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The thing about Mark is that he isn’t the type to knock on Jeno’s door.
It’s not that they don’t get along—they do, in that easy, low-maintenance kind of way where they coexist without stepping on each other’s toes. They’ve been roommates for over a year now, ever since they both got accepted into their respective grad programs and lucked out with finding an off-campus apartment that wasn’t outrageously expensive. And it works.
They don’t fight over the thermostat. They clean up after themselves. They give each other space.
Mark spends most of his time holed up in his room, drowning in books and annotated PDFs, writing out entire pages of notes only to scratch them out seconds later. Jeno, on the other hand, is usually at his desk, staring at spreadsheets full of environmental data, sometimes leaving early in the morning for lab or field work.
Jeno doesn’t claim to understand Mark’s world—he’ll take ocean currents and nutrient cycling over literary analysis any day—but they get along. Their schedules are different enough that they don’t get in each other’s way, and Mark is easy to live with. He’s messy but not dirty, forgetful but not inconsiderate. He leaves stacks of books on the coffee table and mismatched socks in the laundry room, but he also buys extra cartons of Jeno’s favorite strawberry yogurt when he does groceries and always remembers to restock the Brita filter.
They have their own lives, their own stresses.
And yeah, sometimes their paths cross: quick conversations in the kitchen while making coffee, occasional grocery runs when they both realize they’re out of essentials, lazy Saturday mornings where they both end up on the couch, half-watching whatever’s on TV.
But Mark never really seeks him out.
Not in the way some roommates do, the way Jeno’s old undergrad roommate used to knock on his door just to ask if he wanted to grab food or watch something or go to a party. Mark is the kind of person who keeps to himself, not out of rudeness, but just because that’s how he is.
So when Jeno hears the knock, he’s understandably surprised.
The apartment is quiet except for the low hum of Jeno’s laptop fan and the occasional click of his keyboard. His room is dimly lit, the glow of his monitor casting soft shadows across his desk, where a worn notebook sits open, margins filled with frantic scribbles and half-drawn diagrams of plankton bloom cycles. His fingers move absently over the trackpad, scrolling through yet another research paper on biogeochemical processes in marine ecosystems, but his eyes are starting to glaze over.
It’s not even that late (only a little past ten) but his brain is fried. Hours of analyzing data, running simulations, and cross-referencing journal articles have left his mind feeling like seawater slipping through his fingers.
Jeno leans back in his chair and stretches, his back cracking in protest. He groans, rubbing at his neck. Maybe he should take a break. Get up. Walk around. Drink some water. Touch grass. Something.
Instead, he just stares blankly at his monitor, willing himself to focus. Right as he blinks, a knock comes. He pauses.
Then, Mark’s voice, slightly muffled but still in that easy, unbothered tone of his.
“Hey. You busy?”
Jeno blinks, pushing his chair away from his desk. “Kinda. Why?”
Mark doesn’t answer right away. Then, with a sigh, “I brought beer.”
Jeno furrows his brows. “Okay… and?”
Mark groans dramatically. “I don’t wanna drink alone, dude.”
Jeno huffs a small laugh, shaking his head. He stands, stretching his arms above his head before padding to the door and pulling it open. Mark is standing there, looking a little disheveled, hair ruffled like he’s been running his hands through it too much. His glasses are perched on top of his head, forgotten, and he’s holding up a six-pack of Blue Moon like some kind of peace offering.
Jeno raises an eyebrow. “Why do you wanna drink in the middle of the week?”
Mark exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “Thesis advisor.”
Jeno winces. “Yikes.”
“Yeah.” Mark shakes the six-pack slightly, tilting his head. “So? You in?”
Jeno hesitates for only a second before shrugging. “Sure. Why not.”
Mark grins, stepping back. “That’s the spirit.”
They make their way to the living room, where Mark kicks aside a pile of books to make space on the couch. Jeno grabs two cans, tossing one to Mark before cracking his own open. The first sip is bitter, and he grimaces slightly—he never really liked beer, but it’s cold, and it’s fine, and the company makes up for it.
Mark sighs after his first sip, sinking back into the couch. “God, I needed this.”
Jeno chuckles, rolling his can between his palms. “That bad?”
“Worse.” Mark shakes his head, gaze fixed somewhere on the ceiling. “I swear, my advisor hates me. Like, personally.”
Jeno hums. “Maybe you should start bribing him. Bring him coffee. Or, like, a fruit basket.”
Mark snorts. “Yeah, because nothing says ‘please don’t crush my academic soul’ like a basket of pears.”
“Hey, professors are weird. Thesis advisors are weird. It might work.”
Mark grins before tipping back his own can, drinking as fast as he can manage. He finishes with a quiet burp, which he quickly muffles with the back of his hand, looking vaguely embarrassed.
Jeno waves him off. “You’re fine.”
Mark smiles sheepishly and sets the empty can on the table, popping another one open. Then, after a moment, he turns to Jeno with a glint of mischief in his eyes.
“Can you chug it?”
Jeno gives him a deadpan look. “Don’t even joke.”
Mark grins. “C’mon.”
Jeno exhales through his nose, shaking his head in amusement. “I used to drink like crazy back in undergrad, but I’ve tamed now.” He grins slightly, raising his can. “I haven’t forgotten my old tricks, though.”
Mark laughs, leaning forward with interest. “Show me.”
Jeno rolls his eyes but lifts the can to his lips anyway. He tilts his head back and downs the beer in one go, throat working as the liquid rushes down. He winces slightly—he forgot how much he hates the taste—but he pushes through, finishing it in seconds before slamming the empty can onto the coffee table with a quiet clatter.
Mark whoops, clapping. “Dude, that was impressive.”
He huffs a small laugh, licking the last traces of beer from his lips. “Told you.”
Mark grins, his eyes crinkling with amusement, and before Jeno can react, a warm hand ruffles through his hair.
“Good boy,” Mark teases, voice light, affectionate in an offhand way, like he didn’t even think twice about saying it.
Jeno goes still.
It’s not weird. It shouldn’t be weird. It’s just Mark messing around, but for some reason, Jeno’s breath hitches, a slow warmth creeping up his spine, settling at the base of his neck where Mark’s fingers were just a second ago.
His first instinct is to brush it off, to keep things normal. He shrugs, aiming for nonchalance even as his ears burn. “Shut up,” he mutters, reaching for another beer. It comes out weaker than he wants it to.
Mark just grins, knocking their empty cans together with a quiet clink before leaning to grab himself another.
Jeno exhales slowly, letting his shoulders relax. It’s fine. It’s nothing.
Except when Mark sits back, dropping onto the couch next to him, their knees barely brushing, Jeno can still feel the ghost of his touch lingering in his hair.
-
The days slip by, and Jeno convinces himself that nothing has changed.
They fall back into routine; two lives running parallel under the same roof, overlapping at the edges but never quite intertwining. Jeno wakes up early most mornings, slipping out of the apartment before the sun has fully risen, his backpack slung over one shoulder, his travel mug of coffee gripped in the other. Some days he’s gone for hours, stuck in the lab analyzing water samples, or out by the shore collecting data for his research. Other days, he works from home, hunched over his laptop, deep in his spreadsheets and environmental reports.
Mark, meanwhile, keeps his own schedule, emerging from his room at odd hours, his hair perpetually mussed, glasses either perched on his nose or forgotten somewhere in the apartment. Some mornings, Jeno will return home to find him still at the kitchen table, laptop open, a half-drunk cup of coffee gone cold beside him, surrounded by books with fraying spines and loose sheets of paper filled with frantic notes and scratched-out sentences. Mark always looks up when Jeno walks in, offering a bleary smile and a halfhearted wave before turning back to his work.
It’s normal. It’s easy.
They pass each other in the kitchen, exchanging quick conversations as they refill their mugs or scrounge for snacks. They sit on opposite ends of the couch during lazy weekends, watching reruns of shows neither of them are invested in, Mark’s laptop always within arm’s reach, Jeno’s phone open to whatever new research paper he’s been meaning to skim.
And if, for a fleeting moment, Jeno catches himself thinking about that night (about Mark’s hand in his hair, the warmth in his voice when he said it,) he shakes it off. It was just a dumb, passing joke. Nothing worth thinking about.
So he doesn’t.
He ignores the way his stomach flips whenever Mark brushes past him in the hallway, the way his shoulders tense when Mark leans in too close to show him something on his laptop. It’s stupid. He’s being stupid. Mark doesn’t even seem to remember it happened, so Jeno buries it, rolls his eyes at himself, and moves on. Things go back to normal.
Then Mark knocks on his door.
Jeno tries not to think much of it at first when he hears the knock again. He barely glances up from his screen, fingers still absently moving over his trackpad as he scrolls through an article on deep-sea nutrient cycling. Maybe Mark forgot to grab something when he went grocery shopping, or maybe the Wi-Fi is acting up again, or maybe—
“I brought beer.”
Mark’s voice is slightly muffled from behind the closed door. Jeno pauses, his hand freezing on the keyboard. A slow exhale leaves his lips as he blinks at the screen in front of him.
This again.
Shaking his head, he pushes away from his desk and gets up, rolling out the stiffness in his shoulders as he pads toward the door. When he pulls it open, Mark is standing there, just like last time; hair ruffled, glasses nowhere to be seen, holding up a six-pack of Blue Moon like some kind of invitation. His eyes crinkle when he sees Jeno, and without missing a beat, he tilts his head toward the living room. “Come on, dude. You’re not gonna make me drink alone, are you?”
Jeno huffs a small laugh, crossing his arms. “Do you even actually like beer, or is this just an excuse to procrastinate?”
Mark shrugs, grinning. “A little bit of both?”
Jeno shakes his head, pretending to deliberate before finally sighing. “Fine. But if I get drunk and end up with a headache tomorrow, I’m blaming you.”
Mark claps him on the shoulder like he’s just made the best decision of his life before leading the way back to the couch. The coffee table is already half-covered in Mark’s books and papers, a tangled mess of notes and open tabs on his laptop screen. Jeno grabs two cans, tossing one to Mark before cracking his open. The bitter scent fills his nose immediately, and he fights the grimace that threatens to surface. He still doesn’t like beer, but at this point, he’s starting to think that’s not really the point.
Mark groans as he flops onto the couch, immediately slumping against the cushions. “You ever think about just dropping out?”
Jeno snorts, taking a slow sip from his can. “Every day.”
“Same,” Mark mutters before taking a long gulp. He sighs, tipping his head back against the couch. “If this thesis kills me, tell my family I died fighting for my life.”
Jeno chuckles, nudging Mark’s foot with his own. “Dramatic.”
“Realistic,” Mark corrects, lifting a finger lazily before dropping his arm back onto the couch. “You don’t get it, man. Lit professors are something else. You turn in one draft, and suddenly they want, like, an entire existential breakdown on the themes of human suffering or whatever.”
Jeno raises an eyebrow. “And your thesis is on…?”
Mark waves a vague hand. “It’s kinda complicated. Something about modernist narratives and fractured identity.”
Jeno stares. “That sounds made up.”
Mark laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Doesn’t it? It feels made up.”
Jeno shakes his head, rolling his can between his palms. Mark sighs dramatically, tipping his head back against the couch. “I swear, if this thesis doesn’t kill me, my advisor will.”
“That bad?”
Mark groans. “Dude. You have no idea. I turned in something last week, kind of a draft, right? And I knew it wasn’t great, but, like, I was hoping for some normal feedback. Y’know, a few comments. Maybe a ‘this part needs more analysis’ or whatever.”
“And?” Jeno prompts.
Mark lifts his beer and takes a long sip before answering. “She sent it back with a three-page response. Single-spaced.”
Jeno winces. “Yikes.”
“Yeah.” Mark exhales sharply. “I opened the document, saw the wall of text, and just… closed my laptop. Didn’t even read it. Just pretended it didn’t happen.”
Jeno huffs a small laugh. “I mean… that’s one way to deal with it.”
“Exactly,” Mark says, pointing at him. “If I don’t read it, then technically, I haven’t been read to filth yet.”
“That’s definitely not how that works.”
Mark sighs, slumping further into the couch. “Let me live in denial, man. I can barely open the document without having it crash.”
“What do you mean?”
“My laptop is actually dying,” Mark sighs, kicking his legs out in front of him. “I swear, every time I try to open another tab, it sounds like it’s about to take flight.”
Jeno snorts. “How many tabs are we talking?”
Mark hesitates. “…Not that many.”
Jeno gives him a look.
Mark sighs. “Okay, maybe, like, twenty-five. But that’s normal, right?”
“No,” Jeno says immediately. “That’s criminal. Do you even close them when you’re done?”
Mark takes a sip of his beer, avoiding eye contact. “Define ‘done.’”
Jeno groans. “Jesus.”
Mark laughs, kicking him lightly in the shin. “Don’t act like you’re better than me. I know you have at least five Excel sheets open at all times.”
“That’s different,” Jeno argues, raising a finger. “Spreadsheets need to be open. I actually use them.”
“I use my tabs,” Mark says, looking offended.
Jeno raises an eyebrow. “Do you?”
Mark opens his mouth, then closes it. “Okay, no,” he admits. “But it’s nice to know they’re there. Just in case.”
Jeno just shakes his head, amused, taking another sip of his beer.
Mark waves a hand dismissively. “But listen, that’s not the point. The point is that my laptop is a piece of junk, and I swear it’s developing a personal vendetta against me. The other day I was mid-sentence in an email to my advisor, and the whole thing just crashed. Screen went black, fans wheezing, whole thing just freaking out on me.”
Jeno tilts his head. “Crazy idea—you could just buy a new one.”
Mark groans dramatically, flopping further into the couch. “I would if I had good, real money instead of just ‘grad student T.A.’ money.”
Jeno laughs before shivering slightly, barely noticeable, but Mark catches it anyway. It’s not that cold, just a faint chill lingering in the apartment, the kind that sneaks in at night and settles into the walls. Jeno hadn’t thought much of it, too comfortable in his usual t-shirt and shorts, but now, with the slow buzz of alcohol making him drowsy, the cool air is more noticeable.
Mark’s eyes flick over to him. “You cold?”
Jeno blinks, caught off guard. “Huh?”
Mark nods toward him, raising an eyebrow. “You just shivered, man. You want a blanket?”
Jeno hesitates. It’s such a small thing, such a Mark thing, to notice and immediately offer, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He should say no, he’s fine, really, but the words don’t come.
“Uh… sure,” he says instead, not looking at Mark as he takes another sip of beer.
Mark is already up, heading toward his room without another word. A few moments later, he returns with a throw blanket bundled in his arms, tossing it at Jeno without ceremony.
Jeno barely reacts, just catches it in his lap and pulls it over his shoulders without question. The fabric is soft, slightly worn at the edges, and still carries the faintest hint of detergent, something fresh and clean with an undertone of whatever scent Mark uses. It’s warm, too, trapping the lingering heat of the apartment, and it settles over Jeno like a weight, grounding him.
He sinks a little deeper into the couch, pulling the blanket tighter around himself, fingers absentmindedly rubbing at the fabric’s edge. There’s something almost embarrassingly nice about it, the warmth, the quiet care behind the gesture, and he forces himself not to focus on it too much. Instead, he lifts his beer to his lips, taking a slow sip and trying to hide the small, content smile threatening to tug at the corners of his mouth.
Mark plops back down beside him, stretching his legs out.
The buzz in his veins is steady, not overwhelming, just enough to dull the sharp edges of the day. His mind, which had been running on overdrive from hours of work, has finally quieted down. It’s nice, this feeling; just existing, no pressure to think too hard or be anywhere else. Just him, Mark, the quiet hum of the apartment, and the occasional fizz of carbonation as they sip their drinks.
Mark, of course, is still talking, this time about something Jeno’s not sure of.
“So then I finish the book, right? And I sit there for, like, a solid five minutes just staring because what the hell, I was lied to.” Mark shakes his head, his expression still full of disbelief. “The back of the book said it was about this guy going on a self-discovery journey, but instead, it’s just him making the worst decisions imaginable for three hundred pages straight.”
Jeno huffs a quiet laugh, his fingers absently toying with the edge of the blanket. “So… like every other book you read?”
“No,” Mark insists, frowning. “I read plenty of books with characters who make good decisions.”
Jeno raises an eyebrow. “Name one.”
Mark opens his mouth, then shuts it immediately. His brow furrows in concentration. “…Okay, gimme a second.”
Jeno shakes his head, watching as Mark leans forward, elbows on his knees, beer dangling from his fingers as he tries to come up with an answer. His hair is a mess, ruffled from his earlier frustration, and his glasses are long gone, probably abandoned somewhere in his room. He’s got that look he always gets when he’s thinking too hard about something completely inconsequential: his lips slightly parted, eyebrows slightly raised, eyes darting to a random spot on the floor like the answer is hidden in the carpet fibers.
Jeno doesn’t mean to stare, but the beer has softened his usual filters, and he finds himself watching Mark a little too closely, following the way his fingers tap against his can, the way his tongue flicks out absently to wet his lips.
Mark suddenly snaps his fingers. “Percy Jackson.”
Jeno blinks. “What?”
“Percy Jackson,” Mark repeats. “He makes good decisions.”
Jeno snorts. “First of all, he was twelve in the first book. That doesn’t count. And he made terrible choices.”
Mark groans. “Okay, sure. But! He still made better decisions than, like, ninety percent of protagonists in literary fiction.”
“Low bar,” Jeno teases.
Mark throws a couch pillow at him. “Shut up.”
Jeno just laughs, ducking slightly as the pillow bounces off his shoulder. He takes another sip of his beer, letting the warmth settle back into his limbs. Mark leans back into the couch with a defeated sigh, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling.
“I swear, I should just start reading nothing but children’s books. At least those have happy endings,” he mutters.
Jeno hums. “You could also just try to find books with main characters who aren’t disasters.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Mark says, grinning as he turns his head to face Jeno.
Jeno shakes his head, but he’s smiling. He likes it. He likes that Mark talks to him like this, no pressure, no expectations, just words spilling out in whatever order they come to him. It’s nice.
And maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s just the warmth of the blanket, but Jeno finds himself feeling comfortable like this, tucked into the couch with Mark beside him, his voice filling the space between them. He lets himself relax, lets himself listen as Mark starts rambling again, this time about a different book, one that he actually liked, and the way he gestures excitedly when he talks is almost hypnotic.
Jeno isn’t even fully processing the words anymore, just the sound of Mark’s voice, the rhythm of it, the slight slur that comes when he drinks too fast. He could stay like this for a while, he thinks.
Maybe he wants to.
Jeno half-listens, letting the sound wash over him, catching bits and pieces: the protagonist was an idiot, the plot had potential but fumbled the execution, the writing was fine but not great. He hums when needed and makes vague noises of agreement when it feels right.
The beer’s settled in his system, thrumming under his skin, leaving his limbs pleasantly heavy. The blanket is soft and warm around his shoulders, making it harder to fight the relaxation creeping over him. He leans forward, posture poor and spine curved, shifting slightly to get more comfortable, and Mark shifts too, leaning back against the couch.
At some point, Mark’s hand drifts absentmindedly along Jeno’s back. It’s not intentional—at least, it doesn’t seem like it. It’s slow, lazy, just the occasional pass of fingers over fabric, the way someone might pet a cat without thinking about it. Or a dog.
Jeno notices immediately.
It’s barely anything, the lightest of touches, but it sends an odd sort of awareness prickling along his spine. Mark’s fingers brush along the slope of his back, an idle motion, like it’s second nature. Like it’s normal. Like he does this all the time.
Jeno forces himself to stay still, to keep his breathing even, to act like he doesn’t notice. Because it isn’t a big deal. It’s just Mark. Just his hand moving without thought, the way people do when they’re absentminded.
His brain won’t let it go, though; it’s warm, steady. Comforting in a way Jeno doesn’t quite know how to process.
He should say something, maybe shift away or make a joke or anything, but he doesn’t. He just stays there, lets it happen, lets Mark’s touch settle along his back like it belongs there.
And then, like clockwork, when Jeno finally finishes his beer and sets the empty can on the table, Mark’s hand stills.
A pause.
Then, Mark pats his head like he’s a puppy and says, with that same teasing lilt as before—
“Good boy.”
Jeno’s brain short-circuits.
His fingers curl, warmth flooding up his neck, spreading to his ears and his face. It’s worse this time. Mark’s hand is still warm against his hair, fingers brushing briefly before pulling away. He doesn’t trust himself to speak, so he scoffs instead, rolling his eyes as if that’ll be enough to cover up whatever is currently short-wiring in his brain.
“You’re so annoying,” he mutters, voice barely steady.
Mark just grins, relaxed, like this is nothing.
“Yeah, yeah,” Mark says, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table, dangerously close to knocking into his laptop, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Want another beer?”
Jeno exhales slowly, trying to will away the ridiculous warmth clinging to his skin.
“Yeah,” he says, voice miraculously even. “Sure. Why not.”
Mark pushes himself up, heading to grab another round, and Jeno watches him go, letting his head tip back against the couch.
He’s fine. It’s fine. It’s just Mark.
He tells himself that, over and over, until the feeling in his chest settles into something he can ignore.
-
Jeno doesn’t think about it too hard. Or at least, he tries not to.
It’s been a few days since the last time they drank together, and he tells himself that’s the only reason why he’s lingering in the kitchen, staring at the fridge like it holds the answers to whatever this is. He’s bored. That’s all. Mark isn’t home yet, and the apartment is quiet in a way that feels like it’s missing something.
So when he hears the front door open, followed by the familiar rustle of Mark kicking off his shoes, he moves before he can overthink it.
Mark barely has time to drop his bag by the couch before Jeno clears his throat. “Hey.”
Mark glances up, brows raised like he wasn’t expecting to be greeted. “Hey,” he echoes, shaking his keys once before tossing them onto the table. “What’s up?”
Jeno hesitates, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “You wanna drink?”
Mark blinks at him.
For a second, Jeno wonders if this was a mistake. He doesn’t even like beer. There’s no real reason for this, no logical explanation. But Mark is staring at him now, eyes slightly widened in what looks like surprise, and Jeno resists the urge to backtrack.
Then, Mark grins, easy and bright. “Are you asking me to drink?”
Jeno shrugs, looking off to the side. “It’s not that weird.”
Mark huffs a small laugh, dropping onto the couch with a groan. “Damn, must be my lucky day.” He stretches, rolling his shoulders back before looking at Jeno again, still smiling. “Yeah, I’m down.”
Jeno swallows, nodding. “Cool.” He turns, opening the fridge to grab the six-pack they hadn’t finished last time.
He tells himself the small, quiet thrill in his chest is just because Mark said yes.
Jeno pops two out of the pack and turns to see Mark already sprawled on the couch, one leg tucked under him, the other stretched out as he scrolls through something on his phone.
Jeno crosses the room and hands Mark a beer without a word. Mark takes it with a lazy nod, not even looking up from whatever he’s reading, just flicking the tab open with his thumb and taking a slow sip.
Jeno lowers himself onto the couch, pulling the blanket from last time around his shoulders like it belongs there. He props his legs up onto the coffee table and cracks his own beer open, even though he already knows he won’t enjoy the taste.
“What do you wanna watch?” Mark finally asks, shifting to glance at him.
Jeno shrugs. “Dunno. Just put something on.”
Mark hums in acknowledgment, then reaches for the remote, scrolling through a list of shows and movies before eventually settling on some mindless action flick. It’s one of those movies where the plot barely matters; just a bunch of fight scenes, fast cars, and dramatic one-liners. Perfect for background noise.
They don’t talk much after that.
Jeno doesn’t know why he thought they would, why he thought this time would be anything like the last. Instead, they just sit there, beer in hand, watching the screen flicker in front of them. But it’s not an awkward silence. If anything, it’s nice.
Mark leans back against the couch, his knee knocking against Jeno’s thigh, but he doesn’t move away. Jeno doesn’t either. The warmth of the blanket seeps into his skin, and he feels himself relax, his body sinking a little deeper into the cushions.
Mark’s attention drifts in and out of the movie, his eyes half-lidded as he takes slow sips of his drink. Jeno finds himself doing the same, barely paying attention to whatever chase scene is happening on screen, more focused on the way Mark’s knee feels pressed against his leg.
Jeno finishes his beer before Mark can nudge him or make some teasing comment about it. He leans back on the couch, stretching his legs out in front of him, feeling the familiar buzz of alcohol settle in his bones. His fingers curl around the empty can, the cool aluminum now warm from his grip, and he glances at Mark from the corner of his eye.
Mark, who has been focused on the movie for the most part, looks over at him when he hears the can clink softly against the coffee table. There’s a moment of stillness between them as Jeno’s eyes find his.
Jeno doesn’t look away. His gaze is wide, expectant, almost shy, waiting for Mark’s reaction. It’s not like he’s looking for praise or approval. But somehow, he feels like this is part of the routine now, like it’s just something they do. Jeno finishes his beer, and Mark gets to be the one to comment on it.
Mark blinks slowly, his lips curving into a soft, amused smile. His gaze drifts to Jeno’s hair for a moment, something like fondness flickering in his eyes. And then, naturally, he leans forward, a hand coming up to gently ruffle Jeno’s hair.
“Good boy,” Mark murmurs.
Jeno’s breath catches in his throat at the words. He’s not sure why it hits him like it does, why his chest feels a little tighter, his skin a little warmer. His heart skips a beat, and before he knows it, his face is flushed a soft pink, a warmth creeping up his neck and spreading across his cheeks.
Jeno can’t help but feel a little silly, a little flustered by it. He swallows, glancing down at his hands for a second, before shyly peeking back at Mark, his lips twitching into a small smile despite himself.
“Shut up,” he mutters, but there’s no real bite behind it. He can’t even bring himself to hide the faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Mark just laughs softly, a low, fond sound that seems to make the room feel even warmer. “You’re adorable,” he says, his fingers brushing through Jeno’s hair one more time before dropping back down to his side.
Jeno laughs, too, almost embarrassed by the rush of warmth that floods him at the simple words. He tries to act casual, shifting the blanket around his shoulders like it’s the most normal thing in the world, but he can’t stop the smile that lingers on his lips.
“Whatever,” he says, but it’s more of a playful, bashful response than anything else.
Mark smiles, taking another sip of his beer, his eyes flicking back to the TV. Jeno leans back into the couch, settling into the quiet again. The warmth of the blanket and the beer, the low hum of the movie, and the familiar presence of Mark beside him—it all feels right. Easy.
-
The next time Mark knocks on Jeno's door, beer in hand, Jeno is ready. He's been thinking about it more than he cares to admit. It's become a ritual of sorts, one that Jeno finds himself craving in a way he doesn't quite understand.
So when Mark appears in his doorway, that familiar glint in his eye, Jeno doesn't hesitate. He follows Mark to the living room, settling into his usual spot on the couch, pulling a blanket around his shoulders like armor. The TV flickers to life, some action movie neither of them will pay attention to, and Jeno takes his first sip of beer.
The apartment feels different tonight. Warmer, somehow. More intimate. Maybe it's the way the shadows play across Mark's face in the dim light, or the way their knees brush when Mark shifts on the couch. Jeno finds himself hyper-aware of every movement and casual touch.
He finishes his first beer quickly, almost eager. His eyes flick to Mark as he sets the empty can on the table, waiting. Expecting.
Mark doesn't disappoint. His hand finds Jeno's hair, fingers carding through the soft strands. "Good boy," he murmurs, voice low and warm.
Jeno feels the familiar rush of heat to his face, but this time, he's prepared for it. He leans into the touch slightly, allowing himself to enjoy the contact.
Mark's hand slides from his hair to his cheek, fingers gentle against his skin. "Such a good boy," he coos, and then, without warning, he pinches Jeno's cheek lightly, affectionately.
It's such a small thing. Innocent, even. But combined with the words, the touch, and the warmth of the alcohol in his system, Jeno feels something shift inside him.
His breath catches in his throat as an unexpected wave of arousal washes over him. It’s almost startling, the way the simple touch seems to have unraveled him like an abandoned crochet project, yarn left curly and twisted. The warmth of Mark’s fingers and the soft, teasing words spilled from Mark’s mouth satiate a hunger Jeno didn’t even realize was there. His pulse thrums in his ears, and before he can process what's happening, he feels himself getting hard, his pants suddenly too tight
Jeno freezes, panic rising in his chest. This can't be happening. Not here, not now, not with Mark right next to him. He shifts uncomfortably, trying to adjust without drawing attention to himself, but the movement only makes things worse.
Mark, oblivious to Jeno's crisis, just grins and reaches for another beer. "Want another?" he asks, already popping the tab on a fresh can.
Jeno shakes his head stiffly, not trusting his voice. His mind races, his heart pounding in his chest as he struggles to maintain his composure. The room suddenly feels too small, too warm, the air thick and heavy around him. He can feel Mark's presence acutely, the heat radiating from his body, the lingering scent of his cologne mingling with the sharp bite of beer.
"I... I should go, actually," Jeno manages to stammer, his voice coming out strained and uneven. He clutches the empty beer can in his hand like a lifeline, knuckles white with tension.
Mark looks at him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "You okay, dude? You look a little flushed."
Jeno nods jerkily, already pushing himself up from the couch. The blanket falls from his shoulders, pooling around his feet. "Yeah, just... tired. Thanks for the beer."
He doesn't wait for Mark's response, just grabs the empty can, bends down to grab the blanket, and bolts from the living room. His feet carry him down the hallway on autopilot, his mind a haze of arousal and panic. He fumbles with the doorknob to his room, hands shaking slightly, before finally managing to wrench it open.
The door closes behind him with a soft click, and Jeno leans against it, breathing heavily. His entire body thrums. He closes his eyes, trying to steady himself, but all he can see is Mark's face, hear his voice calling him a "good boy."
With a muffled groan, Jeno stumbles towards his bed, discarding the empty beer can on his desk. He collapses onto the mattress, face buried in the blanket as he grinds his hips down instinctively, seeking friction.
His hand moves of its own accord, fumbling with the waistband of his pants. He knows this is wrong, that Mark is just outside, that this isn't what friends do, but he can't stop himself.
Jeno bites his lip to stifle a moan as his hand wraps around himself, stroking frantically. His mind floods with images of Mark: his smile, his laugh, the warmth of his touch. He imagines Mark's hands on him, Mark's voice in his ear, praising him, calling him a good boy.
It doesn't take long. With a muffled cry, Jeno comes, his body shuddering with release. For a moment, he lies there, panting, mind blissfully blank.
Then reality crashes back in.
Jeno groans, burying his face deeper into his pillow. He doesn't know how he'll face Mark after this, how he'll be able to look him in the eye without remembering what just happened. The guilt settles heavy in his stomach, mixing uncomfortably with the lingering arousal and alcohol.
He forces himself to get up, grimacing at the mess. Mechanically, he cleans himself up and changes into fresh clothes, his movements slow and unsteady. His mind races, trying to make sense of what just happened, but every thought leads back to Mark— Mark's smile, Mark's touch, Mark's voice.
Jeno collapses back onto his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. He should feel worse about this, he thinks. He should be more freaked out, more disgusted with himself. He closes his eyes, exhaling slowly. Maybe if he just sleeps, he'll wake up and this will all have been some weird dream. Maybe things can go back to normal.
Despite everything, Jeno falls asleep with a small smile on his face.
-
The next morning comes too soon, sunlight streaming through the gaps in Jeno's curtains and pulling him reluctantly from sleep. For a blissful moment, his mind is blank, free from the complications of the night before. Then it all comes rushing back—the drinking, Mark's touch, what happened after—and Jeno groans, pulling his pillow over his face.
He can't hide in his room forever, though. Eventually, the need for coffee and food outweighs his desire to avoid reality. Jeno drags himself out of bed, running a hand through his hair as he steels himself to face the day (and Mark).
The apartment is quiet when he emerges from his room, padding softly down the hallway. He can hear the faint sounds of movement from the kitchen, and his stomach twists with nerves. Taking a deep breath, he rounds the corner.
Mark is there, of course, standing at the counter with a mug of coffee in hand. He looks up when Jeno enters, a small smile playing at his lips. "Morning," he says, voice rough with sleep. "Want some coffee?"
Jeno nods, not trusting his voice. He watches as Mark pours him a cup, adding just the right amount of cream and sugar without asking. It's such a simple thing, but it makes Jeno's chest ache with fondness.
"Thanks," he mumbles, taking the offered mug. Their fingers brush as he does, and Jeno nearly flinches at the contact. If Mark notices, he doesn't say anything.
Mark leans against the counter, sipping his coffee as Jeno settles onto one of the barstools. The kitchen is bathed in soft morning light, dust motes dancing in the sunbeams that filter through the blinds. The air is heavy with the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the faint, lingering scent of Mark's shampoo.
"So," Mark starts, his voice casual but with an undercurrent of curiosity, "you left pretty quickly the other night. Everything okay?"
Jeno nearly chokes on his coffee, the mug trembling slightly in his hands as he sets it down quickly. His heart races, pounding against his ribcage like it's trying to escape. Heat creeps up his neck, curling around his ears, making it impossible to ignore the way his body reacts before his mind can even catch up.
He shouldn’t be thinking about it. He wasn’t thinking about it—at least, not until Mark brought it up, his voice casual, like it was just another night, like it didn’t leave Jeno completely wrecked and restless in his bed afterward.
"I, uh..." Jeno stammers, his eyes darting around the kitchen. He swallows, throat suddenly dry, dragging his gaze up to Mark’s face, only to be met with the faint glint of his silver cross against his skin. The light catches it just right, reflecting off the delicate chain, and guilt creeps in like a slow tide.
The silence stretches between them, thick and heavy, until Jeno can't bear it anymore. The words tumble out of him in a rush, like water breaking through a dam.
"I'm sorry," he blurts. "I had an... unfortunate situation happen. After you, um, called me 'good boy.'" He swallows hard, his throat tight with embarrassment. "I promise it won't happen again. I just... I don't know what came over me."
Jeno expects disgust, anger, maybe even laughter. What he doesn't expect is the sharp intake of breath from Mark, or the way Mark's eyes widen, pupils dilating as he processes Jeno's words.
Slowly, Jeno lifts his gaze to meet Mark's, and what he sees there makes his breath catch in his throat. Mark's cheeks are flushed, a pretty pink that spreads across the bridge of his nose. His lips are parted slightly, tongue darting out to wet them in a way that draws Jeno's attention immediately. But it's Mark's eyes that captivate him, wide and dark, filled with an unmistakable interest that makes Jeno's heart skip a beat.
Mark sets his mug down with a soft clink, his movements slow and deliberate as he takes a step closer to Jeno.
"An unfortunate situation?" Mark echoes. "Is that what we're calling it?"
Jeno's mouth goes dry. He licks his lips nervously, watching as Mark's eyes track the movement. "I mean..."
Mark takes another step forward, closing the distance between them until he's standing right in front of Jeno, close enough that Jeno can feel the warmth radiating from his body.
Mark's gaze drops lower, lingering on the slight tent forming in Jeno's thin pajama bottoms. The air between them grows thick, the morning light casting a glow on their skin. Jeno's breath catches as Mark's fingers brush against his knee.
"Can I..." Mark's voice is barely above a whisper, his eyes dark with want. "Can I see?"
Jeno's face flushes a deep crimson, the color spreading down his neck and across his chest. His heart pounds so loudly he's sure Mark must hear it. Despite his embarrassment, he feels his cock twitch and stiffen further, straining against the soft fabric of his pajamas.
Mark's thumb traces small circles on what he can reach of Jeno's inner thigh, each touch sending sparks of electricity through his body. Jeno bites his lip, torn between desire and uncertainty.
"You..." Mark pauses, licking his lips nervously. His voice drops lower, making Jeno shiver. "You want to be a good boy for me, right?"
The words hit Jeno like a lightning bolt, sending a jolt of pure need straight to his dick. A broken keen echoes through the kitchen before Jeno realizes the sound is coming from him.
Mark steps even closer, until he's standing between Jeno's parted knees. His hand slides higher up Jeno's thigh, fingers tracing the seam of his pajama pants. "Wanna show me how..." Mark's voice drops to a low murmur, "you fixed the problem? In your room?"
The sunlight streaming through the kitchen window casts a golden glow across Mark's features. Jeno can see every detail: the slight flush high on Mark's cheekbones, the way his pupils have dilated, leaving only a thin ring of brown. Mark's tongue darts out to wet his lips again, and Jeno's gaze is drawn to the movement.
Jeno's heart pounds so hard he's sure Mark must hear it. He swallows hard, Adam's apple bobbing. His skin feels too tight, too sensitive.
"I..." Jeno starts, voice hoarse. He clears his throat, tries again. "Are you sure?"
Mark's other hand comes up to cup Jeno's cheek. His thumb brushes over Jeno's bottom lip, feather-light. "Yeah," Mark breathes. "Show me. Be… be a good boy for me, yeah?"
Those words again. Jeno shivers, arousal coiling hot and tight in his belly. He nods again, not trusting his voice. Slowly, he stands. Mark's hand falls away from his face, but the other stays on his thigh, inching back, fingertips just barely brushing the curve of his ass.
Jeno leads the way down the hall to his bedroom, hyper aware of Mark's presence behind him. The few steps feel like miles. His hands tremble slightly as he pushes open his door.
He turns to face Mark, suddenly unsure. His heart races, a mix of arousal and nervousness swirling in his stomach.
Mark steps closer. "Show me," he encourages.
Jeno swallows hard, then slowly hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his pajama bottoms. He pauses, glancing up at Mark through his lashes. Mark nods, gaze fixed on Jeno's hands.
With a shaky exhale, Jeno pushes his pants down, letting them pool around his ankles. His cock springs free, already hard and leaking at the tip. He fights the urge to cover himself, instead forcing his hands to stay at his sides.
Mark's sharp intake of breath makes Jeno shiver. "God, look at you," Mark breathes, eyes roaming over Jeno's body. "So pretty. Such a good boy for me."
Heat floods Jeno's cheeks at the praise, his cock twitching visibly. Mark notices, a slow smile spreading across his face.
"You like that, don't you?" Mark's voice is teasing, but there's an undercurrent of hunger that makes Jeno's breath catch. "Like being called a good boy?"
Jeno nods, not trusting his voice. Mark steps closer, close enough that Jeno can feel the heat radiating from his body.
"Show me how you touched yourself," Mark murmurs. "Show me how you came thinking about me."
Jeno's breath hitches. Slowly, he wraps a hand around his cock, giving it a tentative stroke. His eyes flutter shut at the sensation, a soft gasp escaping his lips.
"That's it," Mark encourages. "You look beautiful. All this for me."
Jeno's hand moves faster, twisting on the upstroke the way he likes. He pushes his thumb against the tip, almost desperately working at it. He can feel Mark's gaze on him, hot and heavy. It should make him self-conscious, but instead it only fuels his arousal.
"Mark," he whimpers, hips jerking into his fist.
"I'm here," Mark soothes. His hand comes up to cup Jeno's cheek, thumb brushing over his bottom lip. "You're doing so well. So good."
The praise washes over Jeno like a physical caress.
Mark's eyes are dark as he watches Jeno stroke himself. Jeno's hand moves faster, his breath coming in short gasps. A bead of sweat trickles down his temple. His legs tremble slightly with the effort of staying upright. Mark's gaze is heavy, intense, tracking every movement of Jeno's hand.
"Good," Mark murmurs, voice low and rough. "Go a little slower."
The command sends a shiver down Jeno's spine. He slows and whimpers softly, hips jerking into his fist. His free hand clenches at his side, fingers digging into his palm. Jeno's cock twitches visibly, a drop of precome beading at the tip. Mark's eyes are drawn to the movement, pupils dilating further.
"Mark," Jeno gasps, voice breathy and desperate.
Something in Mark seems to snap. With a low groan, he surges forward, jerking him around and pressing his chest against Jeno's back. His hand wraps around Jeno's, fingers intertwining as he takes control of the pace.
"Let me," Mark breathes, stroking Jeno's cock with long, firm pulls. "Let me take care of you."
Jeno's head falls back with a moan, exposing the long line of his throat. Mark's lips brush against his pulse point, feather-light. The feelings of Mark's hand on his cock and lips on his neck is almost overwhelming.
"That's it," Mark murmurs against Jeno's skin. "You're doing so well. Such a good boy."
Mark's hand moves steadily on Jeno's cock, his grip firm but gentle. His other hand trails up Jeno's side, fingertips ghosting over sensitive skin. Jeno shivers at the touch, goosebumps rising in its wake.
"So responsive," Mark murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to Jeno's neck. "So perfect for me."
His hand slips under the hem of Jeno's shirt, palm flat against his stomach. Jeno's muscles tense and relax under Mark's touch as he explores, tracing the dips and curves of Jeno's torso. His thumb brushes over a nipple, and Jeno gasps, arching into the touch.
Mark's hand on Jeno's cock speeds up in a way that makes Jeno's toes curl. Precome beads at the tip as his grip tightens in a way that makes Jeno’s breath catch in his throat, a wounded noise coming from what feels like the depths of his chest. Mark’s thumb continues torturously, swiping over the head and pressing enough it makes his hips twitch helplessly into the touch.
"Mark," Jeno cries, hips bucking. "Please."
"Shh, I've got you," Mark soothes. His free hand slides lower, past Jeno's cock to palm his inner thigh. The touch is reverent, almost worshipful, as he kneads the sensitive flesh.
Jeno's legs tremble, threatening to give out. Mark notices, his grip tightening as he guides Jeno backward, steady and sure. Jeno barely registers the way Mark’s hand shifts, one splayed firm across his stomach, his cock still held by the other, keeping him upright as they move. His knees hit the edge of the bed, and for a brief moment, he wobbles—then Mark shifts his weight, pulling them both sideways in a slow, controlled descent.
They land tangled together, Mark’s chest warm and solid against Jeno’s back, the mattress dipping beneath them. Jeno exhales sharply at the sudden change in position, blinking up at the ceiling as he tries to catch his breath. Mark chuckles, low and amused, adjusting his hold.
"Guess that works, right?" Mark murmurs, voice right at Jeno’s ear.
Jeno shivers, though whether from Mark’s touch or the sound of his voice so close to his ear, he isn’t sure. Either way, he doesn’t move—doesn’t want to.
Mark's hand never stops moving on Jeno's cock, the new angle allowing him to stroke faster, harder. His other hand roams Jeno's body, touching everywhere he can reach. He traces the curve of Jeno's hip, the dip of his waist, the plane of his stomach.
"So beautiful," Mark breathes, pressing open-mouthed kisses along Jeno's shoulder. "My good boy. So good for me."
Jeno's body shakes, every nerve ending alight under Mark's touch. The room is filled with the sound of their ragged breathing and the wet slide of skin on skin.
Mark's hand keeps going, sending waves of sensation coursing through him. His other hand continues to move around Jeno's body. He can feel the hard line of Mark's erection pressing against his lower back.
The coiling heat in Jeno's belly grows more intense with each passing second. His toes curl, muscles tensing as he feels himself getting closer to coming. Mark's breath is hot against his ear, murmuring words of praise that send shivers down Jeno's spine.
Jeno whimpers, hips jerking erratically into Mark's fist. He's so close, teetering on the brink of orgasm. But something holds him back, a sudden, overwhelming desire to please Mark, to be good for him in every way possible.
With a herculean effort, Jeno reaches down and grasps Mark's wrist, stilling his movements. "Wait," he whines, voice shaky.
Mark immediately stops, concern evident in his voice. "What's wrong? Did I hurt you?"
Jeno shakes his head, turning in Mark's arms to face him. His cheeks are flushed, eyes dark with desire as he meets Mark's gaze. "No, it's not that. I just..." He swallows hard, gathering his courage. "I want to be good for you. Let me... let me help you first."
Mark's eyes widen, a mix of surprise and arousal flickering across his face. "Jeno, you don't have to–"
"Please," Jeno interrupts, voice insistent. "I want to. Let me be good for you, Mark."
A low groan escapes Mark's lips, his pupils dilating further. He nods, unable to resist the earnest look in Jeno's eyes. "Okay," he breathes. "Okay."
He sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Jeno's hands tremble slightly as he shifts down and reaches for the waistband of Mark's sweatpants. He hooks his fingers under the elastic, glancing up at Mark for permission. When Mark nods, Jeno slowly pulls them down, revealing Mark's hard cock.
Jeno's breath catches at the sight. Mark is beautiful like this, flushed and wanting, all because of him. He tugs Mark’s pants further down until they’re pooled around his ankles, but he makes no move to step out of them. Tentatively, Jeno wraps his hand around Mark's length, marveling at the silky-smooth skin and the heat radiating from it.
Jeno's hand moves slowly at first. He traces the prominent vein along the underside with his thumb, feeling it pulse beneath his fingertips. Mark groans, the sound low and muffled as he bites his lip.
Encouraged, Jeno increases his pace, twisting his wrist and going at a pace the way he likes for himself. Mark's cock twitches in his grip, rock hard and radiating heat.
"Jeno," Mark breathes, voice strained. "God, that feels good."
Jeno flushes at the praise, warmth blooming in his chest. He wants to make Mark feel even better. Slowly, never taking his eyes off Mark's face, Jeno shifts off the bed. He settles between Mark's legs, hands resting on his thighs.
Mark's eyes widen as he realizes Jeno's intent. "You don't have to–" he starts, repeating his earlier sentence, but Jeno cuts him off with a gentle squeeze of his leg.
"I want to," Jeno reminds.
Mark groans again, head falling back against the pillows. "Fuck, Jeno. You're killing me."
Jeno smiles, a mix of shyness and determination. He leans in, breath ghosting over the head of Mark's cock. Mark's thighs tense under his hands, muscles quivering with the effort of staying still. He leans over to let drool drip from his mouth onto the tip, and Jeno uses his fingers to spread it around, slicking the way.
Slowly, reverently, Jeno takes Mark into his mouth. The taste is unfamiliar but not unpleasant: salty and musky, uniquely Mark. He swirls his tongue around the head, savoring the way Mark gasps above him.
Jeno takes his time, exploring with lips and tongue. He traces the ridge of the head, dips into the slit, follows the path of the vein along the underside. Mark's hands fist in the sheets, knuckles white with the effort of not thrusting up into the heat of Jeno's mouth.
"Jeno," Mark groans, voice wrecked. "God, you're so perfect. Can’t believe I found someone as good as you. Fuck."
The praise sends a shiver down Jeno's spine. He moans around Mark's cock, the vibrations making Mark's hips jerk. Encouraged, Jeno takes him deeper, trying to relax his throat to accommodate Mark's length.
Jeno focuses on that, determined to take Mark deeper. He breathes steadily through his nose as he sinks down further, feeling the head of Mark's cock hit the back of his throat. Jeno's eyes water slightly at the stretch and he gags, but he pushes through it even when Mark makes a noise of concern, wanting to please him.
Mark groans, his hands coming to rest gently in Jeno's hair.
Jeno redoubles his efforts. He bobs his head, hollowing his cheeks. Saliva pools in his mouth, making everything slick and messy. Wet, obscene sounds fill the room as Jeno works Mark's cock, his throat making lewd squelching noises each time he tries to take Mark to the root.
Mark's hips twitch, fighting the urge to thrust. "Jeno, fuck," he pants. "Your mouth feels amazing."
Jeno hums in acknowledgment, the vibrations making Mark moan. Drool escapes the corners of Jeno's mouth, trailing down his chin. He doesn't care how sloppy he looks— all that matters is making Mark feel good.
He pulls back to focus on the head, tongue swirling around the sensitive tip. One hand works the shaft while the other gently massages Mark's balls. Mark's thighs tremble on either side of Jeno's head, muscles taut with pleasure.
"Such a good boy," Mark praises, voice strained. "Taking care of my cock so well."
Jeno's own neglected arousal throbs insistently between his legs. Without thinking, Jeno begins to rut against Mark's ankle, seeking some relief.
The friction is maddening— not enough to get him off, but just enough to stoke his desire. Jeno whimpers around Mark's cock, torn between focusing on pleasuring Mark and chasing his own orgasm.
Mark notices Jeno's desperate movements. "Cute," he laughs, voice rough. "Use my leg. Show me how much you want it."
Jeno moans, grinding harder against Mark's ankle. The coarse hair on Mark's leg scrapes deliciously against Jeno's sensitive cock. Precome leaks steadily from the tip, smearing across Mark's skin.
Still, Jeno doesn't let up his attention on his cock. He takes him deep again, swallowing around it. His throat constricts rhythmically, massaging Mark's length.
"Fuck, Jeno," Mark groans. "I'm close. You're gonna make me come."
His hips still rut desperately against Mark's leg. He's close too, but he holds back, determined to make Mark finish first.
Mark's hands tighten in Jeno's hair. "Jeno, I'm– fuck, I'm coming," he warns.
Jeno doesn't pull away. He takes Mark as deep as he can, feeling the cock in his mouth pulse as Mark comes. Hot spurts of cum flood Jeno's mouth and he swallows quickly, but some of it leaks out in a mess regardless of how hard Jeno tries to take it all.
Only when Mark slumps back, whining loudly and gripping Jeno’s hair, does Jeno finally release his softening cock. He licks his lips, cum and drool sticky around the corners of his mouth.
"Mark," Jeno gasps, voice hoarse. "I'm so close. Can I–"
"Yes," Mark says immediately, still breathless. "Come here.”
Mark reaches down, grasping Jeno's arms and pulling him up onto the bed. In a fluid motion, he maneuvers Jeno into his lap, hands gripping Jeno's hips. Jeno gasps at the sudden change in position, his legs straddling his thigh.
"There you go," Mark sighs. "Use me. Show me how good you can be."
Jeno doesn't need any more encouragement. He grinds down against Mark's thigh, desperate for friction. Mark's hands roam Jeno's body, touching everywhere he can reach. He traces the curve of Jeno's waist, the dip of his lower back, the swell of his ass. His fingers dig into the soft flesh, encouraging Jeno's movements.
"That's it," Mark breathes, eyes dark with renewed arousal as he watches Jeno chase his pleasure. "You look so beautiful like this. My good boy."
Jeno whimpers at the praise, hips moving faster. The room is filled with the sound of skin on skin, Jeno's ragged breathing, and the occasional creak of the bed springs.
"Mark," Jeno gasps, voice trembling. "I'm close. So close."
Mark leans in, pressing open-mouthed kisses along Jeno's neck. He sucks a mark just below Jeno's ear, making him shudder. "It’s okay, come for me," Mark murmurs against his skin. "Be a good boy and come all over me."
Those words are all it takes to push Jeno over the edge. With a broken cry, he comes, his whole body tensing as pleasure washes over him in waves. His cock pulses, painting Mark's thigh and the edges of his shorts with stripes of white.
Mark holds him through it, murmuring words of praise and encouragement. His hands stroke soothingly along Jeno's back as he shudders through the aftershocks.
As the intensity of Jeno's orgasm fades, he slumps against Mark's chest, breathing heavily. Mark's arms wrap around him, strong and secure, holding Jeno close as the last tremors of his orgasm ripple through his body. For a long moment, they stay like that, skin to skin, heartbeats gradually slowing in tandem.
Mark's fingers trace lazy patterns along Jeno's spine, soothing and gentle. The touch grounds Jeno, bringing him back to himself bit by bit. He nuzzles into the crook of Mark's neck, inhaling the scent of his cologne mixed with the muskier notes of sweat and sex.
"You okay?" Mark murmurs, voice soft. His hand comes up to card through Jeno's hair, fingernails scratching lightly at his scalp in a way that makes Jeno feel like he's about to purr.
Jeno nods, not quite trusting his voice yet. He feels boneless, utterly spent in the best possible way. A pleasant warmth suffuses his entire body, leaving him feeling heavy and content.
Mark presses a kiss to Jeno's temple, then his cheek, then the corner of his mouth. Each touch is feather-light, almost reverent. "You did so well," he murmurs. "Such a good boy for me. So perfect. Can't believe you were right here all along.”
The praise washes over Jeno, making him shiver despite the warmth. He lifts his head, finally meeting Mark's gaze. Mark's eyes are soft, filled with an emotion Jeno can't quite name but that makes his heart skip a beat.
"Let's get you cleaned up," Mark says, brushing a stray lock of hair from Jeno's forehead.
With gentle hands, Mark helps Jeno off his lap and onto the bed. Jeno watches through half-lidded eyes as Mark stands, stretching languidly before padding to the bathroom. He returns moments later with a warm, damp washcloth.
Mark sits on the edge of the bed, carefully wiping away the mess on Jeno's stomach and thighs. His touch is tender, almost worshipful, as he cleans every inch of Jeno's skin. Jeno sighs contentedly, letting his eyes drift closed as Mark takes care of him. He gets a new one, wiping at his chin and throat.
“Stay with me?” Jeno asks, voice hoarse.
Mark hesitates for a second before he tosses the washcloth aside and crawls back into bed. He gathers Jeno into his arms, pulling him close so that Jeno's back is pressed against his chest. The position is comforting, intimate in a way that makes Jeno's heart swell.
Mark tugs the blanket over them both, cocooning them in warmth. His arm drapes over Jeno's waist, hand splayed possessively across his stomach. Jeno intertwines their fingers, marveling at how perfectly they fit together.
"How are you feeling?" Mark asks.
Jeno hums softly, pushing back into Mark’s warmth. “Good,” he murmurs, voice heavy with exhaustion and something softer and content. He squeezes Mark’s hand, their fingers still intertwined beneath the blankets. “Really good.”
Mark presses a kiss to the back of Jeno’s head, his breath warm against his scalp. “Good,” he echoes, voice low and fond. “Get some sleep.”
Jeno doesn’t answer, just lets his eyes drift shut, lulled by the steady rhythm of Mark’s breathing and the gentle rise and fall of his chest.
For a while, there’s nothing but quiet. Jeno sighs one last time, content and warm, before slipping into sleep, with Mark holding him close like he never plans to let go.
-
[EXTRA]
Mark watches as Jeno struggles with the last few sips of his beer, his grip loose around the can as he hesitates. His lips are already a little wet from where condensation dripped down the rim, and Mark can’t help but find the way Jeno tries so hard despite clearly not enjoying the taste endearing.
Mark sighs dramatically, shifting closer on the couch. “Come on, you’re almost done,” he coaxes, plucking the can from Jeno’s grasp with ease. Jeno blinks up at him, wide-eyed and unsure, but doesn’t protest when Mark lifts the can to his lips.
"Open up," Mark murmurs, tilting the can just enough for the liquid to touch Jeno’s lips.
Jeno parts them without thinking, and Mark watches, mesmerized, as he obediently swallows down the rest. A few stray drops escape, trailing from the corners of his mouth down to his chin. Mark doesn’t even think before reaching out, swiping a slow, deliberate finger along the path of the spill.
Jeno shudders slightly at the touch, but before he can react, Mark brings the damp fingers to Jeno’s lips, pressing lightly.
“Don’t waste it,” Mark murmurs, voice teasing but eyes dark.
He watches as Jeno’s breath stutters. Heat pools low in his stomach, his entire body burning with something he doesn’t have a name for. Slowly, tentatively, Jeno parts his lips, letting Mark push his fingers into his mouth.
Jeno’s lips are warm and soft around Mark’s fingers, parting so easily, so obediently. The moment Mark pushes past them, he feels the wet heat of Jeno’s tongue pressing up against the pads of his fingers, hesitant at first but then—God—Jeno’s tongue curls just slightly, the slick surface dragging along his skin as he instinctively swallows.
Mark doesn’t move right away, just lets his fingers rest there, feeling the way Jeno’s breath hitches, how his tongue shifts minutely, unsure but pliant. The heat of his mouth seeps into Mark’s skin, the texture of Jeno’s tongue smooth and slick, pressing lightly before retreating, then pressing again, as if testing and waiting for Mark to guide him further.
Jeno’s lashes flutter, and Mark feels the barest hint of suction, a tentative pressure as Jeno swallows again, and—fuck—he has to bite back a groan. His fingers twitch against Jeno’s tongue, and Jeno’s lips seal just a little tighter around them.
Mark finally pulls away, slow and deliberate, feeling the drag of Jeno’s tongue one last time before his fingers slip free with a faint, damp sound. Jeno’s lips stay parted for a second longer, eyes dazed, chest rising and falling a little too fast.
“Good boy,” he murmurs, voice hoarse though he hasn’t spoken much.
And then Mark jolts awake, his breath uneven, his body too warm under the covers. His heart is hammering against his ribs, the phantom heat of Jeno’s mouth still fresh in his mind.
For a moment, he just stares at the ceiling, disoriented, blinking the sleep from his eyes as reality sinks in. The room is dark, the only sound the faint hum of the fridge from the kitchen. His mouth is dry. His skin is buzzing.
And then—
"Fuck," he groans, dragging a hand down his face.
It wasn’t real.
He lets out a long, miserable exhale before rolling onto his stomach and thunking his forehead against his pillow. His body still feels electrified, his fingers curling into the sheets as if that will somehow make the feeling go away. But it doesn’t; now all he can think about is Jeno, lips parted, eyes wide, tongue warm and slick against his fingers—
Mark groans again, muffling the sound into his pillow before flipping onto his back and staring blankly at the ceiling. He’s absolutely doomed. Jeno’s been nothing but a sweetheart, indulging him in drinking when he knows he doesn;t even like beer. He just needed an excuse, honestly, to get Jeno out of his room and next to him.
It’s not his fault Jeno looks up at him with sweet, big eyes. It’s not his fault Mark’s a weird freak who gets hot and bothered when Jeno finishes his drink (just for Mark!!!) and turns to him with triumph in his face.
He turns his head slightly, glancing at the soft glow of the digital clock on his nightstand. 3:42 AM. Too early for this shit.
Mark shuts his eyes and exhales through his nose, willing himself to think about anything else. But all his brain offers him is the wet feeling against his tongue, the sound of Jeno swallowing, the way he—
Mark groans one last time and yanks the blanket over his head.