šāā ĖāąØš¼wc. 3317š¼ą§āĖā āš
a/n. low-key forgot to specify the timeframe but this is like, a couple days after the sex.
āYou know, Iād really fuck the shit out of Riddler.ā
āCan we bring back shame?ā Mark lowers his comic book, expression scrunched into a grimace as he stares at you from where heās lounged on your bedroom floor, the edge of his T-shirt raised just enough to showcase his rippling abs and that deep, deep V.
āIād suck the tip clean off.ā Youāre unbothered by his audible gag, simply focused on the crack of paper as you turn the page, your legs extended and crossed at the ankles, your toes wiggling in your socks and you let out a bashful giggle, biting lightly down on the nail of your index finger as your eyes rove over the panels. Your eyes focus on the bright colours, occasionally flitting towards Markās seething expression.
āIām disturbed.ā He announces, before lifting himself from the floor, muscles flexing as he stretched his arms overhead and he sets his comic down on the bedside table, before prying yours from your hands and tossing it into your desk with freaky accuracy.
Gorgeous brown eyes stare at you from beneath long lashes, gaze roving over you and the way you lounge so lazily across your bed, a double chin formed at the way your head is propped up by pillows.
āYouāre gonna get a neck pain like that.ā Mark huffs, before moving to stand at the edge of your bed, hands wrapping around your ankles and he tugs you roughly, your head sliding off the pillow and he moves to straddle your hips. Hands slide up your arms, fingers lace with yours and he pins your hands to the soft covers and he cracks a grin.
āHowās college?ā Mark inquires. āMom says youāre an overachiever.ā
āDefine āoverachieverā.ā You peer up at Mark through your lashes, your gaze locked on his, and goddamn, your brainās melting the more you focus on how warm his hands are against yours. Fingers laced with yours, folded over one another like they belong there, his lashes fluttering with each blink and the curve of his smile as he just looks at you.
Not doing anything.
Just looking.
And youāre starting to think Pinterest was right when he brings a hand up, gently picking an eyelash from your cheek before he fists his hand, brushing it against your chin and he mimics an explosion.
And the laughter just bubbles from you, your head tipped back as giggles fall from your lips, and he shifts his body, wrapping his arms around your waist and he pulls you onto him. Your knees dimpling the sheets on either side of you, his face pressed into the curve of your neck, lips ghosting over the supple skin that has an indentation by a bra strap too tight and Markās teeth bite into the elastic, tugging it from your shoulder and he presses his lips against the mark left behind.
His lips are soft.
Hands cradle you like youāre something delicate, like you havenāt been his biggest bully for majority of his life, and you melt against him.
Muscular arms keeping you pressed against him, your soft thighs bracketing his hips and you press your lips against his temple.
āI didnāt think heroes had the free time to dick around like this.ā You hum with a snort, your hands shifting, cupping Markās face as you lift yourself, pulling one of the pillows absentmindedly to prop his head up and he watches you with soft, heart eyes.
āItās Saturday.ā He answers you, hands bracketing your hips. āIāve got all the time in the world.ā He pauses. āUntil night time. Then I have no time.ā
āMy mom said we can patrol tonight if itās okay with your mom.ā Your giggle is melodious, itās sweet and messy all at once. His eyes rove over the curve of your lips, the dimples in your cheeks and the way your eyes crease at the corners. He likes the way your necklace dangles so carelessly, he loves the way your eyes watch the sun and he just loves.
He's known you for over a decade and he canāt think of a single thing he hasnāt fallen in love with.
āWhen did you get so⦠pretty?ā
Markās voice is a soft, almost theatrical whisper, his thumbs brushing along the soft flesh of your hips where your shirt had ridden up. āYou look like an angelā¦ā
āItās the sunlight.ā You snort at him, a grin curling your glossy lips. That warm, summer-y smile that has his breath stuttering in his lungs, your hand shifting to cradle his cheek, your palm warm against his flesh.
āNo.ā He lets out a breathless laugh. āNo, like⦠you look like a fucking painting right now.ā
āWait, like, really?ā Your brows furrow.
āYeah, like⦠that painting ofā you look like a Monet.ā He tilts his head, pressing a kiss to the softness of your palm. And thereās a warmth that burns at his belly when your head tips, a light and easy smile creeping onto your face.
āYouāre really beautifulā¦ā
The sweetest silence settles between the two of you, and Mark hums softly. He never thought loving someone could be this easy. He knows itās not too soon. It never could be when itās you.
āWhich painting?ā You hum softly, leaning forward and your lips press against his cheek.
āBitchāā Mark huffs. āJust touch my wiener.ā
āā ĖāąØš¼ą§āĖā āš
āIām not a furry butāā
āYouāre gonna say the most furry thing ever.ā
āThe shark could get it.ā
Mark lets out a heavy breath, eyes shutting and he takes a moment. Before looking at you, expression distasteful and he grimaces.
āCan we never watch āThe Reef 2ā without you wanting to fuck an actual shark?ā
Mark watches the way you shovel a handful of chips into your mouth, your gaze locked on his and he should be turned off, but the way your grin grows as you shake your head, mischief in your actions as you giggle.
āNo.ā You snort. āNo we can not.ā
āSick freak.ā He grunts under his death, reaching over, a pudgy thumb wiping away the crumbs from the corner of your mouth, absentmindedly bringing his thumb to his lips, licking away the salt before turning his attention back to the screen of your TV.
And your lips purse and you try to ignore the way your pulse flutters, instead focusing on shuffling more comfortably, your back pressing against your puffed up pillows and you swallow.
āThatās gross. I donāt know where your thumb was.ā
āItās gonna be in your ass if you donāt stop fucking with me.ā Mark takes another handful of chips, his toes wiggling in those stupid fucking Hot Wheels socks.
And you swallow.
āSay āno homoā.ā
The leer Mark gives you is something nightmares and very, very dark fantasies are made of and he takes a slow slurp of his smoothie, lips pursed around the straw. And he simply turns his attention back to the screen, biting the inside of his cheek to keep his smile hidden but the dimple in his cheek pops.
āMark, say āno homoā!ā
āā ĖāąØš¼ą§āĖā āš
āOh my God.ā Mark grunts. āWhy did I agree to this?ā
His knees and palms dimple your mattress, powdery blue sheet refusing to bend to his will, edges popping off the corners of your mattress and you hum, lips curled as you keep your eyes glued to that stupidly perky ass.
āI donāt know but Iām loving the Invinci-cheeks.ā
Mark glares at you over his shoulder, the tips of his ears burning a furious red as he clenched his jaw, annoyance only spiking at the way your grin widens.
āYeah, look back at me.ā You tease.
And Mark huffs. āSame way you looked back at me?ā
The silence is deafening, your obnoxious slurping stilling and you swallow, sucking in your cheeks and Mark doesnāt know why the act makes him a little breathless. Heās seen you do it countless times when youāre speechless, unable to come up with an immediate retort but he swallows hard.
āThatās a pretty fucked up thing to say.ā You whisper, your heart beating erratically pounding behind your rib cage because did you actually look back at him?
And Mark lets out a huff, finally managing to spread the sheet comfortably enough, and you plop down, internally gloating at the way he silently stews at the creases that form in the sheet.
āWhyāre you making me make your bed?ā Mark huffs, muscular arms crossing over his chest. āItās the middle of the day.ā
āBecause, dear, naĆÆve Mark, when you leave, Iām gonna take an 8 hour nap and wake up on a plane of existence higher than yours.ā And you stretch your arms overhead, letting out a yawn and Markās eyes drop to where your shirt rides up, exposing the soft skin of your belly, and his arm reaches out, a warm hand splayed across your tummy. Itās sweet and a little weird, but you like the way the heat seems to sink into your navel, warming you up like some kind of humanoid toaster.
āThatās nice.ā You sigh softly, your lashes fluttering and you rest back, your back flush against the memory phone and your head lolls, gaze falling on Mark and the way he looks at you like youāve personally designed and hung the stars in the sky.
āYouāre soāā
āDo you have a foreskin?ā
Markās expression falls. āCan we not have a single nice moment without you ruining it?ā
Your lips purse and your brows furrow like youāre deep in thought before you shake your head. āNo, māsorry. I canāt see that happening for us.ā
He would be annoyed if that devious little smile on your lips didnāt make his tummy tense, and his hand reaches for the front of his jeans.
āYou wanna check if I have a foreskin?ā He questions and once you nod, youāre wishing you didnāt. Because seeing Mark undo his buckle with one, nimble hand, is a religion you werenāt sure youād ever find yourself being a part of but holy fuck, you could watch him do that for hours.
Mark frees his cock. Easily, and lazily pushing the waistband of his boxers down and he shifts comfortably. Youād think itād be less impressive because heās soft but no. Not at all.
A pretty, flushed pink head, just a little bit darker at the base with a teensy bit of skin that overlaps just the ridges of his tip and you purse your lips.
āIs now a bad time to tell you I canāt tell the difference between cut and uncut when theyāre soft?ā You peer up at Mark through your lashes, shifting a bit more comfortably and he lets out a huff of a laugh.
āHereās the scar,ā He hums, moving just a bit closer and he shows you that barely imperceptible scar, right near his tip, āsee?ā
You donāt know what convinces you to do it. You really donāt.
But youāre tracing your thumb over the scar, peering up at him through your lashes and your eyes are so soft, so concerned.
āWho did this to you?ā
āOh my fucking God.ā
The laugh bubbles from him easily, his head tipping back and you watch the curve of his throat as he laughs, shoulders shaking and lips curling. Pearly teeth showcased, and the dimples in his cheeks deepen, accompanied by a healthy little flush and he snorts, before looking back down at you.
He watches the way you watch him, teeth biting down on your bottom lip to hide your smile but he can see the way your cheeks turn rosy the longer you watch him.
And you look back down, tracing your thumb over the scar once again. Feeling the subtle change in texture.
āItās a cool scar though.ā You hum. āKinda makes your dick look like a hammerhead.ā
Mark nearly loses it when you begin to hum the Jaws theme, biting the inside of his cheek to stifle the laughter but it all comes to a grinding halt when his dick twitches, and your lips part, watching as a bead of precum slowly drips from his slit. And he swallows.
āDo you get hard when people make jokes?ā You raise a brow, scooping up the bead and watching the way it rests so comfortably on the pad of your index finger, and he shakes his head.
āOnly you.ā He inhales sharply when you trace that divot with your finger, his brows furrowing and he tries to keep his hips from twitching, anchoring them down to the bed instead of letting them crave the contact.
Your lips purse in concentration, before you hum quietly.
āYou gave me head but I never got to do it to you.ā You state with a hum, nails tracing patterns on his thigh, and he can feel the ticklish sensation through the denim of his jeans and he swallows.
āYouā uh-um⦠You donāt have to. I donāt mind if youāre not into thatā¦āā
āI am.ā You reassure, eyes lowered and watching the way his cock stiffens, blood rushing all the way to the appendage as it flushes a pretty, rosy pink and your hand wraps around his base.
Your handās all warm, all soft and delicate-fingered. The cool metal of your rings make his skin prickle and his hips are jutting before either of you can say anything, cum spurting across the front of your T-shirt, as well as creamy ribbons that reach all the way up to the curve of your jaw.
And you swallow.
āIā fuck, māso sorry. I didnāt mean toāā Markās breath stutters when your head dips, your eyes locked on his and your tongue drags along the tip of his cock, wet muscle flicking against his slit. And his hands fist the sheet.
āFinish making my bed.ā You lift yourself from where youāre resting, unbothered by the mess on your throat and you make your way towards your en suite, closing the door behind you and you let out a breath you didnāt know you were holding.
Internally panicking and you have to fight to get your nerves steady.
And your lips purse, an intrusive thought causing you to drag your digit through the messy spent on your throat, and you bring your finger to your lips. Tasting the peculiar taste. Brows knitting as you try to place the flavours. Sweet. A little bit bitter, and so, so warm.
Mark stares at the bathroom door, his heart pounding in his chest before he grabs his phone, bated breaths slipping past his lips and he pants hard. Thumbs flying across his keyboard and his leg bounces.
Invinci-bitch: āTell Cecil Iām not coming.ā
Invinci-bitch: āSpace flu or whatever.ā
Rex takes a while to respond.
Rex Splooge: āSpace herpes. Got it šā
Fuck. Mark discards his phone, tucking himself back into his boxers before continuing to make your bed, although, big brown eyes keep glancing towards the bathroom door.
Heād really prefer to not have āspace herpesā.
But heāll take what he gets.
Especially if what he gets, involves that plush, shit-talking mouth wrapping around his cock.
āā ĖāąØš¼ą§āĖā āš
āWilliam, sheās making my hands sweaty.ā
Markās voice is hoarse, wiping his sweaty palms on the surface of his shorts for what could be the eighth time this hour, eyes darting towards where youāre helping clean up the kitchen, a mess after Markās 13th birthday party. A few neighbours kids, maybe a handful of classmates he liked and a mess of wrapping paper that youād suggested he keep.
āYeah.ā William slurps on his milkshake, blueberry tinting the inner bits of his lips a slight blue. āMe and your dad were mocking you for it.ā
And Mark huffs.
āOf course you were.ā And he glances back towards you, your arms submerged in soapy hot water, lips curled into a grin as you chat so easily with Nolan, whoās rough hands remain drying the dishes. āSheās so⦠pretty.ā
Markās lips curl at the memory, eyes focused on you as you continue swiping through your For You page, attention entirely captured by the sight of makeup brushes, gently brushing against some stupidly overpriced mic, accompanied by gentle taps against the stand. His arm remains tossed over your belly, cheek pressed against your shoulder and a leg wrapped around yours. His warm palm, pressed against your even warmer tummy.
And he swallows.
āI think Markās got a crush on you.ā Nolanās voice is quiet, hands wrapped up in a plaid kitchen cloth, the bright crimson standing out against his muscular forearms. āLook.ā And you follow Nolanās gaze towards Mark.
Surrounded by kids, opening birthday presents and giving toothy grins and sweet āthank youās.
And your expression softens.
āMr Nolan, if Mark likes me, itās because heās never spoken to another girl before.ā You snort. āHeād have a crush on William if William was a girl.ā
And you glance back towards Mark, catching his gaze and you watch the way his lips curl, perfect teeth displayed and God, your heart clenches in your chest. And you smile back, trying to play off the way those rosy apples make your face heat up.
āYour heartbeat got sooooooooooooooo fast.ā Nolan whispers, almost conspiratorially. And you glare up at Nolan.
āIāll make him dress up as Duct-Tape Man.ā You threaten and Nolanās eyes narrow at you. And you snort out a laugh.
āWhyād you get so mad about that in the first place, sir?ā You question.
āHe used the good tape.ā
āIt wasnāt because you were the only girl I spoke to.ā Mark speaks up, swallowing heavy and he glances up towards your face, eyes roving over your features and ultimately, landing on the curve of your bottom lip. So plump. So inviting.
āHuh?ā You question, a brow raising and you pause the video on your phone, screen displaying, āGRWM FOR CONFRONTING MY BF ABOUT CHEATING ON ME W/ MY BDā.
āWhen you told my dad I would only like you because youāre the only girl I spoke to.ā He whispers softly. āThat wasnāt why.ā His warm grip tightens on your waist, fingers pressing into the soft, squishy flesh.
āIt was because you were the only girl I wanted to talk to.ā
Thereās a knot in your belly, your lashes fluttering with each slow, cat-like blink you give Mark and you feel the way his heartbeat gets faster. His breathing deepening and his eyes flicker towards your lips, brows knitting in a way that could only be described as longingly before he meets your gaze again.
Puppy eyes soft and loving.
āYouāre still the only girl I wanna talk to.ā
Your expression softens, lashes fluttering so prettily and you swallow, the corners of your lips tugging downwards and you can feel your eyes becoming a little bit glossier.
āWhat about William?ā Your voice is sweet, and so soft, and it wouldāve sounded earnest if he didnāt understand you. And he snorts.
āWilliam doesnāt count.ā He huffs out a laugh, his hand leaving your belly to cradle the side of your face, wiping away that fat rivulets before it an even reach the curve of your cheek and his lips curve into a soft smile.
Before he teases you.
āNow say something nice about me.ā He nudges you, shifting over you until your thighs are on either side of his hips, one hand bracing your hio whike the other presses against your cheek.
āYou too, are the only girl I wanna talk to.ā You snort and Mark rolls his eyes, biting the inside of his cheek to hide the grin that threatens to make his cheeks dimple in that adorably dorky way.
āIām a man.ā He corrects.
āYouāre a boy at best.ā You huff.
And he leans in, the ball of his nose brushing against yours, breath ghosting over your lips.
āOh really?ā He hums. āYou wanna see how much of a man I am?ā
Tš¼Aš¼Gš¼Lš¼Iš¼Sš¼T
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