Chapter Text
One round of beers is what Chenle and Mark had agreed on at the beginning of the night. Unlimited cigarettes, however many drags of Donghyuck’s cherry vape they could sneak without getting yelled at, and as much pizza and chips as they could shove into their mouths before they had to leave.
No getting drunk.
That was the only condition.
Because that was the only way Mark would agree to come; after Donghyuck found them slumped on the grass at the park downtown, still catching their breath and wiping the sweat off their faces, exhausted from a very unsuccessful game of basketball.
“No dude, you should’ve seen them,” Donghyuck continues with his narration, a half-full bottle of beer clutched in his grip as he waves his hands around, recreating the moment he approached them this morning for the amusement of his current audience (Taeyong and his two American roommates whose names Chenle doesn’t remember). “They were almost crying in a corner of the basketball court when I found them!”
Mark and Chenle were far from crying, quite the opposite in fact, they were laughing, chatting, getting to know each other after their slightly less-than-ideal first meeting. And their slightly more-than-disastrous way to break the ice.
But Mark still humors him, which Chenle notices he’s been doing the entire night. Whatever Donghyuck says, usually at his expense, Mark simply smiles, nods, and pretends to agree, unbothered enough by the whole thing that it's clear to everyone in the room he’s just playing along. And Chenle suspects that even if it wasn’t clear, he wouldn’t actually care.
It speaks to what Donghyuck had said when he ran into them earlier, when Mark was pretending not to know him. He started to tug on Mark’s sleeve with a dramatic pout, baby-talking his way through his sentences to make sure Chenle was aware of the reality of the situation. “We’ve been best friends since we were in diapers!”
Chenle hadn’t actually believed that, he thought Donghyuck was just inflating the truth, as he usually does. So he laughed, shrugged, and said something about the world being so small, to push them all together like this.
“Mark only comes around during the summer because he thinks Toronto is so much cooler than Kelowna now, the elitist,” Donghyuck rolled his eyes as he explained why his and Chenle’s paths had never crossed before now, even with so many mutual friends tethering them to each other and to this place. “Chenle usually goes back to Shanghai during breaks, and that’s why I always have to deal with your boring ass until he comes back,” he continued, directing all the blows Mark’s way, something they apparently were both very used to.
Mark nodded in understanding, completely ignoring the way Donghyuck kept trying to attack him, and instead focusing on Chenle’s face and the revelation of his identity as an international student just passing by, in his and his best friend’s hometown. Like two ships that never meet, leaving to get docked on opposite sides of the world.
“You were crying, Markie?” Taeyong asks him now, joining in on the teasing, albeit a lot more gently. He reaches over the armrest of the couch to hold Mark’s hands in his, and he pouts, throwing on those wide doe eyes Chenle has become extremely familiar with by now.
Mark doesn’t say anything, but he automatically mirrors Taeyong’s pout, maximizing the pair of round, sparkly eyes he’s been staring at everyone and everything all day with, giving Taeyong’s own boba pearl pupils a definite run for their money. Mark nods, Taeyong pats his hand and coos at him, and Donghyuck laughs, clearly used to the reactions to his partially fabricated stories, staring at his friends with so much affection and familiarity Chenle can practically feel it radiating off of him.
He feels almost enchanted.
He’s known this Mark guy for no more than six hours and he’s already hooked. And with the way he’s seen everyone else interact with him all day, he’s obviously not the only one to feel this way.
Originally, he was just the guy that was supposed to be Chenle’s get-out-of-jail-free card when the gap in the scoreboard kept getting bigger and bigger and one of his teammates decided to quit halfway through the game this morning. He was lying on the sand, resting against a tree and reading a book that was way too thick for the subject matter in Chenle’s humble opinion, when Chenle’s eyes landed on him as he scanned the park for someone to recruit for his team.
And because Chenle has always been confident in the fact that he can spot a basketball player with the naked eye at any given time in any given place, he was certain Mark would save the entire day.
But alas.
Mark is not bad at basketball. He’s fast on his feet, he dodges people like a pro, and he has the reflexes of a wildcat. He constantly made passes at Chenle with perfect aim and flawless timing.
He just kept missing shots.
And it was almost unbelievable how bad he was at that one thing.
Chenle chuckles at the memory and realizes that every single thing he’s noticed about Mark today, just makes him that much more interesting.
He wonders what the rest of the people surrounding them see in him. He’s sure they all have their own perspectives, and they must be wildly different from one another. Chenle, for one, doesn’t think anyone else finds missed three-pointer shots and being the butt of the joke as endearing as he does.
Chenle downs the last sip of his allotted one beer as Donghyuck wraps his story up, and he slouches down against the backrest of the couch with a tired sigh. He’s already starting to feel a little bit of warmth climbing up his neck, and he’s almost thankful to have an excuse to not keep drinking for the night.
The deal was to come to Taeyong’s party, as per Donghyuck’s request; drive here in Mark’s old sedan, and once it was over, he would drive Chenle back to the park so he could pick up his own car and go home. Donghyuck lives near him anyway, so he’d drop him off on his way.
So they have to be responsible adults and not overdo it with the booze.
And in any other situation, Chenle would be up and bouncing off the walls alongside Donghyuck, drunk or otherwise, like they’ve done multiple times already. But he’s tired from being outside all day, sun-baked and wrung out from the way too many rounds of basketball and the warm mist of the Okanagan Lake.
And, as comfortable as Taeyong’s apartment is, the ambiance is really not helping his resolve to stay awake and alert right now. The place is dimly lit with the combination of warm decorative lamps, and the huge fish tank that takes up practically half of the living room, reflecting tiny flashes of blue and orange hues on every surface surrounding them.
It smells like every single flavor of vape available in the market, spilled vodka, and a little bit too much men’s cologne.
And there are so many people around them, chatting, dancing to the music that’s thankfully not playing loud enough to be annoying, the one or two rogue couples making out against the walls. But the living room has sunk into this peaceful and stagnant circle in the middle of the apartment, where the conversations are quieter and a lot more relaxed—with the exception of Donghyuck’s storytelling time, but when is that ever not true?
At least they’re lucky the weather has started to cool down now that the sun has dipped behind the string of mountains on the other side of the lake. The big windows on the living room’s perimeter, wide open and uncovered, let a nice misty wind travel through the apartment and settle softly over them. Just enough to avoid the amount of people and rounds of drinks locked inside the confined space driving up the temperature.
But Chenle is still warm, tired, fuzzy around the edges, surrounded by fish in LED lights and the calming presence of this stranger that doesn’t feel like one somehow.
And thank God he’s not allowed to drink more.
The warmth of a hand lands on his thigh and Chenle has to turn his face towards Mark by his side, the back of his neck still resting against the backrest of the couch, and he blinks at him with heavy lids and unfocused eyes.
“You okay?” Mark whispers, a gentle smile on his face, curious but not overly concerned. And he shakes Chenle’s thigh softly, his fingers pressing against the muscle, over Chenle’s shorts.
Chenle just smiles, softly too, nodding slowly, lazily, to send the message across that he’s just tired. And it seems to be all the confirmation that Mark needed, because he pats Chenle’s leg once more before turning away from him to focus on the conversation happening with the rest of the guys again.
But his hand never leaves.
And—oh there it is.
Chenle is used to having to play catch-up with his own feelings sometimes, but he’s not stupid.
He caught a glance of Mark from the moment he walked across the park and settled himself on his little patch of shade. And something inside of him kept yelling at him, the whole time, that he had something Chenle needed.
Loud enough that he missed a couple of passes which incidentally made the difference in the score even bigger and then turned the responsibility of scouting more players all his.
He thought, for a second, between heavy breaths and sweaty faces, that whatever Mark had that was calling to him had something to do with Chenle’s ability to catch athletes in the wild and convince them to shoot hoops with him.
And not… the other thing.
The reason Chenle is staying here through the summer, against his parents’ wishes. His last year abroad.
Because Zhong Chenle—yes, like those Zhongs—can’t go back to Shanghai. With his Master’s in International Business, to take over his family’s company, and… experiment with boys there.
And it’s not just that.
It’s everything.
To go unnoticed in a tiny town halfway across the globe. To play basketball with random people he’ll probably never see again. To lose at video games to Donghyuck and Taeyong and their friends who always welcome him. To get drunk in the middle of the week and wear the same clothes three days in a row.
To press his lips against Jason from his Supply Chain Management class’s neck.
To run into Daniel from the coffee shop he frequents in line to the bathroom at his favorite bar, and sneak their hands into each others’ pants.
To invite Joy and her boyfriend into his bed, and taste them both.
To have his skin give under the pressure of Mark’s fingers as Chenle feels himself lean closer and closer against his broad frame next to him.
To let the rest of the night pass by in a blur. And let it be marked only by the periodic squeeze of Mark’s hand around Chenle’s thigh whenever he laughs; when he starts cackling and getting all riled up, trying to control the obvious urge he has in him to repeatedly smack anyone near him on the arm.
Mark’s voice vibrates across his own shoulders and resonates through the arm Chenle has pressed against him. He lets out these little hoots and whistles whenever one of Donghyuck’s jokes lands a little bit too well, and his words are soft and rhythmic whenever he’s the one under the spotlight, his accent blending in and out of the Torontian drawl and the lilt of Southern British Columbia.
At some point, another one of Donghyuck’s friends walks past them and Donghyuck immediately drags Mark off the couch so he can tug him towards them. Chenle almost falls sideways on the couch without the solid wall of Mark’s body holding him up, and he scrambles to sit up straight, with a startled jump that clears some of the cobwebs of his exhaustion.
As Mark and this other apparent acquaintance go in for a hug and start catching up next to the cluster of couches, Chenle looks around the room, with clearer eyes and a re-energized brain, feeling almost like he just got here.
He sees one of Taeyong’s roommates glancing at him knowingly.
And surprisingly, he doesn’t even really care.
He’s not home.
Which is a disturbingly comforting realization to have.
A couple of minutes go by, with Chenle staring at the guppies’ iridescence under the fish tank lights as he refuses to think about things, and instead focuses on the expectant clench of his stomach as he waits for Mark to sit back down. Wondering if he’ll be all up in Chenle’s space again or if the opportunity has been missed in its entirety already. If Mark will sit, leaving a reasonable amount of space between them, and if Chenle will have to work up to their previous shoulder-to-shoulder position all over again.
It’s clear he’s being plenty obvious already, no need to make it even worse.
When Mark is finally back, he collapses on the couch with a tired groan, right next to Chenle, hip to hip. And the little flutter of something that travels up Chenle’s chest from the slight contact turns into a full squeeze of his organs when Mark throws his arm over the backrest of the couch, right above Chenle’s shoulders.
Score.
As the night stretches out and slows down; when the couples grinding against the walls have gone home without so much as a goodbye, when Taeyong has started to gather the empty beer bottles around the place, and his roommates have left for their bedrooms, Chenle is pushed all the way to the edge.
The arm Mark had thrown over the back of the couch is still there, but his hand started to mess with the hood of Chenle’s sweatshirt a while ago, pushing it this way and that, tugging it to straighten it out, pulling out the tag sewn right on the seam of it, and then pushing it back under the fabric.
Even when Donghyuck sits down to Chenle’s other side, and he starts talking about whatever plans he has to organize a basketball tournament with the guys from the park. But Chenle can’t even pay attention, because he’s trying to force the follicles on his neck to perceive the movement of Mark’s fingers behind it. He never quite touches him.
“Welp!” Donghyuck exclaims, standing back up and stretching his arms out before exploding into a dramatic yawn. His hoodie falls off of one of his shoulders even with the parenthesis of his terribly contractured spine. “I’m staying with Yongie tonight, go home, babies.” He says, mumbled and caught in the beginning of another yawn.
He pats the top of Mark’s head twice before ruffling his hair, and then he bends down slightly to tap the tip of Chenle’s nose with his index finger; a little “pop!” coming out of his mouth. Then he turns away and walks straight towards Taeyong’s room.
Chenle’s automatic reflex with the contact of Donghyuck’s finger against his skin is to throw his head back to avoid any more of it. Mark’s fingers collide with the back of his neck. And he chuckles.
And Chenle doesn’t really know what happens with Donghyuck then, or with Taeyong, or the rest of the guests, or even the fish. Because Mark’s knuckles drag against his skin and his fingers wrap around the back of his neck before squeezing softly, the same way he did Chenle’s thigh earlier.
He feels his stomach jump up his throat and he turns to look at him, avoiding being too hasty so Mark doesn’t let go.
And he doesn’t.
Mark cocks his head to the side and angles himself to better fit in Chenle’s field of vision, and he smiles.
“Shall we?” Another squeeze of his fingers.
Chenle still feels the warmth of Mark’s hand on his skin all the way downstairs and as they climb into his car.
The entire drive to the park is filled with the placid silence of exertion and sleepiness, comfortable and peaceful. Not as tense as Chenle had expected, but with a clear shift in the atmosphere contrasting with their previous car trip.
Mark hums a little song instead of turning on the radio, and he taps his hands on the steering wheel to the rhythm, looking out the window towards the glimpses of the lake they can catch between the buildings. Street lamps reflecting off of the rippling water, the moon and the stars blinking with the motions.
Mark parks behind Chenle’s car, like he’s blocking his exit, and right as Chenle’s about to (very awkwardly) thank him for the ride and slip out of there as gracefully as he can, Mark undoes his own seatbelt and gets out of the car himself.
He opens the backseat door and gathers Chenle’s belongings, which he left on the floor earlier; his backpack and the basketball he has to haul around the entire city in case an opportunity to play presents itself. And Chenle hums in understanding as he stretches his hands out so Mark can transfer everything onto them.
Mark deposits them carefully between his splayed-out fingers and then marches on alongside him to help him open the same door on Chenle’s car now, signaling towards the inside with a flourish, like he’s welcoming him into a limousine.
Chenle laughs as he drops everything onto the backseat and then dusts his hands off on the front of his shorts. When he stands up straight and steps away again, he lingers for a second, between the edge of the open door and Mark’s body, who still has a hand around the frame of the window.
Mark isn’t extraordinarily tall by any means, but he’s broad, and he always angles his head down to look at people, and Chenle has pretty bad posture on his own. So really, it feels like he’s hovering over him.
And he doesn’t seem to have a plan to move anytime soon.
Chenle looks up at him, expectant, knowing—hoping—that the entire day has been leading up to this. Mark leans more of his weight on the open door he’s still holding onto, slumping slightly to his side, closing the distance between them by a smidge.
He smirks.
This little, inoffensive thing that squares up his jaw, enhances his cheekbones, and makes this soft valley dip into the meat of his right cheek, next to the corner of his mouth. And it was cute, all day long. But now, it sends a shiver down Chenle’s spine.
So Chenle takes one step closer to him, and straightens his back, naturally setting his face just a couple of inches away from Mark’s. He looks into Mark’s eyes, then at his lips, and then at his eyes again, and he can see the same journey mirrored in Mark’s own pupils before he starts slipping his lids shut.
“I, uh—I have a girlfriend.”
What?
Mark whispers it, low and slow. The words, tinted with beer and cigarettes, hit Chenle on the mouth and make him hate him just a tad more than he would’ve if he had said it standing two feet away from him.
Chenle pulls back like he’s been slapped on the face, way too hard, and almost hitting himself in the back of the head with the body of the car. And he frowns, brows furrowed and meeting in the middle of his forehead. He feels the burn that was starting to simmer in his stomach climb up his neck and color his cheeks with the deep and uncomfortable feeling of humiliation, way beyond anger, or shock.
“Oh, oh god.” He immediately says, embarrassed, wide-eyed, and with his hands in front of him to shield himself from Mark, from the shame. “I’m so sorry, I thought—“
He thought Mark had been coming on to him all day.
And maybe Chenle is used to having to play catch-up with his own feelings sometimes, but he’s not stupid.
He has eyes.
He thought that, because Mark was doing that. There’s no question about it.
If he was doing it to reject Chenle at the end of the night as some sort of weird sadistic thing to pump his own ego, or if he realized he wasn’t interested in Chenle way too late… well, that’s something Chenle doesn’t know.
“No, no!” Mark practically yells in his face, and he takes a step forward to close the distance Chenle created between them once again. His hand lands on the side of the car, right next to Chenle’s waist, caging him in. “I’m not—trying to stop you. I just thought you should know,” he mumbles.
Chenle is starting to feel dizzy.
“Uh…” he tries to find something to say.
“I want this,” Mark whispers, shifting even closer to Chenle and getting all up in his space, his eyes analyzing every inch of his face with a hint of desperation. The hand he had on the car moves to land on Chenle’s hip with a soft squeeze. And it stays there. “But I totally understand if you don’t, anymore…”
Mark says it like he’s trying to come off as understanding, but he stares at Chenle’s mouth while chewing on the inside of his lip, and his free hand makes its way onto Chenle’s other hip, and he still doesn’t seem to have any intention to move away.
The fluttering inside Chenle’s stomach is immediately reignited.
This little lapsus in the middle of it all doesn’t really make Mark not hot. Maybe slightly unreasonable, a tiny bit unwise certainly, but it does not make him any less attractive. Or Chenle any less attracted to him.
He’s never really considered actively participating in the fine art of homewrecking, but it’s not like he was planning on marrying this guy anyway—or even seeing him again after tonight was done. Just hit it and quit it, and all that. And… “I mean,” he says, shrugging, leaning in to finally have his lips just a breath’s width away from Mark’s, the heat swirling inside his stomach and under the palms of Mark’s hands desperate to finally escape through his teeth and slide into Mark’s own body. “If you don’t care that you have a girlfriend…”
He says it more to establish the facts, to make sure it’s a Thing, double, triple confirmation of what the situation entails, and not so much because of his own stance on it. But it’s true, if Mark doesn’t care…
Why should I?
Mark pushes him against the body of his car with a groan that starts deep in the bottom of his throat and clashes against Chenle’s tongue before it can even escape his mouth. And he’s good at kissing (something Chenle can’t help but suspect comes with the territory when you have someone to constantly practice with); he’s earnest, thorough, he pushes Chenle’s face with his own, angling him upward so he can slide his tongue into his mouth.
He drags the palms of his hands up Chenle’s sides, over his waist, and against the edge of his ribs, and he scoops his entire torso up and closer to him, pressing him against his own body. Chenle feels himself dipping backward like that, back arched, hips pushed forward, his arms immediately wrapping around Mark’s neck to hold himself up, and to bring him down with him at the same time.
Mark’s tongue tastes like pizza, chips, cigarettes, cherry vapes, and exactly one bottle of beer. Chenle can feel the slightest bit of stubble growing across the point of Mark’s chin and around the corners of his mouth rubbing against his skin. He smells like cologne and deodorant, and a light undertone of summer sweat, mingling with the breeze of the lake behind them, tingling inside Chenle’s nostrils and coating the back of his tongue. He can feel the short hairs on the back of Mark’s nape when he curls his fingers around it, dragging him even closer to himself.
This is exactly what Chenle is looking for, and he melts against Mark with a sigh that curls between their mouths when he realizes. When the itch is scratched.
The broad shoulders and square jaws, the prickly buzz cuts and five o’clock shadows, the flat chests and straight hips, the smell of aftershave, sneakers colliding against his feet, bony knees, and deep voices.
He wants this.
Men.
With all the letters.
Mark isn’t exactly the type he usually goes for; he’s not much taller than him, or heavier, his muscles don’t bulge under his clothes and spill over the hems, he’s not constantly flexing and running his hands over his stomach to make sure his abs are still there. He ate as much junk food as Chenle did tonight and didn’t even blink before each time he reached out for more.
He is way more like Chenle himself than he is like his regular prospects.
But, still.
There’s something about him.
He hums into Chenle’s mouth with each one of his kisses, the sound breaking into the night sky between spit-slicked slips when either of them tries to resurface for air, not enough urgency in their movements to fully split for even a second, their lips always corner to corner even when they try to change the angle.
His fingers dig into the skin of Chenle’s back, and he uses his hold on him to press him against his entire body—and more specifically, his crotch.
It’s kind of wild. It makes Chenle feel wild.
The solid bulge under Mark’s rough denim pants dragging against his own pelvis, barely covered by boxer briefs and thin basketball shorts. Chenle gasps into Mark’s mouth when he rolls his hips against him, and he feels himself sagging against the edge of the car.
But in a second, Mark is there, immediately compensating for the added weight of Chenle’s buckling knees, and leveraging it to shove him inside the car—a thoughtful hand cupped against the back of Chenle’s head to not let him hit the roof. He pushes him until Chenle’s scrambling backward and reaching the inside of the opposite door, lying across the backseat.
All without splitting for a second, Chenle’s hands dragging Mark with him by the back of the neck.
Right then Chenle can see the headlights of a car driving past them, and he can only hope it’s not Parking Enforcement trying to check on the two random open cars in the middle of the lot. Or worse, the police.
“Ah—Mark,” Chenle gasps into his mouth, trying to alert him.
But Mark just rearranges himself on top of him, one leg between Chenle’s thighs and the other shoved between his body and the back of the seat. He squares his shoulders and sets one of his hands on the window, next to Chenle’s head, and looks around them for a second, effectively covering him with the bulk of his torso and scouring their surroundings.
“It’s one of the food trucks,” he whispers, relieved, breathless, and raspy-voiced, already leaning in, eyes slipping closed as he seals his slick mouth over Chenle’s once again.
Just like that, the fear of having to pay yet another parking fine (it took him a while to get used to the system) disappears, and in its place, the little worm of excitement at the thought of being caught by a random civilian going home after a long day of work starts fluttering.
He slips his fingers into the back of Mark’s wavy hair, wraps his legs around one of his thighs to pull him closer, and kisses him harder.
They find the perfect position; their legs intercalated with each other, each of them sandwiching the other’s thighs and shoving their crotches against the crook of the other’s hip. And they both push.
There’s really no way to tell who’s doing most of the legwork, they both grind against the other with the same amount of force, with the same effort, and the same primal drive inside of them to hump each other like animals.
While the hand Mark has for support against the car window squeaks with the sweat of his palm—and the undoubtedly growing amount of fog covering it—with each of his movements, his other hand drags down the side of Chenle’s torso, slipping under him to press against his lower back and push him closer towards him.
Like that’s possible.
Chenle takes the chance to do the same anyway, one of his hands still braced on the tangled strands of Mark’s nape, and the other one sliding down his back, slipping under the layers of his hoodie, his t-shirt, and the long-sleeve shirt he’s wearing under it—seriously, how hasn’t he had a heat stroke?
He doesn’t try to get too far, just presses his palm flat against the side of Mark’s hip bone, feeling the warm skin under his calloused hand, and he squeezes him softly, trying to gather enough skin and soft fat in his fist. Fruitless, really.
But Mark moans. He pulls away and throws his head up with a wince, his next thrust against Chenle’s hips harder, more desperate. The hand he has under him tries to raise him from the seat even higher, bringing him closer to himself.
And Chenle can only stare at Mark above him. His eyes shut and his lips swollen, his hair messy like he’d gotten in a fight, the bob of his Adam’s apple glinting under the reflection of the streetlamp next to them. And so Chenle tries to trigger a reaction like that again.
He digs his fingers into Mark’s skin and slips just the tips under the waistband of his jeans. No more than a centimeter into the fabric.
“Fuck,” Mark spits anyway, writhing harder on top of Chenle again.
And immediately Chenle’s toes curl, his fingers tangling in whatever part of Mark’s body they can find, and he whimpers.
Guys cursing is, in Chenle’s experience, not notable at all. It’s not even something that he’s used to, or that he thinks it’s normal or not normal, it’s just quite literally something he never notices.
Mark cursing is…
Mark cursing as he drives his denim-clad cock against the space between Chenle’s own dick and thigh, panting on top of him, trying to merge both their bodies together, in the backseat of Chenle’s car, in the middle of a public park. It’s threatening to make him break.
He looks down at Chenle after the string of pathetic little noises he lets out under him and swoops back down.
He doesn’t kiss him again, he presses their foreheads together and lets his own keens pour over Chenle’s bitten lips, warm and moist, thicker than the summer air, coated in nicotine and grease.
And Chenle can’t get enough. He angles his own face ever higher, pushing his chin parallel to Mark’s, aligning their mouths just right so he can breathe him in and then feed the air back into Mark’s lungs.
He doesn’t let himself close his eyes even when he feels like he’s about to teeter off the edge. He needs to see Mark on top of him, read and sweaty and huffing like a bull, his mouth dropping open in a silent plea as his brows twist together. Chenle feels his own face contorting at the same time, brows twisting almost like he’s in pain, jaw threatening to pop out of its joints.
Chenle thinks they come at the same time.
Right as he’s about to let out the most embarrassing sound he’s ever made in his life, Mark is there, sealing his mouth over his again and filling it with his own guttural rumble of pleasure as they both come undone.
Chenle genuinely feels his eyes rolling into the back of his head. He digs his fingers into all the points of contact between him and Mark, pushes his hips up a couple more times as his orgasm spills out of him—warmth spreading across his junk inside his underwear and making him even more sensitive—and he’s sure what he bites into is Mark’s lip and not his tongue.
Mark pushes against him well after Chenle starts to climb down his high, their bodies colliding against each other all the way through it, making the car shake like they’re trying to tip it over until both their climaxes have dwindled down. And he pants into his mouth, his breathing ragged and heavy, deep in the back of his throat, dry and desperate.
Everything is suspended for a second, and then it feels like the tide starts going down.
They catch their breaths, and the car slowly fades back into the peaceful silence of the night, Mark’s weight lifts off of Chenle’s body and onto his hands bracketing him on the seat, and he chuckles.
Chenle can’t help but huff out a laugh too. Even if he doesn’t know what it’s for.
Mark drops his face forward, his forehead almost touching Chenle’s chest under him, and he shakes his head, laughing softly again.
“I should’ve gotten your number before doing this,” he mumbles.
Chenle wonders if it would be too weird to pinch his cheek and coo at him after that comment, so he just laughs to be safe.
Mark pulls away and starts crawling backward out of the car, and once he’s got his feet on the ground and Chenle sits up and slides across the seat as well, he pulls his phone out of the pocket of his jeans and hands it to Chenle already unlocked.
It’s interesting that he doesn’t even ask. There are no ifs or buts, Chenle will give him his number after he told him he has a girlfriend and made him come in his pants.
Speaking of.
Chenle types in his number, saves it under his first name only, and catches a glimpse of Mark’s favorite contacts before passing the phone back to him.
“Maybe you should tell Princess with a heart emoji about this,” he says.
Mark only chuckles. Again.