soul. “I'm sorry that I love you. I'm sorry that you love me. I'm sorry I'm not good to you.” 

Chuckie moves closer to Will. He grabs Will’s face and turns it towards him. When their lips meet, there is a blinding light that surrounds them. The kiss is a bandage on a wound, a blanket from the cold, everything it needs to be. 

“I'm not sorry we love each other. I’m sorry that we wasted so much time. Will, you're everything. There is nothing that matters more to me than you.” Chuckie stares into Will’s eyes as he speaks.

Will cries as Chuckie holds his face towards him. He cries so beautifully, Chuckie thinks. The tears are diamonds shining with the light that highlights Will’s golden face. His sobs are subdued and repressed, but every time Chuckie hears a noise from Will it is a symphony. Chuckie never wants to see Will cry again.

“Why? Why do you love me? Why don't you leave me?” His words are choked and watery. They force their way out into the air. Breaking their way through the silence as though it never really was there. 

“Because you're you. Because you're everything I've ever wanted.” Chuckie presses a kiss to each cheek. Will blushes through his tears, and a small but wonderful smile brushes against his face. 

Will pulls away. He looks once more at the photograph. The innocence of the unbounded joy that coats Chuckie’s face contrasted by the silent pain etched into every centimeter of Will’s body brings a sick feeling. 

“I loved you back then, too.” Chuckie breaks Will’s trance. His words travel through the air like a sweet lullaby that brings a comfort otherwise unattainable. 

“I did too.” Will is hypnotized by the song, by the melody. He speaks without thinking. The words are quiet and soft. A piano to harmonize Chuckie’s forte. 

Chuckie throws his arm against Will like he did in the photo. He pulls Will flush against him.

“I wanted you back then, too.” A sharp whisper into Will’s ear. Will feels a rush of blood flowing through his veins. A warmth that curled up and nestled into his guts. He turns to face Chuckie.

“I did too,” Will echoes once more. Chuckie wastes no more time and crashes his face against Will. Their teeth clash and noses crush each other. It is a flurry of passion and repressed emotions. It is a song with furious intensity followed by a flowing of soft harmonies. 

Their bodies move in sync with one another. A thrust is met with another. A pull is met with a push. A groan is met with a sigh. 

Their clothes are thrown across the room. There is no patient teasing or sensual undressing. Buttons fly, shirts are torn. It is desperation.

Chuckie lets himself be shoved onto his back. Will rips down his boxers and licks his way up Chuckie’s cock. It pulses and throbs in his mouth. Will does not stay there long and lets his mouth travel downwards. 

From there it is a discordant clashing of chords. The song is fast and does not wait. It crashes through each note, rushing to get to the next. A moan sings the song of the chorus. The love makes the arbitrary sounds meet and dance with one another to create a symphony of noise. 

The peak of the music comes, and just as quickly the song is over. Will and Chuckie lie basking in the music.

Entangled in one another's arms, Chuckie speaks quietly to Will.

“You're not a fuck-up, Will. You've had a shitty hand dealt to you, and you did what you could. Even if you were, which you aren't, I'd still love you. I'll love you forever. Always.” Tracing gentle circles on Will’s arms as he speaks, he presses a kiss to his head when he finishes. 

Will doesn't say anything. He just kisses Chuckie’s hand and lays back against Chuckie’s chest. He closes his eyes and lets himself be loved.

“You're the smartest person I know. I don't want you to feel tied to me. I love you too much to let someone as amazing as you do that to yourself.” At that Will turns his head to face Chuckie.

“I don't care about that stuff Chuckie. I don’t care if I could get a job anywhere on the planet because I don't want to be anywhere without you.” Will feels some anger settle in his bones. After everything, who was Chuckie to say that Will should leave?

“I just don't want you to waste your life laying bricks when you could be someone great.” Earnestness is coated in every word, but it doesn't mean a thing to Will. He stands throwing Chuckie’s arms off of him.

“I thought you loved me. What the fuck happened to that? Why the fuck are you telling me to leave?” Doubt blackens the colors that just clouded their eyes. Rage settles in like a slow acting poison, waiting for just the right moment to take its effect.

Chuckie remains on the couch, but shifts to face Will again.

“You're not hearing me. I love you and I want the best for you.”

“If you wanted the best for me you wouldn't be saying this shit, Chuck!” Will rips his clothes from the floor shoving them into his body. He makes his move to leave.

“Will, stop. Will you just fucking listen to what I'm saying? Christ you can never take people telling you what you can do can you? Always fucking running as soon as it gets serious. You don't have to be poor and lonely, Will! Can't you see that?” Chuckie pushes his clothes on and stands to block the exit.

“Chuck, I don't know what the fuck you're talking about.” Will seethes through his words. They hiss through his teeth like venom pouring out from his mouth. 

“Of course you don't. Why don't you go talk to Sean then maybe you'll finally realize what the hell I’m saying.” Chuckie turns his face away from Will. His body is tense like a guitar that has been tuned too sharp, the wires ready to snap at any moment.

“Fuck you! Why did you have to ruin this moment?” Will shouts. He is a snake searching and looking for a weak point to capitalize on so his prey will fall. Or better yet, run away.

“I'm not going to let you push me away. I love you too much for that. But I'm also not going to let you waste your life.” He doesn't look at Will's face as he speaks. If he does, he will succumb and beg Will to stay right as he is. To never change and stay forever in this shitty house laying in each other’s arms.

“Oh fuck off with that. What happened to us loving each other forever-” Chuckie cuts him off. "Of course I love you and I always will, but I want you to have a good life.” Will scoffs and turns away.

It has become clear that his prey will remain and fight. That it will hold its ground. Quickly, the prey becomes the predator. So, that leaves one option. 

Will shoves past Chuckie, ripping open the door. 

When it slams shut, the sound echos in Chuckie's ears far longer than it should.