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When Donghyuck finally deems it necessary a solid half-hour later to move from their dorm bathroom, a nice shower under his belt and a towel around his neck, Mark still hasn’t left his side of the room.
His back is pressed against the opposite wall, a little hunched over his notebook and leg splayed out a little awkwardly as he sits on his mattress, duvet made and all. Well, the whole thing about his position is awkward, let’s not get those wires crossed, but any time Donghyuck has tried to coax him to — dude can you at least move to the desk chair if you’re gonna go all tortured writer on me, Mark had waved him off with an unintelligible noise or grunt and gone back to scribbling away.
Donghyuck didn’t have the time to fuss over him all together; refused to get scorned any more by his friend, not in the face of impending doom on the horizon of his life: Latin Grammar and Speaking II.
(The roman numerals were enunciated for dramatisis, thank you very much.)
Now, Donghyuck was pretty proud of his life choices. Parents don’t enjoy your heavily artistic and obviously vocational university options? Pick a dead language as an elective, ace it and merge it into your degree a year later. FUTUE TE IPSI!!!! Like his last text message to Jaemin decreed, and all that. So now he’s all like, Modern Contemp Dance with a side order of Latin, and stuff.
Nobody really believes him when he tells them, when they asked what he did at uni besides dance and song, that he could speak Latin. Conversationally he was rusty, sure, wasn’t everybody, but academically he aced all that which revolved around poetry, literature, and text.
It was kinda fun, subverting people’s expectations like that.
But this semester, at the very least, he had been focused way more on performances with his respective clubs and teams than memorising any of the keywords and phrases he was expected to name back to his exam invigilator in only a couple of days. Sure, he had the steps down to his contemporary routine so much so that he could probably perform it in his sleep, but more importantly was the fact that Jaemin Na, of all people, was almost definitely going to beat him out for the top spot in the class.
“Maaaark,” Donghyuck whines suddenly, towelling the back of his neck haphazardly before collapsing back onto his bed, not unlike a long-legged tower of Jenga. A mechanical pencil prods uncomfortably into his thigh, and he shuffles a little to get away without putting in any real effort.
“What’s up?” Mark replies, the first cohesive words he’s uttered for like, an hour. He seems a lot more relaxed now, his pen behind his ear and dark hair a little ruffled. He glances down at the words he’s written in his notepad, assumedly, before closing it and reaching up to put it on his desk. He’s in one of (admittedly) Donghyuck’s favourite shirts on him, white with their university logo stretched a little due to his ridiculous shoulder to waist in blue font, but he can’t complain.
He’s looking up with owlish eyes from across their room though, a complete right turn from how casual his voice is, making Donghyuck blink a little, off-kilter. He chooses to look beyond him, instead of address the slow feeling curling in his gut.
It’s nice to think that this room is theirs. Their little thing. Some removed space for the two of them to come back to and collapse in and just exist in as their little home for the past year. Mark had thought living with Donghyuck would’ve been a disaster, had complained for days after their dorm application got approved despite having to be the one to literally apply for the damn thing, but the younger boy revealed himself to be a lot more conscientious that Mark had realised. Anything regarding Mark, that was. Donghyuck himself was still the same mess he always was, if the state of his bed was anything to go about. Whether if his treated of their shared spaces was anything to spite Mark, he’d never tell.
Their room remained cute, though. From Mark’s debate contest certificates hung up on his side of the wall (Donghyuck’s own decision — he’d genuinely bruised his knee on one of Mark’s spare pen from his position of painstakingly sticking them up with one hand covered in spare Scotch sellotape, kneeling on the bed, leaving Mark with not enough time to be both embarrassed and exasperated at these beautiful art monument, because he was pulling a groaning Donghyuck out of his recovery position) to pictures of Mark and Donghyuck, Mark and his friends, Mark and his first year mentor turned friend, Johnny, Mark and Donghyuck, Donghyuck and M—you got the point.
Donghyuck, too, had a nice splatter of things that made him him on his side of the room, too. For example, there was a shelf he insisted on building himself despite the fact their student accommodation expressly forbid any tampering with the room’s makeup. There are lines of important Latin workbooks, his favourite slices of literature, and interspersed in there a single DVD of Bohemian Rhapsody. Just about summed up his personality, really.
“I can’t do this speaking thing,” he complains instead, eyeing his notes that are cluttered in a heap at the end of his bed, next to his crumpled up covers. “I’m gonna fail so hard. Say goodbye to my top student prize, or my grad trip to Venice. Goodbye to like, any end of the year award. I’m a man without a future, Mark.”
Mark eyes him a little, Donghyuck can feel, as he mulls over his next choice of words. He chooses to sigh obnoxiously as if to pull at least something out of Mark when the silence grows a little too long, face pressed into his pillow as he turns to look at him. Mark smiles then, classically handsome and soft as always.
“Do you want some help, then?” He asks, his voice a little shy as he starts to shuffle off of his bed to stand. He stretches an arm across his front, trying to physically pull the stiffness out of his joints.
Donghyuck narrows his eyes in suspicion at that, tracking him across the room when Mark pads over the small distance between their beds with his socked feet, coming to sit down knee first on the edge of Donghyuck’s bed.
“What kind of help you offering here?” Donghyuck replies with a doubtful voice, moving to jokingly kick at him. His foot jabs out, but Mark catches it easily, a hand both loose and firm around his ankle. He keeps it suspended there, almost looking at Donghyuck with an unreadable something to gauge on whether this was okay or not. Donghyuck just wanted to know what the hell it was, considering he was just fucking around.
His leg isn’t stretched out exactly, kind of extended a little closer to Mark equal to how he’s holding it, thigh falling open from where he’s lying back on his messy, blue sheets. Donghyuck really kind of wishes he wasn’t wearing shorts right now when the feeling in his gut twinges again.
They blink at each other, before Mark lets him go, not quite like he’s been burnt, but rather stung with the bottom of a bee. Donghyuck’s foot falls back into the mattress, and he inconspicuously (conspicuously) draws himself back a little so his head hits the back of his headboard softly. Above, the A1 sized poster from Paul Kim’s latest album catches his gaze, before he looks back at his roommate. There’s a red tinge to Mark’s ears as he averts his eyes, reaching over to pull Donghyuck’s Latin notes out from underneath a discarded pillow. Donghyuck tracks the way his shirt pulls up his back a little, a smooth expanse of skin dotted with a sparse freckle or two, before gulping a little too loud.
Despite the fact he teased Mark within an inch of his life with next to no worries about his own self-preservation, and that he was his eternal best friend until death most certainly did they part, there was no denying one thing in particular: the guy was hot. Like, stupid levels of hot. Like, watching Mark take part in recreative lacrosse sessions during the summer semesters made Donghyuck almost genuinely faint in the stands. That kind of dumb hot.
He was plagued with this kind of life, he guessed.
“You know,” Mark continues, pointedly perusing his roommate’s notes. He hasn’t got his glasses on, so he’s squinting a little, pulling the scribbled notes a little closer to his face. Donghyuck is a little affronted, considering that’s one thing they share between them: analog notes of chicken scratch writing. “Like… memorisation revision. That sorta thing.”
“But I can’t figure it out,” he huffs, crossing his hand across his chest like a petulant child, “can’t keep it in my head. I’m sure I can probably get it the night before but I just feel so… I don’t know. Stressed, now, I guess.”
“You’re at the top of your course,” Mark hums back, eyes finally sliding over to look at Donghyuck again, but this time there’s a smile playing on his lips. He’s got a weird way of smiling that isn’t weird at all, not really, rather... not something expectant of someone with a face like that. Peak shyness; round eyes usually widened in earnestness that never really helped his gaze. “Your only competition is Jaemin, at this point.”
“Enemy number 1, that’s for damn sure,” Donghyuck glowers over at the polaroid of all of his friendship group crushed together at the middle of first year, second sem. Jaemin has too many teeth in his dumb smile, and Donghyuck hates him. (Not really. Below that polaroid is a reel from a £4 selfie machine of the two of them pulling the dumbest faces together, a little tipsy if the rosiness of their cheeks is anything to go by. Donghyuck remembers the night fondly.)
“We couuuuld,” Mark continues on, voice sounding a little too practiced to be completely unplanned. At least, that’s what Donghyuck’s subconscious thinks, when he narrows his eyes back on Mark again. “Uh, I don’t know. Reward system? You try and translate the phrases you know back to me, you get something you want.”
A couple of things flicker behind Donghyuck’s eyes like a film reel, something he tries to blink away without much success. He must look skittish as fuck right now.
“What kind of thing?” He asks a little thickly, grip around himself loosening a little.
“Whatever you want,” Mark says, looking fidgety. “Don’t have to think about it now. Just… relax and think back, I guess. Education comes first, and all.”
Donghyuck barks out a nervous laugh at that and shuffles a little back, taking it literally, before tossing his hands up in the air to signal he was ready to give it a try.
“Okay, so,” Mark starts, after a jolt of a cough, pulling the first page with heaps of scribbles closer to him, “what’s knowledge of the stars?”
“Astrologia,” Donghyuck replies back easily. He says as such.
There’s a soft brush of something, Mark’s thumb, he thinks, over his ankle bone. He’s in cotton ankle socks after he dried off from the shower, the boring kind of ones you wear for trainers, but his thumb pad is soft over the skin it can reach. It seems absent, so Donghyuck doesn’t comment on it other than the fact it feels nice.
“Hope the rest are just as easy, then,” Mark mutters, smile turning more wry when Donghyuck mock gasps, like he could ever be doubted like this.
He sits up a little, in a mock mixed martial arts pose, silently beckoning him forward with an exaggerated grin. Mark snorts at that, in that little adorable way of his; nose scrunched up and all.
“Okay, next. Star.”
Donghyuck scoffs at that, rolling his neck a little like a videogame character at the beginning of a PVP fight.
“Stella.”
The thumb taps twice, swiping once again.
“Eternal light?”
“Lux aeterna,” Donghyuck trills back, noticing the switch from easy mode to medium. “You haven’t even gotten to the phrases part yet, you know? Maaaajor let down, Lee.”
There’s a pinch on his ankle at that, then, at almost an afterthought, he tugs him a little closer when his hand slides up to the crook of his knee and the other finds purchase on his opposing ankle. He only slides a little closer, not pulling to strong to dislodge a joint or throw him across the room, across the fabric of the sheets. Donghyuck hisses in surprise at the movement, finding himself scrabbling a little with his hands to grab at the covers despite the fact that wherever he’s going, they’ll go too.
“Mark Lee, MARK LEE,” Donghyuck squawks out loud despite the after 10pm loud noise ban, finding his heart beat a little fast at the sudden switch up.
“Pay attention, now,” Mark finds himself responding calmly, laughing into his hand like the action wasn’t anything major. Like it didn’t startle the fuck out of Donghyuck in a different kind of way. A way he is desperately trying not to think about, lest he promptly pop a boner right now between them. “Moving on from space… writing?”
“Writing, sure,” Donghyuck echoes back a little breathlessly, waiting for Mark’s next move from where he’s slumped down a little. All of his literature focused topics and phrases were pretty extensive, meaning whatever game they were playing would be a little more difficult to go about. Mark slides down, in the guise of getting closer to the paper, but finds himself nestled between Donghyuck’s calves. Donghyuck is painfully aware of it, by now. Mark is on to something, an end goal in mind, but other than passing hands around the other’s waist, or one-armed hugs, Mark is sparing with initiating his physical affection.
This is, quite clearly, leaning in the other direction.
“In books, freedom,” Mark offers, head tilting but looking down at the papers like he doesn’t actually care.
“In libras, libertas,” Donghyuck offers back, attempting to be steady. Attempting.
The hand that’s painfully remained on the underside of Donghyuck’s knee slides up to revert the position at the top, thumb sweeping over his cap. The motion isn’t aiding the other feeling in his gut, the one all curled up like a viper at Mark just touching him. Mark kind of looks at him like he’s waiting for Donghyuck to bolt, a temperamental mare cornered in a corral. Donghyuck does no such thing, lest he break the moment.
“Theeen… how about the poet is born, not made?”
Mark is looking up at him a kind of way that makes Donghyuck’s stomach sink now, because harmless flirting had never gone further than a certain point. This was unmapped territory, a new frontier. Mark was closer to his dick that Donghyuck had ever imagined, even in his terribly embarrassing dreams that only like, Renjun knows about, because only Renjun knows how to healthily and viciously tear him apart in order for him to not think about his best friend’s mouth around him.
“Poeta… nascitur, non fit,” Donghyuck stammers at that, his arguably very decent pronunciation (praised by his teacher and all!) slipping when Mark’s own fingertips stutter up his thigh slowly. He’s angled himself down now in a way that utilises the space on Donghyuck’s bed well, gently placing the scribbled notes down in front of him, and reaching out to brush his other hand around his calf to find purchase where the other one used to be on the other leg. He’s kind of like a cat coiled up, ready to pounce and all Donghyuck can do is swallow at the sight of him between his legs.
“Well done,” Donghyuck feels rather than hears, with a jolt as he realises Mark has gotten a little closer to just below the crook of his knee. The breath from his words make the sparse hair on his legs raise, his leg twitching slightly in surprise at the unexpected feeling. His mouth is close, dangerously close to skin, close enough that if Donghyuck were to move of his own accord, Mark’s mouth would finally be on him.
“The written letter lasts?” Mark asks normally, eyes jotting down to pick up another difficult phrase. Donghyuck’s concentration is shot at that point, rapidly blinking again as he tries to gather his thoughts.
“Um,” Donghyuck offers back in a small voice, overwhelmed even at this stage, “Littera… Littera scriber manet?”
Mark kisses his teeth at that, and Donghyuck’s heart sinks when he reads the expression on his face, one of exaggerated disappointment. One of his hands retract, gripping loosely around his ankle instead and Donghyuck almost kicks at the blanket in frustration.
“Wanna try that one again for me?”
A heat prickles at his skin at the words, and Donghyuck can’t even find it within him to be a brat, simply frustrated.
“Littera scripter. Littera scripta manet,” Donghyuck huffs out, losing his weighty way of intonation in how bothered he is, “come on, can you just—”
“Just?” Mark grins back, shuffling forward a smidgen to end up on his front, resting on his elbows with his hands still around Donghyuck’s legs. At the correct answer, though, he pulls his right leg with the hand gripping his ankle to rest over his shoulder, over the wide expanse of back in that damn shirt. Donghyuck almost lets out birdsong at the movement, tentatively resting the lower half of his leg down the line of Mark’s back.
“If you’re gonna do something…” Donghyuck huffs out, embarrassed, turning to bury half of his face into his sheets again. He lets his words trail off, refusing to look back at Mark. The Mark who was quite clearly propositioning him right now. The Mark who had been in Donghyuck’s last two wet dreams. That Mark. But this wasn’t a dream, he was steadily and terrifyingly realising, especially not when Mark finally breaks the dam and leans down to press a light kiss on the inside of his thigh, right above where the joint of his knee was.
Donghyuck jerks lightly again in surprise, not sure what he was exactly expecting from this, but when Mark puts his mouth on his skin, a new feeling patters in his gut like fallen petals. Mark returns to hovering his mouth over Donghyuck again, with the barest of distance between them, but this time he pauses and looks up at him.
“That okay, Hyuck?” He asks, genuinely, face a careful blank with nothing but timid worry slipping through the cracks. Donghyuck’s heart clutches at that, cursing at the fact he was cute AND conscientious. Nothing was fair in this game called life.
“S’ok…” Donghyuck mumbles, own eyes wide and flush high on his cheeks. Despite the fact Mark was the one putting them in his situation, he still seemed shy himself, something Donghyuck was a little grateful for: that he wasn’t alone in feeling a little (a lot) off-kilter. The fact that this was even happening was blowing his mind six ways Sunday, to be honest.
“Alright then. Art is long, life is short.”
Donghyuck answers it a little quicker this time, and Mark’s chuckles come out in puffs of air. It hits Donghyuck’s skin again, followed up with Mark trailing slow kisses from two small steps up his thigh, to leaning in further to give the other one the same treatment. Donghyuck finds himself fidgeting at the brevity of the feeling, and Mark pinches at the side of his knee again to make him stop. Donghyuck lets out a low hiss at that, but tries to be good regardless. Mark is closer now, shuffling himself up closer and practically ready to disregard all of Donghyuck’s notes entirely by the looks of things, but he (disappointingly, of course) maintains the stupid charade by keeping them within arm’s reach. Stupid Mark Lee, giving a shit about his education.
“A book glutton?” Mark asks after carrying on a few more times with specific phrases and Donghyuck mostly managing to ace every offer, mouth moving against his thigh in the barest brush. His voice isn’t particularly low in general but it sounds it, now, something that fits in their dim room, the only source of light being the £2.50 fairy lights Donghyuck had got from Fresher’s Fair and couldn’t NOT use. What was he, a monster? This looked cute as fuck. Mark’s voice fits the vibe of the evening, he feels like, this time using different sentence structure that Donghyuck was used to; a way to purposely trip him up from the way he’s learnt it, but he bounces back fairly quickly.
“Helluo li-librorum,” he stammers back, his words jaunting out kind of like a cliff’s edge with the gasp that follows. Mark’s hands encase his outer thighs, his thumbs slipping in to the crook to pull his knees further away from each other. It kind of feels like Mark’s hands are burning a brand into him. All Donghyuck can see before he dips his head back in is Mark dabbing his bottom lip with his tongue, a flash of pink that flips Donghyuck’s stomach. The next sensation makes a whine rise high in his throat and slam his head back into his mattress, when Mark mouths a little more wet in his inner thigh, the flat of his tongue sneaking out to leave a shiny trail of saliva.
Donghyuck full-body twitches at that new sensation, his still damp-ended hair fanning across his pillow as Mark doesn’t find it necessary within himself to stop. He’s just shy of panting, embarrassingly, hands quirking as if he was unconsciously wanting to reach out to Mark.
“And,” Mark says, words vibrating against his skin, and making Donghyuck moan without realising it again, “what about just a normal kind of glutton?”
He sounds so unphased, it kind of knocks Donghyuck sideways a little. The question, too, nothing to do with literature or writing or art apart from a thin tie to the last question. Mark focuses on it, curious, but Donghyuck is too unwound to focus properly himself. He doesn’t even register it until Mark drags his bottom teeth over a specific point that makes his legs quiver, and prompts him again.
“There’s a… few ways,” Donghyuck keens back in between his answer, facing the ceiling and refusing to look back at Mark. His leg is starting to ache where it’s resting over Mark’s shoulder, and the closer he gets, the higher it’s pinned up between them, but somehow he finds likes the burn a little more than he expected.
“Give me them, then.”
“Helluo,” he starts tentatively, and Mark rewards it with a drag of his mouth down his other thigh’s inside, “and… comesor, I — ah, think!”
His voice jumps up a few decibels when Mark gets higher and higher, finally slipping into more messy, open-mouthed kisses that make Donghyuck’s heart hammer in his chest and more noises slip out. He can’t even bring himself to be embarrassed about it, because he feels like the third party in this situation. Soul left his own body, that sort of shindig. And really, Mark jumped him. He’s just along for the ride at this point.
“One more, I think,” Mark hums, practically pacific between the kisses as he finally slides the tips of his fingers under Donghyuck’s shorts, and the feeling of Mark’s mouth against him, the vibration of his voice, are enough to have him tremoring.
“Fuck, Mark,” Donghyuck says, choked up, hand reaching up to do — something , cover his own eyes or pull at his hair or something at the least, but it falls to clutch at the front of his shirt in an aborted movement instead. The feeling in his gut, that viper, feels like its slithered his way up to his throat and squeezing on his oesophagus, nice and steady. He’s definitely straining against his shorts, can’t bring himself to be shy right now, not when Mark is unravelling him so deftly. It was annoying how good he was at this. “I don’t know, I don’t—know, god,” he gasps out, racking his brain lest this would be the one thing to break the moment: not remembering a fucking word.
“Come on, baby,” Mark says as he runs one hand up and down Donghyuck’s thighs, all smooth and that’s, admittedly, a punch to the gut. It’s unexpected, but not unwelcome, and Donghyuck moans out in response. “Once for me. Can you do that?”
“Jesus Christ,” Donghyuck lets out a scoff that’s more breathless than he expected, squeezing his eyes shut.
“No, just me,” Mark laughs back like a song, and Donghyuck feels his heart squeeze, too. Also, like, his dick.
“Bad joke,” he replies with the ghost of a laugh, eyes fluttering when the puffs of air from Mark’s laugh hit the wet on his thigh, revealing goosebumps, “really bad joke.”
“I can leave you to study on your own, you know. Maybe this isn’t working out,” Mark says, unimpressed, but ultimately joking. Donghyuck finally looks at him again, panic-struck expression weaseling a laugh out of Mark somehow.
“Try and see just what happens, Vancouver,” Donghyuck says firmly as he pushes himself up on his elbows, chest rising. He fixes Mark with a glare, one that the other boy blanches at. His wry smile returns soon after, landing on his feet as he places a chase kiss on the uppermost part of his thigh not covered by the green fabric of his Adidas shorts.
“Glutton. Last word. You got this, don’t you?” Mark says, hands moving to caress the junction between his legs and his hips which makes Donghyuck whine. He just wants to be touched , more than this, at this point.
“Fucking, god — devorator, I think,” Donghyuck growls out in frustration, and that’s when things really kick up a notch. Mark laughs, murmuring out a quiet well done, before reaching over to the waistband of his shorts.
“This still okay?” Mark asks again, wide eyes wider with an earnest serious twinge to them, and Donghyuck realises that this is a little more than just a fun game. Or, say we stick with the game metaphor, it’s moving into next level territory. Donghyuck and Mark are about to cross the line, about to resurface from the loading screen, and Donghyuck is like, reaaaady.
“Please, just do something,” he resorts back to whining, and it finally kicks Mark into gear.
He lets Donghyuck’s leg down, shuffling back to sit back on his haunches and pulls back Donghyuck’s shorts, coaxing him up with a hand cupping his waist to drag them down his thighs, all whilst pulling his ass further to him. Donghyuck was in his kind of embarrassing set of boxers, brown and blue plaid, but Mark has seen him in his floormate’s sparkly pink headband to push his fringe back, head over the toilet bowl after a night out with puke smelling like Echo Falls, so realistically this isn’t much worse.
He finds himself shuffling back so his neck hits the back of his pillow in peace, getting a bit more elevation so he can see whatever the fuck Mark was planning on doing next. He edges closer as Donghyuck seems to back off, like two magnets not a soft, repellant forcefield, but rather two attracting poles just on the edge of each other’s circle, slowly coaxing the other in, hook line and sinker.
The hand on his waist thumbs over Donghyuck’s flank, slow like the way he did before, and making Donghyuck shiver inadvertently, looking up at Mark whose eyes are contemplative. His own shirt is bunched up at the side, a stupid one he’d ripped from his dissertation buddy, a postgrad named Yuta’s, closet. It’s dramatic, white and somehow bursting with too much colour from a sociology seminar he attended the year before. CLASS CONFLICT AND COMMUNITIES 2019, along with keywords regarding the topic, were printed all over the chest in a bright blue. Not great first date wear, that’s for sure. Anyway, the most important point of this: Mark’s fingers slip under the thin fabric, and it drives him crazy.
“Can you just—come here, already,” Donghyuck huffs out, all impatient and reaching out to pull Mark into his space more. Whatever pretense of study is out of the window, and Donghyuck makes sure of it as he kicks his notes away from them. Mark arches over him a little, bracing on his forearms either side of him and nosing into his neck. He leaves a chaste kiss, then another on the curve and dip of a tendon there that makes Donghyuck sigh again, before recalibrating.
Donghyuck doesn’t let him skitter back to toy with him anymore, back away after such a long time coming, and lets his hands move to brace Mark’s neck carefully. Not like he’ll break, or anything, but rather Donghyuck can’t quite believe this is happening anywhere other than his dreamscape right now and needs a little bit of physical reassurance. He scratches up into the close-cropped dark hair at the back of Mark’s head, dragging his fingernails ever so lightly down. His eyes don’t leave Mark’s, but he does smile a little more when Mark carefully leans into the touch.
“So pretty,” Donghyuck murmurs with a burst of confidence, sweeping his thumbs over the planes of Mark’s lower cheek, his stupidly sharp jaw, “but being pretty doesn’t stop the fact you used revision to jump my bones, Mark.”
“I did,” Mark gulps, looking anywhere but Donghyuck’s face. He seems weirdly affected all of a sudden and Donghyuck files that information away in the back of his mind. “Initially… you know. Want to help you. But you’re just so…”
“Alluring? Stunning? Magnetising?”
Mark turns his head to bite at Donghyuck’s closest hand, trying and failing hard to not smile at the burst of giggles Donghyuck lets out.
“Annoying,” Donghyuck makes an exaltant sound of shock, squishing Mark’s face between his face and not stopping, not even when Mark’s eyes are narrowed in that skeptical, exasperated way of his. “But unfortoonately that fallsh under the shame—can you let go, pleash? That falls under the same jurisdiction, I think.”
“Ugh, when he’s obsessed with me,” Donghyuck purrs.
Mark moves in to bump his nose against Donghyuck’s at that in rebuttal, but ends up just reminding Donghyuck of a blind, curious kitten. Donghyuck feels his own shyness squeeze at his heart again, eyes flicking to Mark’s mouth when they dance around each other. It isn’t a rushed moment, more of a slow melding in between two as they tilt their heads to and fro, trying to brush their mouths together at the best angle. When Mark’s lips finally meets his own, he pulls Donghyuck a little closer by the crook of his knee, and once again he feels like he’s been punched at the friction. He hadn’t realised that Mark was hard, too wrapped up in whatever game they were playing to realising Mark had been enjoying it way more than expected — from simply touching Donghyuck. That brought a whole new dynamic to the way he was feeling right now, feeling it like a brand against his hip.
Mark is languid, free hand mapping out spots on Donghyuck’s skin he can reach and licking deep into him like he’s trying to reach the centre of the world, if said world was like, a gobstopper or something. He tastes sweet, like the mint from the toothpaste brand Mark likes to use. It’s funny, because Donghyuck actually hates the flavour from whenever he accidentally grabs the wrong tube from their little pot during a pre-9AM lecture morning routine, but somehow can’t find anything wrong with it when he maps the back of Mark’s teeth with his tongue.
The real kicker, though, is the slow roll of Mark’s hips down into Donghyuck’s, building up a constant reel of pressure like a mini, multi-coloured foil windmill, and making Donghyuck finally cry out, meet him back a little better. Mark hadn’t bothered to slip out of his dark sweats, too lost in whatever the fuck they were doing, rendering the feeling just shy of perfect, but it’s still more than he ever thought would happen. Donghyuck would probably kill him if he took the time out to do that, even if it’d probably make the grind even better, and absentmindedly drags his heel across his back and in; trying to bring him as close as possible.
The slide of Mark’s mouth against his, the way he angles his head to just lick drives Donghyuck crazy, because it feels like he’s just taking and taking with no remorse, but his hands are still soft. He’s still gentle in the way he props him up against his thighs and rolls into him and it’s little a constant flutter in his stomach, his heart, but more importantly is the fire curling in his gut being stoked with every slowly building grind.
“Mark, if you keep this up, I’m — gonna —” He whimpers, hands finally leaving the sides of Mark’s face and curling around the other boy’s neck and upper back and pulling him impossibly closer. Mark moans himself, quiet pants pattering around it that blow up both Donghyuck’s pleasure and his ego. The flex of his back muscles under his fingertips where he’s scrabbling for purchase pretty much anywhere he can get his hands on render him speechless in itself, other that the high pitched keens leaving his throat and being buried in Mark’s throat. Donghyuck tries to distract himself by kissing on a spot on his neck marked by a single, stark mole against his pale skin but ends up just moaning against his neck. His mouth brushes the skin, urging Mark on faster.
Mark bucks his hips quicker at the motion, breathing near his ear and driving Donghyuck literally insane. Not that this entire thing wasn't throwing him for like, several loops already. The guy was looped out. Every brush of Mark's clothed dick against his own sends bolts of just pure good down his spine, he finds that charged coil in his gut almost wound tight; every roll of Mark's hips cranking it just that step further.
“Hyuck,” he murmurs, a flush high on his cheeks as his grip tightens on Donghyuck’s waist and the bend of his knee and he stutters against him. It’s a low exhale, knocking the rhythm off kilter, but the stuttering of his hips and the feeling of Mark breaking down is the slip of the cycle to make Donghyuck come undone himself.
His eyelashes flutter, panting in tune to Mark’s own breathy sounds, before Mark half-extricates himself out of Donghyuck’s grip and off of his haunches. He slides back down to lie half on, half off of Donghyuck, arms wrapped around the other’s waist and burying his nose back in his neck again, suddenly sleepy.
“Uh-uh,” Donghyuck tuts, feeling a weird kind of adoration at snoozy Mark cuddling up against him, but smacking gently at his back anyways, “you can’t get away from this by going to sleep, dude.”
“You can’t call me dude after I just got you off like that,” Mark mumbles back, and huh. He’s got him there.
“Alright rosula, enough of that.”
Mark snorts at that, but refuses to move other than reaching a hand out from around Donghyuck’s waist, taking the other’s in his hand and making it cup the back of his neck. Donghyuck’s heart twinges a little, and he gives up on that front, deciding that trying to make Mark move (past his own ultimate self-satisfaction) was a myth in itself. He likes the fact he’s curled around his best friend(?!?!) in the cool evening, head a little clearer now the stress was effectively wiped and, frankly, knowing more Latin choice vocab than he actually expected.
(Despite the fact they had the pressing matter of cleaning up to attend to or they’d both be dealing with dried come in their boxers and Donghyuck would quite literally rather die.)
"I was just," Mark mutters quietly, suddenly, picking up the conversation thread like it was nothing. He's snoozy, and it's sweet. "You know, figuring out a way to approach you with — well, you know. That's why I was standoffish earlier, I think."
"You were ignoring me earlier because you were trying to figure out how to get into my pants?"
Mark snorts at that, embarrassed.
"When you put it like that..."
It was cute, though, like Mark was a cat caught in a sunbeam with no way out and Donghyuck finds himself absentmindedly playing with the back of Mark’s hair.
It’s soft, tousled because of how Donghyuck had been messing it up earlier, smelling of coconut, and occupies him for a little while until he realises he hadn’t checked his phone in the last half an hour. His free hand slaps the mattress beside him, until he feels it a little up and beside him next to the pillow. There’s a moment of quiet as he holds the phone a little above Mark’s head for prime scrolling ability. Then the quiet tranquil breaks, as he spots a string of antagonising emojis in his notifications bar.
“Are you fucking KIDDING ME,” he seethes once he unlocks his phone to reveal his texts fully, pulling Mark’s hair a little in abject horror. Mark whines at that, in surprise. “Jaemin beat my fucking vocab Memrise score. I made the freaking course!”
“Donghyuck, I don’t th—”
A zeroed in, laser-like glare stops Mark in his tracks, leaving him to sigh in exasperation as he cranes his neck up to look at a suddenly passionate Donghyuck..
“Quiz me again. He will rue the fucking day for this.”